#i celebrated because she finally crossed over bruce to be number one for a few days but then she dropped back down bc i read ram v's tec

[themyscirah]

1 and 7 for the LOCG stats ask game!

When you're stuck standing next to someone you hate but have to be civil

#1 - Bruce Wayne as Batman - 262 issues

#7 - Amanda Waller - 103 issues

Send a number 1 - 100 and I'll draw that character from my locg stats!

Og pencil sketch

[peterrparrkerr]

Zombie apocalypse au - read on ao3

*-*

Peter doesn't remember life before the virus. He was only five when everyone got sick.

He's seventeen now, and he's never set foot outside of the city. Well, outside of the tower.

There's a curfew -has been since the virus. Those who go into the city for supplies or to work the garden and tend to the livestock have to be inside by five every day.

Peter doesn't have a green thumb, nore does he have a way with animals. And he's got two left hands when it comes to weaponry. So he stays in the tower.

The tower used to be Stark Industries. When the outbreak hit New York, people locked themselves inside, tried to wait it out.

Peter had been with his aunt. She tells him they'd gone to get ice cream and bring some back to his parents.

Aunt May had ran into the closest building -Stark Industries- and had hidden in the basement with Peter. He doesn't remember.

Tony Stark -the owner of Stark Industries- had offered his penthouse to the few who had taken refuge in his building.

After a week, many of the workers left, off to find their families. They never came back.

A month passed, and scouts confirmed the virus had taken over the whole city. Stark tower was the only building the monsters couldn't get to.

So, it became home. Peter grew up running up and down the industrial hallways, playing with the golden retriever one of the hideaways had.

He didnt know anything different. Everyone took care of him, raised him. He was the only kid in the tower.

He might even be the youngest living being in all of New York at this point.

His favorite people to visit and hang out with were Steve and Bucky. They had been walking their new puppy Goldie when the world ended.

They had been married for ten years before. They celebrated their twenty year anniversary a couple years back. Goldie was almost eleven, and didn't like playing as much with Peter -though she still liked to sit with him in the living room when he tinkered with old tech.

Natasha and Clint worked on the ground, so Peter didn't see them much. They could fight a whole swarm of monsters and not get bit. They were the best.

Bruce and Aunt May tended to the garden under their watchful eye. Steve, Bucky and Sam took care of the livestock.

Its strange. The zombies leave animals alone. They only go after people.

Tony, Bucky and Clint go scouting a lot. They run the city, looking for any survivors, or anything the tower could use.

The tower is self-sufficient thanks to Tony's genius. He'd been working on making the entire tower self-sustaining even before the outbreak.

He's only managed to get the top three floors. The rest of the tower has no electricity or running water. That's fine though. Theres not many of them left, and three floors is plenty of space.

The living area is the penthouse. They eat, sleep and breathe there. The second floor down holds all of Tony's old tech, and projects in the works. The third floor down is the weapons and medicine floor.

Peter is on the second floor when the scouting party comes back. He only knows this because of the AI Tony created tells all three floors when people come or go.

Peter sets down his tools and rushes for the staircase. He sails down them and opens the door bodily, nearly falling flat on his face.

"You're back," Peter called, running down the short hallway to the ammunition room. Clint, Bucky and Tony are all unloading their haul and their weapons.

Clint's weapon of choice is a bow and arrow, as well as a long range rifle -he's the eyes, always taking out zombies before they get close enough to spot them.

Bucky is unloading his knives and pistols. Hes best at close combat.

Peter jumps onto the table, watching as Tony checks the magazine of his .9mm, then settle it back into the holster on his thigh.

"How was it," Peter asked, eyeing the two duffle bags on the table, surrounded by magazine clips and disassembled weaponry.

"We made it all the way to the hospital this time," Bucky grinned. Peter's eyes widened. They don't get to the hospital that often, since its clear on the other side of the city, and usually swarming with zombies.

They don't need to go on medical runs much anyway, but Tony likes to keep stocked in case.

"And we hit the motherload," Clint grinned, unzipping one of the bags and revealing canned food from vegetables to soup, the labels all sun bleached and color faded.

"Whoa." Peter reached in, pulling out an old Cambells can, looking at the faded red and white label. He can barely make out the words. "Tomato soup!"

"Thats not all," Bucky hummed. Peter looked up just as Bucky reached into his back pocket.

Peter sets the can down and his eyes widen when Bucky pulls out a deck of cards.

"No way!" Peter leaps off the table, snatching the cards.

"Its a full deck," Bucky grins proudly. Their current deck was a mix of two different cards, and cardboard and plastic pieces they'd drawn the suits and numbers on.

It made it hard to shuffle, and they all knew the suit and number of the makeshift cards. It made for a boring game.

Clint laughed and ruffled Peter's curls before grabbing the food and heading for the penthouse to restock their cupboards.

"Thanks, Bucky," Peter grinned, pulling the cards out of the brand new -but still sun faded- case. He's never seen cards this new before.

"Dont thank me, Tony's the one who spotted them," Bucky said, giving Peter a knowing grin before grabbing the medicine and heading for the medical wing.

Peter blushed, then turned to Tony -who wasn't there. He scowled and looked around in confusion. He didnt notice him leaving.

Peter quickly puts the cards back in the protective box and drops them into his cargo shorts pocket before running out of the room.

After raids, Tony usually likes to spend time with his old tech -projects he'll never be able to complete, in a workshop he'll probably never get rid of.

He finds Tony at one of the work benches, fiddling with something Peter -to this day- can't figure out what it is.

"Hey," Peter said, walking over to him and sitting down on the stool at the end of the bench. Tony glances up and gives a small smile.

"Thanks for the cards," Peter continued, picking at his nails and looking down at his lap. "Bucky said you got them for me."

"You're welcome, kid," Tony hummed, eyes focused on a project he'll never finish. Peter thinks it makes Tony feel better. Makes him feel like he's back to before the virus, when he was making things all the time and helping people.

All he's got now are old robots that break down more often than they run, and dust over most of the place he used to call home.

All Tony has is JARVIS and the others, but Peter sometimes gets the feeling that that sometimes isn't enough for Tony.

The two sit in silence for a while, Tony hard at work, and Peter deep in thought.

"Hey Tony?"

Tony hums.

"Whats it like dating?" Peter says it fast, worried he'll lose his nerve and chicken out. Tony stops his fiddling and looks over, raising an eyebrow.

"Are you asking for dating advice?" Tony asked. Peter can't meat his eyes when he nods and Tony sets his tools down. "Who's the lucky person you're crushing on? Anyone I know?"

"You know everyone I do, Tony," Peter huffs. Tony crosses his arms and smirks, amused. Peter hunches his shoulders.

"Who is it?" Tony asks.

Peter takes a deep breath. He's gotta just come right out and say it. If he doesn't, he'll never do it and then it'll be too late.

"You," he breathes. Its quiet. Peter's hands sweat. This was a bad idea.

"Pete," Tony sighs. Peter manages to look up. Tony looks pained, regretful. Its not the look Peter wanted to see. "I'm too old for you."

"So?" Peter finds himself asking.

"So, you should be dating people your own age."

"Do you know of any other seventeen year olds running around?" Peter asked, waving his hand around dejectedly.

"There's always a chance-"

"Please don't," Peter interrupts. "Please? Its been twelve years. No ones come looking for us, you haven't found anyone during your raids. Its just us."

Tony opens his mouth to speak, but Peter's on a roll now, and he can't stop even if he wanted to.

"And don't say to wait. I've been waiting. For all we know we're the last people on earth not a zombie, and I want- I want to have my first kiss before I'm forty."

"Peter-"

"I want to experience things," Peter continues, steamrolling over Tony. "I want to go outside, and I want to have a boyfriend and I want to have sex-"

"Kid-"

"Please, Tony," Peter said. "I like you, and- and I don't want to experience this with anyone else in the tower, and I don't want to wait for the point one percent chance of someone my age coming along."

"Listen, kid," Tony sighs.

"I'm not a kid anymore, Tony," Peter said, sounding desperate. He looks at Tony with wide eyes, begging for the older man to understand.

Tony -hell, everyone in the tower- had a life before the virus. They got to experience the world. Peter hadnt.

Its all he wanted. He wanted a normal life. A life he was robbed of. He's desperate for it.

Tony doesn't say anything. He looks at Peter, calculating. Peter sees his shoulders begin to slump, and finally he breaks. Peter feels a little giddy at the thought of getting his way, though he remains put.

"No," Tony said on a sigh. "I suppose you're not."

Peter doesn't know whatto say after that. He's made his case, there's nothing more to say.

"Its hard," Tony said after a while. "I still think of you as a kid. I still think you're ten."

Peter chews on his lower lip, head dipped down and shoulders hunched in on themselves.

"So you don't like me back?" He managed to ask, even as his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

"Kid-" he sighs. "Peter."

Tony settles a hand on Peter's shoulder, and Peter looks up at him.

"I like you," he says. Peter feels himself beginning to smile and quickly clamps that down, biting his lip. "God knows this situation isn't ideal. This would've been bordering on illegal, before."

"If you're uncomfortable, I understand," Peter said. Tony shakes his head.

"Thats not what I'm saying, Pete."

Peter didn't know what he was saying then.

"If we're going to try this out, there's gotta be rules," Tony continued. Peter looked back up at him.

"First rule is there's no hiding it. If we're gonna date, everyone knows about it or its not happening."

"Okay," Peter nodded.

"And we're taking this slow," Tony adds. "Like, cold honey slow, got it?"

"Got it," Peter nodded. His smile is getting too wide to hide. Tony's hand squeezes his shoulder.

"Good."

He removes his hand from Peter's shoulder. He gives Peter a small smile back.

"Could- is kissing going too fast?" Peter asks. Tony's smile grows a little, and he shakes his head.

"No, its not too fast."

The older man leans forward and Peter eagerly closes the distance between them.

The kiss is close lipped, and their noses press against each other, but its perfect.

[rhub4rb]

Of Birds and Bugs

Prologue

-_-_-_-

It was all Jagged’s fault, really.

Though did that mean Marinette should thank him?

It had been a normal day. It was after school, and Marinette was spending this rare piece of spare time working, trying to find the perfect destination for a surprise class trip that she was helping Mme. Bustier to arrange.

It was more difficult than Marinette had expected it to be. The budget was tighter than Marinette had hoped, and there was only so few places that would keep all of her classmates interested. Marinette knew that she didn’t necessarily have to try and make the trip good for everyone, but she also knew that Lila would turn it on her and say that Marinette made the trip bad on purpose.

So, Marinette had spent a couple of days brainstorming ideas and possibilities, both nationally and internationally. Different destinations, hotels, events and the like, but they would either be discarded for not being in the budget, or because it would probably not be enjoyed by the class.

Even if her classmates didn’t like her anymore, Marinette was still class president for a reason, and that was for the fact that she was efficient.

Marinette had even spent all night just researching one location, only to trash the idea when dawn broke, realizing that, while the idea was good as a concept, would probably not have been interesting enough for her classmates.

Then, when also counting in the fact that the trip was supposed to be at least somewhat educational as well…

It was safe to say, Marinette was starting to get desperate.

Her biggest fear though, would be to have it all planned and ready to book, just to be thrown to the side because Lila couldn’t come because of whatever stupid lie she would come up with, forcing Marinette to scrap the idea because; If poor Lila couldn’t come, then Marinette wouldn’t mind finding something else, right?

Marinette let out a tired sigh, Tikki patting her on the knee in silent comfort.

The moment of quiet, however, was broken by the ringing of a phone, the ringtone one that made Marinette jump up from her seat to pick up the call, running around her room to find her phone somewhere in the room.

“Penny!” Marinette exclaimed, slightly breathless from her searching, greeted once she answered the call.

“Hello Marinette,” there was clear amusement in the voice of Penny Rolling on the other line. “Jagged was wondering if you could drop by the hotel, there’s something he wants to discuss with you.”

“Now?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.” Penny sounded apologetic, and Marinette was quick to reassure.

“Of course not! I uh- I’ll hurry.”

“I’ll send a car over to pick you up. Take your sketchbook with you.” Penny added, and Marinette was already running around her rom, getting ready.

“Sure thing! See you soon Penny.”

A little break never hurt anyone.

 -

Break might have been a generous word for what she was about to do.

The moment Marinette stepped into the hotel room, she was swept up in Jagged Stone’s arms, twirled around for a while before finally being put down, a little dizzy.

“Mari! You are just the rocking girl I need right now.” Jagged exclaimed. “There’s going to be this super rocking charity gala meant to support young creative souls like yours here in Paris next week, and I want you to design my suit for it.”

It took a second for Marinette to understand what Jagged had said, her eyes widening once realization hit her.

“R-really? Are you sure?”

Marinette had designed a couple of things for Jagged over the last few years, all the way from album covers and posters to performance outfits.

This time was different though, because if Marinette was right about what gala he was talking about, then there was a chance that he would be asked about who designed his suit, which meant that he would be stating on international television that Marinette had designed it for him.

Sure, Marinette had been mentioned in a few magazines from time to time, but this was on a whole other level.

“Of course, I’m sure! No one gets my rocking style like you do Mari.” Jagged said. “Which brings me to the next topic.”

Jagged propped his booted feet up on the coffee table, his arms crossed behind his head.

“I’m allowed to invite one or two people to come with me to the event, and I was wondering if you would like to go with me and Penny.”

“I-I- that would be amazing!” Marinette yelled out in excitement. “I would love to!”

“Awesome! Penny is gonna contact your teacher about getting you free from school a little earlier so you can focus on this, alright?”

Marinette just nodded hurriedly, getting out her sketchbook and started asking questions, if there was anything in particular that he wanted.

“I just want the suit to be me, you know? None of that fancy crap, I want it to be Rock n’ Roll!”

Marinette had to pause for a moment to try and figure out which route to go with for the design. Despite Jagged being adamant that the suit could not be fancy, he was still going to attend a high-end gala.

An idea suddenly struck, and Marinette started sketching furiously, until she had a rough sketch of an idea she liked, showing it to Jagged.

Jagged’s eyes lit up, and with a few pointers here and there, Marinette was able to come up with a design that she was happy with.

“We’ll pay for whatever fabrics you need; you just focus on making that rocking suit for me, and of course a lovely dress for you.”

 -

After that, the next couple of days were a bit of a blur for Marinette.

Between school, trying to make that trip a reality, and finishing Jagged’s and her own clothes for the gala, Marinette had been so busy that she hardly even paid Lila any mind.

She didn’t even realize that Lila planned a party to be thrown the exact same day as the gala took place, or that she wasn’t even invited, her focus was solely on finishing Jagged’s suit on time.

Still, when the gala finally came, Marinette was not prepared for the amount of paparazzi that would be present outside of the gala.

Because of the amount of celebrities that would be present, no one outside of those invited were allowed in, making the place outside cramped as reporters tried to get a look at the various important people who would be present.

Penny, noticing Marinette’s discomfort by the number of reporters, tried to calm her down a bit.

“It’s going to be fine Marinette, both you and Jagged look wonderful tonight.”

“Yeah, my little Rockstar! You have nothing to be worried about.” Jagged tried to reassure.

“It’s not that. It’s just-“ Marinette thought about her classmates, about how Lila would lie and manipulate the situation, about the accusations of why she didn’t tell them about it. “Do you think I could get in another way?”

Marinette focused in her lap, not seeing the concerned glance that the two adults shared.

“Of course, I’ll go with you.” Penny said, and once Jagged Stone got out of the car and was flocked by various paparazzi, all of which held back by bodyguards. Penny instructed the chauffer to drive a little further ahead, where she and Marinette got out, and went in through another door.

Jagged was asked a wave of questions, from his latest album, to his next tour and, of course, who designed his suit for the evening.

The pants were a deep purple, with studs going along the hem and up his legs. The jacket was made of leather, but designed like a normal suit jacket, studs covering the lapels. His button up shirt was made of black, see-through lace, and he wore black lace gloves to go with, these not being fingerless like his usual ones. Marinette had said they looked more sophisticated.

The button up shirt wasn’t buttoned all the way up, and his boots were a little high, the heels being covered in a purple metal.

“This rocking outfit was designed by my favorite creative soul here in Paris, a girl named Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

As the paparazzi asked more questions and Jagged slowly, but finally, made his way inside, another rich person came to walk the carpet to get in, and got swamped by all of the paparazzi.

 -

Penny and Marinette spent the time talking to one another while waiting for Jagged to get inside, a few people throwing curious glances at Marinette as they didn’t recognize her.

Penny was concerned, however. She had noticed over the week how Marinette avoided certain topics or would divert a conversation once it went to talk about her classmates.

Penny knew that Jagged had noticed it too, and if they were the reason Marinette was worried about walking down the carpet with Jagged, then they had to do something about it.

“So…” Penny started. “How is it going with school?”

“It’s going well, my grades are doing pretty good despite my occasional absences but-“ Penny cut Marinette off.

“I meant your classmates. How is it going with your classmates?” She tried.

Marinette looked down.

She had guessed that it was going to be brought up eventually, she had just hoped that it would have been later. She sighed.

“It’s… kind of complicated-“ Marinette was cut off once again, but this time by an excited Jagged Stone who just got inside.

Marinette, seeing this as an opportunity to avoid the most likely awkward conversation that was about to happen between Penny and her, looked up at Jagged with a smile as he slung his arm over her shoulder.

“You are going to be so busy from now on Marinette, I’ve already had so many people come up to me and ask for your contact information. Be prepared for an onslaught of emails in the future.”

And just like that, the conversation about classmates was forgotten in favor of mingling with the rich and famous. Marinette was introduced to a series of people, her email was shared, and for once, she seemed to smile just a little brighter than before.

Marinette was at the refreshment table when Jagged walked up to her, with a tall, muscular looking businessman.

“Mari! I’ve gotta introduce you to this rocking fellow. This is Bruce Wayne, one of the few good rich folks you’ll meet.”

Bruce seemed slightly startled by that description but smiled none the less to Marinette.

“It’s nice to meet you miss…”

“Oh! Uh- Marinette! Marinette Dupain-Cheng, sir.” Marinette hurried.

“Mari here is my favorite little designer. We’ve been working together since she was 14.” Jagged said proudly. “When I got invited to this fancy gala thing, I knew only Marinette could make me something to absolutely rock tonight.”

Bruce’s eyes widened in surprise, and he looked Jagged over, assessing the overall design and quality.

“You made this? The quality looks incredible.” He looked at her. “And I’m going to guess you made your jumpsuit as well?”

Marinette stammered, before quickly nodding her head.

While working on Jagged’s suit, Marinette had to make her own outfit as well.

She was originally going to just make a dress, but then she flipped through her sketchbook and found the design for the jumpsuit, and immediately started working on that.

The jumpsuit itself was deep red, accentuating her long legs, and with the kitty heels she was wearing, made her look slightly taller. It was sleeveless, and the top had sharp edges, making a small angular dip at her chest. Marinette had wanted to give a nod towards Jagged with her design, seeing as it was because of him that she could even be there, so she added a floor length (foe) leather skirt, cut down at the front to reveal her legs, and lined with a deep red on the inside.

“I was just glad that Jagged wanted me to design this for him.” Marinette said meekly, tugging at her braided side-ponytail.

“No need to be so humble, Mari! Of course, I wanted you to do this!” Jagged looked at Bruce, eyes wide and full of stars, almost like a proud parent. “Mari is such a talented girl, and she won’t even brag about it! But, that’s why I’m here.”

Jagged proceeded to tell Bruce about Marinette’s long list of accomplishments, from the various contests she had won, to all the things she had designed for him and Clara Nightingale, to how she had been class president for the last three years.

Marinette was slowly curling in on herself, her shoulders rising, her head sinking, trying to disappear from that very moment.

Bruce, seeming to take pity on the girl, decided to cut in on Jagged’s ramble about his talented “niece”.

“What sort of duties do you have as class president?” Bruce asked.

Marinette, straightening after finally being addressed, pondered the question for a moment.

“I’m often mediator in conflicts that pop up in the class and I arrange a couple of class trips.” She said. “I’m trying to figure out a longer trip away from the school, but the budget is pretty limited, so it’s hard to find something that goes under all of the requirements, not to mention interesting enough to for the rest of class.” Marinette frowned, thinking about all of the places she had considered, but ultimately not going with.

“I’m hoping to have found something by the end of the month but…” Marinette shrugged.

Bruce nodded in understanding, a plan already forming in his mind.

 -_-_-_-

I hope that was good! I plan on posting this every other week, with MJM being posted the other weeks

@ozmav I hope you enjoyed this long prologue

[saultnpeppah]

Day 7: Wedding Day

*hides from shame because of how late this is* Sorry guys...

December 31. Wayne Manor. 23:59:50

Diana

"Ten. Nine. Eight."

The countdown to the new year begins and my heart flutters as I hear each number, realizing soon it'll be the day of Bruce and my wedding.

"Seven. Six."

The room is filled with our wedding party and family, including my mother. I can see she is exhausted, having been working nonstop since flying in a few days ago with Antiope, but she was quick to decline the invitation to turn in early, knowing we would have a busy day tomorrow. She wanted to bring in the New Year with me and Donna together for the first time in years.

Beside my mother stands Antiope, a glass of champagne in hand as she flings her head back and laughs at something Alfred says. It has only been a few months since she and my mother have begun dating, and my mother was hesitant to tell me she was dating a woman, but now that I see the two of them I know it was all worth it. Antiope makes my mother happy, and her happiness is all I ever wanted.

"Five. Four."

Clark and Lois stand by the door, stealing sweet kisses and whispering amongst themselves, knowing it'll be another day before they will sleep beside each other. Bruce and I had agreed to spend the night away from each other, wanting to get a bit of separation before the wedding, so Oliver had rented a house by the bay, wanting all the guys to have one last night together before the first marriage of the group.

So I had invited all the girls to stay at the manor, knowing if they stayed to celebrate the New Year like they insisted, they wouldn't want to travel back home only to get a mere few hours of sleep. It was only after they agreed had I felt better about inviting everyone over the night before our wedding, letting our rehearsal dinner extend late into the night, until we stood watching the television, smiles on our faces as we watched the countdown to the new year continue.

"Three. Two."

I sneak a glance toward the fireplace where Shayera and John stand, flirting without a care who sees. Wally and Oliver sit in front of the television, a beer in each of their hands, simultaneously watching the countdown and trying to convince Donna to visit Star City the next time she is in the states.

Charlie and her wife, who looks absolutely fabulous for having a baby two months ago, stands next to my mother, showing her photos of the baby, ignoring the countdown, which only makes Mother smile, her thoughts swirling. She's already asked me when Bruce and I will be having kids, but I fear the longer she looks at the baby photos, the more questions will be asked.

"One. Happy New Year!"

Everyone erupts into cheers and I smile as I watch everyone find a special someone to kiss to bring in the New Year, my eyes narrowing as I watch Wally kiss Donna, but I decide to shake it off knowing he has no ill intentions.

A pair of hands wrap around my waist and flip me around, making me squeal in surprise as I try not to spill the champagne in my hand. Bruce smiles and presses his forehead against mine, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of my nose, and takes a deep breath. "Happy New Year, Diana," he says.

The grip on my waist tightens as I lean into him and whisper, "Happy New Year," before I pull him in for a kiss. Our lips meet and I can hardly contain my smile as my free hand moves to rest on his shoulder. This is the man I will be celebrating all my New Years with, the man who will be by my side as I look forward to new beginnings and bright and wonderful changes.

No sooner have my lips found his is someone standing next to us, clearing their throat, forcing me to pull back from my fiance. "Save some of that for the wedding," Mother says with a smirk. Bruce reciprocates with a smirk of his own and I turn my head away, trying not to let my mother see the faint blush that has crept onto my cheeks. I know he is not thinking of the wedding, but rather of the night that is to follow, and I'd much rather not have my mother know my rather unwholesome thoughts.

"Now, it's time for the men to go," she says as she places a gentle hand on Bruce's shoulder. "The bride needs her rest."

Bruce feigns a sigh of disappointment. "What about Alfred?" he says, knowing nothing he says will stop my mother from shooing him out of the manor.

Mother only shakes her head. "Alfred can stay," she says, "but you must go."

Bruce nods and drops his hand from my waist, whispering, "Fine, kick me out of my own house," only loud enough for me to hear. When Mother turns and raises an eyebrow he only smiles widely, leans in to steal one final kiss, and rushes toward the door, where Clark is waiting with his coat.

"I'll see you at the altar," he calls over his shoulder as he steps out onto the snow covered stoop. "I love you."

"I love you too," is all I say, watching as Clark shuts the door with a small wave, before Mother plucks the champagne glass from my hand and forces me up the stairs and into my bed, wanting me to be well rested for later today.

January 1. Wayne Manor. 07:10

Diana

There is another knock on the bedroom door and I want nothing more than to shoo away the person on the other end, wishing for a few more moments of rest. Sleep did not come easily to me last night, or rather this morning, as both nerves mixed with excitement filled me, keeping me up well into the early morning. Today I am getting married. Today I become someone's wife, and although I know I should be thrilled, I can't help but wish I could sneak away and get another hour of sleep. Surely Bruce would understand. But the thought of standing in front of him, clothed in the beautiful gown Alfred worked so hard on, makes my heart skip a beat, and I roll over trying to steady my pulse for what seems like the hundredth time.

Another knock fills the room forcing a grumble from my lips as I turn once again to Bruce's empty spot on the bed, clutching at the empty sheets where my fiance usually sleeps. It still smells like him and I can't help but smile when I realize I will get to sleep next to him for the rest of our lives.

The bedroom door creaks open and my mother pops her head inside. "Diana," she calls, stepping into the room, "it's time to get up."

Letting out a groan I sit up and pull the covers from my body, rubbing the last bit of sleep from my eyes as my mother comes up to the bed and takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. She says nothing as she fiddles with the sheets on the bed, her mind racing as she realizes her eldest daughter is getting married today.

"Is everyone else awake?" I ask as I stand from the bed. I notice her nod her head slowly and I nod my own in response, walking over to my closet, where my robe is hanging. "Do we know when Donna's-" my words catch in my throat when I see my mother sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at me, tears falling from her eyes as she watches me drop the article of clothing and rush to her side.

"What's wrong?" I ask, taking a seat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

She only shakes her head and reaches up to place a hand on my face. "How have I been so busy, so caught up with work and duties that I missed you growing up." She cups my face and reaches over with her free hand, grasping my hand in hers and says, "How is my little sun and stars already getting married?"

I flash her a smile, close my eyes, and kiss the palm of her hand. "I may be getting married, but I will always be your sun and stars." My eyes open to see my mother smile and I know even though she cries, they are now tears of happiness. We may have had a troubled past, both unable to understand why the other would do the opposite of what we wanted, but things have changed. I have come to appreciate the sacrifices my mother has made for me and she has come to trust the decisions I have made for myself, including Bruce.

"Good," she says. "And because you're my child, if Bruce hurts you, I will kill him."

I let out a small chuckle as I stand from the bed, pulling her up to stand beside me, and nod. "You'll have to get in line," I say as I loop my arm through hers. "Donna and Antiope have already threatened him."

My mother lets out a laugh as she wipes the last remaining tears from her eyes, before she leads me into the bathroom. "Good," she says. "Now, go shower and meet everyone downstairs for breakfast. I will not have you passing out on your wedding day because you did not eat."

"Of course, Mother," I say with a chuckle, plucking a towel from the shelf beside the door, before the door shuts and I start the shower.

January 1. Downtown Gotham. 12:32.

Bruce

You can tell a lot about a man from his eyes. I used to think that wasn't true, that it was all just something made up, but as I stand in front of the full length mirror beside the open bedroom door, I now know it is true. Staring into the eyes of the man in the reflection, I don't see the hurt I used to carry all those years, the pain of having been the only surviving Wayne. I don't see the constant anger I harbored, nor do I see the hatred for the man who took away my parents. No, in the eyes of the man in the mirror I see hope. I see a man who is happy, who is excited to see what is in store. I see a man who is set to marry his best friend.

My eyes continue to stare at my reflection, a crooked smile on my face as I finish tightening the tie around my neck. In an hour and a half I will be marrying Diana, and I can't help but thank her gods, and every other god in the universe, for getting us here. I've been in love with her for as long as I can remember, but never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine we'd be here, on our wedding day, ready to make the commitment I have wanted for so long.

There is a knock on the door and my eyes glance up toward the open doorway. Clark stands there, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the door frame, his right eyebrow arched behind thick glasses. "Why?" is all he asks as he lifts the tie that is fastened around his neck.

I assume he is wondering why we chose the hue of purple that we both now wear, but I can't explain it in a way he will comprehend. Understandably, I was also a bit skeptical of wearing purple, as it wasn't something that was normally in my wardrobe, but when Diana was able to find the perfect grey tuxedos to compliment the color, I was more willing to wear it for a few hours.

I let my shoulders shrug as I finish flattening my collar, taking the knot of the tie and jiggling it around until it is perfectly placed in the center of my throat. "It's Diana's favorite color," I say.

I can see Clark's reflection in the mirror as he straightens himself and fixes his own tie. "Diana's favorite color is blue," he states, his eyebrows raising once more.

I turn away from the mirror and give my head a small shake, letting Clark know my original statement was true. "She tells everyone her favorite color is blue," I say, "but she loves purple." It is something I have known since high school, and although Clark and Diana used to date, it seems like it was something that never came up.

Clark walks into the room, stopping beside me as he places a hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Bruce," he begins, letting out a sigh as he drops his head. "I'm sorry." It is my turn to raise an eyebrow, confused, as he continues. "I knew you were in love with Diana in college, and when you denied it, I knew I should've seen past the lie, but instead I went after her. I betrayed you as a friend, and I never truly apologized for that."

It's true. I was hurt when Clark went after Diana in college, but it was my fault. If I would have just admitted I had feelings for Diana, if I would have admitted I was in love with her, Clark and I would have never had the fallout after graduation. I'm glad we're able to have that brotherly relationship back, as I missed him more than he knows.

"In college I was not the man she deserved," I admit, knowing twenty year old me was not the man that Diana needed nor deserved. She needed someone who was willing to be vulnerable, and although I loved her, I still was afraid to let my wall down with anyone, especially her. "Beside, it's all in the past," I say, nudging his shoulder as I reach for the tuxedo jacket that is hanging off the corner of the mirror. Oliver walks into the room as I pull the jacket on, buttoning it as I watch him turn to look at himself in the mirror, admiring his freshly groomed beard.

"You ready to get married?" Oliver asks, never once tearing his eyes away from his own reflection. I scoff and nod my head, knowing he can see my action in the glass, before he winks and nods. "Let's go!" He rushes out of the room and down the hall, forcing Clark to shake his head and chuckle.

"I guess it's time to go get you hitched," Clark says with a smirk, watching as I scowl at him.

"We're not in Kansas," I say unamused. Clark only chuckles once more and shrugs. The two of us make our way to the doorway and step out into the hallway. "By the way," I say, remembering the message that was left on my phone yesterday afternoon, "Gustavo says your order is ready."

January 1. Wayne Manor. 13:53.

Diana.

My heart continues to pound as I listen to the sounds of our guests filling the conservatory downstairs. The ceremony starts in a few minutes and the nerves are finally starting to catch up to me, the thoughts of Bruce standing at the front of the aisle making me as giddy as a school girl with a crush.

There is a small knock on the door before it opens slowly, allowing Alfred to step inside. He smiles at the woman standing by the door, either Lois or Antiope, I can't remember, who is making sure Bruce does not see me before the ceremony, before his eyes glance up to see me standing beside my mother and Donna. His eyes roam over the dress and his smile widens, happy to know the dress he created for me is part of this perfect day. "Ms. Diana," he says, reaching out to hold my hands, "you look absolutely beautiful."

I blush at Alfred's compliment, letting the older Englishman, who has become the only father figure I have had in my life, brush the veil from my face to kiss my cheek. "Thank you, Alfred," I say.

Alfred looks over to my mother, who is wiping away tears for the third time today, although I suspect it will not be the last, and continues to smile. "And Ms. Hippolyta, you look beautiful as well," he says, watching as my mother glances down at her dress before returning his compliment with a smile. She thanks him with a small nod and blots the tears from under her eyes with a handkerchief. "Now, I do believe it is time to get going. Master Wayne is nervously awaiting your entrance."

I nod, turning to the mirror once more to get one last look of my reflection in the dress, before I turn to my mother. "It's time," I say, reaching out for my mother's hand, smiling when she places her hand in mine and gives it a gentle squeeze.

13:59. Bruce.

The music begins to play and I take a deep breath. This is it. I am used to being in the spotlight, so I don't know why I suddenly feel so nervous, but it's a good feeling.

"You ready?" Clark whispers, nudging my shoulder with his.

I nod, watching as Alfred comes down the stairs to join me and the rest of the wedding party, who are all dressed and ready to go. "She looks beautiful, Master Wayne," Alfred says with a smirk, taunting me, knowing I am desperate to see my fiance. "It is time to begin."

He opens the door and steps into the conservatory and Clark and I follow close behind, making our way to the front of the room, where we turn to greet the guests with a smile. Martha Kent sits in the front row, flashing me a wide grin when I give her a small wave, grateful that she is here. Beside Alfred, she is the closest thing to a parent I have had since I was eight.

Beside Martha is an empty seat, where Hippolyta will sit once she walks Diana down the aisle. Antiope sneaks along the wall, quietly taking her seat beside Hippolyta's empty chair and gives me two thumbs up, letting me know everyone is ready to go.

The door to the conservatory opens once more and Oliver and Lois step into the room. Lois' arm is looped into Oliver's as the two begin their decent down the aisle, each smiling widely as they make their way to where Alfred, Clark, and I stand. At the end of the aisle the two separate, and go to their respective sides, waiting for the rest of the wedding party to come down.

The rest of the couples come down the aisle, Shayera with John, Wally with Charlie, each standing beside the other bridesmaids and groomsmen. Donna comes down by herself, as she is Diana's maid of honor, meaning Diana is right around the corner.

The music coming from the group of musicians in the corner fades out and a new tune begins to play. Everyone stands from their seats and turns to face the back of the room where Diana and her mother have appeared, arm in arm, ready to walk down the aisle.

My breath catches in the back of my throat when I lay eyes on my fiance for the first time. She is the epitome of beauty, both inside and outside, and I can't help but let my heart flutter when I see her in that dress. She wasn't lying when she said the dress was perfect, and as I take in the lace and the fabric that covers her curves amazingly, I can't help but give a goofy smile. As the two begin to walk down the aisle, Diana glances up and her eyes meet mine, and suddenly nothing else in the world matters.

Time seems to stand still as I watch her continue down the aisle. I never imagined getting married, I never imagined being this committed to someone, but with Diana, it was a welcomed change. I want to be better for her. I want to be everything for her. There are days when I still don't know what she sees in me, but I won't question my fortune.

Diana and Hippolyta make it to where we all stand. Her eyes are still locked on mine as Hippolyta places her daughter's hand in mine with a smile, before she steps back and takes a seat in her designated chair, pulling Antiope's hand in her own, lacing their fingers together.

Everyone sits and the music begins to fade out once more, and I take the time to whisper, "You look beautiful," to the woman in front of me.

Diana smiles and says, "You look handsome," before she turns and hands the bouquet in her hand to Donna.

Alfred clears his throat and everyone turns their attention to the Englishman. "Love is a beautiful thing," he begins. He closes the book in his hand, deciding to speak from the heart rather than read an unoriginal prompt. "I've known Master Bruce his whole life, as many of you have. He is an incredible young man, determined and intelligent, and so focused on not letting the tragedy of his parents define him in the way people expected. Likewise, I've known Ms. Diana a majority of her life, and she was a godsend to both Bruce and I during those dark days." He takes a breath, trying to compose himself, before he clears his throat once more. "Bruce and Diana have a love that is so pure, so precious, many of us spend our whole lifetimes trying to achieve it."

He hands me the piece of paper that my vows are written on and I quietly accept it with my right hand, refusing to let go of Diana's hand with my left. He quickly turns to Diana and hands her the piece of paper that her vows are on, before he says, "Diana and Bruce have decided to write their own vows. Diana, we'll start with you."

Diana nods and glances down at her paper, before she folds it and drops her hand, not needing to read the words off the page. "Bruce," she begins, squeezing my hand, "when we were kids, I knew you would be a big part of my life. When we were in high school I fell in love with you. You're my best friend, Bruce, my biggest supporter, and I promise to spend the rest of my life supporting you as you've supported me. I love you, more than anything, and I can't wait to start this journey with you."

Diana smiles and exchanges the paper with her vows for a handkerchief. "Bruce," Alfred says, prompting me to start my vows.

I nod, squeeze Diana's hand and caress her knuckles with my thumb, clearing my throat as I ball up my vows in my hand. "Diana," I begin, shoving the crumbled paper into my pocket, "who would have known the little girl who punched me on the playground would end up being my wife." Everyone begins to chuckle and I smirk at Diana, watching as she blushes and tries to shake her head at the memory. "Throughout my life, you've been the one constant, beside Alfred of course. You're my best friend. You've been there when I've been a stubborn, hard headed, mean, and downright terrible person. You helped me survive college, you helped me fight for my company, and you've been there every step of the way when I needed a kick in the rear."

"You've been the light at the end of the tunnel for so long, and now that we're here, out in the light together, I'll work my hardest trying to make you as happy as you've made me." I finish my vows and smile at the woman who will be my wife in a few short moments, lifting her hand to my lips, gently placing a kiss on the back of it, letting her know just how much I love and cherish her. She smiles back and my heart skips a beat. I don't know how after all these years that beautiful smile still manages to do that to me.

"Now," Alfred begins, turning to Clark, "may I have the rings." Clark nods and reaches into his tuxedo jacket, pulling a thin box from the pocket that lines the jacket. He hands the box over to Alfred. "Bruce, take this ring and place it on Diana's finger, and repeat after me," he says, as he opens the book in his hand once more. "Diana, take this ring as a symbol of my love."

He hands me the ring and I lift Diana's left hand, sliding the ring on her fourth finger as I repeat the words, "Diana, take this ring as a symbol of my love."

Alfred places the silver band that is to be placed on my finger in the middle of Diana's hand and nods, "Diana, repeat after me. Bruce, take this ring as a symbol of my love."

Diana repeats the words Alfred has given her and slides the ring on my finger, giving me a wink as she squeezes my hand gently. She mouths a quick 'I love you' before she turns back to face Alfred, a smug smile on my face because she knows exactly how my heart is starting to race with the thought that in a few seconds we will be married.

My hand still holds hers as I turn to Alfred, squeezing it in return as I flash her a smile, watching as Alfred glances down at the notes in his hand, taking a deep breath as he attempts to hide the happy tears that are threatening to fall from the corner of his eyes. "A marriage," he begins, taking another deep breath, "is a joining of two families. It is a celebration of two lives becoming one." He glances up at Hippolyta and flashes her a smile.

"It is my greatest pleasure to join these two as husband and wife." Alfred turns to me and his smile turns into a smirk. "Bruce, you may kiss your bride."

It is all the instruction I need. I sweep Diana in my arms and dip her, earning a gasp from her and the bridesmaids standing behind her, before she relaxes in my arms and lets out a chuckle. It is soon silenced when I press my lips to hers. She wraps her arms around my neck as the room begins to clap and cheer, but I am too focused on kissing my wife to pay any mind to everyone else. It isn't long before I pull away from Diana, flashing her a smirk, silently telling her there will be far more kissing later tonight.

She gently pats my cheek and offers me another smile as I pull her up to stand beside me. "It is my greatest pleasure to announce Mr. and Mrs. Bruce and Diana Wayne." Once again everyone claps and cheers, signaling our que to begin our exit.

Diana and I walk down the makeshift aisle, past our guests who continue to clap as we make our way out of the room. Our wedding party partners up and follows us out, but I don't bother to look at where they go, as I pull Diana away from everyone. "Bruce," she whispers as she turns her head to glance at the rest of the wedding party. "Where are we going?"

I don't answer her. I only pull her to the small hidden corner underneath the staircase and wrap my arms around her, letting my lips capture hers in a sweet kiss. "I just want a moment alone with my wife," I say, "before I have to share you for the next few hours."

Diana chuckles and kisses me once more. "Who would've thought," she begins, pulling a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Bruce Wayne is now a married man."

I nod and smile. "I can't believe you married me," I say. "I don't know what I did, but I love you more than you know." I kiss her once more and she lets out an appreciative moan, running her fingers through my hair.

"I know, Bruce," she says, "I know. And I love you too."

We continue to talk, stealing sweet kisses and tender caresses for the next twenty minutes, trying to stay hidden for as long as possible. I know it is our wedding, but I would love nothing more than to stay here all night with my wife. Unfortunately it isn't in the cards, as Alfred sneaks up to where we stand, startling the two of us.

"There you are," he says, forcing both Diana and I to freeze. "Mr. Queen is looking for you, Master Bruce," he says, raising an eyebrow and I chuckle.

"Of course he is," I whisper. "Tell him I will talk to him later, but he is welcome."

"Of course, Master Wayne," he says.

I can feel Diana staring at me. "Bruce," she says, "what did you do?"

I glance at my wife over my shoulder and shrug. "I may have called Dinah and invited her under the guise that Ollie wanted to rekindle their relationship."

"Bruce Wayne," Diana says in shock. "You did not-"

"He's in love with her Di," I explain. "And he's being an idiot and doesn't realize just how much she loves him. If someone were to have made me realize what an idiot I was being in college denying my feelings for you, we would never have missed out on all those years. I don't want that to happen to him."

Her face softens when she hears my explanation. She knows I would never purposefully meddle in my friend's business, but I can't let him make the same mistake I made all those years ago. And what a better place to realize you love someone than at a wedding.

"You cease to amaze me," she says with a wide smile, placing a kiss on the top of my jawline as she wraps her arms around me and places a head on my chest.

My arms wrap around her and I turn to Alfred, who is still watching us with a wide smile. "We'll be right out," I say, promising not to keep our guests waiting much longer.

Alfred nods and turns to walk to the ballroom, stopping only to say, "And the arrangements for tonight have been made." With that he walks away leaving me and my wife alone for a few more moments.

"What arrangements?" Diana asks once Alfred is gone. "We're not leaving for Switzerland until tomorrow," she reminds me.

I give her a small shrug, even though I know I'm seconds away from explaining-it's a habit "We're not staying here tonight," I say.

"And why is that?"

Once again I shrug my shoulders. "Do you really want to spend our wedding night in the room across the hall from your mother?"

She raises an eyebrow and shakes her head adamantly. "No, no," she says, "you're right, and smart." She gives me a sly smirk and kisses me softly. "But we do need to get back to our guests."

She pulls my hand and I let out a small groan, disappointed that my alone time with Diana has been cut short. "Okay, okay," I say, "but tonight you're all mine."

"Of course, Mr. Wayne," she responds. "Let's go."

"Yes, Mrs. Wayne," I say with a smirk, as I loop my arms in hers and walk toward the ballroom with my wife, unable to help the smile on my face when I realize I am one lucky man.

@fyeahwonderbat

Well I could end it here, or I could do one more chapter with "the morning after". Let me know :)

[wordywarriorwrites]

Chapter 14: Vortex

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn  A03 Story Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration with the prompt, “Why did you do it?” & @sherrybaby14 Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge with the prompt, “Show me. Prove that you can handle me.” Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities. *Re-blogs are welcome. Plagiarism isn’t. *

The McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas. Glaring Cirque du Soleil posters, cheesy merchandise, overpriced grub, and soul-sucking slot machines.

Steve didn’t really much care for all the bells, whistles, and neon lights, but since he hadn’t quite decided where he was headed to next, he parked his ass at a bar, and ordered a drink. And when it was gone? Well, it didn’t take long for the bartender to pour him another. And another. And another.

The Families’ forefathers had never had a problem executing traitors. Theirs was very much a world of talk-shit, get hit, and people who stepped out of line were either put in their place or sent to their grave. Many generations had come and gone, but things hadn’t changed that much; there were some things that could not be ignored or forgiven, and they still dispensed brutal, bloody justice.

Nick had truly believed he possessed more than enough power and authority to guarantee nobody on his team would ever go rogue. He’d had a solid, profitable game going, but he wasn’t complacent, and he sure as hell wasn’t stupid. Maria may have had other people do the dirty work for her, but Fury would’ve eventually seen past the subterfuge, and the end result would’ve been the same.

All Steve did was make it happen sooner, rather than later.

Somewhere after shot number five – that’s when it dawned on him. None of it mattered anymore. Fury wanted to retire anyway, so, he’d walk, take his fortune with him, and more than likely collect on an annual finder’s fee from the Families. Since they didn’t like to waste talent or opportunities, the business and rest of the crew would probably be absorbed, and given Natasha’s propensity for turning shit piles into gold, she’d probably be sent in to run things.

At the end of shot number six, he realized something even more groundbreaking – he was truly free. For the first time in his adult life, he didn’t have to answer to anyone, and could do what he wanted. He could stop running and hiding, vacate his seat with the Families, and finally get out for good.

“Drinking to victory or drowning your sorrows?”

Steve groaned and sat his tumbler down, “How did you find me?”

Natasha perched on the stool beside him, “You forgot to toss your phone after you called Thor.”

He sighed, retrieved his cell from his pocket, and took out the battery. Steve also removed the memory card and snapped it in half.

“What do you want?” he muttered.

“You need to come back with me,” she said quietly.  

“No, I don’t.”

“This isn’t a request, Steve -- it’s an order.”

“I don’t take orders from you. And I don’t take orders from him, either.”  

Natasha attempted to argue her case, but he didn’t listen. Instead, Steve hailed the bartender, and asked for his bill. He put enough cash down to cover the tab and a generous tip, but before he could get to his feet, she placed a hand on his forearm, and held tight.

“Let go of me,” he bit out warningly. “Or I’ll break your fucking hand.”

“Hey, that’s no way to talk to a lady.”

As soon as he heard Sam’s voice, Steve closed his eyes, and forced himself to count backward from ten. He should’ve known Natasha would bring backup for the ambush. Steve considered trying to make a run for it, but he couldn’t escape them without causing a scene, and the booze he’d dumped down his gullet had made him a tad unsteady on his feet.

For the next five hours, Steve remained miserably sandwiched between. When they landed in Brooklyn, Bruce was there to pick them up, but whatever happened after the show got on the road was a complete blank. He must’ve either fallen asleep or simply passed out, because when he came to, he was no longer in the car, and had no clue where he’d ended up.

The only thing Steve knew when he woke was that he was still a little drunk, a lot pissed off, and whoever put him to bed had taken the trouble to undress him and cover him with a sheet. A clock on the nightstand revealed it was almost ten in the morning, and though Steve wanted nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep, he was hungry, and reeked of booze. The combination made him queasy, which prompted him to hobble out of bed, and weave his way to the adjacent bathroom.

An overhead light kicked on automatically, and when he entered, he found his clothes, which had been washed, primly folded, and stacked in neat a pile on the left side of the sink’s oversized countertop. Lined up in a row on the opposite side were a fresh towel, a packet of Tylenol, a bottle of water, a new toothbrush, and a box of toothpaste. After he utilized the facilities and the hangover kit, Steve fired up the hot water, and stepped into the shower stall.

On a recessed shelf beneath the showerhead was a bottle of shampoo and an unused bar of soap. As soon as the fog lifted a bit, he set about getting cleaned up, and when the scents of Oribe Signature and Côte d'Azur filled the air, he knew precisely where he was.

He finished up quickly, and as he dried off and got dressed, Steve clocked it all. The Sauvage cologne tucked behind a box of tissues; a rolled-up wad of what had to be at least five-grand in the medicine cabinet; the fully-loaded nine-millimeter behind the toilet tank; a switch blade hidden in a basket of haircare product; an interconnected walk-in closet filled to the brim with posh labels, custom tailoring, and an alarming amount of shoes.

Heady, menacing, and rich as fucking Croesus – yeah, he was in the King’s castle all right, and His Majesty was using the trappings and authority of his position to fuck with his head.  

Instead of waiting to be summoned, he headed back toward the bedroom, and out into the hall. He made it all of three steps when he heard Bucky’s voice, and the low-timbered tone was hard-edged and steadily rising in volume. When Steve entered the living area, he found Natasha typing furiously on a laptop, and the reason for her strained expression was revealed when Bucky began bellowing at the top of his lungs.

“Don’t give me that shit!” he roared. “You do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it!”

Steve rolled his eyes and headed to the kitchen. Situated in the middle of the island was a bowl of apples, and after he snagged one, he took it to the sink to wash it. Bucky carried on with his tirade, never once paused for breath, and it wasn’t until Steve took a seat at the counter that Bucky even realized he’d entered the room.

Even though the man was still busy ranting, Steve knew he was the one who had his full attention. Bucky had always had a bit of a knife kink, and he’d been using a paring blade to cut away pieces of the fruit, and eating the slices directly off the steel. When there was nothing left but the core and seeds, Steve opened his mouth, and very carefully dragged the knife from bolster to spine slowly along his tongue.

“Stop it,” Bucky barked curtly.

Steve jutted his chin, “Or what?”

Any challenge issued could not be ignored, and he did what Steve predicted he’d do; he hung up on whoever he’d been shouting at, and stalked toward him. Bucky tried to intimidate him by crowding him, but he didn’t balk; he simply quirked an eyebrow and waited for him to make a move.

Crisp, white dress shirt strained against heavy muscle; haphazard tie; disheveled hair; eyes bright and a little too wild. It would’ve been easy to assume Bucky was either strung out or about to take a swing, but the lust-blown gaze, flushed cheeks, and damp brow suggested he had something else on his mind.

If they were alone, Bucky would have tried climbed him like a fucking tree, and he knew it.

Steve vividly recalled the last time they’d gone at each other’s throats, and while Bucky was looking for a repeat, Steve wasn’t. He was trying to get out, not drawn back in, and there was just too much history, bad blood, and unresolved hostility between them. Behind the passion was a lot of underlying rage and ugliness; it had been left to fester like an unattended wound, and sex – no matter how mind-blowing – wasn’t going to heal it.

“Boss,” Natasha called out from the living room. “We don’t have time for this.”

Much to his relief, the subtle reminder was all it took for Bucky to come to his senses, dial it down, and take a step back. He ordered Natasha to finish making transportation and flight arrangements before he spun on a heel and headed toward his bedroom. A few moments later, the door slammed, and the sound made Natasha flinch.

“Is this what you dragged me back here for?” Steve wondered.

She walked into the kitchen and plopped down on the stool beside him, “They’ve negotiated Fury’s golden parachute, but there’s a problem.”

He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest, “Go on.”

“Scott, Carol, and Rhodey are skittish and don’t want an outsider running things. And even though they were all cleared of any wrongdoing, the Families refuse to let them promote from within.”

Steve didn’t need to hear anymore, because he knew very well where the conversation was headed, and what the Families wanted him to do. In order to keep their profit shares and maintain control, they needed someone to not only settle the waters, but also steer the ship.

It didn’t matter what he wanted – they were going to pull him back in and never let him go...

Natasha sighed and got to her feet, “They’re are flying out to today, and they expect you to be there to attend the meet and sign the paperwork.”

She didn’t wait for him to acquiesce or argue; she just handed him a cellphone and told him his boarding pass and itinerary were on it. When he brought to the screen to life and checked the destination, he couldn’t help but snort, because he now knew where he was headed to next.

Steve was being forced to go back to where it all began…

He was going back to Bermuda.

Chapter 15: Imperfect Union

Everything: @jennmurawski13​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth​ The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @captain-rogers-beard

[amydancepants-peralta]

#28 from the Fictober prompts! I absolutely adore your fics! Xo

Here’s a little bit of fun for you, Anon!  😊

#28 -  “Enough!  I heard enough.”

Set in S7 😝.   (A thousand thank you’s to @b99peraltiago for helping me with this one!  You’re the best Adele 😃)

classified information

“Enough!  I’ve heard enough.”  Shaking his head in defeat, Jake slaps one hand across his brow, wedding band feeling cold against the bridge of his nose.  Taking in a deep breath, he tries to regulate his thoughts before letting his hand slide further down.

The knife-twisting-in-his-gut feeling that came from a betrayal like this didn’t seem to be subsiding.  If anything, as his hand slides down towards his neck and Jake looks over at his wife, the feeling was only getting worse.

She has the decency to look morose as she watches him react to her news, eyebrows knitting together to form that are you okay expression that has pulled so many confessions out of him in the past.  Her eyes and wide and sincere, and he knows - he knows - that she never intended to hurt him.  

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like this,” she whispers, eyes full of regret as she takes a tiny step closer.  Instinctively, Jake takes a responding step backwards.  “I wanted it to come from me.”  Her voice firmer, she shakes her head.  “It should have come from me.”

Jake shakes his head.  “Doesn’t change what happened.” He’s being petulant, he knows.  But he just can’t believe what he’s just heard.  He tells her as such, shaking his head as both hands land on either hip.  “I can’t believe you didn’t call me.”

Amy’s shoulders drop, her hands moving to fold in front of her chest as she watches him carefully.  “I couldn’t have, Jake.  You know that.”

Realistically, she’s right.  He knows that she’s right.  And what’s worse - he knows that she knows that he knows she’s right.  But the truth still cuts like a knife.  “Not even a text, Ames?” he mumbles, casting his eyes to the floor before looking back up.  “A sneaky photo or two?”

She sighs, her shoulders rising and falling with the action, and suddenly he’s desperate for the feeling of her arms around him.  “I’ve told you already, babe.  It was - ”

“Classified information.” They say it in unison, Jake’s tone noticeably less interested in the importance of such a concept.  

There had been less than an hour left in his shift when he first heard the whispers - that there had been a theft at a film set not far from the precinct.  He’d shrugged, less than interested - Brooklyn was often the go-to location for film shoots.  This was New York, after all. And after his less than favourable foray into TV sets, Jake had made it a personal rule not to get involved in the trappings of Hollywood. 

Then the rumours began to grow.  It’s a High Profile set.  A big star is involved, they said.  So big, that only the Sarge is involved. 

And to be honest, when Jake heard Sarge, his mind went straight to Terry.  To him, Amy was just Ames - his wife; his moon and stars … the love of his life.  He rarely referred to her as Sarge. (Except, you know, occasionally.  For Sexy Reasons.  Because, when somebody as sexy as Amy Santiago stands in front of you in full uniform and tells you to start stripping, you comply.)  

And then he remembered that Terry was a Lieutenant now, and that the Sergeant they were referring to was most likely Amy, and Jake grew a little more curious about this supposed Big Star.  He’d even sent her a text, mentioning the whispers, and when she replied only a moment later with an It’s no big deal, babe - nothing exciting, he’d pushed it all out of his mind.

Turns out it was, in fact, a big deal.

A big deal, because the secret celebrity that Amy met with today, was none other than Bruce Willis.

Bruce Willis.  

AKA, John McClane.

Jake’s wife, Amy Santiago, had met Bruce Willis today.  And she hadn’t even called him.

Or texted.  

Or snuck in a sneaky selfie, immediately-erasable-via-Snapchat-stylez.  

She had touched the brightest star in the cosmos, and hadn’t even brought him back a sparkle.  

There were so many things wrong with this situation, Jake genuinely didn’t know where to begin.

In the end, it was Gina who spilled the beans.  Which was impressive really, considering she didn’t even work at the Nine-Nine anymore (and there would be some who debate if she ever really did).  Sending Jake a text about how ‘ya wife had just upped her cool points by spending the afternoon with Bruce Willis’, and ‘also do you think Arnie could ask Bruce if he would attend my next book launch party?’ - a text that Jake had stared at for a solid five minutes, distracted only when Amy swung open the front door of their apartment, finally home after what had obviously been a huge day.  

Her smile had been bright, and on any other day Jake would have pulled her in for a kiss, but the idea of Amy meeting his childhood hero and not telling him was still hanging over Jake’s head, and he found himself rooted to the spot.  

It had taken her mere seconds to confess, in a way that in hindsight made Jake realise that she had, in fact, wanted to tell him all day - but hearing the details was turning out to be worse than not knowing at all.

Because not only had Amy met Bruce Willis, she got to walk around a film set ALL DAY with him.  Met his co-stars - interviewing various actors for information regarding the case; having lunch with him when the clues took longer to catalog than she had anticipated.  Shared his salad, in fact, when she realised that she was allergic to all the options available at craft services.

All of this, while Jake was sitting at his stupid dumb desk, writing up boring paperwork for his mundane grand theft auto case.  

Sometimes, life just wasn’t fair.  And so he raised his hands in surrender, calling out Enough!, and for now their apartment was quiet.

He feels his head drop, and in a second Amy’s gentle hands are on his arms, and it’s like a drop of water in the middle of a desert.  Jake’s arms are around her waist in a millisecond, pulling Amy closer, sighing as the comfort of the touch of his favourite person.  They stay like that for a few minutes, both of them too comfortable to move, until Jake pulls away with a mumble about taking a shower.  

She offers her company, and he shakes his head no - unable to push away the morose feeling that was hanging over his head, a heavy storm cloud threatening to break at any second.  It must be obvious to her, how he’s feeling (and in a way, it probably always is), and he watches her face turn from contemplative to confused, arms returning to their crossed position in front of her chest.  “Are you … angry at me about this?”

Jake shrugs, noncommittal in his response.

Amy’s eyes narrow into an all-too-familiar look.  “Jake, I was assigned this case because of my discretion.  Of course I thought of you when I realised who I was interviewing today.  But I had to be careful, babe.  If we’d compromised such a publicised case like this … it would have been disastrous.”  Her forehead creases as she looks down at the floor.  “What’s more, it would have reflected poorly on me.”

Jake feels his heart drop down to his feet as the realisation that his reaction to Amy’s day has only made her doubt herself.  He knows that in the larger scale of things, he was probably overreacting to it all.  Perhaps it was the fact that his birthday was around the corner, and he was getting closer and closer to facing that number 40.  Or that whenever he’d brought up the topic of the upcoming celebration for said birthday, his friends and colleagues seemed less than enthusiastic about doing anything with him.  Whatever the reason, he just couldn’t shake the feelings swimming around his mind.  Clearing his throat, he looks up at Amy, waiting until her head has lifted before speaking.  “I’m not angry at you, Ames.  I’m not.  I just … it just kills me that I wasn’t there.  And that I found out from Gina.”

Amy’s mouth twists slightly.  “I get that.  I was trying to get home to tell you as quickly as I could.”  She hesitates.  “Honestly, if anything I would’ve expected it to come from Boyle.”

“BOYLE?”  Jake replies, eyes widening.  “Charles was there?”

Her teeth sink into her lower lip.  “Kind of, yeah.”

Will this horrible day EVER end?  He shakes his head, despondent, repeating his need to take a shower.  Perhaps, if he tried hard enough, he could wash this whole thing away.

*

An hour has passed when Amy runs her hand along the back of Jake’s shoulders, the familiar scent of her favourite perfume wafting over him as she moves from the back of the couch to stand in front of him.  He looks up, trying his best to plaster on an I’m fine face, a mask he knows she can see straight through, already feeling ridiculous for such petulant behaviour earlier.  

She smiles, reaching her hand out for his.  “You and I need to get out of this house, babe.”

His hand grabs hers, as automatic an action as breathing by now, and shakes his head.  “I’m not sure I’d be the best company tonight, Ames.”

Her fingers squeeze, tugging slightly until he’s being pulled from the couch.  “You’re the only company I could ever want, Peralta.  Now come on, let’s just grab dinner somewhere.  I’ve got the perfect place in mind.”

Jake’s nose is buried in a game on his phone for the majority of the drive to their destination, and when Amy pulls their car into the parking space he looks around in confusion, eyebrows knitting when he doesn’t recognise any of the storefronts his eyes catch.  “Ames?” he asks, turning towards his wife, cocking his head to the side when she winks in response.

“So maybe I’m not thinking dinner after all,” she giggles, pointing towards the sign just slightly outside Jake’s peripheral.  An oversized panel, with flickering fluorescent letters spelling out Johnny’s Laser Tag lights up the otherwise dark carpark.  “I think that maybe you need to blow off some steam.”

He smiles, the first genuine smile in what feels like the entire evening, nodding enthusiastically when she mentions that she’d also ordered a pizza to be delivered to the same address.  She really is his Dream Girl.  And it was ridiculous of him to have reacted the way that he did.  

The apology is still forming in his head as he follows her into the building, not noticing the lack of literally anybody else until they’re well past the front lobby, Amy’s hand tugging him towards the central game zone with an eagerness he hasn’t seen all night.  He’s trying to slow her down, pull her back towards him for a second, when suddenly there’s a bright flash of light, and an overwhelming shout of SURPRISE!

He’s blinking in confusion and Amy is grinning and he can hear the unmistakable squeal of an overexcited Charles somewhere in the background, and when all of the elements finally merge together in his mind, Jake realises that just about every person he has ever met is standing in front of him, smiling from ear to ear.  There are happy birthday banners and balloons and streamers and music playing in the background, and he’s so happy that he could just about burst.  Without hesitation, he pulls Amy in for a kiss, so full of joy and love and gratitude for her that words have completely failed him.  

It’s another hour before he notices Amy checking her phone almost obsessively, brushing off his questions with her multiple methods of (admittedly successful) distraction.  He’s one more glance away from pulling her into a quiet corner so that he can finally figure out what is on her mind when she checks her watch and grins, pulling him to the centre of the room and using her best Librarian Shush to pull the room into silence.  

She announces to the crowd that while they had all been incredibly successful in surprising Jake that evening, there was still one more tiny surprise up her sleeve.  Boyle, doing a terrible job of keeping his cool, saunters through the crowd until he reaches the front door, swinging it open with such a flourish Jake wonders if perhaps his friend’s true career path is on stage in Broadway.  

The thought is fleeting, however, because immediately after that, his heart stops - jaw dropping in shock.

In the doorway, smiling and holding out a celebratory bottle of wine, is none other than Bruce Willis.  

Bruce Willis, his favourite actor ever and the man behind the character that convinced Jake to join the NYPD, was at his birthday party.  

In the days to come, stories would be retold of Jake’s party at the local laser tag.  They would mention how drunk Gina got before challenging Boyle to a dance off (which ended, predictably, in disaster); how handsy Amy got after a few drinks and kept pulling her husband into the darker corners; and how Terry had challenged Rosa to a row of shots before failing terribly three hits of tequila in.  

But Jake’s favourite memory, and the one he will treasure forever, is of him and Bruce (because they’re friends now, and friends call each other by their first names, just like he and Bruce do), strapping on laser gun holsters, McClane Stylez, and dominating the Laser Tag zone like they were saving Nakatomi Plaza all over again.  When he retells the story, Amy will roll her eyes, telling whatever audience that the two of them took things way too seriously, and that by the end everyone had just given up and let Jake play out his Die Hard dreams.  

Afterwards, the actor had told Jake about how incredibly good Amy was at her job (information that was not new to Jake at all), and that when she had solved the on-set theft so quickly and discreetly, dropping by to meet her husband (or his number one fan as Amy had put it), seemed like the least he could do.  Even admitted that maybe the stories he had heard from Reginald VelJohnson had stemmed from a misunderstanding, promising to set the story straight next time the two met.  

Later that evening, when everyone had returned to their homes and Amy’s Holly Gennero costume had made a welcome resurrection, Jake would hold his wife close to him, whispering apologies for his earlier reactions.  She understood him, in a way that nobody ever really had, and having her beside him was truly the best part of any day, hands down.  And the fact that she had managed to pull off the greatest surprise ever, only made him love her all the more.

Plans to get in contact with Will Shortz before Amy’s birthday in September run through Jake’s mind as he closes his eyes, the soft sound of Amy’s gentle snores lulling him to sleep.  If he got to meet his hero, it seemed only fair that Amy would get to meet hers.  

(With any luck, this puzzle master would be a little less gorgeous.)

[chibinightowl]

Bakery AU, Part IV

This is also on my Ao3 now as Sweet Treats, but that’s still a chapter behind. 

Part I, Part II, Part III

~*~*~

Jason doesn’t call on Saturday. Tim isn’t surprised, not with the news headline he saw the night before about Scarecrow on the loose. He does what any normal Gothamite does and goes about his business. Most of the time, the spooks only come out to play at night, so it doesn’t bother him any. Tim can’t help but wonder if the Bats had a chance to celebrate Damian’s birthday in the midst of all the chaos; he feels kind of bad for the kid.

He doesn’t hear from Jason on Sunday either. When he gets home, Tim collapses on his sofa and checks his phone again for any updates. There hasn’t been any news about collateral damage or deaths, so he can only assume everyone is okay.

Is this what it’s like for all those who care about one of Gotham’s heroes? Not just in a general sense but a literal one? He knows who they are under those masks and now he has a personal connection to them. The danger they all face on a nightly basis hits home. If something were to happen to Jason, the only way Tim will find out is via the news. He’s not anybody to the Waynes.

He’s barely somebody to Jason.

It’s a sobering thought, one that sticks with Tim through the night. By morning, he’s cranky from lack of sleep and attacks his coffee with gusto. There’s still nothing from Jason and Tim doesn’t want to risk sending him a text for fear of accidently waking him up from some well-deserved sleep. He goes about his normal Monday routine and does laundry, grocery shopping, and house cleaning. Not that there’s much to clean as he spends more time at the bakery than he does here, but whatever. He even changes his bedsheets, telling himself firmly it’s because they need to be washed and not because he’s expecting company in the near future.

Whenever that will be.

As Tim eats dinner, a news alert pops up on his phone to inform him that the Scarecrow is back in custody. A knot of tension he didn’t even realize was there relaxes. There’s no news about who was involved in his arrest, but he wants to believe that no one has been injured. It’s not like he can call and ask.

Worrying is exhausting so Tim decides to try and get some sleep. As he lays down, his phone chimes. Picking it up, a flood of relief washes through him.

It’s Jason.

Hey. I’m so sorry about not getting back to you sooner. It’s been a shitstorm of drama around here the last few days.

Tim appreciates a text from someone who uses full sentences. He appreciates even more the fact that Jason is letting him know in a backdoor kind of way that he’s okay.

It happens. Everything okay?

Yeah. Finally. Damian liked his cake.

Good, I’m glad.

There didn’t seem to be much more to say, so Tim set his phone down. He’s on the cusp of entering dreamland when it chimes softly again.

When can I see you again?

The message flashes on the screen but Tim is already asleep.

~*~*~

The next morning, Tim is up early and at the bakery to accept his weekly supply order. These are all his standard ingredients, but he’s got extra chocolate and cocoa powder in this one, plus peppermint extract as he’ll be starting his Christmas cupcakes this week. He’s also got a couple bottles of bourbon and rum to experiment with because he wants to try an eggnog cupcake this year.

Everything has been put away when there’s a loud knock on his front door. Tim glances at his watch. It’s way too early to be open. He pokes his head out of the kitchen to see who’s there.

It’s another deliveryman.

Tim crosses the room and unlocks the door. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’!” the man replies cheerily. “You Tim Drake?”

“Yes, unless I’m getting a bill for something,” he jokes.

The deliveryman laughs. “It doesn’t look like it,” he replies. “I just need a signature.”

Tim signs for the package and brings it inside, pausing long enough to lock the door again behind him.

What is this? He eyes the label carefully (this is Gotham after all and the Scarecrow had been loose this last weekend even though it’s usually the Joker’s MO to send random packages). The return address is somewhere in Bristol. Not exactly a zip code known for trouble.

Opening the box, Tim gapes. It’s a fruit basket of sorts. Specifically, a box full of some beautiful Bosc pears. The gears spin as he tries to figure out what to do with them. He did get that rum after all…

He almost misses the note that falls out. Picking it up, Tim starts laughing.

I know, I know. A fruit basket is lame, but Alfie said a chef like you would appreciate this more than flowers. Please, don’t be mad at me.

Tim takes the pears back to the kitchen and pulls out his phone. Only then does he see the message he missed last night. It all makes sense now. He sends a message to Jason.

I didn’t see your last message until just now. I’m rarely awake past nine since I’m at the bakery by five most mornings. The pears are gorgeous, thank you! You really didn’t have to.

It is too early to expect a response, but he figures Jason deserves to wake up to one after he apparently dropped the ball last night.

He doesn’t receive a reply until after Stephanie arrives a few hours later and has laughed herself silly over the box.

You never answered my question.

Tim bites his lip as he’s really not sure how to respond.

Steph flicks his ear. “You’re thinking too hard about this. It’s sex. You want it with him and he wants it with you. Just go for it.”

“Yeah, but…”

The door chime rings out as a customer enters the shop. “Dammit,” Stephanie swears since she’s on counter duty at the moment. “Hold that thought so I can knock it out of your head.”

While his friend takes care of the customers out front, Tim ponders what she’d said. It is just sex. He’s overanalyzing it. A fruit box means nothing, other than the fact Jason thinks he screwed up. And they’re really nice pears…

Stephanie wordlessly enters the kitchen and closes the door firmly behind her, her eyes a little wild.

“What?” Tim asks, setting down a pear.

“Tim, you’ve got some clients. Some rather VIP clients.”

He doesn’t miss the emphasis. “Who?”

She sucks in a deep breath. “I don’t know who the guy in the wheelchair is, but I know what Bruce Wayne looks like.”

Tim grips the edge of the steel prep table tightly. Bruce Wayne. Holy hell, Batman is in his shop. His inner fanboy doesn’t know whether to scream for joy or hide in terror. “Fuck.”

Steph nods, her eyes still wide. “The man in the wheelchair asked for you by name. He’s got a British accent and seems to be the one in charge.”

“And Mr. Wayne?”

“Gaping at the display case.”

Tim remembers Brucie Wayne from the few society parties he attended before his parents died. He always wondered why such man hid behind such a vapid persona, but it eventually occurred to him that it’s really the perfect disguise. Who in their right minds would associate the airheaded Bruce Wayne with the cunning detective Batman?

“Right.” Tim draws a deep breath, steeling himself. “Okay, I can do this.”

“Think it’s more business?” Stephanie asks while Tim takes the time to wash his hands. He’s not about to meet Batman with frosting stained fingers like he had Redwing.

“I can’t think of any reason why it wouldn’t be. Unless Jason has been talking about…you know.”

Steph snorts and tries to hide it behind her hand, which only makes her do it again. “Yeah, I doubt it. Not exactly a conversation someone has with their family. Hey, you know this amazing cake I got? I blew the baker!”

Tim doubles over at the sink laughing. “Shhh! They’ll hear you!”

No, he really doesn’t want Batman to know his son got in his pants. Or that he has plans to fuck him silly sometime soon. Shit, who is he kidding? This is Batman. He probably already knows. Tim can feel the heat on the back of his neck and can only hope it’s not on his face.

Steeling himself, he takes a deep breath and walks out front, Steph’s giggles trailing after him.

The man in the wheelchair with the massive cast on one foot is Alfred Pennyworth. Tim remembers meeting him few times as a child. He’d sneak him lemon tarts after his mother said no more sweets. Bruce isn’t in sight, but when Tim comes around the counter, he spots him kneeling in front of his display case, eyes wide and incredibly vapid, the Brucie act on in full force.

Good lord, the man deserves an Oscar.

“Hello,” Tim says politely. “I’m Tim. My assistant said you wanted to speak with me?”

“I do indeed,” Alfred replies and holds out his hand. “It’s been a number of years since we’ve last spoken, Mr. Drake, but I’m –”

“Alfred Pennyworth, master of the lemon tarts,” Tim grins as he shakes the old man’s hand. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

“I always remember wide eyed little boys who wax poetic over my food rather than filling their cheeks and running off.” There’s a twinkle in Alfred’s eyes. “When Master Jason informed me of who he’d hired to make Master Damian’s birthday cake, I knew we were in good hands.”

Tim is floored. The old man’s words give him the impression that he’s had more than just the spiced chai cake he’d made for them. “Thank you,” he manages to get out. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“It was really good!” Bruce chimes in as he stands up fully. He towers over Tim and reaches out to shake his hand too, albeit with more enthusiasm than is really necessary. Tim tries not to stare or crumble to the floor because he’s shaking hands with Batman. His inner fanboy is screaming right now, deciding on equal parts terror and joy. “But that’s not why we’re here. Tell him, Alfie.”

Alfred’s expression sours slightly. “As you can see, Mr. Drake, I am laid up at the moment and my charges are insisting I take it easy for the duration of the holidays. While I am able to delegate much of my work in the kitchen to Master Jason and ensure everyone is fed properly, he is no pastry chef. It is that skillset I have need of.”

Tim narrows his eyes slightly. He’s not sure where this is going. “Are you looking to hire me for something, Mr. Pennyworth?”

“I am. In about two and half weeks, Master Bruce hosts the Wayne Foundation’s annual Winter Charity Gala at Wayne Manor. Normally, I, along with some assistance from Master Jason, prepare all the holiday treats for the children who come up from various shelters in the city. Due to my accident, I am unable to perform my duties.” Alfred’s gimlet eye is watching Tim intently. “After the success of Master Damian’s cake, I decided I would very much like to hire you for this event. I know it is short notice…”

Tim doesn’t hear much of what is said after that, such is his shock over what is being asked of him. He wants to say yes so badly, but he’s got his responsibilities here and orders are piling up for the holidays and...

“Mr. Drake?”

“Sorry, got lost in my head there for a second.” Tim shakes himself out of it. “Just trying to figure out the logistics of it. This is my busiest time of year and after next week, I won’t take a day off until after the New Year.”

“You’ll be well paid, if that’s a concern,” Bruce states. “What’s your price?”

Tim forces the brief scowl he let slip off his face and tries to go for something more neutral. “It’s not about the money, Mr. Wayne. It’s about the time. How large is this event?”

“About 250 children are brought to Wayne Manor,” Alfred replies. “Along with a parent or chaperone. Guests are made up of donors. A typical event is about 600 to 700 people.”

It’s hard not to gape. “And you do this every year on your own?”

“Many of the treats I serve freeze well, so I can make them in batches over the course of a few weeks. The rest is catered.”

Tim asks a few more questions, trying to gain a better understanding of what exactly he would be doing. Most caterers have months to prepare for something like this and here he is expected to pull several rabbits out of his hat in the space of a few weeks.

In the end, he knows he only has one answer to this business proposition. “Yes,” he tells Alfred. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent, Mr. Drake. I look forward to working with you.” Alfred beams as he shakes Tim’s hand, sealing the deal.

“And I look forward to more cupcakes!” Bruce replies all too brightly. “I think I’d like a half dozen now. I picked one out for each of us!” He turns his attention back to the display case and starts pointing at different ones and rattling off the reasons why he thinks each cupcake is perfect for each of his children, plus himself and Alfred.

When they leave, Tim is utterly exhausted and a little taken aback by just how thorough the Brucie Wayne act is. It’s been well over a decade since he’s seen it and never once was it ever directly focused on him. He retreats to the kitchen and stomps into his tiny office where he collapses in his chair. Blindly, he reaches out and grabs his stress ball.

“Well?” Stephanie asks, trailing after him. “What did they want?”

“We’re catering the annual Wayne Foundation Winter Charity Gala at Wayne Manor in three weeks. About 700 people.”

“Son of a bitch. Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Well, crapnuggets.” Tim knows without even opening his eyes that his friend and assistant is stewing over things, just like he did. “We’re going to have to close the shop that week just to get everything prepped in time. Maybe I can take out the truck in the evening…”

“We’ll have full use of the industrial kitchen at Wayne Manor starting two days before. I have to send an ingredient list to Mr. Pennyworth by the end of the week to ensure everything we need is there.”

“Will Jason be there too?” There’s a teasing lilt to Steph’s voice that has Tim finally cracking open an eye.

“I have no idea. I don’t see why he would be. We’re just hired help.”

Steph laugh tells him exactly what she thinks about that. “Perhaps to the rest of them, but those industrial kitchens have walk-in coolers, right? I can just see Jason wandering in and dragging you into one for a private chat.”

Tim throws his stress ball at her.

~*~*~

Stephanie leaves to get an early lunch for them and Tim promptly closes the shop. He has too much to think about and interruptions from an occasional customer won’t help.

He starts going through his calendar and relaxes a little. There are not as many special cake orders as he originally thought. They’re almost all Yule logs too and are slated for pick up on Christmas Eve. Everything else is cupcakes, including one massive order of a hundred that’s for a large holiday party the week after the charity event.

Still, in the weeks leading up to Christmas, he knows he’ll be bombarded with random orders for a dozen or more of his holiday cupcakes, particularly if he introduces the eggnog one, which he started the test batter for already. If anything, having some booze around the bakery will help calm his nerves.

Or leave him drunk, which is a bad idea, lightweight that he is.

He picks up his notepad and starts sketching out designs and possible holiday-themed flavor profiles, ones geared for both kids and adults. The easiest thing to do is modify existing recipes, but he wants to make the decorations extra special to show off his skills. This may be a last minute change of plans for the Waynes, but if he manages to impress them (especially Alfred), he could get other jobs from them later on.

Perhaps a spun sugar cage over the top of the eggnog cupcake would look nice. The dark gold of the caramelized sugar would contrast nicely against the nutmeg and cinnamon flecked whipped cream frosting…

His phone rings. Idly, Tim swipes at the screen to answer it, not even looking to see who it is. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Jason’s deep voice greets him. “I thought it might be easier to call instead of wait for you to check your phone again.”

“Sorry. It’s been one of those mornings where I’m being constantly interrupted,” Tim replies somewhat sourly. “Do you know what your dad just did?”

Jason groans, frustration evident even through the phone. “That does not sound good.”

“I should say it was him and Mr. Pennyworth. They were here in the shop a little bit ago.”

“Oh, shit. Alfie did it, didn’t he? He sorta mentioned offhand about making you a job offer, but I didn’t think he’d go through with it.”

Tim leans back in his office chair. “Yep, he did. I’m now the official pastry chef for the upcoming charity gala at your house.”

“Son of a bitch.” Jason swears some more and then asks a very important question. “Am I being relegated to business again?”

A sharp laugh escapes Tim before he can stop it. “Maybe? I’m going to be very busy these next few weeks.”

Jason chuckles, an absolutely wonderful sound even over the phone. “All jokes aside, are you going to have enough time for everything?”

“I’m figuring that out right now. Making lists and deadlines for myself.”

“Can I help at all?” There’s a hopeful lilt to Jason’s voice.

“What?” Tim asks, blinking wildly.

“Help. I’m not exactly clueless in the kitchen. I help Alfie all the time. I may not be a trained chef like you, but I can follow a recipe and listen to instructions.”

It’s tempting. Very tempting. Even if he can just direct Jason on how to make some of his basic batters and get things in the oven, it would free up Steph to work on normal orders and give him the time to get fancy. “How fast can you get a food handler’s card?”

“I already have one. Still current too.”

“You’re hired. I pay dick compared to what you’re probably used to though.”

“You pay in dick? I accept.”

“Jason!”

[i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend]

Missed Connections ~ Steve Rogers x Reader College!AU (Part 3/7)

A/N: Hi my lovelies! Okay, first off thank you so much for all of the love especially on the last chapter of Missed Connections. I haven’t gotten a chance to respond to you yet, but I have read all the comments and I’m soo soo grateful. Also, I’m pretty sure I got everyone who asked to be tagged but if I missed you I’m super sorry. Just shoot me an ask or a message or comment that you want to be tagged and I’ll add you. I am still working on Primary Colors. The chapter is being a bit stubborn and this story just started writing itself so I figured i”d share. I really love this part so I hope you enjoy it as well. 

Summary: Second semester is a bit disappointing to start off with. But maybe things will start looking up. (This is a crap summary. I apologize.) 

Characters/Pairings; Eventual Steve x Reader, Bruce, Betty, Thor, Sam, Scott, Clint, Tony, Pepper, Nat, Wanda :D 

Rating: T (language? maybe)

Warnings: A little bit of self doubt on the reader’s part 

Word Count: 2303 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 

“So we’ve officially covered everything that’s fair game on the exam,” Bruce said triumphantly.

You and Betty cheered.

“I vote, we take a thirty minute break. Let our brains revive themselves. And then do another round of review before we call it a night,” Betty suggested.

“I think that’s a fabulous idea,” you agreed.

“Sounds good to me.”

Bruce shut his textbook and pulled off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes.

“I’m going to grab some more food. Do you guys want anything?” Betty offered.

“I’m good.”

“No thanks.”

“Alright. Back in a few.”

Once she was out of earshot, you slid over next to Bruce.

“You guys seem to be hitting it off.”

“What are you talking about? We’ve just been studying?”

“The lingering glances. Her laughing at your lame science jokes.”

He held his hand to his heart as though he were wounded. “I thought you loved my lame science jokes.”

You laughed and nudged his shoulder.

“Love, sure. Actually find funny?” you grimaced and he rolled his eyes. “But seriously you should ask her to hang out after the exam..”

“And you should take your own advice.”

“I would if I ever saw him this semester. There’s been literally zero sign of him. I’ve seen his friends plenty of times, but… maybe he went abroad last minute.”

Bruce shook his head.

“No, he didn’t. He’s in my orgo 2 lecture.”

Surprisingly that didn’t buoy your spirits all that much. You were nervous he was avoiding you.

“Come on,” you urged. “At least one of us should get our love connection this semester.”

Before you could go too far down that rabbit hole Betty returned with a plate of chicken fingers and you could no longer ignore your hunger.

“Okay, I take it back. I want food. I’ll be back.”

You climbed out of the booth and grabbed your ID and phone before hurrying into line.

You wanted to give Betty and Bruce as much alone time as possible so you started looking for someone you could sit with for the time being. That was when you spotted Thor and Sam in a booth just inside the doors.

“Hey fellas, mind if I sit with you for a bit?”

“Y/n!” Thor boomed. In your few encounters you had figured out he was typically happy to see everyone. “Of course.”

He slid over so you could sit. You smiled at Sam and their other friend.

“Hi, I’m y/n.” You smiled.

“Scott. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

You arched an eyebrow at the word “finally” and Sam elbowed him in the ribs.

“I said finally. I meant it’s just nice to meet you. You seem like a really cool person. From your appearance.”

“Real smooth,” Sam snarked, rolling his eyes.

“So how’s the semester treating you guys?” You asked as you tried to hide your smile because obviously the guys talked about you.

Scott and Sam shrugged, but Thor groaned.

“It’s already kicking my ass. What about you?”

“Drowning. I had a chem exam Monday and I have a bio exam tomorrow. But hey, that’s what I signed up for.”

You leaned around the back of the booth so you could watch your friends. Betty was giggling at something Bruce had said and he was attempting to look cool.

“Trying to avoid someone?” Sam asked as he tried to see who you were looking at.

“No. My friend Bruce has a crush on this girl in our bio class who just so happens to be my lab partner. So I invited her to study with us and now we’re taking a break so I’m trying to stay scarce for as long as possible.”

“And here I thought you were just wanted to spend some time with us,” Thor teased.

“I mean that’s just a bonus,” you informed him as you smiled sweetly.

“I was hoping you’d say that. I’m having a party at my apartment tomorrow night. Do you want to come?”

The prospect was a bit daunting and you hesitated.

“You can bring your friends of course,” he said quickly. “The more the merrier.”

“Okay. Maybe. I’ll talk to my friends.”

He grinned broadly.

“Alright. Here, why don’t you give me your number and I’ll text you the details.”

You opened up a new text message and handed over your phone to Thor so he could text himself while you chatted with Scott and Sam. Conversation was easy, and you quickly lost track of time. You would have stayed talking to them until Late Night closed, but Bruce texted you rapid fire to get your attention.

“I’ve got to go. I’ll see you guys later.”

“See ya.”

“Good luck on your exam.”

“Come out tomorrow night and celebrate,” Sam suggested with a wink.  

“I’ll try and swing by,” you promised. “Good night.”

You quickly rejoined your friends and returned to studying. Bruce and Betty called it around midnight but you continued studying until Late Night closed at two.

As you eyed the mountain of stuff you had to get back to your room, you silently cursed yourself from not bringing your backpack down earlier. You had made so many small runs up to your room for studying materials that you couldn’t really carry it all.

“Need a hand?”

Your eyes widened in surprise when you looked up and found Steve standing there with a hesitant expression. You were going to refuse but then your laptop slipped off the top of the stack and he snatched it before it could smash on the ground.

“That’d be great. Thanks,” you conceded, handing over your textbook.

Tucking the multitude of colored pens into the front pocket of your hoodie, you shoved the loose papers into the front of your notebook and hugged the stack of them to your chest.

“All set?”

You nodded and fell in step beside him.

“Bio exam tomorrow?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“Do you have Fury?” he asked as you walked towards the elevators.

“Yeah. He’s super intimidating. I think it’s the eye patch.”

“It’s definitely the eye patch,” he agreed with a snort. “And the leather duster. Are Phil and Maria still TAing?”

You nodded as you stepped inside the elevator. “I have Phil for discussion. He’s the best.”

“Absolutely,” Steve agreed leaning against the opposite wall. “You should try to go to his office hours all the time if you can. He has the coolest gadgets.”

“I already do. I’m convinced he’s really a spy,” you confided with a giggle.

“I completely agree. One time he actually kicked open the door and tactical rolled into office hours.”

“No he didn’t,” you gasped.

“Cross my heart,” he grinned.  

“Oh my god. That is too funny.”

The elevator doors slid open on your floor and you sighed. You wished you had more time. He walked you all the way to your door, waiting patiently while you fished out your keys. You silently pushed open your door and dumped your notebooks on your desk before turning back to Steve and taking your textbook and laptop back from him.

“Thanks for your help,” you smiled and bit your lip.

He grinned and scratched behind his ear.

“Any time. Good luck on your exam.”

“Thanks.”

You both hesitated, before he mumbled, “Good night.”

“Good night.”

You slipped into your room and locked the door leaning up against it for a moment, before swearing under your breath.

“Shit. I still didn’t introduce myself.”  

“So what did you guys think?” you asked as the three of you walked out of the exam.

“I feel really good. I didn’t leave any blank so that’s a plus,” Betty reported as she tucked her pen into the front pocket of her backpack.

You looked to Bruce for his answer.

“About the same. There wasn’t anything off the wall.”

“Agreed. I’m just glad that and chem are over and I can actually enjoy the weekend.”

Betty nodded excitedly.

“Any fun plans?”

“I actually got invited to a party tonight. Do you guys wanna come?”

Bruce shuffled his feet slightly.

“We’re actually going to First Friday at the Science Museum.”

“They’re having a robot dance off before they open the floor for a massive party,” Betty elaborated.

You couldn’t help but grin at them. You did manage to refrain from squealing.

“It sounds like a blast. I hope you guys have fun.”

“I think we will,” Betty smiled before glancing at her watch. “Oh crap. I’m going to be late for work. I’ll see you guys later.”

“I’ll pick you up at 6:30,” Bruce told her.

“Looking forward to it.”

You waved until she was out the doors and then you gave in, squealing and flailing at Bruce.

“Yay! I’m so excited for you.”

“I’m so nervous. What if I screw it up?”

“You’re not going to screw it up. It’s going to be great. I’m so proud.”

He rolled his eyes and tugged on the straps of his backpack. “Come on, we have to meet the others for lunch.”  

You practically skipped towards the dining hall tugging Bruce behind. He was outright laughing at your enthusiasm by the time you sat down with the others.  

“I really wasn’t expecting this amount of giddiness just because I’m going to the Science Museum.”

“With the girl you’ve been crushing on,” you pointed out with a smirk.  

“That’s neither here nor there,” he spoke noncommittally. “Besides. I asked my crush out. That means it’s your turn. You have to talk to him.”

“Well she already has. Late last night,” Pepper smirked as she sipped her coffee.

“What does that mean?” Tony asked, looking up from his notebook where he was scribbling down his latest idea.

You thought you had been quiet enough to avoid waking Pepper, but her knowing look told you that you were wrong.

“Well, y/n, was walked back to our room by a certain someone we all technically don’t know.”

“And you didn’t text us immediately?”

“I’ve been busy. I needed sleep. I had an exam,” you drew out the last word pointedly.  

“And now you’re done so you can spill,” Wanda concluded with a grin.  

Knowing they weren’t going to let it go and honestly still being giddy about it, you rapidly recounted the journey from the dining hall to your room. It wasn’t terribly exciting in retrospect but you still beamed at the memory. After the gushing wrapped up Clint shook his head at you.

“I can’t believe you didn’t give him your number.”

“Technically she didn’t even give him her name,” Nat smirked at you and you stuck your tongue out in reply.

“He didn’t give me his either!” you argued.

“That doesn’t make anything better.”

“At least we had a full conversation. That’s progress.”

“True. But I think it’s time to kick it up a notch. And Thor’s party is the perfect opportunity.”

“Sit still or I’m going to poke your eye out,” Nat warned as you fidgeted for the thousandth time as she put the finishing touches on your make up.

Despite your rapidly mounting nerves, the afternoon had been fun. All four of you were going out that night, so you spent the time getting ready together. Wanda had left for her anniversary dinner with Viz an hour earlier. And Tony had come to pick up Pepper for Rhodey’s award ceremony shortly thereafter leaving you with Nat.

“Are you sure you’re not going overboard? This feels like a lot of makeup. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t question my makeup skills because I love you.” She smirked as she took a step back to admire her work. “Perfect.”

She held up the mirror so you could look at your reflection and you were pleasantly surprised. What had felt like a lot of makeup was really just touches here and there to enhance your features.

“You’re a knockout. Now it’s time for the finishing touch.”

She walked over to your closet and pulled out the black knee high boots you had bought on a whim during fall semester.

“I’m not wearing the boots, Nat.”

“Yes, you are. They make the outfit. Besides, you sass walk when you were them.”

“What does that even mean?” you snorted.

“It means you sway your hips, and make your ponytail swing. It’s hot. People notice when you do it.”

“Really?” you asked and your voice was way more hopeful than you wanted it to be.

“You’re not nearly as invisible as you think you are, sweetheart,” she said softly stroking your cheek. “Now, put on the damn boots.”

You chuckled and took the boots and zipped them up over your skinny jeans. You glanced at your reflection in the full length mirror on the back of your door.

Nat looked over your shoulder.

“You look like you want to puke.”

She wasn’t wrong; your stomach was queasy.

“I’m so nervous,” you admitted moving to sit on your bed.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just a party.”

“It’s my first college party,” you reminded her. “And I’m going by myself.”

“Only for a little while. Clint and I will be there as soon as the meeting is over.”

“Are you sure I don’t need to be there?” you asked for the sixth.

“I’m positive. E-board only. We’re just finalizing numbers. The real work will start next week. Come on. Clint and I will get you on the shuttle.”

“I can do this,” you mumbled as you pulled on your peacoat and double checked your purse.

“Yes, you can.”

True to her word Nat and Clint, waited for the shuttle with you, making sure you got on. They also made you promise to text them when you got there and you resisted the urge to call them mom and dad.

A/N: So there you go. I’m super excited for what’s coming up. I have the ending planned out but there’s lots more fun and shenanigans to come. I hope you enjoyed this. Thanks so much for reading. Feedback is lovely! Mwah! 

[thisdaynews]

A champion and a statesman - 20 years on, the tragic loss of Payne Stewart

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/a-champion-and-a-statesman-20-years-on-the-tragic-loss-of-payne-stewart/

A champion and a statesman - 20 years on, the tragic loss of Payne Stewart

Stewart won the US Open for a second time in June 1999, four months before his death

On October 25, 1999, a private jet took off from Orlando International airport for Texas with the reigning US Open champion on board. It never reached its destination, and millions of TV viewers witnessed the tragedy of its final flight.

The aircraft plunged from the sky more than a thousand miles from where it should have landed, killing its two pilots and four passengers.

The plane hit the ground with such force it disintegrated beyond any possibility of investigative reconstruction.

The jet crashed after the cabin suffered depressurisation, starving the occupants of oxygen. Fighter jets were scrambled and tracked the flight, but were powerless to intervene.

Payne Stewart was the star of sport who perished. He was charismatic, one of the most popular players on the planet and a technicolour figure in the often monochrome world of professional golf.

He always stood out, from the moment in his brash younger days when he decided to wear jaunty plus-four trousers as his trademark playing attire. His father, a salesman, had told him it was important to be different.

Stewart had been heading to the Tour Championship, a big-money event for the 30 best golfers on the PGA Tour. Before arriving at the Houston tournament he planned to stop in Dallas to discuss a course design project.

He was accompanied by his agents Robert Fraley and Van Ardan, along with course architect Bruce Borland. Their pilots were Michael Kling and Stephanie Bellegarrigue.

“It’s fascinating the number of people who know where they were and what they were doing that day,” says Kevin Robins, author of the recently published bookThe Last Stand of Payne Stewart.

“I was a reporter in St Louis, Missouri, at the newspaper there. I remember all of us standing around a television.

“It was so stunning, it made no sense, it was discombobulating. A plane up there, so high in the air flying by itself and was it going to land in a city?

“Nobody knew. There were so many questions and no answers.”

There was nothing amiss when Learjet 35 N47BA made a short hop from Sanford to Orlando’s International airport before its final flight.

Once Stewart and his entourage boarded, it taxied to the runway. “Four-seven Bravo Alpha, clearance follows,” radioed the ground controller. “You’re cleared to the Dallas Love Field, via the JEFF Six departure, vector Cross City then as filed.”

The flight took off at 09:19 local time to head north over the Florida panhandle before heading west to Dallas.

After a routine take-off, Jacksonville Air Traffic Control made contact: “November Four Seven Bravo Alpha, Jax Centre – climb and maintain flight level three-niner-zero.”

This was clearance to climb to a cruising altitude of 39,000 feet. “Three-nine-zero Bravo Alpha”, came confirmation from 27-year-old pilot Bellagarrigue.

These were the final words heard from the cockpit. Within two minutes controllers noticed the flight veering off course as the plane continued a northerly course.

“November Four-Seven-Bravo-Alpha contact Jax centre on one-three-five point-six five.”

No response.

Soon after 10am, more than half an hour after last contact, an F16 fighter jet from Eglin Air Force base near Pensacola, Florida – piloted by Chris Hamilton – was instructed to track the LearJet.

Federal aviation authorities knew something was wrong and cleared a corridor of airspace around the plane as it ploughed northwards on autopilot.

Hamilton caught it over Memphis, Tennessee. “I got to around 50 to 100 feet from the airplane, close enough to do a good visual inspection,” he said in a later interview.

There was no outward sign of damage, but there was also no indication of life on board. He radioed back: “Looks like the front cockpit is either frosted or basically condensed over. I can’t see inside the cockpit.”

Frozen windows indicated the pressurisation system, providing vital oxygen, had failed. All those on board must have suffered fatal hypoxia. Further F16s from the Oklahoma National Guard in Tulsa continued the pursuit.

News networks started breaking into their schedules. Word came through that a professional golfer was on board a jet flying out of control. They then identified him as Payne Stewart.

“The occupants of the plane, we are told, are non-responsive,” reported CNN.

Stewart’s caddie, Mike Hicks, was already scouting the course hosting the Tour Championship in Houston. He was phoned by the professional at his local club to alert him to the news.

“No, they’re crazy,” was all Hicks could say in response.

Professional golf tournaments usually start on a Thursday. There are four rounds of 18 holes, building to a climax when the champion is crowned on a Sunday evening.

Mondays are quiet. Golfers tend to use them to catch up with family or for corporate work.

Some head to the venue of their next event to put in extra preparation work. That week a handful of pros made a Monday visit to the Champions Golf Club in Houston.

American stars David Duval and Jim Furyk were there honing their games while officials set up the media centre and facilities. It was quiet when journalist Melanie Hauser pulled into the media parking lot.

Stewart with caddy Mike Hicks at the 1998 US Open, where Stewart almost won

But she was already aware there was something wrong. It was confirmed by the stunned silence among the early arrivals in the press tent.

“I just said ‘oh my gosh, it can’t be Payne!'” the veteran reporter recalls.

Hauser had known Stewart for 22 years from his college days at Southern Methodist University in Texas. “I watched him grow into an incredible man,” she says.

Now she was frantically trying to prove the reports wrong; that it was not the reigning US Open champion on that stricken flight.

“We were calling his cell phone. We all got the same recorded message. Something like: ‘This is Payne’s cell phone, he’s not with me at the moment – leave a message…’

“Someone walked past and said: ‘It’s definitely Payne’. I just remember putting my head on Duval’s shoulder, and some tears. Then you realise, ‘oh my gosh, I’m going to have to report this’.”

Stewart’s jet travelled over Florida, Mississippi, Tennessee, Missouri – the state of his birth – and Iowa. Now it was 48,900 feet over South Dakota with its engines having devoured 5,300 pounds of aviation fuel.

Soon after noon local time, above the small town of Mina, the LearJet began its fall. “Minneapolis, the target is descending”, radioed one of the tracking F16 pilots.

“What’s he doing?”

“He’s doing multiple aileron rolls [a full 360° revolution]. Looks like he’s out of control.”

There was no fire because there was no fuel left to burn. Three hours and 54 minutes after take-off, the plane made its vertical plummet to the ground at close to the speed of sound.

It left a crater 42 feet long, 21 feet wide and eight feet deep. The 23-year-old aircraft was smashed to pieces.

Back in Houston, the Champions club was invaded by reporters never usually seen at golf events.

“People that you didn’t know were hopping out of trucks and saying ‘can I talk to you?'” Hauser recalls.

Like many, she struggles to believe two decades have passed since that tragic day.

“As we’re talking right now, I’m visualising those guys sitting there and just falling asleep in the plane.”

Stewart’s distinctive attire made him a popular figure with fans, as here at the 1990 Masters at Augusta National

For all its intense competition, the rivalries it creates and the millions of dollars at stake, professional golf is a tight community. Players share the tribulations of an often maddening game.

Their wives and children co-exist in a weirdly transient and lucratively privileged collective lifestyle. Jumping on and off aircraft is as routine as driving to a supermarket for the rest of us. So the loss of one of their own hits hard.

Had any other member of the PGA Tour perished in such circumstances, they would have been mourned as if a family member had gone.

But this tragedy felt even more profound and touched a wider constituency because Stewart was so different. By the time he died at the age of 42 he was at the summit of his sport.

Stewart pictured with his wife and two children in 1993

He was the guy who wore the funny ‘pants’, he had a ready smile and a beautiful family. He had matured from being an outspoken and gauche jerk into arguably golf’s most charismatic ambassador.

“So many people who loved golf in the 1990s saw Payne Stewart as their favourite player,” says Robbins.

“He was Hollywood movie star good looking, he had this wonderful family, he had success – and people wanted that. In golf we lost an artist, a shot maker. He was a craftsman on the golf course.”

Few would have envisaged such warm tributes when Stewart began his career as a flash, brash kid out of Springfield, Missouri.

Golf’s traditions demand politeness, grace and charm from its players. “Payne Stewart really didn’t reflect any of those,” Robbins says. “He was loud, he was bombastic, impetuous.”

When Stewart won the first of his three majors at the 1989 PGA Championship at Kemper Lakes in Illinois it was not widely applauded. A classless celebration of the capitulation of his closest rival Mike Reid was captured on TV.

Two years later he won his first US Open at Hazeltine, Minnesota, and seemed destined to dominate pro golf throughout the 1990s. But form is fickle, and when he took big money to play a different brand of clubs, the magic deserted his game.

Robbins contends this difficult playing period reformed Stewart’s character. “That, I think, has an effect on a man’s ego, his humility and sense of self as an athlete.”

In 1998, Stewart nearly won the US Open at Olympic Club near San Francisco. He was a surprise contender but unlucky to lose. He dealt with the disappointment in a classy, generous manner as another American, Lee Janzen, triumphed.

“He had a peacefulness that he started playing with,” Janzen told ESPN. “And I guess an uptightness, that sometimes came across as arrogance, went away.”

Stewart was runner-up at the US Open of 1998, won by Lee Janzen (right, with the trophy)

A year later, four months before his death, came the biggest moment of Stewart’s career. He rolled in a 15-foot winning putt to deny a young Phil Mickelson and win a second US Open.

He punched the air forwards with his right fist as his right leg simultaneously kicked back. This iconic motion is captured in a statue that now stands at Pinehurst, the famed North Carolina resort where he clinched that win.

“The way he took defeat in 1998 helped him win it the next year,” says Ryder Cup player and captain Colin Montgomerie. “That’s why the celebration was so intense when he did win it.”

The triumph meant Stewart would play for his country once again in golf’s greatest event, the biennial showdown between the US and Europe for the Ryder Cup.

“The first thing he said when he came off was ‘I’m in the Ryder Cup team’,” recalls Montgomerie, who played against him in that 1999 match at Brookline Country Club in Boston.

“I thought ‘bloody hell, that’s what that means to him’.”

Four months later Stewart cemented his status as a sporting statesman at that Ryder Cup. America won after an extraordinary comeback but the contest was marred by ugly scenes on the course.

Stewart’s Sunday singles match with Montgomerie was at the heart of the trouble as partisan crowds yelled abuse, with the burly and temperamental Scot a primary target.

“He was very good with me,” Montgomerie says. “The singles in the Ryder Cup is a big deal. I was in big trouble and he went into the crowd to have these guys ejected.

“There was a huge incident on the par-five ninth. We had to get some guy ejected in front of my father. All the carry on, it was unreal.

“And yet, he put that ahead of his own patriotism for his team. They were having their own problems to try and get to 14-and-a-half points having started 10-6 down.”

By the time their game reached the 18th green, the United States had completed a remarkable victory.

Stewart could still force a tie in his personal battle with a still-determined Montgomerie, in what was the only match left on the course.

“He was on the final green in three and I was on in two,” recalls Montgomerie. “He said ‘look Monty, I’ve had enough now, pick it up’ and he gave me that hole.

“I know it’s easy to speak good of people who have passed but he was a decent bloke and that’s all I can say about him. He was a good guy.”

Had he survived, Stewart would be playing alongside Montgomerie on the Champions Tour for over-50s. As it was, that singles match at Brookline was their last encounter.

“You play him in that and a month later… Christ, he’s not with us.”

America’s victory meant the world to Stewart. After a six-year Ryder Cup absence he had returned to the elevated stage a more rounded, mature individual playing the golf of his life.

“The last time I saw him I was up at the team room at Brookline. I looked over and he just kind of winked at me and gave me a thumbs up and threw his head back,” Hauser says.

“That was Payne. You had the cockiness but you also had the ‘we did it, well done’. That’s what he’d grown into.”

Stewart was destined to be an enduring figure in the game; a future Ryder Cup captain and ambassador for his sport.

“He was much closer to knowing who he was,” observes Robbins. “Of being comfortable with his place in history and more importantly being comfortable with the man he had become.”

But then he boarded that Learjet 35 for that fateful flight.

Why did it go so tragically wrong?

No definitive cause was found for the depressurisation that robbed the pilots of their cognitive skills.

Six years after it happened, a jury in Orlando found Learjet not liable for the deaths of Stewart and his agents Fraley and Ardan when a $200m lawsuit failed.

In the intervening period, a one-acre memorial was fenced off at the remote crash site in South Dakota. A rock retrieved from the resulting crater sits inscribed with the names of the victims and a psalm from the bible.

Before the tournament Stewart was supposed to be playing in that week, his fellow player Tom Lehman – with whom Stewart shared a strong Christian faith – led a service on the first tee at the Champions Club.

“He was a very emotional guy,” Lehman told those who had gathered. “He loved to laugh and was not ashamed to cry.

Sunrise on Stewart’s statue behind the 18th green on Pinehurst’s No.2 course – where he won the 1999 US Open

“I’m not ashamed of my tears this morning and neither should you be.”

Later that week the remaining 29 competitors interrupted the competition to fly to Orlando for Stewart’s formal memorial on the Friday. With a rejigged schedule, the tournament finished on the Sunday evening.

For the final round most players wore Stewart’s trademark plus-fours in tribute. The game’s new superstar Tiger Woods won the title.

At the following year’s US Open at Pebble Beach in California – the first to be played without a defending champion owing to death – 21 of the world’s leading golfers struck balls into the Pacific Ocean in a synchronised salute to their fallen colleague.

“That was incredible,” Montgomerie says. “I thought ‘what are we doing here?’ We’ve lost a US Open champion, he’s not here to defend.

“That proves what a big deal it was and especially the way he died. A freak accident. He got on a private plane – you don’t even think about it.”

Montgomerie contends that pro golf these days could have done with Stewart’s charismatic presence. “The college kids coming out now are a bit samey, aren’t they?

“They’re all built of a certain mould and he wasn’t. He was a character who is terribly missed.”

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[unabashedly-here]

A/N: Kind of Peter appearance at the end. Again not purely concentrated on Peter until the next part

Part 1

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Since the curriculum at Midtown was more challenging than what you were used to, you weren’t able to help Tony with his inventions like you did during the summer. Sometimes he’d whine about you taking a break, which would work for about half an hour. Tony was proud of how you were handling the work from school.

You were given a choice, since you could get to Midtown from your mother’s apartment or Tony’s. You absolutely loved the atmosphere and tinkering with Tony, but you didn’t want to hurt your mother’s feelings. Fortunately, you were not required to make the difficult decision because, as your grandparents got older, your mother felt guilty that they are living by themselves. She is staying in the suburb they live in, making it almost impossible to get to school on time.

During his run in with Captain America, Bruce Banner, Thor, Clint, and Natasha, Tony assumed the worst when he saw your number pop up on the Caller ID. “What’s wrong, kid?” he asked while the other people in the room looked at him incredulously. They were previously talking to him.

“Nothing,” you answered casually, “Just wanted to talk to my dad while he’s on a dangerous mission.”

“Okay, let me rephrase the question,” Tony continued, “What did you break?”

Ignoring his question, you immediately asked, “Is it true Steve Rogers is on a mission with you? Captain America?” You were slightly blushing on the other end, but Tony obviously couldn’t see that.

“Yeah, but he’s not as impressive as I thought he would be,” Tony answered in a straight forward tone. 

“After the mission, will I be able to meet him?” you ask, trying not to sound excited, but Tony picked up on it.

He responded, “I don’t like that tone. Stop it.” The thought of his daughter developing a crush on Captain America was beyond weird in his head. Of course, he knew that it was one of those celebrity crushes, since you were a teenager. That doesn’t mean he has to tolerate it.

“I’m merely suggesting that it would be interesting to meet the famous Captain America.”

You didn’t hear any words for a little, only reluctant groaning from Tony. “Fine,” he agreed, “He’ll come over one time. Then, once you see the real him, this will all be over.” You repeatedly thanked him before telling him to stay safe and hanging up. 

While Tony continued the mission, he didn’t hear much from you. Only a few texts about the tutor your teacher forced you to get. You were furious over it, since you were convinced that you didn’t need a tutor in Computer Science, but your teacher wanted you to learn something specific only the tutor could teach you.

Some of the Avengers with Tony were getting aggravated, but he simply responded to their protestations with, “You have a kid and then talk to me.” Most typically shut up after that.

After Loki was defeated, Stark Tower was being converted into a building for the Avengers. Since Tony was planning on spending most of his time there, you had your own room there. It was then when you finally met the famous Captain America, or Steve Rogers. He was moving into the building and Tony was showing him around when he saw you in the kitchen doing work. “Alright, here we go,” he muttered to himself, which confused Steve.

Wanting to get this over with quickly, Tony swiftly went through the room, hastily saying, “Steve, Y/N. Y/N, Steve. Nice that you two are acquainted. Now let’s go, Capsicle.”

You didn’t seem to protest, but Steve, still ignorant of the whole situation, insisted to properly introduce himself. The forties manners always followed him. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” he introduced himself while extending his hand, “I’m Steve.”

To Tony’s surprise, your response was very casual as if you didn’t care that Captain America, the same person you were almost obsessed with meeting almost a month ago, was in the kitchen. “Hey, Steve. Nice to meet you.” With that, you quickly glanced at your phone.

Tony excused you and him so he could get to the bottom of this. The two of you were in the hallway when Tony asked, “You did want to see Capsicle, right?”

“Oh, I guess I did.”

At that point, his mind was running like wild. What had managed to cause this sudden change of mind? He saw you look at your phone again and the pieces fit together all at once. “No,” Tony said distantly.

“What?” You were lost at what he was referring to.

“No.”

“I have no idea what is wrong here.”

Tony said with disbelief, “No!”

You slowly waved your hand in front of Tony’s face. “Are you broken? Do I need a new Tony?”

Crossing his arms, Tony finally responded with something else, “Who is he? The new boy?” He looked at you knowingly. How could you even think for a second Tony wouldn’t notice.

“What?” You scoffed, “There’s no one.” As soon as you finished the sentence, your phone rang and you jumped to pick it up. “Hello? Oh, hi, Peter.” Tony was staring at you incredulously. “My house,” you echoed, while looking around at the place you called home before suggesting, “How about the library?”

[viollettes]

“Two Weeks”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: A narrative that explores how Steve copes after your tragic death.

notes: implied character death (reader), a failed attempt at writing sad things

A/N: thank you to @buckyywiththegoodhair​ for beta-reading this mess. i adore you, and god rest this old bitch’s soul.

One week has passed since you left New York for a month-long guest curatorship in Germany. Before leaving, you kissed Steve goodbye and promised to return in one piece.

One week has passed since HYDRA agents infiltrated the museum. They put the entire museum on lockdown, claiming it had World War II documents that were essential to the HYDRA agenda. Even the Avengers wouldn't stop their mission to obtain these documents, they declared.

One week has passed since a certain HYDRA agent recognized your face from a tabloid, the headline screaming “Captain America Finally Finds Love!” He also deduced your title as one of the United States' leading experts on Nazi Germany. It was the perfect coincidence.

One week has passed since HYDRA attempted to use you as a bargaining tool. "Give up the documents, and we'll let you go back to your precious boyfriend," they said. Much to their surprise, behind your simple dress and ballet flats was a woman not afraid to kick men in the balls, both figuratively and literally. You proceeded to do the latter.

One week has passed since the Avengers compromised the guards and rescued most of the hostages at the museum. Only one remained, but when it became clear that they're wouldn’t gain access to any of the documents, HYDRA decided to inflict pain in the best way they knew how - by taking away the remaining innocent life.

One week has passed since your tragic death. One week has passed since Steve Rogers buried the love of his life.

Everyone is shocked at how well Steve is dealing with the tragedy. Though he's a bit quieter, he seems to be his usual, collected self. He insists that he's fine and carries on with his daily routine. It's odd, especially because the super soldier is well-known for wearing his heart on his sleeve. Even Bucky is confused by his best friend's calm demeanor.

"Should we force it out of him? Blast some Metallica and have him exert his true feelings onto a punching bag? Tony, you installed the new speakers in the gym, right?"

"I did, but that’s a bad idea. Cap's already ruined about ten punching bags, and I haven't upgraded the punching bag hook yet."

"But what he really is fine? What if he’s really okay?"

"The man just lost his girlfriend, the woman he was and probably still is infatuatedly in love with. There's no way he's fine. He's repressing his emotions," Sam theorizes.

Natasha tilts her wine glass in Sam's direction. "I agree. This whole," she pauses and gestures as she tries to come up with an accurate term, "charade is out of character for him."

Clint clears his throat. "No one really knows what's on Cap's mind so -"

"Actually -"

Firmly shaking her head, Wanda holds up her finger and silences Tony. "No, I said I'm not digging into people's minds unless it's for the greater good," the Sokovian says, a slight ice lacing her gentle tone. She proudly smiles while Tony holds up his hands in both understanding and mock surrender.

"Let's just be there for him. Tony, I know this is an impossible request, but please refrain from being an asshole," Clint warns.

Over the course of the week, the Avengers do exactly that. Even though both of them are clueless about art, Sam and Bucky buy year-long passes and offer to take him to the exhibits. Wanda fills the pantry with the tasteless, healthy snacks that no one but Steve likes while Vision has the blonde's coffee ready every morning. Bruce leaves vitamin supplements specially created for Steve's serum-enhanced body at his door. Nat and Clint offer to accompany Steve on his ridiculously early runs - something the two assassins refused to do in the past.  Even Tony is on his best behavior, biting down on the witty remarks that have potential to trigger.

But Steve continues to insist that he's fine. He claps a hand on the respective Avenger's shoulder and gives a gentle squeeze before returning to whatever he was doing.

Friday rolls by. Two weeks have passed since your death.

"Cap, um... I hate to be the bearer of bad news..."

Sam uncomfortably shifts his weight from one foot to the other, bearing the posture of someone who has to deactivate a ticking bomb. Steve looks up from the mission reports. "It's fine, Sam. Just say it," he encourages.

"Erm, (Y/N)'s former landlord called. She needs us to clean and sort out the apartment."

The light in Steve's eyes slightly dims as he takes in this information. This is the first time anyone's said your name out loud since the funeral, and it sounds a little foreign coming from Sam's mouth. But something pangs in Steve's heart, and all of a sudden his chest starts to hurt. He forces himself to smile and says, "I'll head over there later tonight. Thanks, Sam."

"Hey," Sam murmurs, waiting until Steve looks up from the mission report again. "If you want, a few of us could go with you and help."

Hesitation lines the super soldier's eyes, but he slowly nods. "Okay. I'd appreciate that."

The chest pains grow in intensity when Steve steps into the small one-bedroom apartment, and a shiver runs up his spine as he takes in the place you called a second home. Memories float around everywhere, haunting almost every piece furniture or decor.

The kitchen island rings of lazy Sunday mornings. You always hopped into the island while Steve made breakfast. Standing in between your legs, your arms winding around his neck, he could never resist planting sweet kisses all over your face. The pancake batter would be long forgotten as the kisses turned hot and frantic.

The baby succulents lined up on the window frame speaks of trips to the farmer's markets. Knowing you were notorious for being an unintentional plant killer, Steve made a point of gifting you with plants you couldn't kill.

The couch holds memories of embraces. Whether they were sinfully infused with desire or meant to seek comfort, Steve loved to hug you, claiming that your hugs had the power to placate him and bring peace like nothing else could.

Bucky taps Steve's shoulder, bringing the blonde back to reality. For the second time today, Steve forces a smile onto his face. "I'm going to clean her room. Do you guys mind doing the living room and kitchen for now?"

"Go, we got this."

Your room is a treasure cove filled with knick knacks and books, but the first thing that comes into Steve's line of sight is your beloved vintage film camera. You had a knack for film photography, and he was your favorite subject.

Steve walks over to your desk, two photos neatly placed on top of a thick textbook capturing his attention. He carefully holds up the photos by the edges - a habit you've instilled in him.

The first photo was taken the day the city flooded the streets to celebrate the victorious return of the Avengers. Still clad in his stealth suit, Steve is rushing towards the viewfinder, happiness etched on his face. A number of people are reaching out to congratulate him, but Steve only has eyes for the camera. Well, the person behind the camera, that is.

Steve flips the photo over, a soft snort of laughter huffing out of his nose. In addition to the date, you'd written out the second stanza of Walt Whitman's "O Captain! My Captain."

O Captain! My Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up -for you the flag is flung- for you the bugle trills; For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths -for you the shores a-crowding;

The second photo is less hectic. It's a candid of him leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed against his chest. He's looking off into space with remnants of laughter on his lips.

The blonde flips the second photo over to read what you've written as the description. It's one word, but it's powerful enough to make his heart crumble.

Home.

"This wasn't too bad... I guess it helped that she was a neat minimalist."

"True. Natasha, everything good with Stark?"

"Mmhmm. He's arranged for people to pick up the boxes and donate them to schools, women's shelters, the Salvation Army, the museum, library... A lot of people will benefit from her things."

"Classic (Y/N). Always helping others."

Scanning the rest of the now-empty living room and kitchen, Natasha lets out a satisfied nod. "Okay, we should check in on Steve and see how he's doing with the bedroom."

Bucky pushes himself off the ground and tosses Sam the roll of duct tape he was using. "I'll do it. Finish this box up for me?"

The brunette wanders down the short hallway of the apartment and gently knocks on the closed door, but Steve doesn't answer. Bucky pushes open the door and he opens his mouth to speak, but the view in front of him immediately halts his steps and words.

Steve sits on your bed, silently sobbing and clutching your favorite sweater to his chest. His chest heaves up and down, his silent sobs turning from violently loud. Inhuman wails come from deep within his soul. The dam inside him has finally burst open, and every emotion he swiftly blockaded in the back of his heart spills out with fury. Each gasp claws through his throat and sends him deeper into a storm of loss and grief.

Two weeks have passed since your death, and Steve Rogers is finally unleashing his pent-up emotions.

His heart and head kaleidoscopes with memories both good and bad. The time he returned his old Cap uniform, only to be stunned into awe while you berated him for stealing from the museum. Your smile that sang of sunshine and spice and easily became his favorite thing about the twenty-first century. How his blood ran cold at the sound of a gunshot, only growing colder when finding your lifeless body a few minutes later. The heavens mourning through rain on the day he put you to rest.

It hits him that you wouldn’t be able to fulfill your promise of returning to him. No more kisses on the kitchen island, no more trips to the farmer's market, no more warm cuddles on the couch. All remnants of you are being packed away in boxes and given to other people. All that will remain of you are intangible memories and the love he had for you in his heart.

Two weeks have passed since your death, and all Steve can do is cry his heart out for the one who was unjustly and tragically whisked away from him.

[sebbytrash]

желание - Part Five

Longing: A yielding desire

Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings - swearing, extreme sexual tension, slight nsfw, drinking, possessiveness, jealous!bucky

A/N: REPOSTING BECAUSE OF BLOG MOVE

желание Masterlist

The aftermath is chaotic. People are bustling around, bodies being carried away like litter and a faint buzzing in your head. You're sitting on a bunk in the infirmary while one of the med techs checks you over. You can see her glance at you every few seconds, the dazed look on your face causing concern but you can't bring yourself to put her at ease. You're in overload, the past few hours have done a number on you. At this point, you're not even sure your body can even produce adrenaline anymore. You’d like to say your unaffected by the whole gun-to-your-head thing but honestly, it was playing on a loop in your mind. That, and Bucky’s fist flying at your face, face void of any emotion.  

Gun-Bucky-Click-Thump-Gun-Bucky

Heart still driving headlong out of your chest, doing loops around your body and leaving ritchey echos in your skull.

Achy pain seeps through the daze, your body is starting to feel the effects of the fight and the sharp tight pain in your hairline reminds you that the Hydra asshole almost yanked your hair out. Your knuckles are bloody, but not broken. One of your fingers dislocated when you threw that punch, and she had to set it back once the painkillers took effect. That’s going to be a bitch.

Despite it all, your lips were still tingling from that kiss. God, it had been good. No-one-will-ever-compare good. Which begs the question of how, really? Bucky wasn't exactly a social butterfly, and he sure as hell wasn't off brushing up his kissing skills whilst he was The Winter Soldier. You assume, anyway.

A heavy sigh escapes you, remembering the panic that had engulfed him when he came back to himself. Dropping contact with you like you had scalded him, he had quickly disappeared from the gym, Steve gave you an apologetic glance before racing after him. Last you heard, they were locked away with Tony and Bruce, working on a failsafe incase it ever happened again.   

You think back to what he said before shit hit the fan. He wanted you, that much was clear. You’d had no idea of the internal struggle he faced with it though, but it made sense now. He had spent so long under Hydra's control---his mind and body just another tool for them to use--- you’d never considered that his attraction to you might feel the same to him. His body responding in ways he can’t control, you could see why his first instinct was to fight it. Doesn't mean you have to be happy about it though.

“Miss Y/N?” A hesitant voice broke through the fog in your mind.

“Oh, um y-yeah?”

“I need to set your finger now…”

“Oh, sure.” You hesitantly place your hand into her outstretched ones, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. No use pretending this wasn't gonna hurt.

The med tech -Kelly?- gives you a small grimacesmile as she wraps her fingers round your offending finger, then a quick 1-2-3 and a god awful popping and it’s back home.

Air escapes between your teeth in a sharp hiss. God that fucking hurt. You refuse the wrap she wants to give you, knowing you would get annoyed with its restrictions any way.

Debriefing is long. You go over every detail with Fury, even the one you’d rather leave out. Only Steve knew about your kiss with Bucky and you’d rather keep it that way but it’s not like Fury will tell anyone. He’s nothing if not professional. He waves you off, satisfied he has everything he needs, before telling you to get some rest. You head to your room, aching and weary, and ready to put today behind you. Showering away the evidence of today; the blood, sweat and fear that was still clinging to your skin. Once dry and dressed, you climb into bed and sleep quickly pulls at you taking only a few short moments before you succumb.

Sleep is fitful, you wake several times through the night taking note of only one thing; your bed is empty. You can’t help the hollow pit feeling you get in your stomach each time you wake and Bucky still hasn't climbed in beside you. Forcing yourself to believe that it’s because he’s still working with Tony and Bruce is the only way you can find a way to go back to sleep at all.

Peeling your eyes open in the morning, a pang of something shudders through you as your eyes land on the still empty side of the bed. Feeling the cold sheets with your palm, it's obvious no one has slept here. The heat from Bucky lingers hours after he’s gone. You tell yourself that you didn't sleep well because of the injuries, and the fight hangover. Ha!

Three days. Three long ass days pass and you see nothing of Bucky. Since the day of the Hydra invasion, everything has been on hold. No training, no missions, no nothing. You’ve been hiding out in your room, only surfacing to scour food from the kitchen or to do laundry.

The fourth day finds you staring at your reflection in the mirror. Weary, tired eyes stare back at you. The lack of sleep clearly taking its tole, your eyes are puffy and rimmed with dark circles, your hair's slicked back in a messy not-the-cute-kind bun and your skin is adopting a slight grey tone. God, you really needed a decent night's sleep. Damn him, James Barnes, for making it impossible to sleep without him next to you. You were just fine before he started creeping into your bed every night. Now you were half a person without him, just all safety pins and duct tape holding your guts together.

Ridiculous.

One kiss, a few scattered conversations and some spooning. Okay a lot of spooning but still, hardly the basis for such intense pouting which is essentially what you're doing.

At any point you could have easily sought him out but you didn't. Stubborn and just a bit afraid. The last look he gave you in the gym before darting out the door, horror and regret, had kept you from doing it. Sure, 30 mins prior to that he had threatened to fuck you against a wall but that didn't mean he planned on actually doing it. Or wanted to; just because his body did doesn't mean his mind agreed.

Dragging a hand over your face you give yourself a mental shake. No more pouting. Time to get past this.

A shower, clean hair and freshly shaved legs later, you’re making your way through the compound. Mind made up, you know what you want, and who is going to give it to you. Finding the door you want, a quick knock has the door swinging open.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“Nat. I want to go dancing. Tonight. You in?” She arches that perfect fucking eyebrow at you.

“Always. Team night out?” You can tell she’s already mentally planning this. Nat’s the best at this kind of thing, other than Tony. Surprisingly, she loves to party. And she’s the best wingwoman you could ask for.

“Sure. Whatever. I just need out of here. I’m suffocating.” Even you can hear the whine in your voice.

“Still needing that itch scratched huh?” She releases a breathy laugh at the bitch face you throw her way, already turning on your heels and heading back towards your room.

Crossing the kitchen, you stop to grab and quick Coke from the fridge. Lost in your thoughts as your turn the corner out of the kitchen, you notice someone too late to prevent yourself from colliding with them. Bouncing off the wall of chest and shoulders, you stumble back before two large hands grip your elbows and quickly right you.

“S-Shit, sorry. Wasn’ paying attention…” Your voice trails off as your eyes meet the haunting grey eyes of one James Buchanan Barnes. Eyes flashing, he said nothing and simply stared at you. Into you. You notice the dark circles cupping his eyes and the crinkles at the corners seem deeper than usual. It's’ clear he hasn't been getting much sleep either, and your heart does a little leap at the thought of that immediately followed by a pang of guilt.

Really? Celebrating the fact that the man hasn't slept. A new low.

Brushing past him without another word, you head to your room to get ready for tonight. You were gonna have fun and forget about Bucky even if only for a little while.

The deep base of the music vibrated through you. The warm buzz of alcohol seeped into your bones, filling you will false bravado and loosening up all those tense muscles. You and Nat are in the centre of the dancefloor, hips moving to the beat and voices scratchy as you shout long with the music.

This is what you needed; to let go, relax.

Sweat makes your dress stick to you as you move, the throng of dancing bodies pulsing like a living breathing thing. Nat taps you on your arm, signalling for a drink. You nod and you both push your way through the bodies until you reach the bar. Steve is there, smiling at you both, his back to the bar as he surveys the room. Ever the soldier. You lean over the bar to give the bartender your order, and feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Spinning, your eyes scan for the source of you unease and finally fall on the looming figure beside you.

Bucky. Bucky is here. He eyes and travelling over your body and leisurely pace, taking in all your curves as your dress clings to you. When his eyes finally meet yours they are dark and hungry. A involuntary shiver runs through through you as you watch his fists clench at his sides. Your gazed is locked with his, magnetized there. The henley he's sporting is pulled tight over his chest as it rises and falls with his fast uneven breaths. His lips part as his tongue swipes over his bottom lip, stare never faltering.

“Y/N, let's go!” Nat’s yell breaks the spell as she tugs you forward towards the dancefloor.

When you look back Bucky is turned towards Steve, moment already forgotten. Anger blooms in your chest. He cannot keep fucking with you. This was not the plan. You take the drink from Nat, which you now realize she must have bought since you got distracted, and down it in one go. The drink was mostly alcohol and it burns a path down your throat and into your stomach. You relish the burn, and quickly lose yourself in the music again.

Songs merge together as you dance, submerging yourself into the heart of the crowd. Large hands grip your waist and a body presses against you, molding to your curves and swaying in time with your hips. You turn your head and glimpse a cute blonde haired guy giving you a wide smile and questioning eyes. You lean back into him, determined to chase Bucky from your thoughts. Somewhere in the back of your mind a tiny voice is screaming that it's just the alcohol and you should walk away. Only it was too late for that.

The music pulses, bodies push and grind all around you. You raise your hand and reach back to cup the back of cute-guys neck, pulling him closer and you sway your hips. His hands tighten, and lips meet the side of your neck trailing down to your shoulder. PDA’s of this nature aren't usually your style but between the music and alcohol you're getting carried away.

“Get your fucking hands off her.” Bucky growls as he looms over you, staring cute-guy right in the eyes. Cute-guy drops his hands from you instantly, and backs away with his hands raised in a ‘I’m innocent’ kinda way. The angry is rolling off Bucky in waves and fuck if it doesn't push all your buttons. You don't even have it in you to be mad at him for chasing away cute-guy.

His eyes land on yours, all fire and rage. Cold fingers clamp down on your wrist as he pulls you through the mass of bodies.

As you surface from the crowd, hands spin you and you back meets the hard wall before you even register you've moved. Bucky's eyes are wild as he closes the gap between you, pressing his body against the length of you, arms boxing you in.

“You. Are. Mine.” He growls low, and fuck if that isn't the hottest thing you've ever heard. You open your mouth to say exactly that and he uses it as his opportunity to capture your lips in a toe curling kiss. His mouth invades yours, taking his fill. No doubt about it, this was a claiming kiss. His tongue danced with yours as his hand moved to grip the back of your head, tilting so that he could deepen the kiss. Your hands fist in his shirt, using him to anchor you as the ground moves beneath your feet. Heat blooms and spreads from your lips to your chest and lower. Spreading right out until you're shaking with it, fingertips tingling in anticipation. His lips burn a path down your neck and small needy gasps escape your mouth. A thick muscled thigh pushes between your legs and the delicious pressure of it right there cuts through the last sliver of self-control you had been grasping. You grind down on him, revelling in the bursts of pleasurepain it sends ricocheting through your body. Bucky sucks hard on the skin at your collarbone, a low moan erupts from you.

“Shit. Shit.” His forehead meets yours, eyes blazing. He squeezes them shut and pulls in a shaky breath through his nose before releasing it. “Not here. Not like this.”  

He opens his eyes, pleading with you. Begging you to understand he isn't rejecting you. You nod, not trusting your voice. “Let’s get out of here?” He gruff voice sounds hesitant, like he isn't sure you’ll say yes.

Is he kidding? Your entire body is aching for him, every cell in you is straining towards him.

“Fuck yes.” You smirk before pulling him towards to exit, desperate to get this sexy bastard of a man alone before he changes his mind.

Well the taxi ride home is sure to be...interesting.

[iwritegayfiction]

A Bromance With Blurred Lines Is Definitely Still A Bromance So... Dude... Chill

The BirdFlash continues!!! Hi, long time no post!!! I’ve finished so many stories and even more stories that I haven’t posted so... let’s get back into tumbling, yeah? Yeah!

AO3: Here!

Rating: Mature.

Warning: Underage sexual activity (kind of). Bromancing.  

Pairing: Wally/Dick, Roy/Dick, Dick/Zatanna, Wally/Artemis 

Summary: In Which: Dick and Wally's Bromance is acknowledged and then it gets a little out of hand on Dick's Birthday.

A Bromance With Blurred Lines Is Definitely Still A Bromance So Dude… Chill…

  I.

 Somewhere between knowing each other for four years, almost dying and then saving each other for the umpteenth time, and joining Young Justice or Junior Justice or the Titans or whatever, Wally starts calling Robin “babe”.

 Okay, not “somewhere”.

 He’s pretty sure it has to do with a lot of down time, some underage drinking, spin-the-bottle, and playing gay chicken with the other sidekicks. That, and then telling them that he doesn’t care if he has to hug or kiss Rob because Rob is a total babe –for a guy always hiding his face (it was a joke then and still is –kind of). So everyone gets used to their intense bromance (intense on account that they can casually cuddle and hug and kiss and slap each other’s asses and say ‘no homo’ before dissolving in a fit of laughter). And, after that, he sort of never stops calling Robin “babe” and Robin never stops answering to it and knows who Wally’s referring to when he says it.

 And, truthfully, Rob is a “babe” for a lot of platonic, dude-admiring-dude reasons.

 See, Wally has learned a lot about the Boy Wonder since they first met. Like, Rob knows about a dozen languages, he’s computer savvy, he’s a total goof ball (seriously –the guy likes pulling pranks and telling jokes, and laughing in general), and Wally doesn’t care what anyone else says but he swears the guy is a contortionist in addition to being a freaky incredible acrobat. (Has a flexibility that gives way to a lot of sex jokes –no lie).

 But there’s more. A shit ton more.

 Like, Robin always gets them out of a jam when they’re stuck and he’s not a meta but he damn sure beats the hell out of ‘em like he is one and he’s smart and just knows all of these things. And he’ll do next to anything to successfully complete a mission (like that one time when they had to infiltrate a club and Robin had to cross-dress and he was hot, sure, but- dude…).

 But, bonus, the kid can drive –has been since he was 11 and still is now that he’s 14 but what’s driving when he can also fly an aircraft.

 He’s also Richard “Dick” Grayson, which is something Wally found out a few years ago but that kind of makes him even more awesome. And not because he’s a billionaire’s kid and has the world at his disposal with those sapphire eyes and that charming smile but because he’s a billionaire’s kid and Robin and he has the world at his disposal. Honestly… the guy and Big B (whether that’s for Bats or Bruce doesn’t really matter anymore) could do whatever the hell they want but they play up their rich socialite lives and save the world when people think they’re sleeping or partying or doing whatever the hell it is that rich folks do. And Robin doesn’t act spoiled rotten (not really but he has his moments when he wants his way and he doesn’t hear “no” very often, which is being spoiled in it of itself).

 And, alright.

 He’s a really, really, good looking guy.

 Must be and has to be considering he’s a teen heart throb that outranks all of the famous Justin’s combined or any boy group when it comes to the “who’s hot in Hollywood” scene. Dick isn’t even a real celebrity, for crying out loud but he still gets celebrity attention and worship and- And Wally can’t blame them because Dick is hot.

 Or, well, he has his moments. A lot of moments (like when he’s stretching and bending and smirking and being smart or a smart ass or-), well, that’s not important.

 Not at the moment.

 Because-

 Because it definitely sounds like the Wonder Boy is perfect but Wally knows that that’s not true either. And Dick knows his flaws and imperfections and embraces them and tries to rise above them and he’s awesome at that.

 Sure, he has his own dark past and his own demons to contend with but Wally, or anyone else for that matter, would never know it because he’s so… he’s so bright.

 Sunny?

 Illuminating?

 Something along those lines.

 The point is, all of that condensed and packed into one person just makes that person a “babe” on principle.

 Which makes Robin a “babe” in the most platonic, best friend, bro-admiring, way possible.

 -

-

-

 “Babe! C’mere!”

 It takes Dick 30 seconds to get from the rec room to the kitchen. An eternity to a speedster. But he shows up with a raised brow and pursed lips- “You’re… cooking?” He eyes Wally who’s standing by the stove, right between Artemis and M’Gann and, from the smell of it, they’re making a stir-fry curry.

 Wally turns and grins and licks at the spatula in his hand, “Arty and M’Gann are trying to teach me how because I eat a shit ton.”

 Artemis frowns and snatches the spatula. “Kid Gluttony needs to put in his fair share of the work in the kitchen since he eats most of the food.”

 “And here I thought you guys were just turning him into the perfect wife for me.”

 Artemis snorts.

 M’Gann giggles.

 Wally grins and speeds over to Dick’s side, spoon in hand. “I’m already the perfect wife for you, babe! Taste this,” before Dick can protest, Wally has the spoon lodged between parting lips.

 Being force-fed is one of those things that would have gotten Wally punched except- except the food is delicious and it makes Dick hum appreciatively because he swears his taste buds are being slaughtered in the best way possible…

 “Told you, the perfect wife! Or husband if Arty knows what’s good for her.”

 Now Dick’s snorting because Artemis blushes and scowls and throws onion peels at KF before the two get to bickering (which is their rendition of flirting –ask anyone).

 M’Gann walks over and leans against Robin, eyes on the two, “They’re cute.”

 Dick can’t disagree so he doesn’t.

 A few months later, Wally zips into his room to tell him that he finally found the balls to ask Artemis out and she says yes. She actually says yes, to Wally’s great surprise. And they’re a thing –totally official.

 Dick thinks it’s awesome and that Wally’s a lucky guy to be able to snag someone like Artemis because she’s way out of his league. That gets him a punch to the shoulder and then they end up wrestling and then they end up laughing and panting with their backs pressed to the cool floor and their arms touching.

 Wally breathes out and smiles, “You know, you’re still my number one babe, even though I’ve got things going with Arty.”

 “Dude, duh!” Best friends for life isn’t just a saying in the superhero business. Not when life can be cut short any day but that’s just Dick’s opinion. “Same to you, ya know.”

 That makes Wally prop himself up on one arm to stare at Dick, green eyes studying a flushed face. The word “pretty” flashes across his mind but he ignores it in favor of asking, “What’s that mean?”

 “Means you’re still my numero uno no matter who I’m with.” The tone is enough of a “duh” without the need for Dick to tack it on at the end.

 “Wait a sec, you seein’ someone I don’t know about?” Red brows crease as Wally thinks about that.

 And then he thinks about the fact that he’s never actually heard Dick talk about dating or who he likes or if he’s into someone or if any of the rumors in those gossip rags about who he might be seeing are true –none of that. Not to say that they don’t talk about who’s hot because, between Robin and Richard, Dick sees his fair share of gorgeous people. The lucky bastard. Point is, Wally’s never heard him talk about who he’s seeing or if he’s seeing anyone or if he’s interested in anyone. The end.

 “I’m always seeing someone, Walls. No one worth mentioning or introducing to my best bro but, hey. What can I say. Dick Grayson is one hell of a catch and Robin’s hot stuff too!” Dick winks behind his sunglasses but he’s sure Wally can see it or picture it and then he reaches up to pat a freckled cheek, “How do you think I snagged you.”

 And then he’s laughing when Wally scoffs. “I had you from the moment I said, ‘sup, little Bats’ and you know it.”

 “Sure, you keep telling yourself that.” He lets his hand fall and cocks an eyebrow when green eyes keep studying his face, “…What?”

 “You seein’ anyone now?”

 “Why, you jealous?” Dick’s tone is as playful as the smirk on his face.

 “Nah, curious. Maybe we can go on a double date or something?”

 “As Dick and Wally or as Robin and KF?” Because there’s a difference.

 “Depends… who are you seeing?”

 Robin (yes, Robin because of that expression and that long drawn out stare that’s so very Batman, it reminds Wally that he’s talking to Robin) sits up and scoots back a bit. Gets some space between them. “I have a few clusive things going on at the moment but, if anything gets exclusive I’ll let you know.”

 “Dude… sometimes I hate you and sometimes I want your life.”

 Dick laughs and stands and pulls Wally up off of the floor. “If it makes you feel better, I never want your life and I hate you more than I don’t.”

 Wally mock gasps, hands clutched at his chest, “Ouch… I swear I felt my heart break.”

 “You’ll get over it.” Dick cackles but it cuts off and turns into a surprised yelp when Wally tackles him back to the ground, mercilessly tickling his sides.

 Yeah… Dick is a total babe and, obviously, Wally isn’t the only one who thinks so if the guy’s got a few “clusive” things happening at the moment.

     II.

 It’s M’Gann who prompts their relationship to change but she can’t be blamed for what happens.

 She finds out that Dick spent his 15th birthday fighting Clayface and patrolling with Batman and not doing anything birthday like in the least. Not that he can tell her that Bruce did celebrate with him. Got him a new motorcycle and a retractable electric-shock tonfa and gave it to him after they went out for the best Seafood New York City had to offer –all birthday things by his account, at least for Dick Grayson. But, see, he can’t tell her that so she thinks he needs to be celebrated. And since she’s been on this “celebration” kick where everything- holidays, birthdays, religious affairs- deserve a celebration of some sort, that’s what they decide to do.

 As normal teens because she wants the whole experience for herself and him. (Because they all sort of think that Batman keeps him on a tight leash and “Robin” doesn’t have a relatively normal adolescence because he’s a Bat –being a kick ass protégé aside).

 With the way she smiles and lights up at the prospect of celebrating, Dick can’t refuse.

 So, when she says that they should go to a party that her friends from school are throwing on a Friday night plus the team has no missions going on and they’re all present for the first time in forever (even Speedy- er- Red Arrow), Dick definitely caves.

 Why not?

 Little do they know, he likes a good party or a club or a bar because being Richard Grayson and hanging out with society’s elite sometimes has its perks. Sometimes. Like buying out a VIP section and dancing and drinking and pretending for the briefest of moments that the world didn’t almost end hours or days ago… sometimes that’s nice. Sometimes.

 Batman told him to have fun and enjoy his weekend. Be a teen for a change. And Dick always takes advantage of those rare opportunities because, sometimes, he needs a breather.

 But- The party. Or, the house party packed with hormones and adrenaline after a big football game. Typical high school party by any standards (standards being beer, music, and horny teens). Dick feels like he’s in one of his elements because he likes to dance. Likes to dance and drink and he’s oh-so good at drawing people in and being the life of a party when he wants to be –comes from years of practice and being Bruce Wayne’s son. (When he doesn’t want to be the center of attention, he’s even better at being an observant shadow).

 But- um- The party.

 The team as a collective has never seen this particular side to him. Not really. His alter element (ha!). But they like “off-duty” Dick and they all embrace him differently.

 Megan gets a kick out of his outfit (all black, all tight fitting, and it accentuates his best features –it’s like a Bat rule to wear black, clingy clothes, and look good for all occasions). She says he’s, “Friggin’ hot” and gladly introduces him to all of her friends on the cheer squad. They can’t believe he’s only 15 but they can’t get enough of him. They eat up his charm and try to keep him –makes the football players jealous (for a number of reasons if he has to guess).

 But he has Conner so he doesn’t worry about it much. Conner intimidates the bullheaded football players that eye Dick. He doesn’t give a damn what their thoughts are but he’s not letting anything happen under his watch –not with the threat of Batman looming over his head.

 Artemis and Zatanna drag Dick into the dead center of the thriving mass of bodies in what used to be the living room but is now a dance floor. Neither of them are surprised that Dick can dance and he’s gorgeous and moves like the music is made specifically for him to move to it. They love it! They sandwich him and kiss him and run their hands everywhere and they all laugh and try to keep up or take the lead or those two just let him lead. They probably dance for an hour straight –it’s that fun- but it’s fine because he has a good time and he gets birthday kisses out of it from two of the most beautiful girls he knows. Well- more of a mind numbing make out with Zatanna as she snags the back of his neck and teases her tongue along the seam of his lips before slipping it in and getting a taste. She tastes like sin and sugar.

 Dick considers himself winning.

 Kaldur’s the one that offers him a break from the dance floor. Shares Dick’s first drink of the night with him because it’s a tradition –both one that they’ve formed and an Atlantean birthday custom. So they drink and talk about the difference between surface life and non-surface life and parties top-side versus parties seaside. But Dick can’t help seeing everything or multitasking, thus, when the girl by the door who’s been watching Kaldur all night takes a bold step towards them, he pushes his friend off on her because Atlanteans deserve a break too.

 Roy gives him his second kiss of the night. That one kiss leads to being pinned against a door upstairs and Dick hitching himself up and locking his legs around strong hips while tangling his fingers in soft red hair. To imprinting beer and cigarette toxins and fast-food on shocked tastes buds via mouth-to-mouth. To swollen lips and teeth tugging at the sensitive flesh just beneath the ear or right along the jaw –leaving marks in desperation as hands grip and pull. It makes Dick cuss and pant and gasp sweetly into Roy’s mouth when the hothead sucks on his bottom lip and traces gums with the tip of his tongue.

 Between breaths, Roy leans back and leers and smirks all cocky- “This is such a bad idea.” Because it is. Every time they end up like that, it’s one of the best “bad ideas”. Ever.

 Dick pushes his glasses up, up, up, until they’re sitting atop his head and then he’s all teeth and constricted pupils. A predator. “I’ve been an accomplice to worse ideas.”

 True. Very true.

 It kills Roy’s feeble attempt at an argument to dissuade them from going further.

 So they make out some more and when the door opens and they topple backwards and end up in a heap laughing, it stops there but it isn’t the first time they’ve made out and they never make any promises about a last.

 But, Dicks last dance and last kiss for the night are given to the one person he doesn’t expect them to end with, yet, at the same time, he kind of does.

 Wally.

 He’s relatively drunk by the time they end up pressed together in the middle of the dance floor. Drunk, but not unaware. So when Wally replaces the girl behind him, Dick knows. Recognizes the hands that clumsily guide and sway his hips and pulls him unbearably close. Is familiar with the chin that gets tucked against his shoulder and the soft lips that brush along his neck when Wally whispers, “Happy birthday, Little Bats”. But then, those lips keep moving and pressing and teeth get into the mix and a lazy trail burns from just behind the ear to shoulder. Makes Dick’s mind stutter and blank out as he tilts his head and still moves to the music.

 At some point, they escape the throng on the makeshift dance floor but Dick can’t say when or how that happens.

 So he’s not sure how they end up on the trampoline in the backyard. How Wally ends up slotted between his welcoming thighs as that warm mouth eagerly attaches to the pale flesh of neck and collar and jaw. Or how Wally devours every little moan and giddy sigh while staring at Dick like he’s just- he’s everything. And he definitely can’t comprehend why Wally is literally vibrating but it feels so incredible and he’s so hard it aches to shift in his god forbidden skinny jeans. But shifting is the least of his- their problems because they are most certainly grinding against each other and Dick is whining and saying “Walls… man… c’mon…” And then his bottom lip is being savored and his mouth is being teased- “C’mon…” He whines again.

 To which, Wally snorts and chases after swollen lips before muttering, “I’ll c’mon alright.”

 A haughty retort sits at the tip of Dick’s tongue but it dies there all the same because Wally has his hips and he’s just grinding down and rutting and vibrating and- and- Dick can’t think straight. Can’t breathe right. Can’t see clearly. His nerves are on fire and short-circuiting and his heart is trying to thump right out of his chest- “Ah- shit-” He clutches at strong shoulders.

 “It’s okay, babe. It’s okay,” Wally murmurs sweetly while grunting and mouthing Dick’s earlobe-

 And Dick cums right in his pants. Swears he sees stars as he rides out his orgasm and Wally’s smug smile is the last thing he clearly remembers about the night.

 -

-

-

 “So… we gonna talk about this or…”

 “Or.” Dick bites out because he has a headache that’s making one side of his head throb irritatingly with every sound and every attempt at speech and his eyes feel like they’re being stabbed –repetitively- and his mouth is all dry and cottony.

 Yeah.

 Definitely not the time to talk. But he doubts he’ll get away so easily.

 Doesn’t hurt to try.

 Green eyes stare at Dick with consideration and then Wally thinks, consideration be damned and he sits on the counter where Dick is slumped. “Dude… we- um… we should talk.” Because they need to and because he needs help because he technically cheated on Artemis with his best bro and- and it’s weird as all hell and-

 Ice blue eyes cast a sidelong glance in Wally’s direction and Dick prays that they convey his thoughts on the matter but Kidiot is being so willful far too early in the morning- “Talk.”

 Something about that makes Wally smile but then it’s replaced by this odd half-smile and half-grimace- “So… we hooked up last night.”

 Dick sits up and stares, makes Wally flush a gorgeous shade of crimson. “Sure. It happened. We were inebriated. We always goof around and some lines got blurred because of the previous. We’re horny, hormonal, teenage boys and shit like this happens. This doesn’t make you gay –queer maybe but not gay. If you’re gay then so is Arty because she hooked up with Zatanna right after making out with M’Gann. So, really, we’re all just teenagers here and all of this experimentation was bound to happen. But you and I are still best bros. I’m just crazy hot and irresistible so I don’t blame you for giving in to temptation. And none of this is weird.” He pauses for effect. Even manages a smirk. “Need anything else or can this talk be considered complete so that I can go back to bed.” All he wanted from the kitchen was water but he ends up with more of a headache instead.

 Very unproductive –emphasis on the un.

 Wally sits there, jaw slack and mind racing because- because Dick is a total dick but he just said everything that really needed saying so… “Man, I think I love you!” And he forgets about the whole hangover thing when he slaps Dick’s back.

 Dick glares and rubs his temples and can still manage a joke despite wanting to get to bed and feeling shitty. “One night and you’re already in love. Damn, I’m good.”

 “I sort of remember doing all of the work last night.” It’s funny how he can joke about it now that Dick’s cleared the air but that’s how best friends operate so Wally considers it all good.

 “But it was because I made you want to do all of the work. I’m clearly amazing. Now lemme go back to bed.” Dick doesn’t wait for Wally to give him the go ahead before he stands and starts moving towards his room.

 On his way, when he passes by M’Gann’s room, he makes a mental note to thank her for one of the best birthdays. Ever.

[hermanwatts]

The Chinoiserie Genre, Revisited

(What follows is a repost from April 2017, updated to include the chinoiserie explosion of the past three years.)

Readers familiar with the Pulp Revolution have certainly by now heard that with the death of the pulps, many genres fell out of favor. Hero pulps, sword and sorcery, and planetary romance have all declined from the heyday of the 1930s, often replaced entirely by other expressions of fantasy and science fiction. Yet as we return to reading the pulps instead of what people say about the pulps, whispers of other genres appear. For instance, hidden among the three proud pillars of weird fiction – horror, science fiction, and fantasy – is a fourth genre, one as exotic as its name: chinoiserie.

Chinoiserie first started in the 18th century in the visual arts. European artists impressed by Chinese artistry began to imitate the Eastern designs, incorporating them into pottery, furniture, decor, gardening, and even music. The appetite for chinoiserie grew with the perception of China as a highly civilized culture, even beyond the European norms. The artistic movement continues to the present day, with many works of chinoiserie available online. As with many artistic movements, this fascination with exotic cultures made a jump into literature.

Literary chinoiserie began as an exploration of unfamiliar Oriental cultures as perceived by Western writers.  While the visual arts quickly distinguished between Chinese-influenced chinoiserie and Japanese-influenced japonisme, no such distinction was made in the literary world, with chinoiserie describing Persian, Byzantine, Japanese, Tibetan, and Chinese stories. (Despite convention, I will be using chinoiserie and japonisme to differentiate the two flavors of literary chinoiserie.) However, the term quickly narrowed to Pacific Asian cultures, with the Chinese association dominating. Literary chinoiserie expresses itself in three major forms; the exploration of Chinese lands, the exploration of Western ideas of Chinese culture in both its homeland and its diaspora settlements, and the exploration of an idealized China that never was. Occasionally, Western culture would dress up in chinoiserie robes for the purpose of satire, as in Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Mikado. But common to all expressions is the idea of the outsider looking into another culture not his own, and not always understanding what is seen. One does not write chinoiserie of their own culture. The Chinese author of the Three Body Problem, Cixin Liu, writes Chinese science fiction, while Peter Grant writes chinoiserie science fiction dealing with Chinese triads in space in his Maxwell Saga.

Perhaps the most sensationalized version of chinoiserie, yellow peril is the tendency of pulp writers to use Chinese as villains, as popularized by the Lord of Strange Deaths himself, Fu Manchu. Hidden in every shadow were copycat secret societies led by cunning occult mentalists and sensuous deceitful dragon ladies. This was primarily a staple of weird menace, a sensationalist genre of lurid stories where a dreadful and mysterious terror, usually occult or supernatural, threatens to overtake the hero unless he acts. This Chinese threat was not the only staple of the genre, as fantastic, mythological, and scientific terrors would also loom in the pulps, however the trope was common enough to have its subversions and aversions, with the honorable and heroic detective Charlie Chan as the most famous antithesis to yellow peril villains.

Chinoiserie’s fascination with exotic China found a home in the pulps. The Shadow’s first adventure, The Living Shadow, found the Knight of Darkness playing master of disguise in Chinatown to root out a hidden killer. Counter to convention, this killer, Diamond Bert, only posed as a Chinese mastermind. Among the imitators of the Shadow, the Green Lama featured an American student of the Tibetan Lamas using Eastern secrets to defeat Western criminals. Sidney Herschel Small wrote adventures of Asia and American Chinatowns. E. Hoffman Price led the parade of writers of Weird Tales who would use chinoserie, many of which would claim that their stories had been discovered in the markets of China and Istanbul. Clark Aston Smith wrote a prose poem describing two lovers separated by centuries in his “Chinoiserie.” Manly Wade Wellman’s occult investigator, John Thunstone, would test his metal and that of a holy blade against a cursed Gurka honor sword in “The Dai Sword.”

As the pulp age faded, so did literary chinoiserie. But the fascination with China lived on. Robert van Gulik found a copy of The Celebrated Cases of Judge Dee in a second-hand store and translated the fictional account of Tang dynasty judge Di Renjie into English. Van Gulik then wrote an entire series of new adventures for Judge Dee, starting with The Chinese Maze Murders. The adventures of the Sinanju master assassin Chuin and his worthless assistant Remo Williams filled book after book of the men’s adventure series The Destroyer. Andre Norton brought a taste of China to gothic romance in The White Jade Fox, where an antebellum governess must keep her charge’s Chinese treasures safe from her stepmother. E. Hoffman Price would return to chinoiserie in The Devil Wives of Li Fong with the tale of the serpent Mei Ling as she protects her family from Taoist magic. Finally, in perhaps the brightest gem of the chinoiserie crown, Barry Hughart’s Bridge of Birds chronicles the adventures of the sage Master Li and the villager Number Ten Ox as they face off against crooked peddlers, rabbity tax assessors, exalted lords, and the machinations of the gods themselves in search of a cure for the kuu poison affecting their village’s children.

Inspired by Bruce Lee’s fame and Hong Kong cinema, movies such as John Carpenter’s cult-classic Chinatown misadventure Big Trouble in Little China and Disney’s Mulan took the torch of chinoiserie from literature, created beloved classics of the silver screen in the process. Chinoiserie also moved to video games with the gory martial-arts fighting series Mortal Kombat and Bioware’s  Jade Empire, an RPG homage to the Shaw Brothers‘ kung-fu movies, while the short-lived Firefly television series added a Chinese voice to the strange conversation between Japanese samurai films, American westerns, and science fiction as a whole. More recently, the martial arts cartoon Avatar: The Last Airbender explored a fantasy version of China, mixing Western alchemical elements with Chinese martial arts. The tradition continues into this decade, with Wu-Tang Clan’s RZA starring in The Man with the Iron Fists, a loving tribute to the grindhouse days of blacksploitation and the Shaw Brothers’ cinema.

As China moved from the written page into the theaters and small screens, Japan took over the written word. James Clavell’s Shogun and Jessica Amanda Salmonson’s fantasy adventures of female samurai Tomoe Gozen are among the first novels reflecting the shift from chinoiserie to japonisme. As Japan rose again to become an economic power and a media giant in the 1980s, American fascination with the Land of the Rising Sun grew, spilling over into its stories. Perceptions of present day Japan are explored in thrillers like Michael Crichton’s Rising Sun, lost-in-translation misadventures like Isaac Adamson’s Tokyo Suckerpunch, and lost to reality gamer webcomics such as Megatokyo. Continuing the tradition created by Lafcadio Hearn’s Kwaidan, the folklore and mythology of Japan are explored in novels such as Kij Johnson’s The Fox Woman and Lian Hearn’s Tale of Shikanoko series. Japanese history from the Heian court to the Warring States forms the backdrop for I. J. Parker’s Akitada mysteries, the Yamada Monogatari series of Richard Parks, and the classic Tales of the Otori. Japanese elements flavor John Wright’s Daughter of Danger, Neil Gaiman‘s Sandman and American Gods, and indie works such as Rawle Nyanzi’s Sword & Flower and countless others. And the thirst for all things Japanese (and japonisme) has yet to be quenched.

Perhaps the reason why chinoiserie and japonisme do not get the recognition that other genres do is because they combine so well with other genres. Chinoiserie rarely stands alone in a story, but crosses with action, with detective mystery, with noir, with fantasy, and even with science fiction to bring a exotic flavor to those genres. It has been easy to lose sight of the influence of chinoiserie as this weird fiction genre has drifted into the historical fiction and literature shelves. However, the influence of the East upon weird fiction is unmistakable, and chinoiserie is as much a founding genre as fantasy, science fiction, and horror.

Since this article was first penned in April 2017, the fashions of publishing, both traditional and independent, have brought easy access to original works from Asian countries, including web novels, light novels, literary RPGs, wuxia martial arts epics, and xianxia chi cultivation epics. As the number of Chinese, Korean,  and Japanese novels in English increased, and even Russian copies of the same genres, they inspired a similar boom in chinoiserie.

Some Western writers penned their own adventures in a mysterious East that never was, but should have been. See M. L Wang’s The Sword of Kaigen, Tao Wong’s A Thousand Li series, and M. H. Johnson’s Silver Fox and Western Hero series. Others wrote Western versions of favorite Eastern genres, including the entirety of the current litRPG/GameLit scene, an early boom in kaiju monsters, and the regrettable prevalence of harem sexual comedies. Brandon Varnell has distinguished himself as the front runner in original English light novels. And a giant robot scene continues to simmer beneath the science fiction waves of space marines and stormtroopers, led by Chaney and Taggert’s The Messenger series and Brian Niemeier’s Combat Frame XSeed. Finally, a few writers, like Dakota Krout in his Divine Dungeon series, have melted Eastern and Western ideas and influences into Matrix-like newness. And for each author mentioned, there are five others awaiting discovery.

Readers’ thirsts for chinoiserie and japonisme have yet to be quenched, and those with that taste may soon find themselves in a silver age of Eastern-flavored adventures.

The Chinoiserie Genre, Revisited published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/

[charetfriarsclub-blog]

How To Produce Excellent Comedy For Your Business Vacation Party (From an Expert Comedian)

A vacation party is normally a time for event and a good funny show can be a terrific method to thank your staff members for a task well done. However there are some rules to think about if you want to ensure that you get the best outcomes for your company and from your talent Bruce Charet.

 DISCOVERING YOUR TALENT.

 There are a great deal of methods to look for comedians, and whether you go through a lecture agent, speaker bureau, funny agent, or check out your regional funny club, here are a few things to think about.

 First, business funny is various. If you see somebody at a local club and they're funny and reasonably tidy, there's absolutely nothing wrong with putting them on your list. However make certain that they understand the rules, since a bar comic is typically comfortable utilizing raw language and material that may not fit your crowd.

 So have a look at their websites, or much better still, see them live if possible, and call among their referrals. When you view their video, attempt to glance the whole program to get a sense of how everything circulations, rather than just presume that everything will resemble what they place on their emphasize reel.

 Some comics, including myself, work all kinds of different places, and we are able to change our product from show to reveal depending on the forum. But I've also been doing this for over 3 years and know what's right for each crowd. The danger with a young inexperienced comic is that he or she may share great intents, however utilize unsuitable product if they feel they're not getting enough laughs, so keep that in mind.

 As soon as you have actually chosen your talent, ensure that they consent to your guidelines. More than likely this suggests no cursing, no potty humour and avoiding material that is politically incorrect. It assists to review some of their jokes in advance to offer specific examples of what's fine and what would be considered crossing the line.

 Now, it's true some smaller sized business have looser cultures. My partner operates in a workplace wherein charges shout and curse all day long, so if they hired a comedian for a celebration, the limits would most likely be a lot looser, but even then, an excellent business comic understands to err on the side of safety. Whatever you decide, use due diligence and do your research.

 AGREEMENTS.

 When you've chosen your acts, make sure all celebrations have a signed contract and a deposit. I usually get 50% which secures the date for the business, so they're guaranteed I'm not going to take an eleventh-hour deal for better money (not that I would), but it likewise ensures that I won't lose cash if I have actually refused work and the boss all of a sudden chooses to employ his second cousin's nephew.

 COST.

 It's hard for me to give specifics due to the fact that it really depends upon the size of group and venue for your celebration. If your company is small, the budget plan is clearly going to be rather different then it would be for a Fortune 500. The bottom line is, provide yourself a variety to patronize and be prepared to be versatile if you find a specific act that you simply need to have.

 Keep in mind, the better acts are in higher need, so they generally do charge more, but there are lots of fairly priced comics who may not be family names, however will still do an excellent task for your group. But take care about hiring a comic that is available in at a price that's too low. They might be just starting or may not have much experience in the corporate market.

 Keep in mind that the comedy program is probably going to be the important things your co-workers keep in mind most about the party, so be careful not to be cent wise and dollar foolish.

 DEVELOPING A GOOD COMEDY ENVIRONMENT AT THE VENUE.

 I have actually done comedy in all sort of scenarios and absolutely nothing is harder for a comedian than to enter front of a rowdy crowd who wants to drink, talk and mingle, and could not care less that there's a show. So the number 1 rule is to deal with the program with due regard. If the party coordinators behave as if it's background sound, the audience will usually respond in kind and the comics will be difficult-pressed to overcome that. But if you set it upright, it can be golden.

 Wherever you hold the occasion, try to be sure your group has its own separate space so you prevent the opportunity of a loud bar or too much noise from other clients.

 Let your group understand that there's a show ahead of time and stress that if anyone just absolutely has to be talking for whatever factor, that they need to take it outside. Then make sure cell-phones are all off and have somebody from the business present the comedian so that everybody focuses.

 It's also crucial that everybody is seated, due to the fact that when too many people are standing, they're agitated, and it's harder for even the very best comic to hold their attention. And finally, do not start the program during the meal because no one actually chuckles too much when they're chewing. So try to do the comedy either after the meal, get the wait-staff to stop moving and provide everyone a 5-minute heads-up right prior to so they can use the centres.

 NOISE AND LIGHTS.

 Sound and lights are more vital then you may believe, so it's constantly an excellent concept to have your entertainer test both before the program when the room is empty.

 A lot of hotel meeting room have tiny little round speakers developed into the ceiling. Utilize these only as a last hope. Bad noise can really injure a comedy show, due to the fact that if the audience can't plainly understand what the comic is saying, the humour isn't going to fly.

 Lots of comedians have their own noise devices. I have a portable stereo that's good for about 250 individuals. If I'm doing a local show and I'm not exactly sure of the venue conditions, I throw it in the car simply in case. However bear in mind, if you require the comic to bring their own equipment, there is typically an extra charge.

 Among the trickiest parts about setting the best tone for comedy is the lighting.

 Basically, the total goal is to get the comedian well lit (however not blinded), and have the audience dim however not dark, which increases the intimacy element and makes it more comfortable for everyone to laugh. It likewise helps since the comic can still see the faces and body movement of the audience throughout the show.

 AUDIENCE POSITIONING.

 If you've ever been to a funny club you understand that everyone is usually packed in like sardines. There are 2 factors for this. First, the more individuals the club suits their room, the more money they're clearly making, but second, is that it greatly increases laughter.

 While, you might not want to squeeze your workers quite that securely, do attempt to keep the tables fairly close together and near the comedian. Laughter truly is contagious and this is among the most important elements to an effective show.

 LENGTH OF SHOW.

 If you want a full funny show with 3 comics, about 90 minutes has to do with right, with the emcee normally doing 15-20, the middle about 30, and the headliner about 45. If you employ just 1 or 2 acts, anything from 30-75 minutes is fairly typical, however it really depends on whether you desire comedy to be a spice component for your celebration, or to work as the main course.

 TIME OF DAY.

 The very best time for a comic is normally in the evening, but I have actually worked corporate functions at every possible time of day. Almost whenever can work, however if your celebration remains in the morning, I recommend that you try not to start off with funny as the very first course, because your crowd merely will not be all that alert. I've performed at conventions as early as 8 am, and I have actually succeeded, however it's a really different response at 8 AM then it is even an hour later on.

 MAKE THE COMIC( S) COMFORTABLE - IT ACTUALLY DOES HELP THE SHOW.

 Attempt to make your comic( s) be as comfy as possible. If there's food, and it's not prohibitively costly, we always appreciate a great meal.

 It's likewise handy to have a place in the back of the space, or much better still, in another space, for your comics to hang out before the show.

 Many comics are quite low maintenance. We perform in many different circumstances that we're normally quite flexible, however the more you make us feel welcome, the much easier it is for us to concentrate on our job - which is to offer you a terrific show.

 In my own profession, I've entertained at the NY Stock Exchange, opened for leading name acts at major theatres in front of thousands of individuals, been on national TV shows, and appeared at some truly mindboggling corporate events. I've also been at bars, clubs, coffee homes, libraries and drug rehabilitation. No matter what the location or occasion, the less extraneous stuff we have to fret about, the better it is for everything.

 OTHER FUNNY CHOICES - ROASTS AND PUT-ONS.

 Roasts are a fun method to let off some steam about workplace politics and business policies, however again, make certain you get someone who understands what they're doing.

 This is one of the important things I concentrate on and I love doing it, but it's a lot of composing so I do charge more. However what you're getting in return is a lot more customized show.

 When a comic is doing jokes about the business policies and some of your coworkers and officers, the audience is basically constantly riveted. If you do choose a roast, I recommend you examine ALL the comedian's material so there are not a surprises.

 You may also consider the business put-on, where the comedian is presented as a new vice president who's signing up with the company after the holidays with some "fresh new ideas" for enhancing organisation. This gives it an added element of surprise, however again, this isn't something that every comic can manage.

[escapingreality1992]

Secret Pen Pals Ch. 9

Keira’s POV

           I got back in New York late on the 30th; around 11 p.m. I had booked the flight later so I could spend a little more time with my parents. Thankfully, they wanted to have a restful holiday and didn’t pester me about finding a new job or that “special” someone. Instead, they chose to spend the rest of the days relaxed and we watched movies that we had yet to catch up on.

           I took my daily jogs, always bringing Newt along for the journey. After I had received the letter from Steve, I found my mood boosted and never strayed from it, even when it was time to head to the airport. My parents hadn’t questioned who Steve was, I suppose deciding I would tell them in time, when I wanted to share the matter. I planned on telling them; they would be the first to know. I would tell the rest of the family when the right moment came along. Maybe it was a bit selfish, but it was time I did things for myself.

           I’d been letting people walk over me as if I resembled a doormat. Time to stand up for myself; time to speak up if something was bothering me. Hey, a New Year’s Resolution. I’m getting a head start on them. I laughed as I lugged my suitcase and tote bags up the stairs to my apartment. I normally didn’t struggle with it, but the presents I had received weighed the suitcase down. By the time I had reached my door and unlocked it, sweat had begun to form on my forehead. I panted and rolled the suitcase behind me, propping it against the side of the couch.

           I sat down for a few minutes to catch my breath, shrugging out of my jacket to cool off. Taking a final deep breath to calm the fire in my chest, I got up and started to unpack everything in the bedroom. I threw dirty clothes in my hamper by my closet to wash tomorrow, clean ones and new ones I hung in the closet or folded to place in drawers. I know what you’re thinking. Maybe I should have gone to bed, unpacked in the morning.

           I didn’t want to leave things until morning; I had plans for New Year’s Eve and needed extra time to prepare for it. I’d be going out with my friends Jana, Charlotte, and Lena. Believe me, if they so much as insulted me, I planned to tell them how it was. I refused to be hurt any longer. I thought about inviting Natasha out, but I wasn’t sure if she was a night owl like me and didn’t want to text her late at night. Maybe I would send out a text in the morning to see what her plans were.

           With each new item I unpacked, I found a place for it, emptying the suitcase in its entirety. Once cleared out, I shoved it under my bed and set to work on both tote bags full to the brim with new trinkets from my family. Some were placed on my nightstands, others organized on the bookcase or shelves in the living room. I dared not place anything on my desk; the space I designated for Steve because he was dear to my heart.

           I still had the doodle of the dog with the ball of yarn near my computer and the other doodles I framed, two of the four on the desk and the other two I hung on the wall. They helped to inspire me when I wrote or if I needed comfort. I fingered the charm on the bracelet he had gifted me, satisfied with how I had things in my bedroom. Sighing, I changed into pajamas and wiped off my makeup to get in bed. Sliding down, I turned off the lamp on my nightstand and set an alarm to prepare for New Year’s Eve.

  Steve’s POV

           I sat in the living room by a window reading a book when Tony walked in the room.

           “Meeting in ten minutes Cap,” he announced, walking out again. Confused, I marked my place in the book and walked into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water. We hadn’t had a major battle in a few days, relaxing to be prepared for the next one. Maybe we were about to be called in for one tonight. By Tony’s tone, I didn’t get that feeling, hence the confusion. As usual, I entered the conference room early and sat down in my usual spot, waiting for the others to file in. Tony had already seated himself at the head of the table, spinning around in his chair like a child, making me question the topic of this meeting.

           Natasha, Bucky, Wanda, Sam and Bruce were next to arrive, followed by Thor, Loki, Rhodey and Clint. Each took their seats, Sam and Bucky on either side of me; Natasha had switched to sit beside Wanda, their hands linked. Silence went on for a few minutes, causing impatience within me.

           “What’s this about Tony? Why did you call us in for a meeting? Is there trouble?” I asked, the impatience growing more intense.

           “Just a minute. We’re waiting for Strange,” he answered. I crossed my arms over my chest to keep from drumming my fingers on the table. I should have grabbed a pencil and some paper, I thought. A nudge in my side had me turning to face Bucky, who smiled.

           “Keira’s coming back tonight, isn’t she? Do you know what time?” he whispered. I shook my head. She hadn’t mentioned what time she’d be back, only that she’d be back today; I now had something to distract me from the growing boredom. After another few minutes went by, Strange arrived and sat down, prompting Tony to begin the meeting.

           “New Year’s Eve. What are we thinking? Party? How about drinks at our usual bar? Quiet night in?” he said. Really? This is what he called us in for? I thought, releasing a deep sigh.

           “Party. Here at the compound. The bar will be crowded as well as anywhere else. We can also avoid people who want to see the Avengers. We can relax here,” Sam chimed in. This comment received nods from everyone else.

           “Great. It’ll be just between those here. It’s much too late to get those who are away here in time. Strange, Wong’s invited too. Feel free to invite dates or friends you think might want to be here. Now let’s discuss themes…” Tony said, going into more details. A vibration in my pocket alerted me to a text from Nat.

           ‘Want me to invite Keira? I have her number. You could finally meet her.’ It read. I looked up at her and shook my head. I typed out a message to send back.

           ‘I want to meet her alone. Talk to her by myself. I’ll introduce her to everyone during a better time.’ As much as I longed to see her, I still wanted it to be in a quiet place. I’d introduce Keira to my friends in time. I had my response to her in mind, but I didn’t want to compose it until another time; I wanted to try and wait until it got closer to the 18th. The meeting winded down, plans coming into place and we headed off to bed. I didn’t expect Keira and I to meet in just a few days’ time.

  Keira’s POV

           My alarm went off and I got up to start tidying up my apartment. I did laundry and vacuumed the floors until they were spotless. I set to taking down the decorations and placing them back in a spare closet where they’d stay until the next year. The laundry had to done in three separate loads, hanging and folding everything as it dried.

           I ran out to the grocery store and the ABC store to pick up meals for the week and supplies for later tonight once I got home from the wine bar with my friends. While out I sent a quick text to Natasha about coming out with us and shortly got a reply back.

           ‘Sorry. I can’t. I’ve made other plans. Want to get together later this week? I’ll introduce you to my fiancée,’ it read.

           ‘Sure. What about Saturday night? I’ll be happy to meet them. The more, the merrier I always say,’

           ‘Sounds good. Wanda is going to love you. See you Saturday. Would 8 be okay with you? We can meet at a bar on 6th. Unless you’d rather have a girls’ night in?’

           ‘8 is fine. I think a girls’ night in would be nice. I’m at the store now. Would you like me to pick up anything while I’m here?’

           ‘No, we can bring our own alcohol and snacks. If there are certain snacks you want, feel free to grab those. Since you’re hosting, that is. We’re not picky,’ I sent back ‘ok’ as my response, grabbing chips and brownie mix, deciding to add chocolate chips and marshmallows to it. I also threw in ingredients to make a feta garlic dip. Returning home, I unloaded the groceries and proceeded to get ready for my night out.

           I showered and wrapped myself in a towel, pulling out the dress I planned on wearing for tonight’s festivities. It was a black flapper-like dress and I paired it with a red leather jacket and black heels to complete the ensemble. In fact, it would go with my friends’ choices, all of us agreeing to be a little flashy tonight. It was about to be the 2020’s after all. It would be fitting to go out with a bang.

           I did my makeup a bit dark and smoky that might be enough to capture anyone’s attention. If only I’d been brave enough to ask for Steve’s number. I could have invited him out with me. He was the only one I wanted the attention from. Grabbing my keys, phone and purse, I exited my apartment taking a cab to the designated meeting place to hang out with my friends.

Thankfully, they were in a cheerful mood and celebrated the night without any insults. We stayed out together for three hours, going our separate ways; I head back to my apartment and celebrated the new year with a glass of champagne, indulging in spicy bloody marys until going to bed. I wouldn’t expect running into Steve at my favorite coffee shop.

  Steve’s POV

           Preparations were made for tonight’s party. We were having a simple feast; flatbreads, cheese plates and a multitude of dips. Wine would be provided ranging from whites and reds, rosés and champagne also included in the mix. If guests chose to have cocktails or beer, an open bar had all the items needed in order to fill their needs.

           I walked in from my usual run to see decorations of black and gold being put up and furniture being arranged to talk to each other. I made to go to my room when Tony asked me for my assistance while I was still in workout clothing. I helped to move couches and chairs, forming a complete circle; it resembled the round table from the legend of King Arthur.

           Funny, I never considered us knights. We were heroes, yes, but modern ones. Well, some of us were, Bucky and I both being from a different time; Thor and Loki from a completely different place. We moved the piano from the library in case those of us that played wanted to show off some skills. As everything came together, I was dismissed to get changed into a white, button up shirt and gray trousers. I combed my hair back in a slick back look, meeting my friends in the lounge. Natasha, who was wearing a gold, strapless dress, approached me, champagne flute in hand.

           “Keira invited me out tonight. I said no because of the party tonight. For a moment, I thought about giving her your number,” she told me.

           “You didn’t have to say no if you wanted to go out with her tonight. That’s way too tempting. I would have dropped everything to go out with her if she asked me. I’m trying to make it to the 18th. It’ll be worth it, though I’m still nervous about her reaction,” I said, grabbing a beer from the bar.

           “You shouldn’t be. I believe she’ll react well, even if she realizes who you are. My question is why you haven’t already gone over to her apartment. I know you’re being patient, but you’re also longing for her. Why not put an end to that longing?”

           “I’ve wanted to, but I don’t think barging in and kissing her is the answer. I think the reward for waiting will be breathtaking. And I still believe meeting in a place that’s quiet is ideal,” I said.

           “I see. You’re still a romantic Rogers. It’s sweet. You should know we’re hanging out Saturday night. Don’t give me that look. I can’t help it. She’s contagious in a good way. I’m getting used to the idea of becoming her friend. I’m bringing Wanda. It might be nice for her to have both of us as a friend,”

           “You’re unbelievable. But I love you for it. The three of you will be a good match as far as friendships go,” She laughed and we continued to talk among our friends, cheering when the new year rang in.

           “Here’s to new beginnings,” Tony said, raising his glass to toast everyone. New beginnings, indeed. My world was about to change, starting tomorrow.

  Keira’s POV            My alarm blared at me encouraging me to pull my body out of bed. I needed to go out for a run, energizing my mind for the day. I didn’t have much to do today and nobody to see. Work wouldn’t resume until the next day and I decided to grab coffee and maybe go see a movie or try something new. I could go ice skating, I thought. I was halfway through my run, only a half hour left, and my thoughts went to a chocolate chip muffin and an iced mocha for breakfast. I was determined to grab it after the jog; my favorite coffee shop wasn’t too far from my apartment.

           Finishing up, I went back to my apartment to grab my wallet, not bothering to change because I’d be going out in the afternoon anyway. New Yorkers didn’t care what you looked like as well. It was an easy way, about a mile and the atmosphere gave me motivation to keep coming back.

           The place was quieter than your average Starbucks and a little cheaper too. The aroma of it hit you as soon as you walked in; a blend of cinnamon and espresso, which created a nice smell in the building. It had shelves of little trinkets you could buy either to gift to somebody or to decorate your home with.

           There was also a small library with books people donated if they needed to. The furniture was vintage leather, dark in color, matched with midnight black tables, gold etching in the surfaces in a brilliant pattern. It was like you were taken back to the past while also being in a modern shop. There was wood paneling, the whorls in the wood making you feel as if you were on a pirate ship.

           I’m not sure most people even knew about it, but there were enough people who did so it would stay in business. I walked in and the barista all waved at me; I became a regular, plus some of them were clients of mine. They knew my order by heart and began making it before I reached the counter to pay for it. I didn’t know that among all the patrons sitting in the shop, the one person I longed to meet was among them. I didn’t know Steve Rogers was here until it happened. As soon as I received my iced mocha, I turned to sit down to wait on the muffin, I collided with someone.

  Steve’s POV

           New Year’s Day descended upon us and I still started the day with an early morning run. The route I took had me passing by a small coffee shop, which looked inviting. Normally, I wouldn’t have gone in it, settling for the coffee brewed at the compound. Today, I decided to do something new. I kept going, running until my workout came to an end; I returned to the compound and changed into a gray t-shirt, blue jeans, and a black jacket. I slipped on brown loafers, grabbed my wallet and a book, heading out to the coffee shop on my motorcycle.

           I needed quiet, a place to put my mind at ease. Read until my heart’s content. I entered, preparing for people to come up to me, to meet Captain America, but not one did. Most of the customers were engaged in reading the newspaper, working on their computers or indulging in a book of their own. I think some of the baristas recognized me, but they didn’t make a big show of it as I approached the counter.

           “What can I get you?” the girl behind one of the registers asked.

           “What do you recommend? It’s my first time in here,” I said.

           “We have a dark roast that’s popular with our customers. Or there’s an iced mocha that has extra chocolate in it. If you’re looking for breakfast items, the muffins are our best sellers. If you don’t want those, then the croissants are the next most people go for. Some of them come with jam in them of varying fruits. It just depends on what you’re in the mood for,”

           “I’ll take the dark roast, medium-sized and a…banana nut muffin,” I said. She rang up my order, asking my name out of policy reasons and I went to sit down at one of the tables. I opened my book and within five minutes my order was ready. While reading, I ate my muffin and sipped on the coffee. I lost track of time and didn’t realize the small amount of liquid sitting in the bottom of my cup had turned cold.

           I was too engaged in my book that I didn’t notice the door to the shop open or the woman who entered it. If I had, I wouldn’t know that the woman who came in was the one I’d been writing to for the past several months. I didn’t notice the baristas wave to her like they knew her from past visits. I took a sip of my coffee, grimaced at the coldness and got up to purchase a new cup.

           I had decided I wanted to stay a little longer instead of returning to the compound and wasting precious time training or being in my room, planning on getting refills for the next couple of hours. I didn’t pay attention to where I was going and didn’t see a woman turn to go sit down. The result of both of our actions caused us to collide…hard. Hard enough to knock her cup into her body and spill the coffee onto her shirt; mine also opened out onto her, both cups and ice hitting the floor.

           I heard her gasp as she took a step back from me. My head snapped open when it happened to see what a mess I caused. She was dressed in a white tank top and olive-green jogger pants, the same shade, which matched her eyes. Her long, light brown hair had been pulled up into a ponytail and none of the liquid had gotten into it.

           “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…I didn’t see you. Let me get some napkins. I’m really sorry. It’s all my fault. I should’ve paid attention to where I was going,” I said, frantically grabbing nearby napkins to dry her stained shirt.

           “That’s alright. No harm done. I’m just glad I ordered iced coffee. It wouldn’t have been good if it had been scalding hot,” she said, taking the napkins from me. Our fingers brushed and my breath hitched as a shock went through my skin.

           “I am sorry. I got both of our coffees on you. And you just ordered it. Your shirt is stained. I apologize. I-,”

           “It’s fine. Really. I’m not upset about it. I planned on changing anyway. The stains will wash out. No big deal. You can stop apologizing. I guess I should have looked up instead of walking to the tables,” she said, placing her hand on my wrist. Her eyes flashed up at me and my mouth went dry. They were familiar, but not really. It made me think of Keira and I had to clear my throat to say something.

           “At least let me pay for another coffee for you. I was already going to get another one for myself anyway. What did you order?” I offered. Damn, she’s making me nervous. Why do I feel hot all of a sudden? I feel like I know her from somewhere, I thought.

           “Sure. Thank you. I had a medium iced mocha,” she answered, removing her hand to wipe off her shirt a little more. I felt bad because it now revealed her sports bra from where it had spilled on her.

           “Take my jacket. It might cover up the stain,” I said, shrugging it off and handing it to her. She took it and slipped it around her shoulders, the size too big but helpful to hide the giant stain.

           “Thank you. Not to be weird, but it smells good. Whatever cologne you wear, keep wearing it,” she told me, rolling up the sleeves.

           “Keira Macpherson,” one barista called out. Chills went down my spine. The name, the girl I had been writing to had been called for.

           “That’s me. I was waiting on that chocolate chip muffin. I’ll be waiting over there,” she pointed to a table by a window and glanced me. “Hey, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said, placing a hand on my arm. The same electricity went through my body as she did so.

           “I’m fine. Uh, I’ll bring it to you. Would you mind if I joined you?” I said.

           “I don’t mind at all. It’s weird. I feel like I know you,” she said walking past me. My Keira. The woman I was falling in love with was the one I just spilled coffee on. I purchased another dark roast and another iced mocha for her, walking over to the table where she was seated. My hands were shaking. She noticed, the same olive-green eyes she told me about, appearing concerned.

           “Are you sure you’re okay?” She asked, taking the mocha from my hand.

           “Yeah. Your name is Keira? Keira Macpherson?”

           “That’s me. Forgive me. I just realized I haven’t asked you your name. I’d like to know the person who accidentally spilled coffee onto me. Though, I figured out who you are. I recognize you from the news. You’re Captain America. I don’t actually know your real name, however,” she said, leaning in and whispering the last part. She had a twinkle of amusement in her expression and tone, a hint she was laughing at me.

           “My name is Steve Rogers,” I noticed her smile falter as she registered the name. I tried not to wince. This wasn’t the reaction I wanted. “Nice to meet you,” I said, tensing waiting for her to say something.

           “You’re Steve Rogers? You’re the man I’ve been writing to this entire time? But you’re…”

           “Captain America. I’m painfully aware of that. It’s what I kept from you. I wanted to tell you, believe me, but I-,”

           “You were frightened. Of how I’d react. I understand. I know Captain America signed up for the event, but I didn’t know Gloria would assign me to you. How interesting,” I nodded, waiting for the rest to sink in. I expected her to get excited as all my fans did, to ask me all about the Avengers and what it was like being one. I expected her to get up and shout to the world she was here with Captain America and how she got to write to him. I was afraid she’d turn away from the man behind the mask.

           My expectation never came. Instead a smile, small and genuine, stretched across her lips. It was gentle enough to make my heart hammer in my chest, yet powerful enough to put an end to my fear.

           “You’re my Steve? The man I’ve been waiting for all these months, for all my life. The one I’m falling in love with,” she said. She hesitated to take my hand, but did it anyway, stroking the back of it with her thumb. The tension I’d been holding released, a calmness spread over me as I returned her smiled. This is the reaction I’d been wanting. For her to see me as I am.

           “You’re not disappointed?” I asked, closing my fingers around hers.

           “No, I’m not. I’m happy. Happy to finally meet you. I’ve wanted to see you for so long. I’ve wanted to feel your touch as I have it right now,” Keira replied.

           “I’m glad. If it’s no trouble, I’d love to talk to you. Alone. Unless you’d rather stay here. I want to spend the rest of the day with you. Get to know you. And then I’d like to ask if you’d like to go on a date with me. Is there some place we can go to do exactly that?” I said.

           “My apartment isn’t too far from here. We can go there. Unless you think it’s too forward,” she answered. I squeezed her hand, watched as a blush colored her cheeks.

           “It’s perfect,” I said. We got up, taking our coffees with us and began the journey to her apartment. We still held hands, talking along the way. In the few short moments it took to get to her home, we had also began a journey into the rest of our future together.