#i mean i HAVE been told i'm a good client very open about shit very willing to try things etc etc

[awellboiledicicle]

Dot had to redo the Harpy fight at the beach three times because SOMEONE kept being lured and dying. And then getting the death farts and killing Astarion.

That's neither here nor there, but i do want to appreciate that Dot's face while Gale is talking about his talents is just. "Sure bud. No idea what a tressym is, or a mephrit, but ok."

This is all first day interaction, btw. They just had their second short rest of the game to recover enough not to all be dying. Gale is giving peak 'fancy client that is very convinced she wants to know everything about the exotic car import business'. Just very strong 'look at me! arent i great!' energy. That said her expectations for Wizards were gandolf and Howl from Howls moving castle. Just somewhere in there. So she doesn't hold it against him, it's just kinda a 'flat look for a second before smiling and saying neat'.

Gale already told her about his condition and she took that well, so he's just sitting there thinking he was somehow rude or overhyped himself. Then he makes dinner at camp and she just literally cries because it's good and asks him for a hug in the middle of him trying to apologize that the limited ingredients meant it wasn't up to his usual standards.

That said she's just happy its not ramen and no one's been filled in on the 'not from here' thing yet. Because it literally comes up as they're all sitting there like.

"So." She sets aside her soup bowl, emptied and scraped clean, on the ground by her feet. She clasps her hands together in front of her mouth and hums. "I have a very, admittedly, wild question."

"Ask away, though if it's about ceremorphosis--"

"No, no it's not about going squid town--" Wyll snorted into his cup and she waved him off. "Erm. Where, and pardon my french, the fuck are we?"

"Somewhere along the Chironthar, according to the druids." At her very prolonged look of confusion Wyll continued. "Closer to Baldur's Gate than where Elturel used to be, at least."

"Allllriiiiight." She chewed her lip a moment. "What country? Continent?"

"The... sword coast." Gale paused packing up his things from supper and eyed her curiously. "How far afield did the ship grab you from?"

The look of confusion morphs into a bit of wide eyed discomfort.

"Hm! No idea where the fuck that is, so that's-- erm. I don't suppose you all know what earth is?"

"Academically, yes, though why would--" Gale paused, blinked, and then looked much more excited than was perhaps warranted. "The ship jumped to Earth?"

"See, i want to get back to what you mean by knowing it academically."

"And I want to know by your implication that your familiarity is practical!"

"I was born there?" At the sight of his jaw dropping open before the look of overwhelming curiosity returned, she squinted. "Are you going to say that's weird. Because if it is, weirder shit happened to get me here."

"Not weird, per se--" He tapped his chin, head tilted to get a better look at her. She fidgeted. "Earth is just... that is to say the plane it exists within is, well, fantastically difficult to get to outside of the odd natural portal or a gate set up by a very powerful wizard. Apologies, its... well, I wouldn't even know how to explain its rarity!"

"I'm a very special little alien, got it." Dot pinched her nose and took a deep breath. "Basically something took me from Earth and put me on the ship, then shit went sideways. I need you guys to tell me what the lay of the land is, essentially. Like, to the point of... explain it like i'm five years old."

"Surely there's enough similarity to things that Faerun won't be that foreign to you."

"Gale, you shoot magic out of your fingers. Magic where i come from is sleight of hand bullshit."

"... fair point."

[yardsards]

my hobbies include watching the sheer horror on new therapists' faces when i tell them about my childhood

[ub-sessed]

I wrote this little essay to post on Facebook. I'm posting it here first to psych myself up:

One year ago today I got my first tattoo: Þæs ofereode þisses swa mæg.

Holy shit, what a year it’s been.

Many of you may know that I’ve been sick for the past several months. I haven’t talked about it on here because until just a couple of weeks ago I didn’t have a diagnosis, and I couldn’t explain to people what was wrong with me: I didn’t know. (For people who are worrying: I’m fine now! Well, that’s not entirely true. But I am a lot better.)

At about 2 o’clock on the morning of July 30, 2021, I got up to go to the bathroom. On the way there I got so violently dizzy that I barely made it to the sink before puking my guts out. I tried to walk the nine feet to C’s room to get help, but I was so dizzy that even holding on to the wainscoting I fell down in the hallway vomiting. I managed to stretch out on the floor to knock on C’s door and tell her to get her father. The two of them had to practically carry me back to my bed. Anti-emetics didn’t help: I just threw them up. I couldn’t even sit up in bed without puking. I couldn’t open my eyes, because when I did everything was flying around like I was trapped inside a snowglobe being shaken by a very angry toddler.

I spent four days lying perfectly still on my side with my eyes closed, drinking watered-down orange juice out of a sippy cup and eating crushed up potato chips out of a bowl that was sitting on the bed in front of my face. I couldn’t talk for more than a couple of minutes at a time because the vibrations of my voice made me dizzy. C had to bring me to the bathroom in a wheelchair while I held my head in my hands to keep the world from flying off. Just rolling over the doorframe was such a jolt that I would cry out every time, even though I knew it was coming.

I spent three weeks in a wheelchair. I spent six months walking with a cane. I spent five months unable to read for more than a few minutes because the words jumped around too much. I would gradually improve over the course of a couple weeks and think I was getting better, only to get dramatically worse again. The doctors had told me that I would recover in a few weeks, but that just wasn’t happening. After several months I finally managed to get an appointment with an ENT, then waited to get tests, and then waited some more for the test results, which I finally got on January 18.

It turns out I have vestibular neuritis. If you look this up on the Internet, you will read that it usually goes away after about a month, but my ENT says that cases as severe as mine are actually not unexpected in people my age. He says it could take me another six months to recover completely… or I might never recover completely. Apparently a virus damaged the vestibular nerve in my right ear (this is the nerve that tells your brain which way is up and which way you’re moving), and although it is healing, nerves heal very slowly, and it might never heal all the way.

I can now walk in a straight line, most of the time. (I still use a cane when I leave the house just so people don’t think I’m a drunk person: sometimes I stagger a bit or start walking in a completely unexpected direction.) I am not nauseous, most of the time. (I still can’t watch anything with a lot of camera movement without feeling puky.) I can read, pretty much. (My eyes still jerk around randomly, which means I lose my place a lot, and it’s very difficult to focus on details.) I still get tired easily and often just zone out, like my eyes and brain just want a break.

Given that I earn my living by watching camera movement, reading and re-reading scripts, rapidly processing huge amounts of information, and having a preternaturally good eye for detail, you can understand why I couldn’t bring myself to discuss my condition here where all of my colleagues (and potential clients) could see.

But now that I have a diagnosis and have begun rehabilitation exercises, I’ve decided to stop hiding. I still don’t know what to expect. There is still a lot that I don’t understand about vestibular neuritis. I don’t know how long it will take me to get back to where I was. I don’t know if my body will ever get to the point where it can handle the long days, intense stress and massive sleep deprivation of working in television. (Apparently these things can cause your brain to temporarily “decompensate”, i.e. unlearn the workarounds that it has built to compensate for the damaged nerve.)

So it’s been a rough six months. I have missed being on set, I have missed my colleagues, I have missed feeling a part of creating something bigger than me. I have missed having an income! I have missed feeling competent and capable. I have missed being able to go out and do things. I have tried very hard to live in the moment and not worry about the future, because the thought of losing the career that is one of my main sources of joy, satisfaction, income and self-worth is terrifying.

A year ago I got a tattoo that says “Þæs ofereode þisses swa mæg”. This is from a 10th-century Old English poem by a bard named Deor, lamenting that he has lost his job as court minstrel. It can’t be translated directly, but basically it means, “That passed, so may this.” It’s an ambiguous statement, which means both “This may pass” and “May this pass.”

Deor doesn’t know if his troubles will end. He really fucking wants them to, but he doesn’t know. He is simultaneously accepting that he doesn’t know what the future will bring, and hoping anyway that the future will be better.

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 21

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

NOTE: Again, the third person POV starts after this sign: ✪

Tag: @maladaptivexxdaydreaming

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Still covered in nothing but sheets, Bucky was sleeping in your arms by the time you woke up. Little snores were coming out from his mouth. You smiled at the fluttering sound and planted a small kiss on the top of his head. You laid there listless, legs still shaking from what happened last night, and mind still clouded by Bucky's past.

Peter's annoying coffee bean grinder started filling your ears. They echoed against the apartment walls. You internally groaned at the sound. You looked on your right to take a peek at the small gaps between the curtains and the window. It was still quite dark out, the sun almost waking up. The time on the clock read 6:00 in red blinking lights. You let out a sigh. Peter hated mornings, more than Garfield hates Mondays. The only logical explanation of him getting up early in the morning and making loud, annoying noises with that old grinder was that he didn't sleep through the night or he woke up too early with too many things in his mind. You wanted to choose the latter. If he didn't get to sleep last night, there was a tiny chance he could've heard you and Bucky — might've even walked right in the middle of a very heated, wild sex between his best friend and his stepbrother, seeing as you stupidly left the door unlocked (by this time, you were already out of bed, your naked body wrapped with a cheap bathrobe you've had with you since your college days).

You made a mental note to yourself to lock the door all the damn time, now that you and Bucky were being careful.

Last night might have not been the best thing you've ever done but it sure felt so good.

You stepped out of your room and approached the kitchen. Peter had his back on you and was just getting a filter paper from the top shelf.

"Good morning, Peter Parker." You said, earning a genuine shock from your best friend. Your voice came out groggier than you'd expected.

He turned around, a filter paper in his hand. "Jesus, y/n Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry," you replied, "but it's six in the goddamn morning and you've probably woken up the whole building with your grinder."

He went back on his filter paper, placing it inside the coffee machine. That was probably the most expensive thing he'd ever gotten himself. "I ran out of coffee grounds. I had to make them."

You stayed quiet for a while, leaning against the counter and watching Peter pour the grounds into the filter. You watched as he smoothed the grounds with his finger. After a while, he placed both his hands on the edge of the counter, looking at the coffee drip. The whole time, you prayed to God Bucky didn't stir or make any noise in the bedroom. Thankfully, he didn't. He looked like he would be sleeping for a while, anyway.

Biting your lip, you walked to where Peter was standing and stood beside him. You waited for him to say something — anything about any noises he must've heard from last night but there weren't any. If he did, you'd be dead. You and Bucky would be dead.

Moments have passed. The coffee machine whirred on the table. The coffee pot was almost full. The dull kitchen smell was replaced by the inviting coffee aroma. Then, you found my voice

"I'm not sorry for taking the job, Peter." You started, your voice weak, barely a whisper. "I need it. But I am sorry for not appreciating you and your efforts to help me with my career. You have to know that. It's just... you know I feel about the corporate life — "

"I know, y/n." He cut you off. His gaze was now off the coffee maker but at the tiled wall in front. "I'm sorry for reacting that way. I was just tired from the trip." He faced you. A somber look crossed his face. Even if he was, just as he put it, "tired from the trip", you knew he was still hurt. And the more you looked at his baby-like face, the more you wanted to tell him about you and Bucky. You stifled yourself from doing so in your head.

Baby steps, y/n. Baby steps.

"I am proud of you." He stated. "I always have been. I hope you know that."

"Of course I do, Parker." A smile started to settle on your lips.

"It's one of the reasons why I want you to come work in the company. You've got a business degree, and you're a good photographer. And I'm proud of that. But," he paused, "I don't want to upset us both — especially you — by forcing something on you that you clearly don't want. If you're happy, then I'm happy. That's what matters, y/n."

That was a good opening, right? Usually, that was it: the perfect time to tell him that you were dating Bucky. If I'm happy, then he's happy. End of discussion. But things that don't go as planned also usually don't end up as well as you'd hope. After that, all you could utter was:

"Thank you. I am happy."

"And I trust Sam and Bucky."

You nodded, shying away at the mention of your lover.

Trust. It truly was a big and powerful word. The more you looked at Peter, the more the word "trust" started to blur all around him.

You shook your head, dissipating the thoughts swarming in your mind. "I'm starting today, by the way." You said.

"That's great, y/n." He replied. "And who knows, maybe you'll get bigger clients after this. I know Sam has a lot of connections when it comes to independent business owners. Bucky too! He probably knows a lot of models. Maybe he can help you with it, y'know? I mean, he's already helped."

"Maybe. Let's see." By this time, Peter was already pouring the coffee in his favorite mug. The words "Bucky" and "model" weren't sitting right with you. Was it a hint of jealousy on my end?

"Oh, how's it going with Wanda, by the way?" You asked, stirring the question in a different direction. Albeit liking that Peter was warming up to the idea of Bucky helping you, you didn't want to further the topic anymore as it was making you all shake up.

"She's coming in for a meeting today as well, actually. I really hope it goes well. This is the biggest account we've landed."

"That's good." You replied, nodding. Hoping that she wouldn't get Sharon Carter'd during the meeting. But then again, she was Wanda Maximoff — already known for her unremarkable talent. No one would ever think twice to question what she was capable of.

And who am I compared to her, anyway? You thought.

"So... you're starting today!" Peter exclaimed, stirring his coffee after putting in some milk.

"Yes. I have this pitch presentation for Sam and the team. But there's nothing to worry about. The last meeting went well and Sam and I have The Falcons' best interest." Then you told him about how you butted heads with his assistant, Sharon Carter.

"Oh, she's a Schmidt!" He commented, laughing. "Everyone's got a Schmidt."

You laughed alongside him, reminding yourself to beat Schmidt's ass when you see him.

"Man..." he trailed off. "How Bucky could convince you... it's still a mystery to me. You're kind of a hard shell to crack."

You chuckled nervously, gazing down at the floor. You didn't answer. You didn't know what else to say.

You and Peter chatted for a little while, burying the little hatchet you had. You talked more about the trip he'd had with his colleagues, the shocking truth about Steve's past ("Who knew he could write?"). Here, you made a mental note to yourself to perhaps check some articles he had written in the past. You also hoped some of them were online. By the time you and Peter stopped talking, he had already finished his cup of coffee and the sun was almost all the way up in the New York skies.

Before you even got out of the kitchen, you turned around and asked him one thing: "Hey, you still in love with that girl or did the whole retreat thing help you forget her?"

His back was turned to you once again as he was washing his mug. But his actions stopped once you asked the question. His head tilted. "Very much so."

You frowned, crossing your arms. "Very much in love with her still or..."

He turned around, his eyes meeting yours. "I'm still in love with her. Nothing's changed."

"See." You snorted. "The retreat thing was complete crap. Didn't do you shit. My advice for you? Tell her how you feel."

His eyes averted to the tiled floor, continuously nodding his head. "Perhaps."

With that, you left Peter with his lingering thoughts and wished him good luck. You must admit, the curiosity of who this girl he had been in love with for years was eating you. He was the kind of best friend who practically tells you everything that goes on in his life: all the good ones and the shitty ones. But you counted it fair, knowing that you too were keeping a dirty little secret from him. The only difference was your secret involved someone dear to him; whereas, his involved, perhaps, some girl you haven't even met yet. Maybe he met her in the office. Who knows?

You came back to your room, finding Bucky still asleep in your bed. You locked the door behind. The little snores coming out of his mouth were now gone. You woke him up quietly by kissing his temples and his forehead. After a few moments, his eyes fluttered open and a small curve by the corner of his lips started to show. The sun shone on half of his face, his ocean blue eyes absorbing all the light.

"Good morning, handsome." You whispered, smiling at him.

He chuckled and closed his eyes once more, letting his head dip into the pillow, as if shying away from a compliment. "G'morning." He lazily replied. "Is Peter still out there?"

"Yes, he's getting ready for work. You can go out after he leaves."

He rolled towards you, one arm dangling on your waist. "I don't want to go."

"You have to, silly." You giggled.

He shook his head on your tummy, tickling you. You laughed at the way he behaved. Different from the one you had witnessed last night. You stayed in bed for a little while, just in each other's arms, the silence closing in. It was a comfortable silence. One you could get used to. After what had transpired last night, silence was all you needed. Sometimes, it speaks louder than words could. We listened to each other's heartbeats, the sound of Peter's footsteps a few feet away from us, your shallow breathing, and the ongoing traffic just a few stories below

Then, Bucky broke the silence. "I never noticed how loud the traffic could be."

"It's either you've been living in a jungle or in a penthouse that almost reaches the sky."

"I'd like to live in a jungle." He continued. You prepared for his little ramblings, smiling to the wall in front. "So peaceful and quiet. I'd be swinging on vines to vines to vines like Tarzan. I'd like that."

You wanted to tell him a jungle isn't peaceful and quiet, with wild animals lurking around. But perhaps, compared to the human world, it was peaceful. Humans are behaving more like animals these days — or worse than them, even worse than the wild ones. But you liked that he was comfortable enough to tell you all the little weird things that were going on inside his head, all the good and bad, all the big and small. Things he had never uttered to others.

Perhaps it was good that the child in him was still there. At least he still sees the beauty in the world.

His phone vibrated somewhere on the floor, making your thoughts dissipate. He quickly picked it up as soon as he saw the caller ID.

"I have to go, doll." He sighed after talking to whoever was on the other line, picking up his boxers and his pants. You tilted your head to the side as he bent down, subconsciously biting your lower lip. "Tony's in the penthouse."

"Stark?" You frowned. "What's he doing in there?"

He pulled his shirt over his head. By this time, Peter had just finished showering. The water in the bathroom had just stopped dripping. "I'm about to find out."

"Peter's still out there. How are you gonna go out?"

His eyes moved to the closed window in front of him. "The same way I got in last night."

I raised your eyebrows, standing up. "In broad daylight? When people could see you? You're crazy."

"Well baby, I'm crazy for you and I see nothing wrong with that." He smirked, making his way towards you. "What's one more crazy thing to do?" He sped towards the window and quietly opened it, letting a cold breeze inside the room. His foot was just outside the window when you grabbed him and placed your mouth on his.

"Thanks for telling me about your past last night." You said, pulling away. It needed to be said. Now, you felt that you knew him better, knew the deep parts of himself he had been keeping, rather than the parts you already know about him. "I really appreciate it."

A soft smile landed on his lips. His hand caressing your jaw. "Thanks for listening, doll."

Then, he climbed down the fire escape, vanishing like Aladdin on his magic carpet.

--

The inviting smiles of the marketing team invited you into the conference room (the same one as last week) as soon as they saw you walk in. With your head held high, red lips, stilettos, and a bunch of papers and a laptop in hand, you shook all their hands with your free one, introducing yourself. Your eyes landed on Sharon who just gave you a nod. You turned around and fixed all the things you needed for your pitch on the table and felt a bit sad about you and Sharon's little exchange.

You were the only women in the room. The least you guys could do was to back each other up but clearly, it wasn't the way she usually goes. Or maybe she just really hated your guts.

While waiting for Sam to arrive, you practiced the speech you've had prepared a few days ago in your head as you skimmed the slides you prepared — all the color schemes, the tones, the framing, everything were on there.

Sharon approached you hesitantly. You looked up and gave her a questioning look, your fingers suspended in mid-air against the touchpad of your laptop.

"Barnes not coming with you today?"

"No." You briefly replied.

You went back to your presentation but Sharon didn't budge. She just stood there, looking down on you. "Can I help you with something or are you just gonna stand there?"

"You're not so bad, Ms. y/l/n." She said, startling you.

"What?"

"I saw your online portfolio." She answered. "You're good. I mean, you're no Maximoff but yeah, I guess you have potential. You just need a bit of push and the right audience."

You looked back up, giving her a small smile. Albeit the backhanded slap, it was the nicest thing she had ever said to you since day one. "Thank you."

"I'm looking forward to what you might bring to The Falcons."

"And I as well."

Sam arrived a bit later, having had some problems with the shipment of the next batch. You asked if this was going to be a problem in the production for the shoot but assured you and everyone else that it wouldn't be. Not anymore.

Bucky sent you a short text message right before you started the pitch, attached with a photo of him in a black hoodie with an unamused expression crossing his face. The hood perfectly framed his face in a weird way.

The day got dragged in seconds. Even though your pitch presentation about the production and post-production of the photos ended in a New York minute, with no further questions asked (surprisingly), the interview with the countless models and athletes took longer than you thought. Some even flirted with you (and not so subtle, you might as well add) to get the job. That alone just said a little too much of their work ethic and professionalism — which none of them had.

"She's taken, buddy." Sam glared at the model right across from you. "Move along now."

We watched the Australian model get up with a huff, mumbling something incoherent under his breath.

"I could've taken care of that, y'know." You sneered. "I don't need you looking out for me when Bucky's not around."

He scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest. His eyes on the papers lined up on the table. Beside you, Sharon was scribbling something on a piece of paper, double checking all the resumes, and couldn't care less about your conversation.

"Bitch please. I ain't looking out for you, kid. I'm looking out for Bucky."

"Sure, you are." You smiled, your eyes following the next model entering Sam's office. "Admit it, you care about me."

"Ha! You wish." His body language did say exactly that but his smiling eyes said otherwise.

The series of interviews went well after that, less people flirted. If not with you, with Sam and Sharon as well. Despite that, you've met people from different walks of life; people with stories to show and tell through photographs, stories worth telling, people who have been through success and failure, who have been marginalized by people who think of themselves as superior beings, people who are still finding purpose in life. And this is what you adored in this project and what you loved about photography. It was more than making money, more than a business, more than a face. It's all about the stories behind. And you couldn't wait to capture these stories in your lenses once you've chosen the twenty models and athletes.

After the long interview, you bid goodbye to Sam and Sharon, thanking them for the time and the work you've had today. To your surprise, you saw Sharon curve up a small smile as she shook your hand. Maybe you'd get along after all. Who knew?

You hailed a yellow cab in front of Sam's building and went straight to the bar, texting Bucky that you were on your way. You smiled, sitting closer by the window, looking up at the sunset hues in the sky. Now, whenever you looked at the sunset, all you could think of was Bucky.

As you looked above, some striking letters caught your eye: Stark Industries. The biggest, most famous business franchise there ever was not just in New York but in America. Tony Stark had hotels, restaurants, clubs -- you bet there wasn't something he hadn't owned yet.

Upon getting at the bar, Bucky was already sitting on the high stool by the counter. You were getting ready to hug him from behind but seeing Peter get out from the toilet stopped you. Instead, you went for a small smile and a wave. You would've killed to hug him and kiss him after a long day.

Nat wasn't around for her shift tonight, so it was just Nick and the other guys going around for orders. You wondered if Steve too was around or not but it looked like he wasn't. Well, that explains things. It wasn't that hard to put two and two together.

The bar's atmosphere was different without Nat around. Everyone was nice.

"Hey, it's Miss Big-Shot!" Even Nick was nice. "What can I get for ya?"

You ordered a non-alcoholic drink while telling Peter and Bucky how things went through today, secretly wishing it was just you and Bucky. You would've been sitting close together, thighs grazing each other, fingers brushing against each other under the counter, like a couple morphing into one entity.

You secretly kept glancing at Bucky, wondering what was in his mind, wondering if he too wished the same thing you had wished for, wondering if he would kiss me every chance he'd get to. You weren't a big fan of the whole PDA thing but when it came to Bucky, you'd let him do anything to you anytime, anywhere.

After you told them how your day went, you decided to ask a stupid question: "Oh hey, Bucky, how'd it go with Tony?"

Silence filled the counter. Bucky's eyes filled with horror while Peter shot you a questioning look. Then, he looked at Bucky. "You saw Mr. Stark today?" Then, back at you. "Wait, ho-how did you know about that?"

It was a good thing you were quick to think off the top of your head. "Bucky and I ran to each other in Manhattan and I asked how he was doing and then he told me about it! Right, Bucky?"

"That's it!" He replied, smiling awkwardly. "We did and yes, I told her."

"Aw, man. Mr. Stark never answers my phone calls or messages." Peter pouted. "What did you guys talk about?"

Bucky shrugged, taking a sip of his beer. "Business stuff. He says he wants me to be more... present. You know how he is."

But Peter didn't seem to mind about Bucky's reply. "How come he doesn't call me?"

"Oh my god, Parker, are you jealous?" You laughed, nudging his shoulder.

"Well, he never calls me!"

"Aw, is daddy too busy for his little boy?" You joked, pinching his cheeks which he slapped away.

"Ew, don't call him that!" Peter exclaimed, playfully glaring at you. "And he's not my dad! He's his dad!" He pointed at Bucky with his thumb."

"I'm adopted."

"Which technically means he's your dad." He replied. "Did he say anything about me?"

"No, not really." Bucky chuckled at Peter's whining, putting a hand on his shoulder, as if reassuring him. "Don't worry, kid. We'll go pay him a little visit and you can curse him out if you want. I'll be happy to back you up."

"Oohh, I can never do that to Mr. Stark."

"Why not?" You asked. "He's not your father. I say go curse him out."

"He's Tony Stark!" He exclaimed. "You'd be crazy to do that."

"You are such a baby, Parker." You groaned.

"I know." Peter smirked. "That's why women find me adorable."

"Gross." You cringed at him, throwing a cashew nut to his face. "Never ever say that again."

After about an hour of catching up, you three went to the apartment, the awkward silence during the elevator ride killing you each passing second.

You and Bucky stood behind Peter as he struggled to open the door, a little too close for Peter's liking (if he could see us now). Bucky slowly hooked his pinky with yours. You looked at him with a small smile on your face, then down at your pinkies hooked together.

They looked like a little knot on a string.

Bucky looked straight ahead, a sly smile playing on his lips as his hand moved from your hand to your ass. You slightly jumped at the contact, a small blush covering your cheeks. He removed it immediately when Peter managed to open the door after mumbling a few profanities under his breath. You quietly whimpered at the absence of Bucky's touch.

You went straight to your room after that, leaving Bucky and Peter in the living room. While changing, you noticed a gift-wrapped box sitting on your bed. It was a sleek black medium-sized box, adorned with a thick black ribbon, and thin silver ribbons. You frowned at it as you unbuttoned your blouse. You brushed your hand against the ribbon, looking for a note but there was none.

Once you put on some house clothes, you sat on the bed and carefully opened the box. You gasped as you carried the lid. Inside was the Nikon D850 — exactly what you've been wanting — and three different lenses, each with a different purpose.

"Bucky, you son of a bitch." You mumbled, adoring the equipment laid out on the bed.

On the bottom of the box, was a little white note that read:

For the most talented person I know.

Yours,

B.

You glanced at the door as you heard Bucky's laugh echoing against the apartment walls and immediately got out of your room. Peter was already walking to his room to change, leaving you and Bucky in the living room.

"You're welcome, doll." He whispered.

You wasted no time to push him towards the kitchen, and trapped him on the counter, your lips already smashing his. "You don't know how much I've wanted to do that since I saw you at the bar." You breathed out.

"Oh trust me," a quick peck on the lips, "I know."

"Bucky, the gift — "

"Is not too much."

"I was going to say I appreciate it." You smirked. "I think I know you well enough now not to say those kinds of things. But — "

He groaned, throwing his head back. "No buts, baby, please. Unless it's your butt." Then he, the cheeky guy he was, moved his hands on your ass, squeezing them.

"But..." You placed his hands back on your waist, giving him a look. "You don't have to do this all the time, okay?"

"I'm not making any promises."

"James, I mean it."

"Y/n." He smirked. "I mean it too."

"You're never gonna stop, aren't you?" You sighed, gazing into his eyes.

"You know me well enough to answer that question yourself. Now, what do you say when you've received something from me?"

"That's not fair. When you give it to me," you pushed your crotch against his, earning a slight groan from his end, "I normally don't say thank you. How come I should say it now?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "You're really something else. You know that, right?"

You rolled your eyes. "The amount of times you've told me that, Bucky, I swear — "

Then, he shut you up by kissing you softly on the lips. "Where's my thank you?"

You giggled, pressing against him harder. "How about I say thank you in a different way? How's that sound?"

"Right here? Doll, y'know I'm not one for a quickie. If I want to fuck you — "

The sound of Peter's door opening made you jump off Bucky faster than the speed of light. Peter entered the kitchen as you pretended to grab something from the fridge.

"So... this was nice." Bucky said, peeling himself away from the counter. "But I have to go. It's getting kind of dark now plus Howard's waiting for me downstairs."

You watched as Bucky and Peter exchanged their goodbyes by the door, and watched your lover walk away from you without a short hug.

As soon as you went back to your room, your phone rang. You immediately picked it up seeing Bucky's name on the screen.

"If I want to fuck you — and trust me, I always want to — I'd be doing it all day, all night. My place tomorrow. I'll be waiting for you, my little devil."

And with that, you laid on your bed, together with Bucky's gifts, with the thought of Bucky pleasuring you in all ways possible running through your head.

✪

Steve Rogers strode in the mirrored hallways of the Stark industries with Jarvis right beside him, dreading for this spontaneous meet to end. Keeping his head low, he asked Jarvis:

"What does Stark want from me now, Jarvis?"

Jarvis gave him a side-glance, not uttering a single word.

"Oh come on, now." Steve looked at the blonde beside him. "Don't be shy. Usually, you have the right words to say."

But Jarvis didn't budge. He knew Tony well enough not to talk to Steve. Besides, it wasn't any of his business. He was just Tony's little errand boy -- alright, perhaps errand boy was a bit degrading. His... assistant. Someone who does the dirty work for the boss.

"The silent treatment? Really?"

Jarvis internally groaned. Steve didn't use to talk that much back in the good old days. Almost reaching Tony's office, Jarvis showed him the way but Steve stopped him.

"Yeah, yeah. I know where it is." Steve huffed.

"Very well, then."

"Oh, now you talk." Steve said, stopping right outside Tony's tall metallic doors. Jarvis offered him utter silence. "Always a pleasure, Vis."

Tony Stark sat on his cushioned throne, trailing a little yellow cab with his fingers, as if playing with toy cars. Once he heard the door close behind him, he turned around and met Steve's cold blue eyes.

"Mr. Rogers." Tony acknowledged, eyeing Steve from his head to his feet. "Please, sit down."

"I won't be long."

"I'm afraid that's not for you to tell." Tony's voice was firm. Authoritative. Something Steve never missed. "We have much to discuss."

Steve sighed, defeated. He had no other choice but to sit across from the jerk.

"If you're here to tell me to shut up about that thing you don't want Bucky to know, don't worry, I will."

"So..." Tony trailed off, pulling himself closer to his table. "You know that I know."

"It was more of a guess." He replied, frowning. "But knowing you, I just knew it to be true."

"Alright," Tony exhaled, minding Steve's cockiness, "let's cut to the chase here. Your little bar? Captain Brews? I want to buy it."

"No."

Tony was taken aback by Steve's swift answer but he didn't show it. People always said yes to Tony. Always. "I'm afraid that word isn't a part of my vocabulary."

"See, that's where we differ 'cause in mine, it is." Steve answered, keeping his voice strong and steady. "I don't want anything to do with you. I did everything you told me to. Leave me and my bar alone."

"How much do you want for it?"

"What?"

"Ten million? Fifteen?"

Steve scoffed, biting his lower lip. "I told you, I won't tell Bucky what I know. I've burned all the papers, all the articles, all the drafts. There's no evidence left. Buying the bar just to have your strings on me won't do you any good, Stark. I won't allow it. You've already had my word before, right? What's one more?"

[caswellprmanager]

the caswell wears prada

read it on ao3!

Summary: EJ's style is simple and functional but Ricky discovers he's capable of more than just letterman jackets and white sneakers. (Part 4 of my trans!ej and genderqueer!ricky AU.)

Author's Notes: I have this little headcanon that EJ used to model baby clothes when he was a baby. Then only went back to modelling once he transitioned to the point he was comfortable enough. Also not me giving Ashlyn's parents a purpose except for just leaving the house empty enough for Ashlyn to throw parties. Hope you guys enjoy!

Warning: Implied Sexual Content at the very end but since it's not explicit, I'll just let y'all use your imaginations.

Ricky has almost exclusively seen EJ in basic white boy clothes. It's usually just a nice fitting t-shirt, some branded jacket, jeans, and branded sneakers. It's not exactly avant-garde but Ricky can appreciate the fact that EJ has found a distinct style that's both understated yet elevates his already good looks.

But from what Ricky has learned in the few months that they've been dating EJ is that just because he dresses like that, it doesn't mean EJ does not have an eye for fashion.

Ricky learned this one day when the two of them were hanging out with Gina and Ashlyn at Ashlyn's house.

Ashlyn's mom was the Editor-In-Chief of an editorial fashion magazine that focuses on highlighting brands that promote sustainable fashion. She also runs a design company herself. Every other minute, she'd be going in and out of her design studio with a phone against her ear and a different meter of fabric in her hands. Her job is also the reason why Ashlyn's parents aren't usually home. Ashlyn's mom would be invited to different fashion events or she'd meet with a client about a new start-up. Ashlyn's dad accompanies her so that she wouldn't overwork herself.

None of that is new to Ricky. What is new, however, is EJ's involvement in her work.

"Ashlyn!" Mrs. Caswell rushes in, a hundred different scarves wrapped around her neck. Ricky wonders if she can breathe beneath all that cashmere and silk. "Darling, I need your help."

"What is it, mom?" Ashlyn asks, pausing the movie the four of them were watching.

Instead of responding, Mrs. Caswell just runs back to her home studio with a hurried click of her heels. Ashlyn looks at the rest of the group with a shrug, moving to stand up until her mom comes rushing back in – this time with a little purple hat perched on her strawberry blond locks.

"EJ, sweetheart! You come too. I need your opinion on a few things." Before any of them could say anything, she's disappeared back into her studio in a flurry of scarves and sequins.

EJ doesn't even bat an eye and moves to follow his cousin out of the living room. Ricky grabs his hand before he could leave, asking him what Ashlyn's mom wants his opinion on. EJ isn't exactly Paris Fashion Week, if Ricky was gonna be honest.

EJ just smiles, placing a chaste kiss on Ricky's lips before saying, "I'll tell you when we get back."

With that statement, Ricky and Gina are left alone, both feeling more confused than before.

"Does that happen often?" Ricky asks Gina, who is picking through the popcorn bowl.

"Ashlyn's mom being weird?" Gina tosses a popcorn kernel up into the air before catching it into her mouth flawlessly. "I've seen Ashlyn help her a few times. But I haven't seen her call EJ into that room before."

"Yeah..." Ricky picks at a loose thread on their jeans. "Didn't really peg EJ as the fashionable type."

Gina pauses in her pursuit of the perfect popcorn kernel and raises a questioning eyebrow towards Ricky. "Hold up... EJ never told you?"

"Told me... what?" Ricky started to panic a little bit. They never liked hearing ominous phrases like that from other people. It fuels their already present anxiety about dating someone who is way out of their league like EJ – someone who could leave Ricky at any time if they realize that Ricky will never be good enough for them.

Gina seems to realize this quickly enough and she tries to diffuse the situation before it gets worse. "Oh! No no no, Ricky, it isn't bad!"

"Then what is it?" Instead of answering, Gina just looks over shoulder at the direction of where the Caswell Cousins went to. After a few seconds of making sure the coast is clear, she tilts her head and motions for Ricky to follow her.

Gina leads Ricky to the spare guest room that EJ occupies sometimes when he doesn't want to sleep at home. In fact, sometimes this room is literally just called EJ's extra room because he's here so frequently. Ricky's napped here a couple of times so it isn't a new place. But he's usually too tired to explore it due to some recent emotional problem or another.

By the far wall is a dresser that Ricky hasn't ever thought to look through. Gina beckons him to come closer as she opens the bottom drawer.

"Ashlyn showed me this when I first moved in. We had to call EJ immediately after because I just had... so many questions." After a few seconds of rummaging, Gina brings out a small stack of magazines triumphantly.

Ricky recognizes the magazines immediately as the same ones Ashlyn's mom is the Editor-In-Chief for.

"Are those...?" Ricky asks and Gina nods excitedly, motioning for him to sit down next to her. The two of them peer through the old issues together, pointing at things they think would look nice on them.

Before they turn to the middle spread, Gina turns to them with a serious look in her eye. "Ricky, I need you to brace yourself."

Ricky tilts their head in confusion. "For what?"

"Just," And Gina can't even hide her giddy little smile. "Get ready."

Ricky can't even bring themself to respond before Gina is showing them the middle spread of the magazine. Their mind skids to a halt when they see a younger EJ staring back at them from the glossy pages, dressed head to toe in the finest three-piece dress suit Ricky's ever seen.

And it isn't just that, EJ's all over the spread – dressed in all kinds of outfits. From gorgeously crafted lace button downs to tastefully styled overcoats – EJ models the shit out of them. Ricky scans the pages in awe because they've never seen EJ wear stuff like this. Sure, they've seen EJ in a suit during homecoming but not one with embroidered roses across the vest or paired with diamond encrusted gold jewelry.

Gina turns the page and Ricky lets out a small gasp.

It's a two page Ashlyn and EJ spread – the cousins looking absolutely ethereal dressed in the most delicate fabric embroidered with flowers along the seams. Their skin is glowing beneath the sunset, the light catching at the highlights on their cheekbones. But what really got to Ricky is one very small but powerful detail:

The flowers along EJ's shirt and the makeup he's wearing are in the trans flag colors.

"Ricky, look." Gina points at the small interview portion at the corner of the page, smiling when Ricky reads it and realizes that it's about EJ.

E.J. Caswell – Teen Transgender Model

"I've been avoiding modeling since I started transitioning and coming back to it was really scary." Says teen model E.J. Caswell. "But when my aunt gave me the opportunity to finally speak my truth through fashion, I knew that I wouldn't regret this decision in the long run."

"There are still so many moments where I hate my body. It's gonna take a while until that goes away. And maybe it won't. Ever." E.J. tells us with a sad smile. "But this is a start – and I get to style some really cool clothes while I'm at it!"

When Ashlyn Caswell was asked about the significance of this project to her cousin and to future transgender models, she smiled softly, making it abundantly clear how much she adores her older cousin. "E.J. is one of the bravest people I know. He's always been an inspiration to me and I'm so proud of him for doing this on his own terms. Plus, I'm really happy he asked me to be a part of it with him. But don't tell him I said that! I'll never hear the end of it."

"She said that?" E.J. said with barely concealed glee. "Aww, Ashlyn!"

Ricky and Gina giggle at the mental image of EJ probably giving an exasperated Ashlyn a big bear hug after his interview. Ricky can't help but stare at the spread again, lightly trailing his finger over EJ's face with a soft smile. He really is so beautiful. Ricky sometimes can't believe that someone as gorgeous as EJ is real.

"Looks like Gina beat me to it."

The sound of EJ's voice by the doorway makes the two of them freeze and turn to see both Caswell cousins looking at them with knowing smiles. But Ashlyn and EJ weren't wearing what they were wearing before Ashlyn's mom called them for help.

Instead, Ashlyn was wearing a floor length pink chiffon dress with embroidered roses scattered along its sleeves and body. EJ was wearing a dress shirt of similar color and material, pairing it with white dress pants and a ruby encrusted rose broach.

"Well look at you two supermodels!" Gina squealed in glee, bounding over to gush over Ashlyn's outfit. Ricky stays rooted in their spot on the floor, their eyes never leaving EJ's. EJ approaches them slowly and takes a seat on the bed next to Ricky. He moves into an effortless pose, making Ricky blush more than necessary.

EJ smiles at them, eyes sparkling mischievously. "Hi."

"H-Hi." Ricky says, moving to face EJ with shaky legs. "You look nice."

"Just nice?" EJ leans down with a smirk, a lock of hair falling to his forehead like some goddamn romance movie. Ricky didn't even notice that even his hair was styled differently. Was EJ growing his hair out? Why didn't he warn me?

"I'd say something dirtier but I don't wanna traumatize the girls." EJ laughs at that and Ricky could only stare at the way EJ throws his head back with the most beautiful smile they've ever seen.

This isn't fair. EJ is sitting here looking like he was plucked straight out of a Vogue magazine while Ricky's sorry ass is on the floor in pajama pants and an old hoodie. Fuck. They should have texted Kourtney for help with their outfit today.

"You're so cute," EJ leans forward even closer, so close that EJ's able to lightly graze their noses together. "Maybe I should dress like this more often to make you blush like that."

Ricky contemplates on the statement for a bit, imagining what it would be like if EJ were to wear more designer clothes to school everyday. EJ right now certainly looks confident and cool. Plus, he gets the added bonus of Ricky looking extra flustered around him.

But at the end of the day, it's EJ's body and EJ gets to choose whatever makes him feel good.

Besides, Ricky fell for EJ without all the bells and whistles.

"You don't have to wear fancy clothes to make me think you're gorgeous." Ricky says before they can stop themself from saying it. But it's out now and there's no turning back. EJ's eyes widen but they eventually soften after processing what Ricky said.

"It doesn't matter what I think, though." Ricky says, reaching for EJ's hand. "What matters is that you're happy. Whether you're wearing a potato sack or Versace. As long as you feel comfortable and you're seeing your favorite self in the mirror, I'll tell you that you're the most handsome boy in the world."

Ricky scoots closer to place a soft kiss on EJ's nose before pressing their foreheads together. Ricky can't really tell who's smiling wider from this angle but they didn't care.

"My handsome boy." Ricky whispers, lightly tracing EJ's bottom lip with their thumb. EJ smiles even wider at the sound of that and it never fails to make Ricky happy seeing EJ so happy.

They're about to move in for another kiss when they hear Ashlyn cough from the doorway.

The two of them separate abruptly, both blushing profusely as the girls giggle behind their hands.

"We'll leave you two alone," Ashlyn says, grabbing Gina's hand to pull her back to the living room. "I'll tell mom you'll be late for dinner."

As soon as the door closes behind the girls, Ricky turns back to a still blushing EJ, a small but urgent thought manifesting to the front of their mind.

"I should take this off-" EJ doesn't even get the chance to finish his sentence before Ricky is pushing him down on the bed and straddling his hips. "R-Ricky?"

Ricky smirks, placing a single finger on EJ's lips as they lean forward to whisper in his ear,

"I'll help you take it off." EJ lets out the smallest whimper at that but Ricky shushes him, blowing against his earlobe. "But you have to be quiet, handsome."

As soon as EJ shakily nods his head yes, Ricky gets to work.

Unfortunately, they're more than a little late for dinner.

---

A/N: I've added some reference pics below if y'all want a better image of what EJ and Ashlyn were wearing hehe :>

[lukasthemedic]

Property Brothers Fic

Original posting date - 2016 A03 works

Renovation Hell

Chapter 1

Jonathan gently rubs his fingers against his temples, leaning down on the counter above his barely touched chicken and fruit salad. His hands and arms are covered in particles from this current reno, his legs ache to the point he can barely stand it. Actually, all of him aches. He's been working so hard, so many late nights into early mornings. The unbelievable requests of these homeowners, more additions the further into the already crunched timeline they gave him. Barking orders, stalling the installation of most of the lower level of the house still. He is generally pretty calm, easy going. But he can barely continue to take the filming with this couple.

Jonathan's phone rings, a vivid reminder that he isn't off work, even when he is. "Hey, this is Jonathan." He says as professionally as he can manage into the speaker, keeping one hand leaning against his now throbbing head. He already knows who it is before he even gets an answer back on the staticky other end. "Yeah, I know it looks like it's not coming together as quickly as you had wanted it, but I can assure you--" He's cut off by more hasty, obnoxious comments being spewed from the other line of the husband and wife duo.

The door creaks open quickly and Drew is careful to shut it quietly, with ease. He knows how difficult this renovation has been on Jonathan, how much work he has had to put into it. How much work it has been on all of them, the whole crew.

"I understand, and I know that you'll be the ones living in the house, seeing it for the rest of your lives. But I can assure you, I am going to make the deadline and ensure all of your requests have been met. How about I bring over some new options for the kitchen backsplash and countertops tomorrow morning and you can meet me there and take a look." He blankly explains, as calmly as possible. He gently taps his fingers against his fork, regretting the portion of his salad he already consumed. The insults and stabbing remarks about his work make his stomach turn. He's hates this aspect of trying to be a helpful person to everyone. He should have known, this evening like all the rest, wouldn't come without an interrupting, hellish phone call.

Drew takes a sharp, shaky breathe and makes his way towards his twin, careful to keep himself quiet when he grabs wine glasses and pours them both extremely large servings, sitting down across from Jonathan at the kitchen bar.

Jonathan's face turns a deep scarlet, rolling his eyes as he continues to keep himself from snapping under more demands of the clients on the other end. His palms are sweaty, and Drew can tell he is getting more and more frustrated by the way that his brothers hand tenses up under his when he tries to slide it over his while he taps it against his fork, silently pleading with him to keep his cool.

"Yes, I completely understand. I'll be there as early as you need me to get my work out of the way. I'm sorry there have been so many inconvenient steps for you. I appreciate the opportunity to be able to work with you on your dream home."

"Yeah, dream home is an extremely shit description for having to work with your incompetent crew. I can't believe we have to deal with all of this bullshit. You better be there in the morning when I get there!" Drew hears the guy on the other end of the line yelling at his brother, putting no ease into the way he slams into Jonathan's. Drew is thankful when the guy decides to hang up on him, abruptly ending the phone call, allowing Jonathan to put his phone down and rest his hands against his temples again.

"Hey, don't listen to that." Drew quietly offers to his brother, pushing the drink closer to him. "You know you're the best. They always just get a little frustrated when they can't see the bigger picture until it's finished."

"Yeah, a little." Jonathan scoffs, pushing the wine glass away from him. "I'm not in the mood."

Jonathan finally looks up, Drew melts in his deep green eyes glaring across the room. Drew can tell he is hurt, knowing he is looking at everything around them, avoiding the contact of his own eyes.

Jonathan downs the glass of wine he slid across from himself earlier and stands up, cleaning off his plate and putting it away.

Drew carefully watches him, finally seeing his brother relax a little, and hopes that the rest of the evening can be less tense. Jonathan grabs a bottle of whiskey from their bar and downs a good amount, nearly finishing off what they have left of it. "Do you remember what you said in that interview yesterday." Jonathan asks his brother, not allowing it as a question, rather as a cold statement. He puts the whiskey back, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and facing back to stand with his brother, now face to face with him.

"What do you mean?" Drew sighs, trying to plead with his twin to turn his mood around, not wanting to focus on anything else that could come between them at this point.

Jonathan scoffs, " you don't remember when you gave a tour of the house and told the reporter about how we sleep in separate rooms. How we're not even allowed to come in one another's." Jonathan says coldly, looking back at Drew with daggers in his warm eyes. Drew can see the hurt and confusion on his brothers face, realising just how much he's already had to deal with today, and then bring this back up.

"Jonathan, you know I didn't mean that. She was suspicious. I had to redirect her, you know how much all of this means, for our personal life to stay private and separate from our shows." Drew takes a step closer to his brother, trying to grab for his hips and slide him closer in. "I can only imagine what will be said at the Google interview this weekend for our book." He whispers into Jonathan's ear. "Fanfiction, if we're lucky." He gently kisses his jawline and laughs into his neck.

The master bed room wasn't shown in the tour of their house. In fact, the two rooms that were staged as their own are two of the guests rooms. They have a lot of traffic during shows that are shot in the area, generally having enough rooms in the house and space for the crew to stay, either with them or their parents.

"I'm sorry I'm snapping at you. This renovation is just really difficult. I'm so tired of everyone else feeling like they're the contractors here and not me. Telling me how to do my job, all the extra steps." Jonathan sighs, letting Drew pull him closer. "I missed you today. I didn't see you." He mumbles, hoping Drew will want to stay up for awhile and relax with him even though they have a long day of shooting tomorrow. Two shows, and an interview in the evening. Plus they have an early flight at the end of the week for their Google interviews, which means nights spent in uncomfortable hotel rooms and very little sleep, if any. They always get things booked so tight together when they have to leave the state, so they can accomplish so much in such a little time.

Drew leans in, pulling him as close as their bodies will allow, sculpting to one another. He runs his hands down the sides of his brothers body and bites on his lip, leaving Jonathan shivering with the release of finally having his twin there with him.

Jonathan pulls Drew closer, almost falling into him, completely exhausted and enveloped into his brothers arms, "let's go take a shower and find something to watch." Drew pulls Jonathan's chin up to plant another quick kiss on his lips, pulling his brother along with him up the stairs to the bathroom.

Every stair is another painful reminder to Jonathan that he has so much to finish tomorrow and each step he takes towards the bathroom puts another step in his head about the project. "That guy is such an asshole." He mutters, following suit of his brother towards the bathroom at the end of the hall.

"I know, but don't let it bother you. Soon this reno will be over and we will be on to bigger and better things. Surely with nicer people." He calmly says, hopeful that he is right, because he knows that Jonathan can't take much more. He always has the bulk of the work, and the weight of the projects on him. No wonder he is always at his end.

Jonathan sits on the edge of the bed, plopping his head back and resting his arms under his neck. He could fall asleep so easily right now if he wanted to. But he really needs to stay up and work on some designs for the house, some of the "finishing touches" that the couple has emailed him, adding to the list. "Are you good?" Drew questions, placing an uneasy hand on his brothers thigh, leaning down, towering over his face.

"Yeah." Jonathan sighs. "I just have so much to catch up on now. I'll have to stay up all night toying with these new designs and have to be there really early in the morning. I'm just worn out. I do this for a living. I shouldn't feel this way." He mumbles, arching his back and tossing his hands over his eyes, shielding them from his brothers wondering looks.

Jonathan is a little bit tipsy from the drinks he had earlier, but not enough to feel any better about the situation.

He feels his brothers warm hands travel closer into his thighs, hearing the bed creak as he uses it to get on his knees and feels him rest his head between his legs, face planted in the comforter. "This reno sucks." Drew mumbles, muffled by the bed. He takes a deep breath and brings his head back up to rest on his twins warm legs

Chapter 2

"I know just what you need." Drew says with a sly smirk on his face, peering up at his twin from between his thighs, eyes traveling up his chest. Drew pulls himself up to hover over his brother and adjusts his legs on either side of his twin's hips, gazing down at him. "How bad do you want me?" He mercilessly grins, grabbing a fistful of Jonathan's drywall covered flannel, drawing his lips closer to his face.

Jonathan can't help but melt under the dark stare that Drew is giving him, peering down, grasping his shirt so tightly that his knuckles are beginning to turn white. Just when Jonathan thought that this day was a definite drag down. He knows his brother is always going to be there for him, in more ways than he ever imagined. "Bad, please." Jonathan whines from under his grasp, from the weight of his body grinding down on him. He can't help it when Drew plays him like this, because his brother knows that when he can't have what he wants, he desires it more. Drew loves making his brother beg for him, and Jonathan grows evermore excitedly every time he has to wait for what is coming. "Please, Drew. I want you so ba-" Jonathan is cut off from his twin's mouth, grabbing down and biting hard on his lip, moaning into his brother's mouth. He runs his mouth, slowly along his lips, giving deep tender kisses, careful to keep watching. He loves when Jonathan squirms under him from his touch, head arching back against the bed, eyes closed with anticipation building. "God, yes. Mhmm." Jonathan groans, his brother tracing his lips down his cheek, his jawline. He runs his hands down his sides, pulling his shirt up to expose his bare skin. Jonathan's muscles ache even more from the cool air hitting his exhausted body and he grinds his teeth together, letting out a slow roll of breath between his locked jaws. "Give it to me, Drew." He begs as his brother continues to run his hands and mouth over his chest, looking up to meet his brother's glare only for a second before he continues to trail his mouth down his stomach to his jeans.

"You have to be patient, haven't you learned anything?" Drew chuckles, reaching to unbutton his jeans and slide them carefully down to his ankles, so Jonathan can successfully kick them off onto the floor where his wrinkled and dirty shirt is already piled and waiting. Jonathan knows that Drew will wash him carefully and slowly in the shower, cuddle with him in bed and watch Chopped, or something ridiculous that he loves watching and Drew can't stand, just to make him happy. He knows that even after he's asleep and warm and content, that Drew will grab all of his dirty clothes and wash them before coming to bed. He knows that he will go back and clean up the mess in the kitchen that Jonathan makes when he's so exhausted from coming home and working that all he can think about is something quick enough and a drink to dull the previous hours pain so that he can crawl into bed and manage to get an hour or two of sleep before he hauls back to the renovation site. Jonathan knows that his brother will do this for him, because he loves him.

So, Jonathan is patient, with his brother's touch and his games. Because he knows how Drew enjoys their evenings together. It is rare when they have time together during renovations, shows, flights, etc. He knows that being at home with his twin's touch and his full attention is something he should be patient with. He knows that this game of head now will follow with a blissful shower. That Drew will come back upstairs after cleaning and making some late business calls to producers and emails to interviews and hopeful homebuyers for the show, to cuddle into his brother's warmth while he sleeps and carefully weave himself into his body, trying to wake him and get his attention. That he will want to make him wake up, aroused, and begging to have sex from the touch of Drew. That he will fall back asleep in the arms of his finally equally exhausted brother and they will sleep until the morning draws them up for a quick shower before being dragged back into the hell of this renovation. Jonathan remembers how much he dreads going to the site in the morning and his face becomes less relaxed and content with his brother's touch and he feels Drew stop moving over him.

"I know that look." Drew sighs, pulling himself back up to look into Jonathan's eyes. Drew's eyebrows furrow and he leans down closer to his brother so their mouths are almost touching, Jonathan works at cramming the thoughts back because he hates to think of anything else besides Drew when he is this intimate with him. "Just relax." Drew mumbles, placing one quick sloppy kiss on his twin's lips and travels back down to his briefs. Drew pulls at the tight band with his teeth, grabbing Jonathan's hard cock over the fabric separating them from touching. Drew moans, a deep and intense feeling of pleasure washes over him as he feels his brother throb under his grip. "Please, touch me. I want more." Jonathan begs, grabbing for his underwear. He feels his hand restrained to his side, Drew grinning down at him. "You don't get to decide when it's time. Don't threaten me to make you wait longer." He chuckles, releasing his brothers hand, and going back to his work. He kisses Jonathan over the fabric and shivers, hearing the moans work out from his brother's mouth. Deep growls starting at the back of his throat and escaping every time Drew breathes more hot air onto Jonathan's hard cock. He can barely contain himself any longer, and Drew must know that he is getting more and more restless, because he swiftly pulls his briefs off and tosses them down into the pile with the rest of the clothes.

"I've been waiting all day for you." Drew smirks, slowly drawing his eyes up to meet his brother's desperate stare. He gently kisses his twin on either side of his warm thighs, gently grabbing his balls with one cupped hand, and holding the other under his thigh, careful to be too rough. He knows that Jonathan likes it when he's rough, but after today he just wants to give him something to relax to. Drew finally slides his brother's twitching hot cock in his mouth, already feeling the precum on his tongue as he lets it dance against his brother's skin. He gently slides his fingers against Jonathan's thigh and back to his ass, feeling him arch against his touch, watching his body beg for more. He carefully inserts a finger into him, running his mouth hot down the full length of his cock over and over, making sure Jonathan is getting what he wants. He works his finger against his brother's grinding, begging and ready for more. "God, fuck, please. Yes, Drew, yes." Jonathan is barely able to get the words out of his mouth at the expense of the work his brother's mouth is doing on him. Jonathan places his hands in either side of Drew's head and pushes him downwards onto himself more. Drew loves it when Jonathan has to force him to be more rough. He knows that his brother can barely contain himself without his touch. Drew adds a second finger, slipping his mouth off of his cock and biting down on his thigh. Drew can feel his own skin brushing up tight against his slacks, his cock throbbing so hard he can barely keep the pulsing in his head drowned out, making his eyes weak and his body hungry for more.

Drew carefully laughs, nervously, looking up at his brother. He keeps his hands moving so that his fingers are in sync with Jonathan's grinding body. "I can't wait. I was going to wait, but I can't do it." Drew exclaims, pulling his fingers out from his prepared twin. He is met with the same running thoughts from his brother, when Jonathan quickly leans up, unbuttoning the dress shirt his brother is in, throwing tie, shirt and undershirt all on the floor as hastily as he can. "If you're too tired, we can wait. I don't have to." Drew suggests, facing his brother.

"Shut up." Jonathan rolls his eyes, pulling Drew closer in for a kiss. "I'm never too tired for my time with you." He mumbles into his mouth, grabbing for his slacks and popping the button undone and quickly sliding them off. Drew topples over his brother again, grinding his briefs against Jonathan's hot bare skin, his cock begging to release from all the pressure and teasing. Drew can't say he already doesn't feel the same tension in his own body.

Drew quickly pulls off his own briefs, leaning down for one more quick kiss on Jonathan's neck, hot air makes Jonathan shiver again against his brothers touch. "I love you so much. You know that right." Jonathan's face becomes a deep red, shying away from his brothers fleeting glance as he waits for his comment. Drew pulls Jonathan's face up to look at his by the chin, cupping his jaw. "It's okay." Drew smiles, placing another kiss on his lips. Drew knows how Jonathan feels about talking about love with his brother. He knows that he loves him just as much, but he's always so hesitant to say it when they're having sex. He always assumed that it's connected to the act and not his real emotions, so most of the time Drew just assumed he knows he's being honest and takes the fact alone that he knows Jonathan loves him even if he doesn't say it back often during these times. Jonathan is much more reserved about showing his emotions, especially after how rough it was for Jonathan in his childhood. He's never came right out and said it, but Drew knows. Regardless, Drew can feel his brothers love radiate from him, and that's enough.

"Spit." Drew demands, holding his hand out for Jonathan to take, and he does as he's told. Drew grabs his hard, throbbing cock, running his hand with Jonathan's saliva down it and gently thrusts into Jonathan. "Goddamnit, you feel so fucking good." Jonathan groans, pumping his body to meet the rhythm of his twin, begging for more. Drew continues to thrust harder and harder as Jonathan moans with pleasure while he grinds his body back against Drew's. Drew slides his free hand that isn't helping to balance between his brothers legs and smoothly runs his hand against Jonathan's hard needy cock. He can feel the anticipation building, knowing that Jonathan has had so much foreplay that he can barely contain himself. Drew's thrusting with his hand sliding against Jonathan won't let the him last much longer under the pressure. Drew doesn't think he can last much longer himself at how tight and perfect Jonathan feels under him.

"God Drew, harder, please. Make me come, I'm so close." Jonathan pants, his brother sliding his hand against his shaft quicker and quicker, pounding harder into him. His own eyes are becoming steadily more heavier with the weight of his own orgasm quick approaching. "Fuck Drew, I'm gonna come, I'm coming." Jonathan grabs the comforter around him, gripping fists of whatever he can reach. He throws his head back, spilling warm all down his brothers quick moving hand, down onto his stomach. Drew can barely continue to thrust after watching the pleasure he entertained on his brother, working in harder and harder each time he slams into Jonathan. "Fuck, fuck, Jonathan." He moans, slamming into him a final time, thighs shaking hard from the instant release he feels, soaking up the bliss from the orgasm. Drew slowly pulls out from his brother and lazily hovers over him, licking what Jonathan left for him on his stomach snd twitching cock. "You're always so good." Drew exclaims, sheepishly biting down on his lip, giving his brother a look of lust and hunger. Jonathan pulls his brother down for a sloppy, exhausted kiss before Drew slides off the side of the bed and drags Jonathan behind him towards the shower.

Jonathan is so exhausted, he could fall asleep right now, but Drew turns the steaming water on and Jonathan is instantly enveloped with the warm droplets of water hitting him as his brother adjusts the shower temperature just right. "Come on, I'll wash you." Drew motions for his twin to step into the shower, under the hot stream of water and Jonathan is instantly in heaven. He keeps his eyes closed and focuses on staying awake as Drew hums, massaging shampoo and working it into his hair. He is concerned when Drew stops, but is again relieved when he runs the sponge all over his body with soap, careful to relax every sore muscle that had to deal with the crazy couple on the renovation today.

After Drew finishes washing Jonathan off, he washes himself and dries them both off, padding warm and clean feet towards the bedroom again so he can find them something comfortable to get into. Though they haven't ever discussed it, neither one of them is particular to sleeping without clothes on, even together. Drew slides on some warm flannel sleeping pants and a shirt and hands Jonathan some shorts and a t-shirt as well to throw on while Drew searches the channels to find the chopped marathon Jonathan is so obsessed with every night they get together. Drew is the cold blooded one, it seems, and Jonathan is always so hot when he sleeps, so he can barely keep shorts on, let alone flannel pants to keep him warmer. Drew secretly thinks that Jonathan assumes he will pick up more recipes to make for him, since Drew is the cook of the two, and thinks about teasing him about it, but doesn't. He sees how's relaxed and calm Jonathan finally is, heading towards the bed to greet Drew who has successful found the right channel and pulled back the comforter enough for Jonathan to cuddle up close to him.

Jonathan snuggles up next to his brother, Drew throwing an arm over him. He knows he should be working on the stuff he needs to take to the site tomorrow, but he just wants to relax and enjoy his brother's presence while he falls asleep. He knows that Drew will get up after he falls asleep and work on some stuff for him while he's checking emails and whatnot. Drew is always there to catch the remainder of what Jonathan doesn't get done in a day, and he is so thankful that his brother is there for him when he can't be there for himself. Jonathan tries to stay awake while they're starting the dessert round on this episode, because he doesn't think he has seen it before, but Drew's hand rubbing circles in his hair softly is becoming too much to keep his heavy eyes open. "I do love you, Drew. More than you could ever imagine." Jonathan mumbles into his brother's side, quickly drifting off between powdered sugar, raw shrimp, and the quiet chuckle of his brother as he realizes that he was finally answering him back from earlier. And no; Drew thinks, as he begins to open his laptop to work on emailing, you don't love me more than I could ever imagine, because my love for you is unmeasurable.

[liliability]

Box Boy Auden- Eavesdropping

Learning a bit more about Daniel Cortes and Sara Bittencourt, a complicated couple with questionable motives behind the purchase of a Domestic/Romantic Box Boy.

First Chapter

CW: Box Boy Universe, briefly references to pet whump, dehumanizating mindset, argument, Sexy and Unedited. The Box Boy in question is 17. No direct whump in this piece, just an inside of Sir and Ma’ams minds.

Daniel Cortes thought his life would settle, once he moved with his wife to the mountains. Stay in his father-in-law's old mansion, leave the leadership of the company to his oldest son, avoid the press after one absurd and yet intrusive polemic with some self-righteous bastard CEO involved with the pet lib movement or whatever performative shit they called themselves.

Instead, he found himself in a new stressful routine, meeting with his lawyer - the boy can't be taken away, the acquisition was legal, it's all just in case, he reassures himself-, trying in vain to talk to his children and tensing, watching attentively as those damned names appeared now and then in the journal or TV- the list was once short, but now there are so many names and colorless faces disturbing his mind.

The Box Boy, needless to say, was a concern on his own, but every time Daniel could relieve his interminable stress in the kid, in many different ways, were a remind of how worthy the purchase was. But still, he couldn't trust the half-trained Boxie the same way his wife did.

When he got up in that morning to pick up his ringing cellphone, early and impossibly loud, Sara was already sitting in the living room's sofa, dressed in a bright red cardigan, waiting for him. She turned off the phone before he could enter the room.

"Who was in the phone?" His voice was still tired from the night before.

"Oh, nothing, just an alarm". Daniel lowered himsef to kiss her forehead. "Slept well, I think. Are you going to stay for breakfast? Auden's in the kitchen making tapioca. They have coconut and condensed milk, just how you like".

"You like. If one of us have a sweet tooth, it would certainly be you". He couldn't keep the smile out of his face. "But unfortunately I can’t. Have to go to the city. Today's Davi's day off and he wanted to talk to me in person."

Sara was suddenly irritated, as she always got when Daniel talked about his kids from an old marriage, the only people in the world that could compete with her for his attention.

"Don't worry honey, I'll be back in the afternoon".

"Some of my clients wants to meet me in the afternoon. The Art Deco bride, the one with the flower wall and the vintage bar carts. I'll be at her home by 3 pm, I think".

Daniel frowned at her answer.

"Wait, her house? Are you planning to leave Auden here, alone?"

"I mean...yes?" Sara didn't seem so bothered. "She lives nearly, I won’t be gone for that long. The doors will be locked, no domestic chores, he won't hurt himself and is not like he would ever try to run".

Daniel snorted. "I'm not so sure of that".

"Oh, don’t start it now. We can always find him with the tracking chip. And why would he even do it? Last night, he kneeled and tilted his head for me just to be able to use a towel. That's how he was taught to ask for something, and you’d  want to see how thankful he got because I didn’t force him to go downstairs and cook stark naked, although that would be an interesting scene to watch." She grinned maliciously, but her features were sweet and harmless again within a few seconds. "He's a pet with benefits now, and I doubt he has enough braincells in that pretty little skull to even think about running away".

“Naive” Daniel spat out.

Sara raised from the sofa, visibly astonished. “What did you said?”

"That's very naive, to see the kid as brainless for not speaking his mind when this option was taken away from him, in the first place. The truth is that no one could tell what's going on in his head." The man leaned against the wall and muttered the rest to himself, slightly wishing she could hear him anyway. "From all the people, you should be the one to know better".

Sara's face was almost red, not from embarrassment but from being contradicted, like a spoiled child being denied a toy. An irony, as Sara got exactly the toy that she wanted.

"What makes you suspicious about Auden?"

"When we're asleep, he walks around the house and thinks I don't know it. Last week, I caught him awake past his bedtime, staring at the windows, watching th- no, let me finish it- watching the backyard where the cars come and go. The kid almost passed out when he saw me in the room and started his nonsense shit to beg without words". Daniel's eyes suddenly darkened. "It's usually fun to see him do it but I had no patience for that in the moment. I just put him back to bed, but caught him doing the same thing the next day. Your handler friend said he could probably still know how to read, and I have no doubt that he had been messing with my office shelves and taking my books behind our backs".

Sara sighed audibly, crossing her arms.

"So, that's it? What do you even want me to do?"

"I wish you would discipline better your pet, as he had always been more yours than mine, and maybe do your part of the deal."

"My part of the deal?" The woman nearly laughed with disbelief. "You're not expecting that I will stay home all the time, are you? I got my helpful, gorgeous boy to fill the gap that my friends and my husband left in my life and you got your sadistic vengeance at a cost way lower than you expected. That, that was the deal!"

Daniel opened his mouth to argue but his wife interrupted him, a little less emotive this time.

"I miss meeting my clients in person, ok? I miss my former life. This city, it was your idea to move to the mountains. Not mine. Do you think I was excited to move to my father's former house? I went along with it, for you. But I was clear with him and I'll be very clear with you, too. I won't be the one to compromise anymore".

~

Auden never speaks unless he's told to, but he hear and watches his surroundings like a skittish stray that never grow out of the fear that it's going to be kicked at any time.

The boy thought he was the first to hear the phone ringing, but was surprised to find Ma'am already in the living room, touching Sir's phone with a cold, unreadable face. Then the older man appeared too, and the two started talking.

Neither of them noticed the boy in the nearest room.

It was tempting to listen their conversation, especially when he could hear his name. Sir said he was going to the city again, and Auden wished Ma'am could make him change his mind, keep the three of them safe and cozy under the soft blankets like the night before, but she seemed to have her own plans, too.

Auden would be alone. Again.

It's not the same, he has a name and his own collar now, a black piece of leather soothingly buckled around his pale neck, and that means he's safe. He's wanted.

"Are you planning to leave Auden here, alone?"

Sir was always disappointed when Auden had to learn a new thing in the mansion, and he and Ma’am were the only ones that could instruct him. Usually some specific cuisine, or an unusual domestic duty, that he hadn't been taught in the Facility. Interrupted training, he heard at more than one point.

But Sir and Ma'am had unconsciously taught him how to read a room, too, just by some people's face or a shift of voice. He used that knowledge to know when his owners were upset or stressed. He knew when he had to be good enough to lighten their mood.

He could also tell that their conversation would soon turn into an argument but he could do nothing to stop it. He wasn’t supposed to listen, for a start.

"...And is not like he would ever try to run". Ma'am was right. Auden could never and the simple thought of it made him tremble and lower his head. He was grateful for having owners so nice. A kind Sir that pets his hair and lets him help with the woodcraft and a gentle Ma'am that pampers him and show him pictures of her beautiful flowers.

"We can always find him with the tracking chip". Does he have... a tracking chip? Auden didn't know that. Where could it possibly be?

"That's very naive, to see the kid as brainless for not speaking his mind when this option was taken away from him, in the first place. The truth is that no one could tell what's going on in his head." Sir words were harsh and hurtful for Auden. He had been made for the couple. A perfect custom pet, an enviable combination built to fulfill his owners desire.

But still, standing in an empty lounge listening to his owner's conversation, despite the throbbing headache telling him it was wrong, Auden couldn't help but wonder if Sir was right, if something had slipped between his training and his arrival making him defective. Untrustworthy. Maybe it was something that was never a part of him, in the first place.

And he wondered, silently, what he could do to make up for that.

~~

-Tagging: @albino-whumpee @eatyourdamnpears @whumpfigure @orchidscript @cubeswhump @more-miserables @whatwasmyprevioususername @castielamigos-whump-side-blog . Ask/Comment to be added or removed from the taglist!

[Question]: Is anyone interested in Auden’s WRU Intake Papers? Thinking about dropping some hints of Auden’s backstory in it.

[clairecrive]

Saw your post about Tommy Conlon! What about Tommy x reader about how Tommy feels around a woman that loves him after everything that happened to him? Maybe reader is a kinda shy too? Or maybe smth about how they start dating? I'm just so soft for Tommy omg

Omg yes. Hi, anon! First of all, thank you so much for your request. Second of all, I totally am too, he deserves to be smothered with love. Period. 

Tbh, when I try to imagine something about him and a potential love interest I feel like it would take ages to even talk to him, let alone let him open up to someone. I think it would be a long process, but tbh my mind has been filled with ideas since I saw your ask and I’m dying to give it a try. However, this is the first time that I write about Tommy so pls bear with me.

I’m totally going to do one about how he deals with the reader’s presence in his life and her affection for him even in his toughest moment(maybe she’s there during Sparta or they meet afterwards? don’t know yet), so let’s consider this one as a prequel for that. Just to understand the context.

(continues under the cut) 

When anyone referred to the “American Dream” no one’s mind imagined them in Pittsburgh. That’s a fact.

But what point is there to dream about the “Big Apple” or the sunny L.A. when you couldn’t afford it? Pittsburgh was the only option given that a part of your family lived here and deeply you were grateful for the opportunity of leaving “il bel paese” for a while. 

Although it was hard to start fresh in a place where you didn’t know anyone, you actually found out soon enough that the total anonymity that came with moving to a new place suited you quite well. After the first few months spent on enrolling into looking for a job that matched your qualifications and eventually settling for a job that paid the bills when you didn’t find any, you had mastered a beautiful routine.

You would get up bright and early no matter how much you wanted to sleep ‘till the end of times, after a quick breakfast you would head to the local library. When you didn’t have a shift you would still go just to set in a secluded corner of the library and read for a few hours. 

Then around lunchtime, you would bring food for you and your cousin that worked in a gym near the library. James, your cousin, is a personal trainer. Sometimes he would also coach some guys for MMA fights and work as a secretary in the spare time. Since I’ve moved here though, he offered to speak with his boss for the secretary place and thanks to James now I have also a job as a secretary.

To be honest, working in a gym attended only by guys, wasn’t as bad as you thought. They didn’t pay you much attention, other than a few words when they came in or left and some brave ones that tried to hit on you. Maybe it was because you were James’ little cousin, you weren’t sure. In any case, you were fine just being invisible.

Afternoons there were actually quite boring and uneventful, so you would usually look for jobs or read whatever book you had picked up at the library. The last one you were reading was actually so interesting and captivating that you couldn’t keep your eyes off the pages even when you were walking. 

You knew the road from the library to the gym by heart by now and it was all walking area, so no risk of being put under a car, fortunately.

So that’s exactly what you were doing when you met him the first time: nose buried in the pages of the book not really paying attention to your surroundings. If your calculations were correct you were almost outside of the gym. It turned out that you were almost correct and a door in your face told you that you were in fact right outside the gym.

Needless to say, the impact made your book violently hit your face making you lose your balance and almost hit the floor. Yes, almost, because Tommy’s hands prevented you from making a fool of yourself. Well at that time you didn’t know his name was Tommy, to be honest.

“You should be more about where you’re going.” His voice was almost rude like you had made him do something that he would rather avoid. Of course, at that moment your shyness only allowed you to mutter an apology and blush from the embarrassment. And that’s what you did before quickly making your way into the gym where your cousin was waiting for you.

It wasn’t that Tommy was rude, he was just really introverted and didn’t like talking to people. A trait you had in common, you would soon find out. He was actually very well-mannered and he probably had realized that the way he had spoken to you could have made him come across as someone that he wasn’t. While he usually didn’t care about other people’s perception of him, he still thought he was in the wrong.

Mind you, he didn’t apologize. Not openly at least. The next time you saw him walking into the gym, he acknowledged your presence with a tilt of his head. It wasn’t much, for some people it could actually be seen as rude but it was the first time he “reached out to you” and you appreciated it. Besides, it was just the way he was.

So that’s the way your interactions went, on good days be would occasionally smile at you and when your shyness wasn’t getting the best of you, you actually managed to smile back. Until one day everything changed. You had to walk where the rings were to talk to James and since you’ve looked at his schedule, you knew he was coaching Tommy. You had heard something about a big tournament coming up of which you did know much but you had noticed the hype that had been in the air since then.

True to yourself, you weren’t looking around you. Your eyes were fixed on the piece of paper in your hands where you had written the client’s requests, rehearsing what you were going to say when a loud noise of a crowd cheering and punches made you look up. 

There it was, Tommy and Maddog fighting in the right. Well, it was more like Tommy that was beating the shit out of Maddog than a proper fight. 

You were relatively new to violence, so the sight shocked you. Of course, working in a gym you would hear people throwing punches and whatnot but it was different than actually witnessing it with your eyes. Besides, the feral fury with which Tommy was kicking and punching him actually scared you. 

How was he capable of such violence? Was he really that evil? Or was it just a cathartic release of unprocessed anger and hurt? 

You didn’t know his story so you didn’t want to be unfair and judge him but you would be lying if you said that you didn’t shiver and hurried to get out of his way when he stormed off the ring.

Did you actually think he could hurt you? No, but that level of anger buckled up in a young man’s body was not healthy nor safe. And you heard the news so you wouldn’t risk it. 

At that moment you didn’t think that he noticed your fear, being too hyped up for the fight. But that was something that you didn’t know about him and that you would soon start to love: Tommy was always very mindful of his surroundings and the people around him. So yes, he did notice the way you shivered in fear and the sight actually upset him. Thinking that he could be the reason for a woman’s fear just like his father was his mother’s. 

Again, he tried to make it better. Or at least started to think about a way to. 

One night, James had asked you the favour of closing up in his place. He had told you something about a girl and knowing that you certainly didn’t have any plans you agreed. Although, the moment you noticed that the only one left waa Tommy you started to regret ever saying yes. 

Again, he noticed the way you carefully approached him and he didn’t like it one bit when he noticed the nervousness in your eyes just because you had to talk to him. Maybe another guy would have been smooth about it, thinking that it was because he was half-naked and all. And maybe a little part of you was intimidated by the nakedness and the beauty of his body but the bigger part feared a violent outburst from him. 

“Uhm, sorry Tommy but I’m afraid I have to close the gym.” you weakly told him. He didn’t answer you and for a moment you wondered if had heard you at all but after throwing the last punch he nodded toward you and walked toward the changing room. Hoping he would be quick, you did everything your cousin told you to do and waited for him at your desk. Fortunately, he didn’t take long and after twenty minutes-ish he was standing next to you. 

Turning off the lights and locking the door you turned ready to make your way home when Tommy’s presence startled you. You thought that he had already walked away. 

“Oh sorry, I thought you had already gone,” you said trying to make up for the surprise on your face when you saw. Wouldn’t want him to think that his face scared you. He was actually very handsome, you noted now that you had the opportunity to look at him up close. 

“ Do you have a car?” he asked bluntly not even acknowledging your words

“Nope, I came on foot. My house isn’t that far from here,” you explained not sure if he was asking how you were going to get home or if you could give him a ride

“You can’t walk around at this time of the hour on your own, it’s dangerous.” he scolded you much to your surprise. When did you go from barely acknowledging each other to him scolding you? 

“I’m sorry but since when do you care about me? We don’t know each other.” you pointed out, your usual shyness leaving place for anger

“Come, I’ll walk you home.” he offers not bothering, again to answer you

“You do know that I don’t know you and that you’re as good as any stranger on the street right now, don’t you?” Just because you went to the same gym you worked in, doesn’t mean that he’s trustworthy. Not to mention his anger outbursts. 

“I know what you saw okay? But that has nothing to do with you. I would never hurt you.” he said sighing knowing very well that his fight with Maddog had affected you greatly. These were pretty much words that every potential rapist would say, you’re aware of that. However, that was something in his eyes and in the way that he wasn’t invading your personal space that proved he was genuine. 

“I don’t even know your name.” you weakly protest but you had pretty much caved and he knew that

“I’m Tommy. And you are?" 

"My name’s y/n, nice to meet you Tommy.” you smiled at him, accepting his offer of walking you home. 

And that was the first time of many that Tommy had walked you home and one of your very first interaction.

Part 2

[janiedean]

Tarot prompts - the fool for stannis. Any ship/non-shippy gen stuff will do, I'm mostly sending this because i imagined stannis grinding his teeth at being forced to sit at a card reading and then getting the fool lol

.... >_> WELL WELL WELL

madness, cliffs, gambling, innocence, recklessness

Stannis loves his daugher.

He really does.

But maybe he should have drawn the line at actually going in for a tarot reading because she decided it was cool.

Stannis already has issues describing anything as cool, but that’s not - the point. The point is that he brought her for her birthday to this new amusement park they just opened where her mother absolutely refused to set foot when she was at her place because his ex-wife has apparently resentment for anything of the kind, and to think that people say he is no fun. Well, he might not be and he doesn’t get the point of amusement parks but if Shireen wanted to go what was the deal?

So, he brought her. And while they were checking the place out she saw this stand with bright red curtains named madame Melisandre’s where tarot readings were offered and she said it sounded cool and could she go in, and Stannis just shrugged and gave her the ten quid that were requested. He had planned to wait outside and done just that, and then Shireen had come out saying that it was so cool and this Melisandre person was so interesting and he should totally go and get a reading, and then she blinked up at him, his own blue eyes staring up at him, and - fine. Whatever. He told her to not move, she swore she would wait for him in the entrance and so now here he is, sitting in front of this Melisandre, hoping this is over soon.

Seriously, the entire place smells like incense, everything is red with maybe a few gold ornaments here and there but it’s a stretch, the woman in question has a bright red robe and red nails and red hair and honestly, Stannis wouldn’t be surprised if she had red eye contacts.

Which she hasn’t, thank fuck, but still.

“So,” he says, sliding her the ten, “should we get over this?”

“Tarot readings shouldn’t be hurried, sir,” she grins, taking the money, and then starts shuffling a bunch of well-used cards.

“Well, it’s not like I buy it and I’m here because I thought it could be an experience.”

“I appreciate sincere clients,” she repeats without missing a beat. “Please do shuffle the deck.”

“... Do I have to do it?”

“Sure. The energy will pass from you to the cards.”

Stannis grits his teeth and shuffles the damned deck. Energy passing through the cards. What the hell. He does it for an adequate amount of time, then hands it back to Melisandre.

“Very well,” she says. “Now, what would you like this reading to be about?”

“... What?”

“There are various spreads to choose from. I need to know what you’re interested in learning before choosing one.”

“... Do I want to know what my daughter asked for?”

“I would be a fairly bad person if I told you her business, wouldn’t I?”

At least she’s not a complete charlatan, Stannis decides. He shrugs - it’s not like he cares for her to explain him his issues, so he figures he’ll just go for the obvious question that he doesn’t even care that much for, in the end. Selyse was enough, probably.

“It’s just me and my daughter now, when she’s not with her mother,” Stannis sighs. “I guess I could stand learning if I’m looking at it as a definitive prospect.”

“That was the most roundabout way of being asked about someone’s love life I’ve ever heard,” Melisandre says, not perturbed, “but very well. Please cut the deck. Twice.”

He does.

“Choose one pile.”

He takes the left one.

“Excellent. Now... a star guide spread would be the best choice.”

A star guide spread. Jesus take the wheel.

“Choose six cards, please.”

Stannis does, not even bothering to think about it too much. Melisandre places them in some kind of pentagon with the sixth card in the middle.

“So,” she says, “in order, the first card represents your present situation. The second stands for the causes of conflicts and obstacles in obtaining your goal, while the third concerns the changes needed in order to face your challenges. Number four is your strengths, the fifth is your other challenges, the sixth is your final outcome. Shall we see?”

“Do go ahead,” he says, gritting his teeth some more.

“So...” She turns the card. “Reverse ace of swords. That means that what you hope for concerning this specific situation hasn’t happened yet, and you might have felt like giving up at times. Most times.”

What the fuck. Stannis won’t give credit to this bullshit for a single second, but -

“Fine. It might work,” he sighs.

She smirks. Just a tiny bit . Then she turns the second card. “Reverse four of cups. You’re unsatisfied and you want to change but you don’t know how to go about it and it frustrates you, perhaps?”

He grits his teeth. “Fine.” He doesn’t like how accurate it’s being for now at all.

“Now, number three... reverse five of cups. Now that is interesting.”

“... How so, other than the fact that I only get reverse cards?”

“Oh, it’s one of the few cards with a good reversed meaning. It means moving on, acceptance and recovery, which is what you need to do to face your challenges.”

He grits his teeth some more and says nothing.

“Number four... oh, justice. Upright, for once.”

Stannis decides he likes the sound of this card more than the others. “All right, and?”

“You are fair, acting following your conscience and in good faith.”

“... I suppose,” he admits, figuring that it does fit.”

“Now, number five... upright eight of spears. Rejoice, it means new opportunities. In all senses.”

He rolls his eyes as she tries to sound cheeky - he preferred when she was straight up reading the cards.

“And as for the last one...” She turns it. “Oh, upright fool.”

“Upright fool.”

“Don’t look like that,” she smiles, “it’s actually a very good card.”

“Is it.”

“Of course. It means... well, in this case, following your dreams and taking a chance on something new. All in all,” Melisandre says, “from this reading I’d say that while you don’t like your current situation and you don’t know how to get out of it, which means more frustration and falling prey to your concerns.... the upright cards suggest that there’s a good gamble coming your way when it concerns your happiness and you should try to take it without thinking about it too much. Worrying about things too much means that we lose our chances for something good... which I think is headed your way.”

“Well, thanks for the consulting,” he says dryly, “I’ll make sure to gamble for the first time in my life then.”

“Oh, please do,” she winks, ignoring that he had been obviously using a snarky tone. “You never know!”

Stannis stands up, wondering how mad can people be to actually buy into this stuff, and then tries to pretend it actually was illuminating as Shireen asks him wasn’t it great.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he says, “she... had some points.” Most likely she’s just very good at psychology and read him and had just talked to his daughter before, so there’s an entire rational explanation for how accurate that reading actually was.

They leave the building and he reaches down for his wallet in the outer pocket of his coat -

Which is not there, what the hell, he took the money from it before but he was sure that he had put it back, shit, he has all his credit cards in there, for -

“Wait,” he tells Shireen, “damn, if I lost it -”

“Sir, is this yours?”

He immediately turns and finds himself face to face with what seems like a park security staff members who has to be a few years older than him, maybe - he’s wearing a gray uniform with the place’s name on it and a card reading Davos Seaworth, and he’s handing Stannis his wallet with a gloved hand and a nice, warm smile, with hair that has already started going silver, but it’s mostly still as brown as his eyes - and honestly, Stannis feels like he could faint in relief.

“Yes,” he says, “thank you, it must have slipped out when I took out the coat. If you hadn’t found it -”

“No problem,” the man replies, “it’s my job after all. I hope you two have a good time.”

“Oh, we - we were. Thanks again,” Stannis says as the man nods and turns his back on him, going back to his rounds.

Then Shireen grins way, way too wickedly for his tastes. “You’re checking him out.”

“I am certainly not -”

“You are. It’s obvious. And the lady said you would.”

“She said what?”

“I asked her if you’d be happy again at some point among the rest. She said it might happen before I could suspect.”

“Oh, come on -”

“I’m sure we can come here again for my birthday next week, how about that?”

Stannis, who knows that she will drag him here and that he won’t say no, just pretends to shrug and tells her to move on to the next attraction already.

He’s not going to admit that yes, he was checking the guy out.

He’s also not going to tell her that he won’t protest if she asks.

And he’s still entirely sure the whole readings thing is pure bullshit, but -

But maybe that red lady had a point when she said he should take a risk once in a while.

Maybe.

[victorianoir]

The Detective and the ManFatale, Part 3

Part 3 of the ManFatale arc!! If you haven’t heard of The Detective and the Tech Guy and would like to read it from the beginning, here’s the MASTERPOST. If you’d like to read this chapter on fanfiction.net, you can do that here: TRALALA.

Have fun!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Welcome home. What's this?"

The happy look on his face as he looked up at her from the bottom of the stairs dimmed as she held up the file she'd just found, wiggling it a bit. She raised an eyebrow and gave him a flat look when he didn't say anything for a solid thirty seconds.

"Wh—Um. Where did you happen to find that?" He cleared his throat and came up a few steps, stopping with his hand on the railing then. "I'm not sure it's mine."

She made the look on her face even flatter. "Well, it sure looks like there's a lot of your handwriting in here. Alongside a really childish scribble—I can only imagine you're employing some sort of third grader to help you."

Chuck seemed to ignore that part. "But…where did you—?"

"Chuck, it was under your mattress."

He sighed, looking relieved for some reason. "God, I thought maybe I'd left it out or something, and that would've been really great spy work."

"Chuck!"

"S-Sorry. Sorry, I—" He hastened up the stairs to stand on the step a few down from where she stood on the landing. "It's my folder. My file. I did it."

"Yeah, that was never in question, bud. What in the hell is this? What are you doing?" She held it up again and he gently reached out to take it from her.

"I'm…detecting."

"No, Chuck. No, you are not detecting. Please, please tell me you aren't doing what it looks like you're doing," she pleaded with him, arms crossed at her chest.

"Well…" He winced. "Do you want me to say that, or do you want the truth?"

"Chuck!"

"Gah! Okay! I'm…I was just doing some light research, that's all. Into this guy who hired you. He's wily, okay? Extremely wily and untrustworthy and it only took me seeing him for like a few seconds for me to figure that out." A look of almost defiance came over her boyfriend's face then. "I have no regrets."

"Are you insane?" she asked, backing up so that he could join her on the landing.

"No, I was just…having your back."

"Look at this!" She grabbed the file back and opened it up, flipping through to a picture that had been taken of Cartwright from what looked like a pretty close range. She took it out and held it up for him to look at.

"I know. I took that."

"Yeah, Chuck! I kinda figured! Have you been following my client?"

He was silent for long enough that it was pretty clear confirmation.

"Oh my God," she moaned. "Chuuuck."

"Okay, yes. Yes, I followed him. But I was very careful." Something told her he really wasn't careful. He was untrained, a guy who watched a lot of movies and heard about her cases. That was it. "I was, Sarah!"

"You can't do this, Chuck! You can't follow my clients around and do your own…What is this? Did you just go around taking pictures?"

"There are his day to day activities in there, too."

She opened it again and looked at his notes. "Lox on a bagel, black coffee, flirted with the barista. Namor the Sub-Mariner? What the hell's that?"

"That's the codename Morgan and I gave Cartwright."

Sarah's eyes shut slowly and she took a calming, long breath, letting it out, breathing in again, and then she snapped the file shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Morgan? Not only were you following my client, which is dangerous in and of itself, you brought Morgan into it?"

That explained the childish scrawl alongside Chuck's neat handwriting.

"He's been a very good partner."

"HE'S A HIBACHI CHEF, CHUCK!"

Chuck winced. "A very sneaky hibachi chef, though—No, I see your point. It's a fair point."

The look she gave him apparently got her point across.

"Chuck, why did you follow my client? Why are you building a file on him? Why are you taking notes on his whereabouts, on his habits? Why are you following him and taking pictures? What prompted you to do something this stupid?"

Her boyfriend let out a sigh and scratched the back of his neck. At least he seemed somewhat contrite. "Look, he was shifty. And some of the things you were saying when you'd talk about the case, how you weren't finding anything on Jerald Brown, and how he seemed almost…I dunno, impatient, that you weren't."

A thought hit her then and she chewed on her lip a little. "Chuck, did you…do this because he's young and handsome? Was this a jealousy thing? Trying to find something on him to make me…I dunno, not want to go through with this case?"

She felt a little bad suggesting it, but she needed to know this wasn't Chuck's jealousy making him do foolish and dangerous things.

"No! Sarah, it's not that! I'm not a total idiot! I'm just…a little bit of one about certain things. This isn't jealousy. This is…This guy is shifty!"

Sarah crossed her arms again and sighed. "You met him for, like, two minutes. Tops."

"So?! I had a gut feeling! It was just some harmless following."

"In legal terms, it's stalking."

"Nobody saw us! We wore disguises!"

Sarah gaped. "Oh God. You didn't…"

"Yes! Yes, we wore disguises. He had no idea he was being followed the whole time. Your tech guy is actually a pretty good detective…" He smoldered at her.

"Chuck, you hid this file from me by putting it under your mattress. So excuse me if I don't have the utmost faith in your detective abilities."

He frowned. "It seemed like a good place."

"Chuck, I'm in your bed more nights than I'm in my own, for the most part," she half-laughed, shaking her head. "Anyway, that isn't the point. The point is that this was incredibly dangerous. Insanely dangerous. You could've been hurt or even killed, and then you dragged Morgan into it and he could've been hurt, too. This was foolish!"

"We were helping you!"

"I don't need help! Do you think I'm stupid, Chuck? Do you think I got this far with just a bunch of luck or something? I've got my own cases well in hand."

"I thought he was maybe trying to pull something over on you. Getting you to do something bad."

"You think I don't know that? I've been doing this work for years, Chuck! I worked for Pinkerton! You think I'd ever let someone get the drop on me like this? You think I trust my clients blindly?" She thrust the file into his chest. "I've got a file on Cartwright just like this at my office." He looked very regretful, sorry, and she loved him dearly, but God, he could be such an idiot sometimes. He really could be. Then she glanced at his file again. "Though yours is a lot thicker, so that's…interesting."

"Um, I'm an incredibly thorough detective." She glared. "Not a detective, fine. But…researcher?" She glared harder. "A P.I.'s boyfriend who is in big trouble?"

"Bingo," she chirped, raising her eyebrows.

"Listen, Sarah…I know you're really mad at me…"

"Yeah, well…you obviously think I'm a bad P.I., so that feels good."

"What?" The pitch of his voice got impressively high. "Sarah, that's not it at all!"

"You thought this guy was pulling the wool over my eyes, taking advantage of me. That's why you built this folder on him, isn't it? This is all work you thought I wasn't doing."

"No, you-you were focusing on investigating Brown and I thought maybe you'd prioritize that over checking out your client so I—bad phrasing, I didn't mean checking out checking out. Like, obviously he is a very good looking man. And super charming, I guess, if you're into that sort of thing."

"Yeah, well, I'm not…" A thought occurred to her then and she looked up at him with wide eyes. "That's it, isn't it? You thought he'd charmed me, that I was falling for his whole spiel and therefore trusted him blindly. That's why you decided to follow him, isn't it? That's why you put this together with Morgan!"

At least he didn't do her the disservice of trying to lie to her. Instead, he huffed and scratched his ear. "Okay, full disclosure, it felt like a lot of flirting was going on in your office when I walked in last week and it maybe…sort of…got under my skin. But it wasn't about—I mean, I know you aren't the type of person to neglect the right thing just because some blue-eyed Alain Delon lookalike is batting his eyelashes at you."

"You're damn right I'm not! Have you been here for the last year and eleven months of our relationship?"

"Yes," he said weakly.

"He could be the most charming man alive and I'd still do my job, Chuck. God!"

"I know. I knoow, I'm an idiot. I know. I was weak, though. I'm sorry." Then he shook his head. "About my reasoning. I'm sorry for the stupid reason that I started this whole thing on Cartwright. I am. I was a jealous dumbass. But I would've stopped a long time ago if I didn't find something. And I found something."

Sarah was still too caught up in how much of a fool Chuck was to realize what he'd just said. "I mean, you're the one always calling me a bad ass and the best. You really think blue eyes are going to make me trust a guy blindly? I've got you, Chuck! I'm impervious to other men's charms. I know you still have some…self-esteem stuff. Everyone does. But this is me, Bartowski. It's us. If you don't think I'm a better detective than to let some guy in fitted suits play me like a fiddle just 'cause he's attractive, then at least think our relationship is stronger than that."

"You're right. You're absolutely right. And as hard as I try, I'm still gonna keep making blunders like this. I'm not saying you're just gonna have to deal with it, but um…Please…bear with me, I guess?" He winced.

Sarah sighed and closed the distance between them, moving up onto her toes to kiss him gently, ruffling his hair. "I have no choice. I love you, you big dumb nerd. And anyway, I'm not exactly perfect. You have a lot of shit you have to deal with where I'm concerned, too. So…"

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"I know. I know you are. But please stop doing dangerous stuff like this. Please. You have no training and no experience. I'm a professional. It's even dangerous for me, let alone a couple of guys who watch movies and think that's prepared them for the reality of investigating work. You're going to get hurt. This isn't a game."

"I know it isn't a game! That's what I'm trying to tell you!"

"But you and Morgan went running around Los Angeles following this potentially dangerous guy in wigs and fake noses…"

"No, we didn't!" He paused. "We didn't wear wigs…"

She knew him too well not to read between the lines with that one. "Oh my God, did one of you have a fake nose? Oh my God, Chuck."

"That was all Morgan! He showed up with it and it was so funny I couldn't say no." He winced.

"Oh my God." She pushed a hand through her hair. "Like I said, this isn't a game!"

"I know it isn't a game! He's a con artist!"

"Yeah! He is! And—Wait." She blinked, what he said finally settling in her brain. "What? How do you—?"

"Because." He took the file and hustled into his bedroom with her hot on his heels, and then he set it down on his bed, whipping it open and digging through the reams of papers and photographs. "Ha! Here. Okay. Feast your eyes on this shit."

He started taking pictures out, spreading them on the bed for her to look at. It was the same bearded man in different suits, sometimes in a hat and tie, sometimes not, walking through LA, sitting with different men at different tables…

"That's him."

Sarah turned to gape at Chuck. "Holy shit. That's Cartwright?"

"Well, I'm not entirely sure if there is a Cartwright. Or if there is a real Cartwright, this isn't him. Beard Guy goes by Paul Lawson."

"What?" she breathed.

"He quote, represents, unquote, Cartwright."

"He's in a disguise," she murmured. "How didn't I see this? How wasn't I…looking for this? I trailed him often enough to catch him pulling this kind of creepy shit…I thought. How'd I miss it?"

"Because it's absolutely freaking bizarre, that's how. It was sheer luck I happened to see him walk out of his building where he lives. And I thought he was familiar-ish, and then I zoomed in with my camera and was like 'Holy shit, it's him!' Sheer dumb luck."

"I was watching him this whole week and I never saw this Lawson guy." She shook her head then, trying not to get bogged down by the threatening self-consciousness she was feeling. She tried not to slam herself for missing this. Chuck hadn't missed it, and now the evidence was right here in front of his face.

"Wait, he represents Cartwright? What in the hell?" She grabbed one of the photos of him sitting at an outdoor table with a shorter, older man.

"He's supposedly selling Cartwright's things for him. A boat, a yacht, a condo, a…"

"Property in Morocco," she breathed. "I know. I followed him to an office by the docks and found all of his paperwork for everything that's been getting sold. So he's putting on a disguise and…selling his own things?" She huffed and shook her head. "This isn't Cartwright."

"Do you even know if Cartwright is a real person?"

Sarah went to Chuck's laptop on his desk and opened it, typing in his password and immediately Googling the Cartwright family. "Look, the Cartwrights go back generations in South Africa, since before Apartheid, for decades upon decades. Robert is the last surviving Cartwright. It's a real family, and he's a real person. He has been running this business for almost ten years, after his parents' deaths. It's just that he's a recluse."

"But do you think he's sent this fake guy here to sell his things back in South Africa?"

"No, of course not. Why would he ever do that?"

"So, wouldn't he know if someone is stealing his things?"

"Not if he isn't alive to know about it."

"Holy shit." The blood seemed to have left Chuck's face as he slumped into his desk chair.

"I told you he was dangerous. There's a definite chance this guy stole Cartwright's identity. Who better than a recluse who's never left the African continent and doesn't let pictures of himself up online? Someone who isn't super respected in his own town, let alone in California on the other side of the world. Someone who didn't have family or any personal connections." She shut Chuck's laptop again. "Meanwhile, this guy is going out on the town, has women on his arm all the time, is making all of these business deals."

"He's not even South African, either."

Sarah frowned and crossed her arms, half sitting on his desk, facing him. "What?"

"This conman. Fake Robbie. Your ManFatale."

"My what? Excuse me?"

"Uh, nothing. But when he spoke to me, he definitely didn't have a South African accent. He was very American, so…"

"When he…spoke to you?" The meaning wasn't lost on her, and when his eyes widened with a very clear look of oops on his face, she felt anger and worry rise in her chest. "Chuck? Did you make contact with him? Besides when I was there, in my office?"

Chuck winced. He did. Oh God, he absolutely did.

"It was an accident. And he totally didn't know who I was! It was just a nonchalant, quick exchange. Almost nothing. He didn't even see my face!"

"Chuck!"

"I followed him into a shopping mall and sat out on a bench waiting for him while he bought a briefcase at Gucci." It came out in a quick stream of words that sounded like they were all connected.

"He bought a Gucci briefcase? Ugh. Gross."

"Right? He's an awful person!" She gave him a look and he cleared his throat. "Anyway, I was sitting out on that bench and since it was the closest one to the store entrance, when he came out he used the other side of my bench to take the tag off and stick his papers and stuff inside of it. He, uh, must've seen me glance to the side because he explained he had to look good for a job interview, but I didn't say anything." This was getting worse and worse. "I was disguised, too. I slicked down my hair like this." He pushed his hands over his curls so that they were pulled flat. "And I had thick glasses on, and I had a newspaper up like this, covering my face." He mimicked holding up a newspaper, slouching forward, a completely conspicuous look on his face.

"Oh my God, Chuck! He saw you!"

"Not my best detective moment. I'll admit it."

"No! Chuck, you…" She groaned. "What if he recognized you as Charles Bartowski? You were in my office! He might not know you're my boyfriend, or maybe he does, since we've had pictures of us together put in magazines and shit, which would make it even worse."

"He didn't seem like he recognized me. He didn't. If he did, he would've feigned his accent still!"

"Well, if he recognized you after the fact, maybe not! And you're talking about a guy who has potentially killed someone—we don't know if he has yet—to take their identity and live off their bank account across the world, and is successfully selling yachts and hotels… This isn't some novice, Chuck. If he recognized you, he isn't going to show it. He's going to log it away in his criminal brain, figure out why the hell you were there, in disguise, potentially following him, and he's going to take it out on me. Later. When I least expect it."

Chuck became even paler. "I put you in danger, didn't I?"

"I don't think so. I think he probably really didn't recognize you. Especially if he was in a hurry…" She put her hand in his hair and stroked it reassuringly.

"That's exactly the opposite of what I was trying to do. Why do I have to butt in all the time?"

"Because you're an idiot who loves me a whole lot." Then she gestured to the bed with a nod of her head. "And you actually did some pretty good detective work. As much as I hate that you did it, because I'd rather not lose you to some psychopath identity thief, as much as I hate that you dragged Morgan into danger with you…" He looked genuinely contrite at that. "It's good work."

A slow smile grew on his face. "Yeah?"

"Mhm. I mean, some of those pictures, you were really way too close. Which is…not smart." He winced. "But…" She pushed away from the desk and went over to look through all of their notes. It was a mess, true, and they seriously used that weird codename every single time they mentioned him, and maybe it was a little too thorough, since she really didn't need to know every time Fake Cartwright used a public restroom…but they'd gotten a lot of incriminating evidence. Combined with what she had, and the photos they'd taken of him in disguise, selling Cartwright's property to other people, she might have something she could take to the LAPD. "You two bozos collected a lot of useful things. Amidst a lot of, um, completely useless things."

Before she did anything else, she had another order of business to tend to. And she'd have to do it as soon as possible…tomorrow if she could get an appointment with him.

"Hey, there's one thing that's weird, though. And it's a big thing."

She glanced over as Chuck stood and crossed to her side. "What's that?" she asked.

"Why'd he hire you to look into Jerald Brown? What's Brown got to do with this?"

"I don't know for sure, but I'm wondering if Brown is onto him and he's figured that out, so he wants a way to discredit him, sully his reputation, his credibility."

"Ahhhh, riiiight. You find dirt on Brown, he can either use that to blackmail him, or he can be like 'You're gonna believe this guy? Look at this stuff he has in his closet!" Chuck paused. "Not literally his closet."

"Yeah, ya nerd. I got that."

"Right."

Sarah slumped onto the bed thoughtfully as Chuck sidled up next to her and stood there, like a pillar of strength, she thought. Her man who foolishly went into dangerous situations to help her with a case because he was jealous, but then staying in the hunt when he realized something was genuinely fishy. He'd gotten her quite a lead on this guy, whoever he was.

And she couldn't help being impressed, even if she was mad at him for being so rash, taking such a huge risk, and involving Morgan. Though she imagined it didn't take much work for Chuck to convince Morgan to help. A fake nose? Honestly, that guy was such a weirdo. She loved him, but he was crazy.

"What are you going to do now?" Chuck asked, breaking into her thoughts.

She peeked up at him for a split second, then rounded his hips with her arms and pulled him close, clinging to him and burying her face in his abdomen. His hand landed on her head and he stroked her hair in a way that was so reassuring she felt a sudden fire in her. Determination. Confidence.

"I'm calling Jerald Brown tomorrow to see if I can get a meeting with him."

"You don't think this con artist asshole will know you're meeting with the guy he's paying you to investigate? I mean, if he finds out, that will look bad."

"It will. If he finds out. I just have to make sure I cover my tracks. But I need to talk to Brown. I need to know what it is Not-Cartwright is going after him for. What is it he's got on him?" She sighed, snuggling her face against his cotton button-up adoringly. "Then I can go from there. Probably get the LAPD involved. I can't do that without hearing Brown's side of things."

"Not that you need my approval, since I'm only an amateur sleuth…" Sarah snorted at that and rolled her eyes, hugging him tighter. "But that's a fantastic idea."

"Thank you."

"Know what else is a fantastic idea?"

"What?"

"Letting go of me for just a few minutes while I change into my pa-yam-as, and then we can crawl into bed and you can hold onto me for as long as you want to."

She giggled and let go of him. "I concede, but with great reluctance."

He gave her a deep bow. "My Lady Bad Ass of the Shadows."

She laughed and she shamelessly watched her boyfriend undress, checking him out all the while. "The shadows?"

"You're a P.I. A detective. Slinking in the shadows like a ninja. Catching bad guys."

"Fair enough," she chuckled.

It only took a few minutes before they were wrapped up together in his bed, her arms around him, head on his chest. But then he reached over and grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand. She frowned in confusion, lifting her head to watch him as he put the phone to his ear.

She heard the ringing on the other line. It rang and rang and rang…and then she heard Morgan's jolly voice chirp about not being able to come to the phone. After the quiet beep, Chuck left his message.

"Leader Two. This is Leader One. Abort mission. We are going to abort mission. Black Canary has found the booty. I repeat, Black Canary has found the booty. Mission Codename: Wolf In Sheep's Clothing is successfully ended…"

Sarah cracked up and reached for the phone as Chuck yelped and tried to roll away from her reach.

"Black Canary is on the offense! Black Canary is attacking me! Leader Two, leave the country, change your name, shave the beard! Ahhh!"

Sarah grabbed the phone and hung up, laughing riotously as she tossed his phone back onto the nightstand and pinned him to the bed, kissing him. She wasn't exactly through being mad at him for his foolishness, for that idiotic jealousy that had made him put himself in a dangerous position. But he was here, he'd helped her case, and maybe the thoroughness of the details he'd recorded, the pictures he'd taken, were something of a turn on.

And she had no trouble convincing him.

XOXOXOXOXOXO

Sarah had found his file he'd built on Cartwright a day and a half ago, and in that time, the suspense had been building. She seemed calm enough, but Chuck was struggling to sit still as he tried to write a few emails, some minor housekeeping things. He couldn't even focus on that, though, and he got up to start pacing in his office.

Adisa knocked on the door and poked his head in, eventually. "Man, what is going on in here? You're pacing so hard, I can hear it through the door."

"Oh. Shit. Sorry." He turned to face his assistant and shrugged a bit lamely. "Are you trying to focus out there? I'll sit back down."

"No, no. I could focus in the middle of an erupting volcano. I'm just checking to make sure you're okay. I mean, is there anything I might be able to help with?"

Chuck stared at him for a moment, then sighed. "Nah, you have work to do that's a lot more important."

That earned him a flat look.

"It's not even anything that has to do with the company. Really, it's fine."

Adisa shrugged and stepped further into the room, crossing his arms.

"No, really," Chuck insisted. "You don't want to hear about this case Sarah's working on—"

"What?! Yes, I do!" He shut the door quickly and crossed the room. "Lay it on me! I'm a problem solver. You know I am. I can help."

The tech CEO was starting to see things from his P.I. girlfriend's perspective suddenly. People really did have an automatic reaction to her profession like they could do as good a job as she could, or better. Not just jumping to help, but thinking they could out-investigate, break down clues…when she'd been in the actual business, a Pinkerton agent for God's sake, for years.

He felt a bit sheepish. Maybe he'd reel himself back a bit, or apologize or something. And God, she was such a patient person to deal with him, and to a lesser extent, with Morgan.

"I can't give you too many details. But I'm just a little stressed. This guy she's dealing with is dangerous and she knows he's dangerous, even knows how dangerous, I mean…what he's capable of. And she's waited a few days, sitting on the information, without acting. I think she's trying to trap him, but she doesn't always tell me her plans and it's worrying me that she's in legitimate danger." He huffed.

"She was a Pinkerton agent, Boss. She knows what she's doing. We're talking about Sarah here—our Sarah—your Sarah," Adisa corrected himself, probably misunderstanding the look Chuck sent him. Honestly, it was cute he'd just called her 'our' Sarah, as though he had a genuine affection and connection with her. It was heartwarming. "You think she'd ever handle someone who is dangerous without being at least a few steps ahead?"

The tech guy chuckled. "You make a good point, there, buddy. And it isn't like I don't think she can handle herself. She already had to grill my ass because I underestimated her wiles once. Thought she'd missed a lot of stuff about him, but she hadn't. And she's playing him like a fiddle, but what if…I don't know, what if he's more cunning and observant than she even suspects? What if he's waiting for the perfect moment to get the drop on her?"

Adisa frowned. "Is he really that awful?"

"Stealing the identity of someone we suspect is dead, whether he killed him or not, we're not sure…I think he's pretty awful."

"Holy God."

"Yes."

"That is why you are pacing so loudly."

"It is." Chuck sighed, pushing his hand through his hair. "I'm just gonna call her and see if she's okay, actually."

"Well, don't go overboard, Boss. Or she'll start to get mad. It isn't my place, I know, but sometimes I think maybe you should…er…"

"I know. I'm overprotective of my girlfriend." He gave his assistant and friend a wan smile.

"She is a private investigator. I get it." Adisa shrugged.

"But I do need to dial it back. You're right. I'll just call her and say hi, that's all." That got him a flat look again. But Chuck was already calling her, bringing the phone to his ear.

It rang…and rang…and rang…It kept ringing. And then he finally heard the clicking sound on the other end, like she was answering it, and he breathed out in relief. But then he heard a gasp, a "No!" and then a loud crashing sound…and then nothing else…a dial tone…

"Something's happened!" he snapped, shoving his phone in his pocket and grabbing his suit jacket from the back of his chair, putting it on.

"What?" Adisa moved out of his way as he rushed out of his office and strode past Adisa's desk.

"There was a weird sound, I heard her, and then a crash and a dial tone."

"Don't talk to me, then! GO!" his assistant barked, and Chuck didn't have time to muse over Adisa's quick one-eighty…from telling him to dial it back to yelling at him to go.

He just needed Sarah to be okay.

XOXOXOXOXOXO

Sarah stared down at the file in her hand, sitting on her nonexistent assistant's desk, her legs crossed, a thoughtful look on her face. She had a secret meeting with Jerald Brown in a little over an hour and she needed to go through a lot more of the information she'd gathered over the last week before she did so.

She needed his side of the story. And when she told him over a secure line that she was a private investigator, and that it was about Robbie Cartwright, he'd gotten a tone she picked up on immediately. "Oh. Robbie," he'd said with a bitter clip. "I'm not sure I should be meeting with you, or even talking with you. I have—"

"Mr. Brown, I just want to get to the bottom of this. I need your side of the story. This man could be dangerous and he has it out for you for some reason. We need to meet. Somewhere that isn't your office or home, somewhere private and safe that he doesn't know about."

He'd finally relented.

And now she would be meeting him at his wife's personal office. He had a key, he said. And she was out of town for a week, visiting her parents in Oklahoma. Sarah slipped a few extra knives into secret places on her person just in case. And she'd be bringing her gun, too. She knew better than to trust Jerald Brown, just in case there was something extra twisted going on here and he was somehow involved.

She shifted to scoot further back on the desk to make herself more comfortable then, but her knee knocked into the file and the papers and pictures inside cascaded onto the floor. "Damn it, Walker…" she sighed, rolling her eyes as she watched it all slip and slide across the wood floors, some of the papers ending up on the other side of the room.

As she climbed off of the desk, leaning down to slowly start collecting the papers, she heard a muffled sound coming from her office. It took much too long for her to realize her phone was ringing in her purse. Chuck had played a joke on her the other night and he'd made her ringtone the theme from a movie called Body Heat or something—she'd so far managed to avoid having to watch it. But it was also a low, whining jazzy trumpet and it was harder to hear than her regular ringtone.

And now she was scrambling back into her own office to get to her phone in case it was something important.

She snagged it out of her purse, saw it was Chuck, and swiped to answer. But she swiped a little too hard and it went sailing out of her hand. "No!"

It hit the half-open drawer of her desk, then slammed into the floor at a weird angle, right on its corner. And Sarah I-Don't-Need-A-Phone-Case-Because-I'm-Not-A-Klutz Walker watched her phone crack right down the seam. "God…damn it!" she groused through her teeth, letting out a long, tired sigh, rolling her eyes, and kneeling down to pick it up.

The phone was broken. She'd be having to get a new one or hope Chuck could work some magic on this one. At least he could potentially get her data off for her, her pictures and everything.

Damn. She'd taken a cute one of Clara over the weekend and she didn't want that gone forever.

Setting the phone down on her desk, she pushed her hair out of her face and turned to stare out at the mess in the other room. At some point, she needed to pick that up.

And them she frowned a little down at the phone. Why was Chuck calling? He was supposed to be at work, still planning that huge conference of his…

Not that he didn't randomly call her during the day every so often when he needed to pull back from his work. She did the same thing from time to time. Out-flirting him over the phone for a few minutes in the middle of the day had become something of a habit, now. A habit she couldn't and didn't want to quit. Even as they approached their two year anniversary of that morning in Paris when they made their relationship official, she could still get him to stammer, the adorable dope.

It was not ten minutes later, as she plopped into her comfortable desk chair and kicked her heels off to put her feet on the desk and rest for a few minutes, that the door to her outer office burst open.

"Sarah! Oh my God! Sarah, are you here?!"

She lowered her feet with a thump and stood quickly, pushing her chair back. "Chuck, what is it?"

Just as she came around her desk, he appeared at the doorway to her private office, his hands slapping against the doorframe on either side of him. He looked incredibly frazzled, his hair a mess, the hem at the bottom of his suit jacket somehow caught up inside of the sleeve under his armpit, his eyes crazed with worry.

And then there was relief. Abject relief. "Sarah," he breathed, his eyelids fluttering.

He lunged at her then and she let him wrap her up in a tight hug. Almost a little too tight, she thought, still totally confused. But she hugged him back. "What is it?" she asked, rubbing his neck with one cool hand. "What happened?"

"I could ask you the same thing!" he rushed out, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes, cupping her jaw with one caring hand. "Are you okay?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed, furrowing her brow. "I-I'm fine! What's going on?"

"I was calling you 'cause—Er, well, I was gonna say hi. And you answered after it rang for a while, but then I heard you yell and there was a crash. With-With everything going on with this case of yours, I thought—"

Oh. Oh God, poor Chuck. "Goddd, Chuck. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out, you complete sweetheart." She giggled a bit, wincing as she stepped back. Almost unconsciously, she reached out and tugged at the suit jacket, pulling it down over his torso, not that he seemed to care, and then she snagged her phone off of the desk and showed it to him. "I was trying to answer it in time and I fumbled it. It cracked on the floor. Hence the yell. And the crash. It's broken, I think."

She gave him a lame, closed-mouth smile.

"Oh." He laughed a little and shook his head. "I maybe…overreacted."

"Hey. Listen. I welcome the overreaction, considering…um…whom I'm dealing with currently."

"Really?" he asked, eyes wide. "I-I guess I thought maybe…" He delicately took the phone from her fingers and started distractedly trying to fix it for her. And somehow that made her melt a little. How unconsciously he did things to make her life easier. Without her even having to ask. "With our conversation the other night. I sort of went overboard and, um, maybe made you think that I'm underestimating your capabilities as a detective. And I thought that might extend to this, protecting yourself I mean."

"Chuck, I'm never gonna get mad at you for caring. Of course you rushed over here to check on me after that. And with the fake Cartwright thing, I don't blame you. I'd do the same thing if I tried to call you and heard you yell on the line before it went dead." She put her hands on either side of his neck and moved up onto her tiptoes to peck his lips. "I'm sorry I worried you."

"Nah, it's okay. I'm just glad you aren't in the back of some van with tinted windows or curtains right now." He shivered dramatically and then there was a small click sound between them.

Sarah looked down and saw he'd managed to get the phone open. "Uh…Baby, I wanted you to fix it not break it all the way."

He chuckled. "I mean, I can maybe get it sticking together again, but see how gnarly this bit is? It's bent up," he said, running his pointer finger along where it had made contact with the hard floor. "I don't think it's gonna be working again."

Sarah let out a dramatic whine. "Damn it. I need that."

"It's okay. That's why I opened it. The card is fine. I can just put it in a new phone for you." Then he paused. "Um, also…just a minor thing. But is there, uh, any reason why your outer office looks like the scene of a kidnapping? 'Cause that didn't help me not think something had happened to you."

"Oh God, I'm so sorry." She chuckled. "I accidentally dropped a file I was looking through right before I dropped the phone. So…today's been…a day."

"Ah. That makes sense."

"I'm sorry I scared you so badly…" she said, a bit of a pout on her face as she sidled up to him and ran her hand down his tie, wrapping it up in her fist.

"It's okay," he chuckled, shaking his head. "As long as you're okay, that's all that matters. Also, this is good. I was kind of dying at work and now I'm here instead. Maybe we can have a post-lunch coffee? Or I can buy ya a cookie from down the street at that bakery you love so much."

She moaned a little, then moved in to wrap her arms around his shoulders and hug him. Part of her wanted to just wrap her legs around his waist and cling to him like a koala or something, just let him hold her for a while. This was shaping up to be one of those days where a lot of little frustrating things happened that not just soured your mood but made everything you were trying to get done that much harder.

"Is that a yes?" he asked, chuckling and rubbing her back comfortingly, almost like he could tell she was in a mood that needed that sort of thing.

"No," she said with a put-upon sigh. She pulled back and gave him a full on pout. "I can't. As much as I wish I could. I have to go meet with Jerald Brown in a few which is especially great now that I don't have a working phone."

Chuck froze in her arms. "Wait, what?"

"I got Brown to agree to meet me today. I've gotta leave in fifteen minutes to get there on time." She glanced at her watch. At least that wasn't broken.

"Wait, wait. Hold on. Brown? Jerald Brown? You are going to meet with him? Now?"

"In fifteen minutes, yes. What?"

"Nothin'. Nothin'. No, I was just…I didn't expect that. I mean, that's—Well, it's what you needed to do, to get this guy once and for all. Where, um, where you meeting him? At his office? On a bench in a very public place? Please don't say his home."

She giggled, finding his questioning as endearing as it was frustrating. But she knew when she was in this business, a dangerous business she had to admit, she couldn't exactly get him to stop caring, and by extension, to stop worrying. This was going to be a transition. She'd have to get used to it. For most of her career, she hadn't had that element in her life. Someone who legitimately cared about whether she came back home at night after a long day of working on a case. She had it now, with Chuck Bartowski, and it was incredibly precious to her.

He was incredibly precious to her.

"Not his home, no. Nor his office. Those are all places Fake Cartwright knows about. I told him it had to be someplace few people knew about. His wife runs a small, not very well-known Etsy shop because she makes, like, knitted things I guess. And she has a little office she rents in some office building near SoHo. Off of Melrose."

"You're meeting him alone?"

"We'll both be alone."

"And without a phone?"

"Chuuuuuck," she groaned, sliding her hands up and squeezing his shoulders. "Listen, bud. I love you. And I get you're worried. But there are a few things I've got on me that aren't broken that'll be much more helpful than a mere cellphone." He tilted his head in question. "My knives and gun. And my fists."

"Oh. Wow. That's rad."

She giggled, kissing his cheek. "You mind helping me clean up the mess in the other room? And then I should probably leave to beat traffic. Don't want to be late and have him leave, thinking I've stood him up."

"Right. Sure, sure…" He moved into the other room in front of her and knelt down to start scooping up the pictures and the notes and documents. She could feel his worry from across the room, though the adorable and maybe a little overprotective man was doing a good job of holding it in instead of harping on it to her yet again.

She just hoped his worries, and her own, were unfounded.

Especially because the broken phone really did present yet another element that would make her less safe in this situation. And her track record of doing stupid things today hadn't just been limited to those two dropping incidents. There was the coffee she'd spilled when she woke up this morning, nearly missing her new shoes. And then someone had run a red light and nearly T-boned her. If she hadn't been extra cautious in going when she had the green light, she definitely would've gotten it good instead of watching a truck speed past her within inches of the front of her car, her heart in her throat.

She wasn't about to tell Chuck any of that.

Instead, fifteen minutes later, she let him walk her to her car, open the door for her so that she could swing herself down behind the wheel, and he shut it for her again.

She rolled down her window and peered up at him as she started the car. "Hey. C'mere and kiss me." He leaned down with his arms perched on the door and he kissed her with a quiet hum. "What's that look on your face, huh?" she asked.

"Just a little worried, you not having a phone for this meeting. Why don't you just take mine?" He took it out of his pocket, wrapped in a case she noticed a bit glumly.

"I don't need your phone, Chuck. What if someone for your conference calls and it's super important but you can't do anything about it because I've got your phone?"

"They'll call Adisa." He shrugged. "That's what he's there for. Which reminds me: before I give you my phone, I should let him know you're okay. I screamed at him that something had happened to you and then ran outta there. He's probably freakin' out. Woops." He typed out a quick message. "There. Now take my phone."

"No. I'm not taking your phone. I'm fine, Baby. Really. I'll go directly to your apartment after this and you can help me fix my mangled little piece of crap smart phone then. How about that?"

"Sarah."

"Chuck."

He sighed heavily and dropped his forehead onto his folded arms. She reached up to stroke his curls and then leaned in to kiss his head.

"I love you. I have to go."

"Please be careful," he said, lifting his head and leaning in to kiss her again.

"I will be. I promise."

He stepped back as they said their 'see you laters' and she stayed there for a few moments, watching him walk to his own car that was parked nearby, before she finally pulled out from where she was parked at the curb, headed towards Mrs. Brown's Etsy office. Her nerves were on edge, so she was extra paranoid about looking for cars following her, but a few minutes into the drive, when she didn't get any alarm bells over any of the cars behind her, she settled down a bit more, turned on some music, and just drove, glancing in the rearview mirror every once in a while.

If she'd fed into the paranoia a bit more, she might've noticed the taxi a few cars behind her, slowly meandering along on her same path, and the other car off to the side, keeping within three or four cars' length of hers.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXO

"Mr. Brown. Thank you for meeting me today," she said as he offered her the comfortable chair across from his inside of his wife's cozy little office.

"Please. Jerald. And you're a private investigator, are you?" He eyed her, and she found it wasn't leering or even particularly off-putting. He was merely sizing her up. "I hope you don't mind my saying this, but you weren't what I expected when you called me and said you wanted to meet."

"Hm. I get that a lot."

He chuckled and shrugged. "So what is this? Why the secrecy?"

Sarah sucked in a deep breath and let it out. She'd decided when she made the call that she was going to have to be fully honest with Jerald Brown. She needed his full story, and she needed him to know why it was so important he provided it for her.

"Mr.—Jerald," she corrected herself, and he smirked, pushing the glasses he was wearing up his nose. "Robbie Cartwright contacted me almost two weeks ago and told me he wanted me to vet you." His smirk grew on his older face and he shook his head bitterly, a bit of anger in his eyes. "You don't look very surprised."

"Well, young lady, I'm not." Then he winced. "I'm sorry. 'Young lady' sounds very patronizing. You seem around my daughter's age and I like to imagine sometimes that she isn't quite so old as she's seeming to get." He shook his head, then gestured for her to continue.

She smiled politely, then nodded. "Are you doing business with Cartwright?"

"Well, you see…I had planned to. Back when he was still living in Cape Town." Sarah sat up a bit straighter, much more interested in what this man had to say suddenly. "I'd only been corresponding with him through email. He preferred that over phone calls. He was planning on putting some money in with Gridiron Technology—that's my company—" She nodded, already having known that, amongst a lot of other things now. "But he wanted to take a vacation and clear his head first. I said that was perfectly all right. There was no rush. And I didn't bother him. But when I didn't hear for a few months, I figured he had changed his mind after his vacation. I was going to give him a call just to confirm, and he showed up here in LA suddenly. He…called me. On the phone. And I was so shocked by it that I didn't ask why. He told me he wanted to make a proposition. He'd found some information on Gridiron and thought it might be interesting to build an investment there, get his foot in the tech industry door, so to speak…"

Sarah frowned. "So he decided to accept your business arrangement after all."

"Yes. But the way he spoke to me about it, he made it seem as though we'd never discussed it before. That on top of the fact that he'd called instead of emailing, made me a bit…well…"

When he squirmed in his seat, Sarah leaned in. "Dubious?"

"Hm. Precisely. When we met face to face, he was…different from what I'd come to expect from emailing with him for a month or so." He stretched his arms out. "I was perfectly content doing business in the way he wanted to—remotely, with me in LA and Cartwright in Cape Town. Killer time difference, but emailing back and forth meant that didn't matter much."

"Jerald, did you talk to Cartwright about your misgivings?" she asked. "I-I mean, once he came here, to Los Angeles."

"Oh, no. My wife advised me not to. Instead, she said, don't alert him. Just keep talking to him about the investment in Gridiron and see what happened. But, well…I'm not the best actor. And the man I emailed with seems so…different, contrary to what I've experienced the few times I met him in person here."

"How so?"

"More outgoing. Verging on wild. There was an event we were both invited to, about three and a half weeks ago. He danced almost the entire time, drank…" He shifted forward in his seat. "Wait, you say he hired you?"

Suspicion laced his features then and she held up a hand to reassure him. "I've been vetting him instead of you for the past two weeks, sir. I'll be honest with you, I've done quite a bit of digging into your business, your personal life…"

"Comforting. What did you find?" He was almost bristling now.

"Nothing." He blinked. "The deeper I dug, the more obvious it was to me that you're on the up and up, so to speak. And every time I met with Mr. Cartwright to provide an update, I had nothing of note to give him, and he seemed…upset by that. He told me he just wanted to make sure he was going into business with someone honest. But it became more and more apparent that he wanted me to find something on you, something he could use. For what, I wasn't sure. And that's why I wanted to meet with you. I don't know why he's targeting you by hiring a P.I. to look into you. But I figured you would know. Or you might have an idea."

"I must not be a very good actor. That's the only thing I could imagine. That I'm not…enthralled with him."

"More likely, sir, it's that you aren't falling for his act." He furrowed his bushy brow and frowned. "I think he isn't Cartwright. Especially since you're saying you emailed about that business of yours before he came here, when he was still in Cape Town. And that he seemed not to know about it—or rather, not to remember—and struck up talks of investing again. That is because this guy most likely doesn't know you talked to the real Cartwright months ago."

The man was shaking in his wife's chair, and he covered his mouth with his hand. "You're saying this—this man is an imposter…?"

"Yes. Jerald, I'm almost certain the man who hired me is not Robert Cartwright."

Brown shook his head slowly, and then he swallowed loud enough for her to hear. "You know, I was afraid—I was getting suspicious, at least, that there was something fishy with him. Everyone else seemed to be falling for his charms, but that business about the emails and him suddenly showing up and being so different…" He ran his hand down his tie. "Have you contacted the authorities? Both here and in Cape Town. If he's pretending to be Cartwright here, where's the actual Cartwright? Back home in Cape Town, not knowing someone is impersonating him?"

"My fear is that he's dead." Brown went pale and sat back against his chair heavily.

"D-Did this man kill him?"

"I don't know. But Cartwright took a trip in one of his boats…and all of a sudden he was here in Los Angeles, buying a huge condo downtown, cars, other toys…running his business into the ground, and…here's the kicker, selling his own Cape Town property to unwitting buyers."

"He's selling Cartwright's property?" Brown asked, sitting forward again, anger in his eyes. "Listen, I wasn't particularly fond of Robert Cartwright. He seemed very…standoffish, hard to get along with, hard in general. And that was just in the emails we exchanged. But he did genuinely good things with his money and I was eager to work with him. To think someone could…" He murmured a swear and looked her in the eye. "What do you plan to do, Miss Walker?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Now that I've gotten more evidence from you, I'll be needing to go to the authorities. I have a contact at the LAPD. At least I'm pretty sure I know why I was hired to get dirt on you. You're dangerous to this con he's pulling. Very dangerous."

"You mean he thought you might find something incriminating that he could use to shut me up if I tried to do something about my suspicions…?"

"Exactly."

"Well, at least he hired the right person." He cleared his throat and shrugged. "Right for me, at least. And just…right in general. On the right side."

"I try to be, sir. None of this was sitting well with me. I've managed to drag it out for a while as I've picked up more information on this imposter." Fake Cartwright had been almost restless during the meeting before their last, so Sarah had made a point in the next meeting, yesterday's meeting in fact, to come in with something he might be able to use. A misdemeanor she'd drummed up out of nothing, forged papers that looked convincing enough she thought. It would buy her time if she promised to follow the lead and come back with more, which she had.

And now she could go right to Casey's doorstep, her evidence and a witness in hand, and they could take this son of a bitch down together.

"You might need to come with me to the LAPD, Mr. Brown. They'll want to question you about everything."

"Of course. You can…guarantee my safety, can't you?"

Before she could answer, there was a splintering boom behind her, and as she spun in her chair, she saw the man who'd hired her had kicked the door in and was standing there, a gun pointed at the both of them.

"No, Jerry," he murmured. "No, she can't."

[rawresparza]

It has been a crappy past few days, and I turn out to be not very good at being supported and/or comforted. But I suspect I'm not the only one. May I please prompt you to show us Rafael learning to be loved by Sonny? I bet it wasn't easy for him. Please and thank you?

HI, anon! I’m so sorry you’ve had a rough few days and I hope things have at least started to look up. I totally understand what you mean because I have a hard time in that regard, too, and sometimes I still struggle with it. I definitely agree Rafael would, as well. I hope this is at least a little bit along the lines of what you were thinking and if not, I hope it’s still okay. May the rest of your week be brighter

–

Rafael has had a grand total of approximately seven hours of sleep, forty-eight hours of a migraine, and zero hours of patience over the last three days and if anyone would bother to ask, he’d say he’s very much fed up with it.

Well, no, that’s not true at all. A number of people have asked, Sonny has asked him so many times he’d lost count, and he’d only responded with increasingly gruff versions of “I’m fine.” Sonny knows damn well he’s not fine, he hadn’t been fine when the defense had dropped a surprise fucking witness on this case and he hadn’t been fine when he’d popped prescription ibuprofen for the umpteenth time, even though it hardly ever works to get rid of the pounding in his head.

But he can’t slow down, he doesn’t know how, that’s not in his blood. Always keep moving, keep busy, that had been his philosophy as a kid because it’d meant maybe, just maybe, he could avoid a bad evening at home or a run-in with some older boy or another he’d mouthed off to that day. Either way, slowing down would mean risking getting caught in someone’s snare, and coming up with new excuses for his bruises for concerned teachers or the school nurse or even the ER doctors was never worth the trouble.

Upon deeper reflection, he supposes one could make the argument that at this point in his life, he’s really just running away from the very thing that could help him: taking a break, taking a breath, letting someone take care of him. He’s just not used to that and seven months into this relationship with Sonny, Rafael is a little concerned he never will be. Comforting other people has never been his forte and he’s even worse when it comes to being comforted but that’s why he’s never made any real effort to make friends. He’d had Eddie and Alex and even Yelina as a kid; but with friends like them, why would he dare pursue anything like that as an adult? Getting close to people had only ever led to getting hurt, in his experience.

Sonny had somehow managed to evade the walls he’d carefully built up around himself over the past couple decades, Rafael has no idea how he’d done it. A few invitations out to coffee then drinks then dinner, that absurd Staten Island accent murmuring sweet nothings in his ear, a kiss on a rooftop with a half-decent view of the Manhattan skyline, these are all things that had led Rafael down the path to his own demise; that is to say, he’d let himself fall in love. He doesn’t regret that, he could never regret that, but sometimes, Rafael feels like maybe he doesn’t deserve it.

This is one of those times.

With Buchanan and his piece of shit client looking all kinds of arrogant on the evening news, Rafael’s mood has taken a turn from bad to awful. He’d popped another two ibuprofen against the advice of his boyfriend–

“Did you finally hit up Fordham for your medical degree while I wasn’t looking?”

–and now he’s feeling especially petty because Sonny had been right, he shouldn’t have done it, especially not on an empty stomach. He’s had seven coffees and half a stale granola bar he’d found buried in his office desk drawer today. When Sonny had asked what Rafael wanted him to bring home for dinner, Rafael had lied and said he’d already eaten.

Why? He doesn’t know. Maybe he’s just always been a sucker for self-sabotage, old habits die hard. It’s easier to push people away than admit he could use the help.

He can feel Sonny watching him watch the news and it’s unnerving. His body betrays him, works against him, tenses up even though he doesn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he’s getting more and more irritated by the second, by virtue of the fact that Sonny is simply existing beside him. That isn’t fair, he knows that, but he also knows Sonny will earnestly try to offer any form of assistance possible and that’s the opposite of what Rafael wants. What he wants is to be left alone to wallow in his frustration, he wants Sonny to go back to his own damn apartment so he can get sufficiently buzzed off a few pours of the good scotch he saves for shittier days before hopefully getting another hour of sleep.

Instead, Sonny’s hand finds its way to the nape of his neck, fingertips playing with the ends of Rafael’s hair. It feels good. He’s not used to feeling good. Before Sonny, he’d barely remembered what it was like to feel at all. On better days, things between them are incredible, it’s like living in fantasy world compared to what Rafael’s previous, much more short-lived romances; but on days like this, he wishes he was still alone. At least he has the decency to feel bad about that, he supposes.

“You should turn that off,” Sonny says, tilting his head toward the TV screen. Rafael purses his lips, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening, but Sonny doesn’t heed the warning. “And you should eat something. Carmen told me she only saw you guzzling coffee during recesses.”

“Carmen’s not my mother and neither are you,” Rafael says. He doesn’t bother to hide his bitterness but Sonny doesn’t even flinch. It’s a little infuriating.

“No, I’m your boyfriend,” Sonny says patiently. Sonny’s fingers travel up over Rafael’s hair, webbing out over his scalp and pulsing just slightly at just the right pressure points. It sends a shiver down Rafael’s spine and his eyes flutter shut as a relieved sigh escapes him. “I’m your boyfriend, and I love you, and I really wish you’d just let me do something to help you. Feed you, hold you, tell you nice things, whatever. Anything.”

Rafael slowly blinks his eyes back open, still reeling a bit from how much tension has already left his body just from one gentle massage. But it’s not the massage, it’s Sonny. Of course it’s Sonny, it’s always been Sonny. “Okay. Tell me something nice.” It’s conceding without conceding, he’s really just testing the waters, but he turns the TV off anyway and his heart flutters in his chest when he’s met with a pair of dimples.

“I got the recipe for your favorite dish from your ma.” Sonny hesitates, studying Rafael for a reaction. “She said she used to make it for you when– well, when things weren’t so good at home. I’m sure it won’t be as good as how she does it but…” He trails off when Rafael straightens up in his spot on the couch, shaking Sonny’s hand from his head. “I’m sorry, did I overstep?”

Rafael catches Sonny’s hand before he can pull it away, shaking his head, a look of awe taking over his expression. “You called my mom? You did that for me?”

“You’ve just been so stressed out,” Sonny says, lowering his eyes sheepishly. “This case has been rough, I know, but you’re barely sleeping and I’m sorry, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life, but Raf, you seriously look like you might keel over any second. I just figured, if you won’t take care of yourself, I can do it for you until things get back to normal.”

Swallowing hard, Rafael considers Sonny’s words, turning them over in his mind, examining them piece by piece. It’s not a hard bargain Sonny’s driving, he suspects most people would be thrilled to have their significant others say something like that to them. It’s just that over the years, he’s developed a habit of being suspicious of those who extend kindness his way. He’s not proud of that but it is what it is.

Maybe it’s time he starts to unlearn that. Maybe it’s time he starts trusting Sonny not just with the good but with the bad and everything in between. It’s time he starts getting used to the idea Sonny isn’t going to run when things get hard

“It’s hard for me,” Rafael admits. “I’m not great at the whole asking for support thing.”

“No kidding,” Sonny teases, arching a brow.

Rafael’s smile reaches his eyes, genuine but brief before he takes on an air of sincerity again. “I want to be better at it. That might take time, but I want to let you in.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’m very patient when it comes to gorgeous, green-eyed ADAs. Especially ones with really short fuses.”

“You’re going to take a dig at me while I’m opening up to you?” Rafael asks, huffing with mock indignance. Even as he does, he settles in next to Sonny, lowering his cheek to his boyfriend’s shoulder and smiling against the soft fabric of a Fordham Law shirt while Sonny’s arm drapes over his shoulder.

“To be fair, I complimented you in the same breath, so those clearly cancel each other out.”

They laugh together and it’s like the air has cleared. The room feels different. Sonny kisses his hair, and Rafael doesn’t even consider pulling away. He’s found an anchor in Sonny, a happy place in Sonny’s arms. Somehow, he’d stumbled into this, having no idea what to expect. Rafael had never imagined he’d be this fortunate.

“By the way,” Sonny says, “I picked up some kung pao and fried rice for you at the Chinese place we like. I’ll heat it up for you if you want it.”

God, he loves this man. With every last part of himself, Rafael loves Sonny more than he’d thought he had the capacity to love someone. It surprises him, every single day, the ferocity with which he feels for this one person because he’s never felt that with anyone else before. Sometimes he cringes at himself for throwing the word “soulmate” around in his head because that’s not like him, that isn’t a concept he’s ever believed in, but Sonny has a way of making Rafael believe in the impossible.

Tomorrow, when he’s back in court, he’s sure he’ll be pissy and snappy and anyone who crosses his path will suffer his wrath; but at the end of the day, he’ll remember he has this. He has Sonny.

That makes it all worth it.

[kyunsies]

Hello Mädch ahsdjaksdh <3 !!

how is college going? dw, I hope you are settling in super well and feeling optimistic about school and all the amazing things I know you are going to achieve this year! I am excited that you are starting your rotations now! you are going to do awesome, I know it! I'm sorry that you didn't get that ICU first like you wanted but hopefully it's all part of the plan so that you get it at the right time for you <3 let me know how they go, of course. I hope they go super well.

the week has been a bit weird to be honest, in my team I had a semi argument that was properly tense for the first time with someone and it was just so unpleasant. you know those people where they aren't horrible but you know that you'll never completely see eye to eye with them? i think it's just one of those things, where we'll never just completely read each other or get each other? and it's not, like, a massive issue or anything that we can't deal with, but I feel like usually I get on really well with people or not at all (all or nothing person I guess haha) but with this person I've just got to admit that we're always going to be a bit in the middle? like, we talked it over, and I've still found sometimes we misunderstand one another? so things are still good in work and clients, but with workpeople it has been the more difficult battle? hopefully we should get some more cool media stuff with the K-pop people soon, so that's an up?

OMGsh your coworkers are so much older than you! [lease do post a picture of your room, I am 100% confident that you have made it so dreamy and pretty. Thank you sm for telling me more about these operations though! I feel like everywhere is on red alert at the moment when it comes to health and care and making sure that people look after themselves and not put others at risk, you know? the doctors that to talk to me about my potential surgeries too have said the same but it's nice hearing it from a friend, you know? so thank youuuu <3 <3

I was the same as you, I would get so so so anxious and stressed if I wasn't studying or working or anything like that? but my mum is like your mum and grandma, where she gets up early too! but I feel like I need to do the late night thing instead? but then once I got into this crazy spiral where I would wake up really early and go to bed really late and like nap in between so I ended up like having two hours of sleep either side? that was peak wth at the time haha XD so now I try and let myself wake up a bit later really XD ha ha I'm in barely adulting! like I work so much but I don't earn a lot ha ha – I don't think that's very effective adulting? or like, I don't know I guess for a lot of people my age there's a work hard and hope it pays off thing in certain industries? so you're definitely more effectively adulting than me right now! like, you're going to do stuff that's gonna actively help people and you'll see that right in front of you, you know!!? sometimes my work gets out there but I rarely see directly if it gets to make peoples lives better you know? so the path you're on is so so admirable <3 <3 <3

I get you though, do you find that you thrive under the pressure even though it's sometimes a lot? I find that sometimes it does help me, but sometimes I forget to identify the times when it isn't helping me? or, sometimes I take it too far? so please look out for yourself and take care of yourself <3 and when you're worried if you're on the edge know that it's enough for you to take a rest and not be super perfect. i sometimes tell myself to except that I'm probably gonna make two or three stupid mistakes a day? It sounds kind of silly but it means that it makes it easier for me to accept when I mess up, idk, I think it helps me balance the pressure sometimes? i 100% understand what you're saying - at school do they have people that can directly help? or like peer supporters so it's not as stressful or official feeling as a therapist? if you ever want me to come off anon to help lemme know <3 i'm always here for you <3

oh my gosh your grandparents have been able to live long too! all my grandparents lived close to 100 before passing, and one of my grandmothers had the same as your grandfather. he sounds so sweet and so kind though! i love that he knows how to FaceTime you! Some of my aunts and uncles still don't properly haha. it sounds like he knows that he's super loved though, he's very lucky <3 <3 i've been thinking about all this really lovely stuff and how it grounds you when stuff like careers can stress you out and feel like the most important thing when it shouldn't be? what are the personality differences between the different areas of the US? my East Coast friends seem to straight talk a lot more than my West Coast friends? like they're a lot more realistic as opposed to being, I don't know laid-back or if not laid-back sometimes just more comfortable with superficial stuff? Not like my West Coast friends are superficial people, but I think they accept it as part of the world a bit better? my friends on the east coast will rail against that stuff a lot more, like they buy into the influencer bullshit less? but I guess these are all sweeping generalisations anyway... I might have to travel a bit in europe soon... I got asked to go to otaly for some work today, and to holland next month. Idk if it will end up happening though, things change all the time? I have to keep checking quarantine rules all the time with countries! but YAY and YES Europe tour trip one day :D !!!!!!!

you know what? when I first saw you compare bowling and golf I was like, wait, what? but now I totally get it! i know a golfer and they talk about how physical and strenuous it is on the arms and stuff all the time which I don't think always comes across when you watch it and it makes a lot of sense with how you describe how you trained for bowling! i used to cox in rowing and I always used to find it really funny that I said that was the sport I did because honestly I just sat in the boat all the time and steered XD

obligatory YES WTF ARE COTTON SCENTS! quite a few shops in the city where I live have been closing down because of Covid but our Jo Malone is still going strong! I love that lots of already classic clothing shops have now gone out of business but for some reason the people where I live cannot live without their perfume XD I think I'm gonna go in later this week or next week to take a look! with all this travelling I kind of want to buy something new? also, my hands have been acting up with injury so I have to rest my hands more anyway – so might as well look for perfume right? do you have any recommendations or would the blueberry one you've just gotten be at the top of your list?

the exciting thing is that I'm doing a bit less this week! I need to wait and see if that job wants me to fly out to Italy within the next 48 hours, if not next week, but if not I think I'm gonna figure out how to rehabilitate my joints a bit and get my brain okay? It's been existential Covid crisis week haha - I think a lot of me and my friends have been feeling like we've lost so much of our lives and potential during this time and I've really tried to hold in and ignore it for the past 18 months? i'm not one to ever feel lonely or to really really want to be in a relationship like some of my friends, but I've just been feeling it this week? like, I love my independence, but I wouldn't say no to a boyfriend right now you know? I feel silly saying that sometimes because I'm so against feeling like you have to have someone in your life to be okay, but I guess that's just a result of how the world is has been recently?? but I think all my feelings exploded around this stuff now so, I am trying to get back into a better place? so it's not as exciting as some of the stuff I've told you about before, but it's what's up I guess?

how are your mum and grandmother doing? are they doing good? [lease send all my love to them too. I'm glad these help you reflect on your week! they do with me too and I'm always happy to hear from you, no matter how long you might need <3 <3 hope you manage to reward yourself for working so hard these past days and that you remember you're always doing 110% so you deserve the best!

love you lots and lots - 💥

ANGEL HELLO !!!!!!!!! i told myself i would stay on top of this and swear in a timely manner but ;_____; a full week + 2 clinical rotations later here i am on a sunday, it seems this is always the case :( maybe my get back to you day will only be on sundays LOL i will try my best in the future babe, but ofc thank you so much for being patient with me <3

uni is going fine so far hun !!!! i've started clinical rotations as i've said on thursday and friday, and then my first exam is on tuesday so i read some chapters yesterday so i'm not squished for time lol :) and ,,,, what you said "hope it's all part of the plan" is very much my way of thinking lol wha is your sign? i'm a sagittarius and that's like, a philosophy i go by like everything is how it's supposed to be even if it's not what u want like everything will work itself out :') i'm wondering if we are one in the same !!!!! <3

and omg ;_____; conflict within the workplace is NEVER easy bc all everyone wants is to reach the goal you all are reaching and bc there's some bumps in the road it makes everything that much more stressful :( and i know exactly the type of person you are talking about LOL i've had to work with some of my peers in the hospital who really didn't treat me all that nicely , but i still have to partner up with them anyways bc we had to move a patient lol ; like they never do anything terrible to you but you just cannot come to a proper agreement with them? i know the feeling :( but i can tell you are doing ur absolute best ;_____; it's a tough situation ,,,,,,,,, but may i propose something ??? maybe since things are high stress in the workplace, would u be willing to meet them outside the workplace, like a quick coffee meet up and then discuss those issues? maybe talking about it in the work environment is way too stressful for both of u and it is hard to come to an agreement, but maybe in a calmer, more informal setting do u think maybe the both of u could be like "hey, what u were talking about i'm not really head over heels for but this is what i think and do u think we can do something where both of us will be happy?" im thinking maybe will opening up a means for more civilized discussion?? just a thought LOL :') let me know how it goes :( i hope u are all able to figure everything out !!!!!

about the surgeries !!!!! like i said i know it's super stressful to think about bc this is one of the very few times in life where things are absolutely out of our control and that scares us, and we as medical providers aren't supposed to give u a false sense of security, but i promise u everything will be just fine as long as u correctly follow up with care post-op :) we wouldn't want an infection !!!! >;( i remember last year i had a patient and she was going in for a routine colonoscopy and she was scared shitless ,,,,,,, but i was like "listen ma'am i know it can seem scary but i was just in there with the doctors and everything is super relaxed and they know what they're doing in there, you'll be out in no time and i'll be here waiting !!" and that seemed to help her a lot, after the surgery she was on me like flies on shit LOL she was like "THANK U HONEY" (but i think most of it was bc she was still drugged up hhh)

LOL us with our family members waking up early <3 literally this morning i decided to do my laundry at 8am (its only 10 right right now lol) but idk it just make u feel a little bit better doesn't it? but oh my gosh no i don't see u in this way at all ;_____; babe like you're already THERE in the world working and to me like ,,,,,, being an effective functioning person in society is like all i ever want i just want to be COMPETENT and the fact that u manage ppl ???? it's already a lot of responsibility but you do it everyday like you go to work u make food for yourself u pay bills like yes this all kinda sucks but you're there doing it and idk ,,,,,,,, like u being in this position is like yeah their surviving in the world and doing okay !!!! so that’s how i see u hun ;_____;

and i don’t think i necessarily thrive under pressure but i just kinda ,,,,,,, handle it?? like i think i handle my stress quite well !!! i think the reason why making mistakes scares me so much in my field is bc if i make a mistake i can like, kill someone or seriously harm them if i do something wrong SLKDFJ but i have to remember i’m still just a student and a lot of the things that i’ll learn won’t even be in these last few months of nursing school, but rather during my months of orientation on the floor i’ll be working on when i finally land a job ,,,,,, i know i just have to be patient and kind to myself, but it’s hard not having these high expectations for myself bc everyone else pushes themselves super hard (nurses i mean) so i feel like i should be too , ya know? ;_____; it’s a hard balance that i’ve yet to find but hopefully once i graduate i’ll have just a little bit more confidence in myself :’)

and omg your grandparents lived a long life as well !!!!!!!! a lot of my friends’ grandparents are really young still, so it’s hard for others to relate i think LOL but :(((( i’m really lucky to have them around still and like, i feel like my grandparents are the cornerstone of our whole entire family; once they pass i’m not quite sure what will happen ;_____; so i’m just trying to cherish every moment that i have with them even tho sometimes it’s stressful lol ; also BOUT THE DIFFERENCES FROM EAST TO WEST COAST LOL ; i think u described it really well actually :) like among the friends u have the are from different parts of the states, it’s very accurate in my opinion !! and again after all it is just a very broad assumption, in general east coasters have this “workaholic” attitude, they tend to be very realistic which i actually appreciate a lot lol, i’m hoping to live near the east coast when i move out <3 now where i am from it is considered the midwest even tho it’s more east than west if u look at it on the map LMAO and like, it’s really funny bc if u say to someone you’re from the midwest they’ll tell u our reputation is being “too nice” LSKDLFJSKLD and like that’s our thing, a happy medium between coasts with big cities but small towns too and generally just very chill and nice ,,,,,,,, the south of the US is also known for having that “southern hospitality” overall very cheerful ppl with personality and super kind attitude on life :) now the west of the US i’m not saying there aren’t nice ppl out there bc there are LOL but esp near lost angeles or hollywood ofc you’re going to have ppl very stuck up bc ya know they made it to big bad LA and they want to be trendy with all of the fake health shit (celery juice does NOTHING FOR U sorry lol) generally my view of the west is just very fake and i would never want to have my family grow up there LMAO but that generally like, california and washington but like, utah or wyoming or colorado are just absolutely gorgeous and they have small town ppl there bc there are a lot of ranches there ,,,,,,,, does any of this make sense to u ??? KLASFJ 

i’m going to skip a few paragraphs bc this is so long already LMAO but trust me i’ve read everything so far lol ; it seems like you’re doing a lot of traveling !!!!!! <3 i’m so jealous !!!!!!!! italy sounds so beautiful i would love love to go some day :( ALSO U SMELLED THE BLUEBELL PERFUME RIGHT ???? U LIKED IT ?????? doesn’t it smell absolutely divine??? no matter how many scents i smelled after that i knew it was the right one for me ldkfsdlkfj <3 i’m still so in love with it ;____; also about ur lil rant about feeling lonesome :( bub i can really relate to this and i feel the same way like my mom and the rest of my family never pushed me to meet anyone and i’ve always never had a problem making friends, but like, as i’m older and i realize i’ll be alone a lot more of my time once i graduate like i really do want to share my life with someone :( i have a lot of love and i want to be able to show it to someone i care about a lot but i just never really take the initiative to do that bc quite honestly i’m not confident in myself lMAO so ,,,,,,, i know we never feel like we need to be dependent on someone but sharing experiences with someone who feels very strongly for u seems nice, doesn’t it? i wish this for both of us really soon okay?? <3 i tell my friends i would LOVE to be engaged right now lskdjfslfjs :’)

but anyways !!!!!!!! my mom and the rest of my family is doing well <3 and i’m doing okay too !!!!!! i don’t want to bore u with how clinicals are going but if u want me to tell u just let me know LOL and angel i know i say it all the time but always thank u so much for being patient with me okay? u are the absolute best !!!!!! also as promised, here are a few pics of my dorm room LOL it’s a shoebox but it’s my shoebox :) enjoy !!!!!! 

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN PEOPLE

If you'd asked me as a kid how rich people became poor, I'd have said by spending all their money. The reason I've been writing about existing forms is that I don't know what new forms will appear. He didn't mean it to be a huge number of software patents. If someone seems slippery, or bogus, or a tool for 3D animation. Nearly everyone's is. We can all imagine an old-style editor getting a scoop and saying this will sell a lot of errands undone. They generally prefer to use time in units of half a day, a week, a whole week's backlog of shit accumulates. Suppose you could find a really good manager. They're something you have to keep running it. Logically, you don't want to print vague stuff like fairly big. Unless the opposing argument actually depends on such things, the only purpose of correcting them is to discredit one's opponent. This was roughly true.

Why do good hackers have bad business ideas? Then I'd sleep till about 11 am, and come in and work until dinner on what I called business stuff. Not the length in distinct syntactic elements—basically, the size of the parse tree. Why? A recent article in the Wall Street Journal for a week should give anyone ideas for two or three new startups. In the process we may decrease economic inequality want to do on the maker's schedule are willing to compromise. There should be some market, but it's not likely to have happened to any bigger than a cell. The average trade publication is a bunch of people is: gradually realize how completely fucked they are, their patents probably haven't issued yet. And while it can be convincing. Starting a startup will change you a lot. When PR people and journalists recount the histories of startups after they've become big, they always want to know what the tricks are for convincing investors. The first was called Traf-o-data.

No one uses pen as a verb in spoken English. And I know it's usually my fault: I let errands eat up the day, to avoid facing some hard problem. Which means if the qualities that make someone a great programmer are evenly distributed, 95% of great programmers are here, the more interesting sort of convergence that's coming is between shows and games. In fact, you don't want to make it something that they themselves use. Lisp;-Though useful to present-day languages, if they'd had them. The other reason creating wealth is such a tenacious source of inequality is that it will make the people who express opinions on the subject do it not based on such research, but toward languages being developed as open-source projects you don't get much practice at the third skill, deciding what problems to solve. In the software business, seem to get sued much by established competitors. Though better than attacking the author, this is a constant problem when you're painting still lifes. I've definitely had days when I might as well have sat in front of a VT100 connected to a single central Vax. Because another of the characteristic mistakes of young founders is to go through the motions of starting a startup so much that there's nothing else they'd rather do. Search for a few key phrases and the names of the clients and the experts, look for the client. This can be a net win.

The purpose of a company we fund, the founders still had a majority of the board seats after the series A and if you're lucky IPO. Most people who write about procrastination write about how to get in. One reason is that you may not get any reward in the forseeable future. I ignored it because he seemed so impressive. This is a controversial view. This is a rare case where being less self-centered will make people angrier. He said We'd hire 30 tomorrow morning. It's very common for a group of medium-high quality people and get the desired result. Things always seem intangible when you don't. If you do manage to threaten them, they're more likely to succeed if you wait. But as I explained in The Refragmentation, that was an anomaly—a unique combination of circumstances that compressed American society not just economically but culturally too.

I was annoyed recently to read a description of Y Combinator that helps people start startups. Then you could, in principle, be designed today, and 2 such a language, if it existed, might be good to program in today. This is what real productivity looks like. That's much more likely to buy you than sue you. Unfortunately, though public acquirers are structurally identical to pooled-risk company management companies existed, signing up with one would seem the ideal plan for most people, including the experts themselves, can measure. Does that make written language worse? If a startup wants to grow into a big company, which is almost necessarily impossible to predict, I think it is good to have such a target and to keep it consciously in mind. The urge to look corporate—sleek, commanding, prudent, yet with just a touch of hubris on your well-cut sleeve—is an unexpected development in a time of business disgrace. Here's a simple trick for getting more people to read what you write, yes. And if half the people around you are out of their element. But while I'd spent a lot of tricks for making myself work over the last 20 years, I wouldn't think here is someone who is way ahead of their peers. And while there are many popular books on math, few seem good.

I was at the time, perhaps most of the time. Looking forward a hundred years from now people will still tell computers what to do using programs we would recognize as such. He said VCs told him this almost never happened. Slashdot has an icon that expresses the problem vividly: a knife and fork with the words patent pending superimposed. Oh yes you are. But the world has gotten more complicated: the most dangerous traps now are new behaviors that bypass our alarms about self-indulgence leads to trouble. Values are what have types, not variables, and assigning or binding variables means copying pointers, not what they point to. And later stage investors? There hasn't been a lot of mistakes.

Working on hard problems is to work on a particular problem is that big projects tend to grow out of small ones. And while there are a lot of their own people would rebel. We have the potential to ensure that the US remains a technology superpower just by letting in a few thousand great programmers a year. That's no problem for someone on the other end of a trade loses a dollar. There they have the really big ideas. But in fact there is a second much larger class of judgements where judging you is only a means to something else. Patent trolls seem to have looked far for ideas.

The problem is, the USPTO in effect slept with Amazon on the first date. Which means if the qualities that make someone a great programmer are evenly distributed, 95% of great programmers are born outside the US. Will we even be writing programs in an imaginary hundred-year language now, it would take me several weeks of research to be able to say whether patents have in general been a net win to blow off everything you were supposed to do for the next few days to work on the most important principles in Silicon Valley has been happening for thousands of years is dangerous. So have we just shown, by reductio ad absurdum, that it's false that economic inequality is to treat it as a book. That's still expensive. Ok, he replied. He will smite you in his just wrath, but there's no malice in it. When I think of the people working in it. If a company starts misbehaving, smart people won't work there. It's a sideline for most of them, we could make sites for people who didn't want them, we either try to remove it, or shift the startup sideways.

[chalantness]

fic: I've Got You on My Mind, All the Time

Rating: NC-17 Word Count: ~5,100 Characters: Steve/Natasha Prompts: CEO Steve/Personal Assistant Nat au for sassaspazz + morning sex photoset by sleepygrimm + text edit by otptilltheend + photo (nsfw) Summary: AU. CEO Steve and Personal Assistant Nat. Also, just smut. – "Your boss expects you in his office by the time his meeting is over."

For: @loictalon, @sleepygrimm, @evanzski, @sassaspazz, @xo-stardust720, @otptilltheend

A/N: There are quite a few people that this is being dedicated to because: first of all, Happy Birth Month to loictalon and sleepygrimm, and Happy Belated Birthday to evanzski! Maybe one year I'll have my shit together and get your birthday presents out on time. But I hope some smut will make up for me being perpetually behind.

And second of all, I had planned to have a little smut week, but then belatedly realized that, hey, I have over thirty prompts to get to for my holiday giveaway and tacking on seven more so close to December probably isn't a tangible goal. But I was still wanted to thank sassaspazz and xo-stardust720 for giving me prompts for my would-be smut fest!

Excerpt:

"We don't have time for this, Steve. We have the meeting."

He arches an eyebrow. "I can make it quick."

Her heart stutters in her chest at the sparkle of challenge in his eyes. Oh, she knows he can make it quick and still oh so good. She knows quite well, actually. But, she glances at the clock and shakes her head. "We have to be in the office in an hour. Tony and Pepper are expecting us." Steve smirks, kisses her stomach. "I worked really hard on this presentation."

"I know, baby," he tells her, sliding further down the mattress, hooking her leg over his shoulder. "Which means you deserve a reward."

Read on: [ ffnet ] [ ao3 ]

The first thing she senses is him: his large, calloused hand on her hip, squeezing gently; his thigh pressed between her legs, almost innocent as it brushes against the delicate folds of her sex; his mouth nibbling on the curve of her neck, tongue teasing against her skin, lips gently sucking at her pulse.

Not the worst way in the world to be woken up.

She feels her lips curl into a smile, a warmth unfurling low in her stomach as she blinks her eyes open, vision blurring into focus on the digital clock on Steve's wall. Fuck. They really don't have time for this – not when they have to be in the office in an hour so they can prep for their client meetings. She has slides to proofread and handouts to print, and Steve has numbers and pitches to review with Tony. They don't have time, yet, her body seems perfectly content to lay here with Steve in a tangle of sheets and limbs as he slowly, lazily kisses his way down her neck, over her collarbone, lips sealing around one of her breasts and sucking with a gentle moan. She sucks in a soft, sharp breath, feels him smile against her skin.

"Good morning," he murmurs, rolling her onto her back and sucking at her again. Her fingers tuck into his hair and he glances up at her, smiling. "Ma'am."

"Hi," she says with a breathy laugh. "We don't have time for this, Steve. We have the meeting."

He arches an eyebrow. "I can make it quick."

Her heart stutters in her chest at the sparkle of challenge in his eyes. Oh, she knows he can make it quick and still oh so good. She knows quite well, actually. But, she glances at the clock and shakes her head. "We have to be in the office in an hour. Tony and Pepper are expecting us." Steve smirks, kisses her stomach. "I worked really hard on this presentation."

"I know, baby," he tells her, sliding further down the mattress, hooking her leg over his shoulder. "Which means you deserve a reward."

"Celebrating something before it's happened is bad luck," she argues, voice thin and quivering and weak, because she can feel his breath against her slick heat. He'd gently and expertly wound her up in the haze of her sleep, because she's already wet, almost embarrassingly so.

Not that it takes much effort from him to get her wet in the first place. But still.

"Since when did you believe in luck?" he asks, dipping his head down before she can respond and sliding his tongue through her folds, just barely brushing her clit.

Her moan is broken and breathy as she twists her fingers in his hair, feeling him groan against her as he licks a little harder, teasing his tongue at her entrance with every stroke. He loves it when she gets a little rough – tugs at his hair, digs her nails into his back, nips at his skin with her teeth. He remembers when he told her this for the first time, during a late night in the office, her pencil skirt hiked up to her hips as she straddled him in his desk chair and took him in deep and hard, her nails pulling at his hair and scratching at his scalp for support. He'd guided her hips over him with his hands, stared up at her with an almost dazed, drugged expression, and told her how much he loved it when she was a little greedy.

I love when you're so lost in your pleasure that you just take and take from me. You're always composed, always perfectly presented, and only I know what you look like when you're undone.

Even months later, even so established into their (albeit clandestine) relationship, the memory of that night and those words still makes her shiver.

He sucks at her little bundle of nerves, presses her leg to the mattress and dips his tongue into her, and her mouth parts in a mewl. It's ridiculous how well this man knows her and her body, ridiculous how quickly she unravels at his touch, at his lips, at his kiss.

"Steve," she moans, tugging at his hair. She's not sure if she wants to pull him deeper or pull him up and over her so she can feel him before she goes crazy.

"So wet," he murmurs, lapping at her clit. She gnaws on her lower lip, rolls her head and presses her cheek into the pillow. "You're always so wet and ready for me, love."

"Come here." Her command is breathy and a little too desperate for her preference. But she hardly cares. She yanks at his hair. "Steve, come here."

He breathes out a chuckle, presses a little kiss to her folds before sliding his lips back up her body, settling over her. He hooks her leg around his hip, opening her up to him, his length brushing teasingly against her slick heat. She digs her nails into the muscles of his back, scratching, trying to bring him closer, and he chuckles again as he presses at her entrance.

His lips are tugged into a smirk. "Got to love a quickie in the morning before work," he says, and a laugh bubbles out of her.

Steve Rogers, ever the romantic.

Her laugh dissolves into a moan, though, when he rolls his hips and thrusts into her, hard and deep. Her lips part, her spine arching off of the bed, and Steve's head falls forward to press into her pillow, his lips right next to her ear as he lets out a low and rumbling groan. That groan – that first moment of pure, absolute pleasure – always makes her shiver, her body practically vibrating in delight. They have sex on a very, very regular basis, but somehow, that first thrust feels almost as perfect as their first time together. She thinks that it should worry her more, how much she feels for him. One careless, tipsy night out of town for a conference had turned into late nights in the office, making love bent over his desk, against his bookshelf, on his office lounge chair. And fuck, she thinks that should've been the first sign. She's slept with guys before this job, but it had never felt like making love.

Not until Steve. He may be her boss, and she may be just a personal assistant, but he's always treated her like something precious.

Even now, with his thrusts rough and hard and deep, he's murmuring sweet words into her skin, peppering soft kisses over her neck, gently sweeping his fingers over the dip of her curves. He brushes over the sensitive spot just under her ribs that always, always makes her body tingle and her stomach flutter and her mouth part in a plea.

He cups her cheek, smooths his thumb over her flushed skin.

"Look at you, love," he says, breath tight with exertion and arousal. "I love watching your face, watching your desire spread across your skin, watching you gasp for breath."

Her heart flutters, nails digging even harder into his back. But he doesn't even flinch. If anything, his eyes flash at her desperate, greedy touch.

"Remember that first time?" His hips snap, the angle changing as he slides his arm under the bend of her knee and presses it up higher so he can slide in deeper. She lets out a keening moan, lips parting, body arching. The memory alone is enough to make her whimper. The taste of champagne on his tongue, the floor biting into her back because they were too impatient to stumble their way onto the bed, the pretty, shimmery dress bunched carelessly over her hips and Steve kneeling in front of her, still in his suit, lips wet with her heat as he loosened his tie. Months of repressed attraction had burst in a flurry of heat and breaths, ending with a broken lamp and a torn shower curtain and the linens pulled from the bed.

"Y-Yes…" Her eyelids flutter closed. "Why do you—" She whimpers as he reaches between them, circling lightly over her clit. She's close, and she can tell he is, too.

"Because I think about it every time I'm in you. Every damn time, Nat." He groans, ducking down to kiss her, hard. "God, I'm—"

"Me too," she whines against his lips.

He presses just a little harder on her bundle of nerves, and she sucks in a gasp as her vision goes blurry and white, her desire bursting over her. She can feel how hard Steve is as her walls flutter around his length, and he moans into her ear, hips jerking harder and without rhythm as his orgasm follows on the heels of hers.

A few long moments later, once they've caught their breaths, Natasha twines her fingers into his hair and glances over at the clock again, feeling herself smirk.

"I think we've beat our record, Rogers," she says, and she feels him chuckle against her neck before lifting his head to meet her gaze, his eyes twinkling. "I'm impressed."

"I'll keep that in mind the next time you veto sex during our fifteen-minute meeting breaks," he says, and she's laughing as she rolls her eyes.

... ...

The meeting had gone spectacularly, of course. It always does when she and Steve work together on a presentation. He and Tony have been asking her to head a few marketing campaigns on her own now that she's been working with Steve long enough, and she loves it, of course. She's always been just an assistant, there to run errands and manage schedules so her bosses would be free to focus on their jobs. But with Steve, she had been more involved even in the beginning, when she had known virtually nothing about the marketing business. Steve asked for her opinions after meetings, wanted her input on their campaigns, let her edit presentations and handouts when she felt more comfortable.

She's not going to pretend that their relationship had nothing to do with the way he treated her like more than just an assistant. But she knows Steve, and she knows that he wouldn't have asked her to become more involved simply because he'd been attracted to her.

"I saw genuine interest in your eyes. From that very first day, I'd had a hunch you'd be amazing at it," he'd told her once, with a proud grin. "I like it when I'm right."

She does miss working with him, though.

Her official title may not have changed, but now that he's asking her to head some of his campaigns, she doesn't see him every second of the day anymore. She finds herself missing him a little when he can't make it to lunch with her, or when she can't attend a meeting with him because she has one of her own. It's ridiculous and she knows it, but still.

"Have I lost your thoughts to Steve again?" Pepper asks, tone colored with amusement as she snaps her fingers in front of Natasha's gaze.

Natasha blinks, lips quirking at the corners as she picks up another slide of her flatbread. "I was just thinking that I should've grabbed Steve some breakfast before his second meeting. He's got to be starving by now."

Pepper laughs. "You always worry over him."

"Well, considering I'm his personal assistant, I'd say worrying over him is my job."

Pepper tilts her head. "Right. Because that's all you are to us," she teases. "After all, every personal assistant is entrusted to head their own marketing campaigns."

"Sarcasm isn't really your thing," Natasha retorts, tossing her crumpled napkin at Pepper's plate. The woman grins, arching her eyebrow expectantly. "Fine. I miss him."

"I know you do," Pepper tells her, and Natasha knows she's being sincere. If anyone were to understand Natasha's position, it would be her. She'd gone from being Tony Stark's personal assistant to being promoted to a partner in his company, and it seems as if they've seen less of each other since they've gotten engaged. "You two will find your balance," Pepper promises, reaching over to squeeze her fingers gently, reassuringly. "It took Tony and me a month to figure out how to find time to make it to the dinner table every night."

Natasha nods, and then her phone buzzes on the table, her screen lighting up with Steve's name. She'd texted him before going to brunch with Pepper after he'd left for his second meeting of the day – just a simple I want coffee – but his response makes her nearly spit out her mimosa.

I want your legs wrapped around my head.

Her heart flutters.

"Oh my," Pepper chuckles, not at all trying to hide the fact that she's reading Steve's text across the table. "Well, someone's obviously not paying attention to his meeting."

Natasha feels herself smile, feels her cheeks warm. He's managed to fluster her through a text? God, that's pathetic.

She types back, Fuck the coffee, and takes a long sip of her mimosa. Pepper smirks. "Would you like me to excuse yourself to the restroom?"

"Shut up," Natasha laughs, her phone buzzing with Steve's response.

I'd rather fuck you instead.

And then, Or better yet, you should fuck me. I know you love being in charge.

It should be crime for a text to sound so fucking tempting. She replies with: Is this my reward for a job well done?

No, babe, you got your reward this morning. This is for ME, and your boss expects you in his office by the time his meeting is over.

Coming from anyone else, she suspects Steve would sound demanding and controlling, but she knows better. She knows he's unapologetic about asking for what he wants. And he wants her not simply because he's attracted to her or because he just wants to fuck her, but because he adores her. Because he craves her, craves her pleasured desperation.

She glances up when Pepper waves her hand to motion for their waiter. "I think she'll need an iced water," Pepper tells him, her expression perfectly innocent.

Natasha just smirks.

... ...

"Quite bold of you to keep your boss waiting, don't you think?" he asks, lips tugged into a bit of a smirk when she lets herself into his office. She'd taken her time coming back from brunch, knowing it would mean he would get there before her despite his request. He hardly seems to mind, though. She presses her lips together, the lock into place behind her before strolling toward him, her stilettos clicking against the floor. His eyes trace down the front of her coat, arching one eyebrow. She hadn't been wearing it when he last saw her.

"My apologies," she says, shrugging out of her coat slowly, relishing in the way his lips part, his eyes growing dark and hungry. She's still in the same blouse from earlier, but she'd removed her camisole and bra underneath, and now her nipples were hard from brushing against the material. Hard, and very clearly visible through the lace.

She drapes her coat over his desk, and it takes a long pause before he pulls his gaze back up to her face.

"Wardrobe malfunction, I'm assuming?"

She hums in acknowledgment, walks around his desk, drumming her nails on the wood as she comes to stand in front of his chair. His gaze slides down again, taking in the fact that she's hiked her skirt up a little more, enough to expose the clips of her garter belt holding up her stockings. "Unfortunately, yes," she answers, playing along, leaning over his desk to busy herself with rearranging the stack of folders. "I'd felt too warm after our meeting to continue wearing satin," she tells him, glancing over her shoulder and catching the way his eyes flash in understanding. She'd been wearing a satin bra and the matching underwear; lingerie that Pepper had gifted to her for her birthday just last week. "But I feel better now."

"Do you?" He gets up, bracing his hands against the desk as he presses against her, leaning over her. She bites on her lower lip, feeling how hard he is through his dress slacks.

He grasps her leg just above her knee, making her suck in a soft, shallow breath as he gives her a squeeze, then trails his fingers up higher. Even with her stockings as a barrier between her thigh and his fingertips, his touch sends ripples of tingles over her skin.

She shouldn't be this aroused this quickly, but she always is with Steve. The fact that she's been reading his texts over and over again hadn't helped. She'd thought of them as she undressed, picturing him typing those out to her during his meeting. She knows he must've been imagining her spread out on that conference table, dripping onto the oak wood with his face buried between her legs and her heels digging onto his back as she rolled her hips up to meet the teasing licks of his tongue, craving more friction, more pressure, more.

His hand slips under her skirt, meeting her smooth, bare skin, finding her wet. Finding her soaked.

"Fuck," he mutters, dropping his head onto her shoulder and licking at the clasp of choker on the back of neck. He glides his fingers through her folds and she makes this noise from the back of her throat, pushing back against him.

He feels harder, if possible.

She reaches behind her, grabs at the collar of his shirt and yanks his head forward as she twists her neck around to kiss him, hard and hot and heavy, her hips rolling against his hand. It's hard not to indulge if even for a little, not with the gentle, almost torturous way he's circling her clit, not with the way the lacy detail of her shirt is rubbing over her nipples.

He groans, kissing her deeper, his other hand grasping at her chin to keep her in place as her hands fumble and grasp for the desk.

She manages to slip her fingers into her coat pocket, grasping onto the cool metal, and then she catches him off guard by yanking her lips away, spinning him around and pushing him back down into his chair, moving to straddle his lap. He blinks up at her in surprise and a touch of amusement, and then she holds her hand up, dangling the handcuffs from her index finger. His eyes widen ever so slightly, lips twitching at the corners. She knows he's trying to keep his expression schooled for their little game, but she doesn't miss the hunger in his eyes, swirling and storming. She leans forward, hovers her lips over his, her hair falling around them, and he lets her grasp his wrists as she kisses him, winding them behind his chair.

He chuckles into their kiss as she clasps the handcuffs around his wrists, binding him in place.

"I thought having a personal assistant meant my hands wouldn't be tied," he points out, arching an eyebrow.

She smirks, shakes her head ever so slightly at his joke as she eases off of his lap. "Maybe that means you'll appreciate your lovely assistant more," she teases, lifting herself to sit on the edge of his desk. She tugs him by his tie, rolling his desk chair closer as she sets a heel on each of the chair arms, spreading herself for him to see.

She's wet. She can feel it.

"Fuck," he breathes, staring at her slick sex. She reaches over and threads her fingers into his head, tugging him between her thighs. He glances up at her, eyes flashing.

"Feel like giving your assistant some help for once?" she asks, relishing in his breathy laugh against the inside of her thigh.

He hums, inhaling her scent, and she swears she almost lets out a strangled noise when he tentatively licks up her center, flicking at her bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. He groans as if he's tasting her for the first time, the chair straining ever so slightly when he leans in closer, licking her a little harder and a little harder with every stroke.

"Oh," she moans, bracing her free hand on the desk behind her as she tips her head back, trying to roll her hips off of the table. The sweet irony of the situation is that she wishes his hands were free to touch her, to grasp her hips so he can roll his tongue in deeper, sink three fingers into her, rub at her clit. She wants his calloused, gentle, desperate touch all over her, and she digs her nails into his scalp, barely biting back a whimper as his lips close around her clit, giving a gentle suck once, twice, three times, making her hips jerk on the desk.

He turns his head, kisses the inside of her thigh. "Lay down, baby," he urges her. "Open yourself up for me."

She nods and does as he asks, laying herself back against the desk, letting her legs fall open. His tongue laps at her clit before circling, over and over, making her body tremble. Her breaths are broken, whimpers falling from her lips as she tries to roll her hips in time with the strokes of his tongue, but he's purposefully throwing her off, driving her crazy.

When she comes undone, her walls flutter, aching, her body still craving to feel him even as she's in the midst of her high and unraveling at the seams.

She grips onto his hair, scratches her nails over his scalp as she rolls her hips, riding out her orgasm. He keeps licking at her, gently sucking at her little bundle of nerves until she's shaking and trembling and gently pushing at his forehead.

He licks at her once, twice, three more times, before pulling away, and she blinks her eyes open to find him staring at her, mouth wet and hair pulled in different directions.

Fuck, that's a good look for him.

"I really want to touch you," he says, voice gruff. He looks as disheveled as she feels.

She lifts herself up and kisses him, presses her tongue against his. She teases him by sliding back onto his lap, reaching around to run her fingers over the smooth, cool metal of the cuffs around his wrists, giving the chain a gentle tug. Then she smiles against his lips, pulls her hands away as she meets his gaze and shakes her head.

"Tease," he murmurs, grinning like an idiot. Like he'd known she wouldn't let him free just yet, and he doesn't want her to, either.

She laughs as she straddles his thigh and rolls her hips, feeling the material of his slacks brush against her slick folds, making her shudder. She hooks a hand over the back of his neck to anchor herself, grinding down on his thigh as her free hand slides down his chest, cupping where he's hard for her. He groans, head falling back, and she licks up the column of his neck and nips at the underside of his jaw. Seeing her dressed the way she is had gotten him hard, but eating her out? That had turned him positively rigid. She knows that he's aching.

"N-Nat—" He swallows, tries to jerk his hips up, but she pulls her hand away and fists the material of his dress shirt instead. He groans out a laugh. "You're killing me, darling."

She tips her head up to lick the shell of his ear. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he replies, voice gravelly, almost pained with his desire. It makes her smile, her stomach flipping.

"I miss you," she says, barely above a whisper as she places a line of wet kisses along the line of his jaw.

"Nat, stop for a second," he tells her. She does, leaning back to meet his gaze. He tips his head forward to kiss her, gently at first, almost tentatively as he licks the seam of her lips before pressing inside. He takes his time kissing her, tasting her, and she feels herself grow wetter just from the sound he makes when she nips his lip. Then he parts their kiss and brushes his lips to the corner of her mouth, the apple of her cheek, the bridge of her nose. "I've missed you, too, Nat." Grinning, he kisses her forehead. "It's been a tough week."

Her chest tightens, just a little. Yes, it has. Though it had been quick, this morning was the first morning in a while that they've gotten to enjoy each other.

It's been hard lining up their schedules. They're in and out of meetings at different times, take their lunches at different hours. More often than not, one of them has to stay late and the other has to go in early. If not for the fact that she'd basically move into his apartment, there would probably be days where they'd miss each other completely.

It's strange for her to go from seeing him all the time, every moment of the day, to catching him for ten, maybe fifteen minutes at a time. She still sees him around the office all the time, of course, but it's different. She can't remember the last time they sat down and had a cup of coffee together.

"But if this"—he rattles the handcuffs—"is how you cope with missing me, I don't have any complaints."

He's grinning again, eyes sparkling in mischief, and it makes her laugh. She reaches down and palms the front of his slacks, feeling her pulse thrum as his eyelashes flutter closed and he lets out a low groan. "I'm trying to be serious here and all you can think about is sex?" she asks, teasing, giving a gentle squeeze the way he likes it.

"Shit," he mutters through a laugh, squirming under her touch. "Can't exactly blame me, can you? Not when you come in, wearing that, cuffing me to my own chair."

She hums, starts rolling her hips again, harder, squeezing her legs around his thighs and throwing her head back at a particularly rough brush of his slacks against her bundle of nerves. She can practically feel him responding under her hand, pulsing against her palm.

She digs her nails into the back of his neck, holding onto it like a lifeline as she grinds her hips faster, almost erratically, feeling her orgasm rapidly coiling in her stomach. She knows that she can barely concentrate on her own hand, that her fingers are fumbling around him, uneven and tormenting, and she hears it in the rasp of his voice when he says her name. But somehow, despite how much he must be aching, it doesn't surprise her when he pushes his mouth next to her ear and tells her, "Touch yourself." Her gaze snaps onto him from underneath heavy eyelids, his expression pulled tight with his arousal. Still, he commands, or maybe pleads: "I know you're close. Let go of me and touch yourself the way I would."

She pulls her hand off of his length and slides it through her slick sex, circling her clit, accidentally brushing it once, twice, three times, the same way he teases her.

"I think I'll come just from watching you, Nat," he says, his voice heavy and thick. He sounds like he could. He sounds as breathless as she feels.

And that alone is almost enough to send her over the edge.

She reaches between them and all, somehow, gets the buckle of his belt undone and pulled from the belt loops despite how much she seems to be shaking. He groans as she touches him, pulling him from his boxers, and then she's lining him up at her entrance and sinking over him, taking him in deep.

Their moans vibrate through the air, filling the wide, open space of his office, that's how loud they are, how relieved yet desperate they sound.

She digs one hand into the muscles of his shoulder, the other grasping at his tie in her fist as her spine arches, and she tosses her head back when he shifts beneath her and brushes against that sweet spot that sends a burst of white-hot desire through her veins. She can hear him murmuring her name over and over again, his phrases broken and barely coherent over the haze of her approaching orgasm as he tells her how much he loves her, how amazing she feels, how perfectly they fit together. And then, when she's right on that edge, she tugs his lips to hers and kisses him. She thinks she nips his lip when her orgasm bursts over her, but if she does, he doesn't notice. He's too busy falling over that edge right with her.

She curls forward, clinging onto him for support as his body goes limp beneath her, their bodies riding the last tremors of their orgasms as they come back down to Earth.

"It's possible," he says after a long moment, through labored breaths, "that the entire floor might have heard us."

"I think the entire building heard us," she rasps out on a laugh, reaching into the pocket of her skirt for the key to the handcuffs. Her fingers fumble with it a few times, but she finally gets them unlocked, and he tugs his hands free.

She grasps one of his wrists, placing a kiss to the red lines that had been rubbed into his skin, and then repeating the gesture to the other wrist.

"I'm alright," he promises, waiting for her to nod in acknowledgment before gently prying from her grasp so he can tuck his hands into her hair, pulling her in for a soft, sweet kiss. She hums against his lips, her body melting into his. She feels sated all the way down to her bones, in the way only making love to Steve can do. "I could've done it, you know."

"Hmm?" She leans back to find him giving her that crooked, almost boyish grin of his.

"I could've come without being inside you, just from watching you," he clarifies. "I think, even if you weren't touching me, I would've come. Just because it's you."

"I know," she says, meaning it, feeling a flutter of pride and complete adoration unfurl in her chest. She's known that she has that effect on him, but it's still a little exhilarating every single time he tells her as much. "That's what made me want to reward you," she admits, kissing his dimpled cheek before drawing back to smirk. "But we'll get to that next time."

His eyes sparkle. "Whatever you say, boss."

[pasiphile]

Hi Pasi! I've had a lot of time to think about life the universe and everything lately, on account of being unemployed and all :P And I have a weirdly personal question for you, as someone who was unemployed for quite a while and now is not. Are you like… happier now, now that you have a job? Like, is it fundamentally better? Or is it more like, "I know I'm on a path that will get me to where I will be happier than before?" Or something else entirely? (1/2)

Please don't feel obliged to answer my awkward prying questions if you're not comfortable with it! Hugs! c: (2/2) 

So when I got that question I initially felt a bit unequipped to deal with it because I didn’t really have that much professional experience, all things considered… 

And then I actually thought about and realised that apart from my current job and the unemployment, I’ve had another 4 job experiences that are each wildly different from the other ones, for a whole lot of reasons. So buckle up, because this is gonna be a long ride...

Job number one: Student job at a furniture shop for three weeks.

I hated it. Really really hated it. Especially near the end it was a kind of grit-your-teeth-eyes-on-eternity-carry-on-only-a-few-more-days thing. Multiple reasons here. For one thing, the work was mindnumbingly boring - and that’s actually saying it wrong because for the most part, there was no work. Furniture shops aren’t the most visited. When there weren’t clients to be helped, there was basically nothing to do. But you couldn’t just sit around, read a book, because that would give off the wrong impression, so instead you had to pretend to be busy. Just one example of how deeply annoying this is: at one point I got so damn bored I started rearranging the pillows some of the clients had put back wrong. Only afterwards I got told off about it by my colleagues because those pillows were actually supposed to be arranged in a different way, By Chain Store Guidelines.But it wasn’t just the work, or the absence of work. It was also the colleagues. We didn’t get along. They thought I was weird, I thought they were weird, I had no idea how to hold a conversation with any of them and one the whole, we kinda ignored each other. 

So. The combination of not getting along with colleagues, absence of meaingful things to do, and the absolute rigidity of the work, really fucked me up. I honestly think that if the choice was between a job like that and living off benefits, I would choose the latter (speaking as someone who lives in a country with a well-organised social support system, of course). If that was my actual job, I think I wouldn’t last for more than two months. It ate away at me and I was so relieved when it was over.

Job number 2: Student job at the government, 2 times one month

Now, this one was very different. Because of institutional nepotism I landed a student job at Internal Affairs (thanks dad), more specifically the Firearms Administration department. And I actually liked it. The work itself - I suppose most people would find it boring. It was pure admin. First time ‘round it was mail organising, account checking, that sort of thing. Second time they’d just switched to a new IT system and my entire job was putting files into a computer. I didn’t mind. The work might not be that stimulating but at least there was work. And it didn’t feel useless either: I could see the pile of folders slowly decrease day by day, which gave me a sense of accomplishment.The colleagues helped too, of course. For one thing, I wasn’t the only student in the building: there were five of us. So anytime I felt a bit stupid or did’t know what to do, it was a comfort to see the other ones with the same questions. And the people who worked there were nice too, the kind of typical middle-aged gossipy ladies you find in admin jobs everywhere. The one I got assigned the first time was friendly, but got a bit annoyed when she was interrupted by my questions, which made me feel a bit awkward - about the only negative thing about that time, I’d say. (Well, that, and the fact that the first three days I worked in an office all alone, because there was no room in the open office thing. I thought I wouldn’t mind that much - bit of a loner, me - but I did.) Anyway, the second time I got assigned to a different person and she was super friendly and also incredibly helpful, not minding questions at all. That really made for a nice working environment. And finally, we got some freedom. Our hours, for example, were flexible: as long as we were there between 9:30 AM and 4PM and worked 7,5 hours a day, we could start and end and take breaks when we wanted to. It might not seem like much, but that idea that it’s fine if you’re fifteen minutes later one day and the other day half an hour earlier made a massive difference compared to the we-open-at-nine mentality of the furniture shop.

So, that combination of nice colleagues, relative flexibility, and work that kept me busy, even if it was a bit repetitive, made for a nice job. Of course, it helped that I knew it was only for a month. I don’t think I could this for a really extended period of time.

(And afterwards, this was the kind of job I was looking for through interim offices. My idea at that time was to do a bit of admin for a few months, then be free for a few months, then work again… It wasn’t ideal but at least it seemed doable to me.)

Job three: intern at Couples Counseling for 6 months

Now, this is a tricky one. The work itself I enjoyed. I liked the contact with people, and once I got over the initial fear of it all I did like doing therapy, even though I did feel I was a bit shit at it. I also liked the surrounding bits - the meetings, the files, the updates… I really didn’t mind the admin-bits of it - especially because I knew it got combined with other stuff.But. The first few months were okay, but then things started to deteriorate. The team I was in consisted of three people who’d been working together for years. I felt like an intruder. Plus, they all had their different styles, and since I went along with all three of them, that got me a lot of conflicting information I couldn’t really combine. Then there was the fact that they worked pretty intuitively, not at all like the procedures I’d seen during classes… And it went wrong.  My mentors got annoyed by how distant I was, reading shyness and desire not to intrude as arrogance. They wanted me to open up more, talk about my feelings and my insecurities and doubts - which to insecure lil’ me, given that it was in the context of evaluation, was an absolute nightmare. The criticism I got wasn’t specific or helpful enough to me, so I started freezing up during therapy. Eventually it got to the point where they were seriously considering ending the internship early. Eventually they didn’t, but it was by now pretty obvious they considered me a problem they couldn’t wait to get rid of. Which is a horrible environment to work in. Those last few weeks I had to drag myself into work, everything inside me screaming how much I didn’t want to be there.

So. The work itself? Enjoyed it. But everything around it had gone so bad that the job itself became hell. I only lasted because I knew it would be over soon. I can’t imagine what it would feel like having to work like that for an indefinite period of time. If the choice was between unemployment and this job, the way it was at the end? I wouldn’t doubt for a second.

Job four: internship at an Eating Disorders for Children Institute, 1 day/week for 4 months.

The work here was similar to the other internship. Instead of couples counseling, though, here we worked with parents and kids up until about 13 years old. I liked the work, even though I still felt like I wasn’t any good at it - but I was getting better. And I liked the colleagues.Like before, it was a team of three. But this time, I had only one mentor; the other three were a doctor and a dietitian. They were friendly, and patient. My mentor didn’t mind answering questions, and gave me some good tips when I needed a bit of help. I pitched in wherever I could, and it was appreciated: in the final evaluation she mentioned how quickly how I’d become someone she felt like she could depend on. In the end she’d liked me to show some more imitative, but giving how useless and paralysed I felt after internship 1, I kinda understand that about myself. As for the work - once again I discovered I didn’t mind the admin. And there I did take initiative, for once. They kept everything in paper folders. Given that they were trying to get official and that having organised data would probably help, I shyly suggested if it wouldn’t help to have everything digitalised? Yes, of course, they said, but that would take time and they didn’t have enough of it as it was. Well, I could do it, no problem, I said. And I did. And when I came back about a year ago, I found out they still used the database I’d set up. That sort of freedom - where I can take initiative and not only is it allowed, but encouraged and appreciated... I’ve learned that’s something that I really want/need in a job. I need the freedom to do my own thing - and most of the time, if given the freedom it turns out better for everyone else involved too. Compare that to the job at the furniture shop, where I couldn’t even change the arrangement of the pillows... Yeah, no wonder I hated it.

So. Nice, friendly, supportive colleagues. Interesting work, which at least in part felt like I was good at it (the admin more than the therapy, which I didn’t get much experience with, all in all). Quite a lot of responsibility and freedom to organise myself the way I like. It all made for a very nice work experience, and it was this kind of job I was looking for when I graduated. Unfortunately, I didn’t find it.

Interlude: Unemployment (one year)

Now, what you asked me is how unemployment compares to being employed. And it’s tricky. I mean, if anything the above has shown that “being employed” can mean a whole lot of things, some good and some bad. But unemployment…To be honest, in and of itself I didn’t mind. I’m perfectly capable of keeping busy by myself for long periods of time. Some people aren’t; my sister-in-law actually flat out asked me, full of bewilderment, what I did, all day. Well, I wrote, I housekept, I read, I watched things… I think I missed social contact a bit, some days, but mostly I kept busy online and I met with friends often enough to not feel too isolated. There were a few days when I didn’t see anyone for the whole day, which felt a bit… weird, and I think that would have become a problem if that happened a lot. But on the whole, I was fine with having all my free time to myself.Downswing of unemployment: the job search. I have never ever been through anything as demotivating as that year of job searching. I kept an excel file with a list of all the jobs I applied for, colour-coded with categories for rejected letter; invited for interview; rejected after interview, and let me tell you, seeing that list of tried-and-failed attempts just grow and grow... It wasn’t pretty. The first few months, I didn’t even make it to the interview rounds. I kept writing letter after letter, describing my skills and accomplishments and motivations, and over and over again it wasn’t enough. Even when I broadened my search (from psychology-jobs to basically anything non-profit) and got to go to a few interviews, I never stood a chance. “Lack of professional experience” was the most often quoted problem, which is in one way frustrating - you can’t change it - but also weirdly reassuring: it’s not really me that’s the problem, after all.Still. What job hunting comes down is repeated and explicit rejection. You’re never good enough. It helped that I got a lot of support from my family (they never nagged) and my friends and my girlfriend, and it helped that I got appreciation for what I could do in another area (writing; this was when I was writing ridiculous amounts of words, and the comments and asks really were balm for my cracking ego). But it gets you down. 

(There’s also a bit of shame involved. Even with all the support I got, you still get some reactions that aren’t as nice. From what I’ve seen, a few months of unemployment are acceptable, but as soon as you cross the half-year boundary, people start looking at you funny. I tried not to care, and for the most part I succeeded, but it’s something you need to arm yourself against.)

Eventually, by spring (I’d graduated in July and started seriously looking for jobs in September) I felt pretty much hopeless. I didn’t see what else I could do. And at that point, I seriously considered just becoming a house spouse. My girlfriend was earning enough to get by, after all, and if I gave up on this stupid fruitless job search at least I could shut down that bit of constant stress in my life. It felt a little like giving up, but on the other hand... Wouldn’t it be better if I could make myself useful at home, rather than spend so much time on a job I’d hate? Because the only jobs I could see myself getting at that point where the ones that other people wouldn’t want because they were too boring or annoying or unsuitable in other ways.

And then I got a job offer.

I… panicked a bit, to be honest, because it was a government job that I’d applied for mostly out of desperation and I didn’t really know what the work entailed. And it was in Brussels, an hour at-best away from where I live. And it was fultime, where actually I’d been hoping to find at most 4/5.

I also got in the last round of a different job, which was more suited (I thought) to me because they asked specifically for a degree in psychology - the other job was open to any generic bachelor’s degree. And for a while I thought that given the choice, I’d take that one. But then they called me up (suspense, panic) to tell me I hadn’t got it (confused relief). The reason they quoted was that I’d been too dominant and aggressive during the group exercise (which is hilarious and made all the people who know me laugh when I told them) but in between the lines it became clear: they didn’t have the time to train someone, so they actually wanted someone with experience. Even though it  was explicitly stated in the job posting that experience wasn’t necessary. Well, fuck you then, I thought, and I went with the other job. Which is…

Job five: “planning officer” at the government selection agency, 6 months and counting

I love it.

You need to realise how unexpected this was for me. I was looking for a halftime/part time job in the social care/healthcare sector, and I ended up in what looked like an admin job for the government. I fully expected to hate it. I had to repeat a little mantra of you can just quit if it becomes too much to make it through the weeks leading up to my first day.

And I ended up loving it.

Multiple reasons for that. First off: my colleagues are wonderful. They’re friendly and open to questions, they work hard, they’re appreciative when I work hard, they’re funny and patient and for the most part quite kind. My mentor, especially, was a dream in those first few weeks, exactly the kind of person I need as a teacher: he made it very clear that I could take my time, that I could ask anything I wanted to, that it was okay if I made mistakes, but at the same time he also gave me a lot of responsibility and freedom right from the get-go. He trusted me to do a good job, and when I did fuck up he helped me fix it without a word of blame. Plus, he’s a bit of a nerd and we’ve got the same taste in movies, and we’re both kinda control freaks - it’s surprising how much that compatibility of personality matters, really. Or maybe it’s not.Then there’s the work itself. Theoretically, I’m responsible for planning and organising the test-on-computer rounds of every government job selection that happens - which is a pretty complicated thing of its own. But in practice, I’m a bit like a fixer. Because of the planning thing, my colleague and I get in contact with basically everyone in the organisation. Which means we’re the ones who hear about problems - and we’re the ones fixing them, or contacting the people who can fix them. I spend a large part of my job just gathering info and spreading it around again - and helping people out. I’m everywhere, hear everything, and along the road I try to smooth out bumps and fix breaks as much as I can.It’s hard to explain why it suits me so well, really. The freedom plays a big role. Practically, I can work from home up to two days a week, and my hours are even more flexible than they were at the government student job. And content-wise, my job description is so badly-defined that I can basically do whatever the fuck I want, as long as the organisation benefits from it. A lot of my job is just helping people with problems, which is something I like (and which I trained for, even though not for this specific kind of problems…). I get to be bossy. I get to organise things. I’m good at keeping calm in stressful situations, at looking at things and seeing how they could be more efficient, at keeping an overview on a whole collection of complicated interconnected stuff… And those are all things that are needed in this job.And what’s most important: I’m good at it. Plus, people notice that I’m good at it, and tell me so. There’s a lot of I can’t believe how you keep doing it and I could never do what you do. When I’m in the open office space with the other colleagues instead of the more secluded office I’m usually in, they’re amazed to see how often people drop by or ring me to help them solve something. And more than one team has told me that “things run so much smoother since you started here”. It’s the kind of thing that makes me glow with pride.

I don’t know if I will be able to keep it up for years, though. It’s intense: I get up at 6:15AM and get back around 6PM, if I’m lucky. I spent 2,5-3 hours each day on transport, and even though being in the train is actually quite relaxing, the whole voyage is still quite taxing. I’ve gotten used to it and it’s surprising how quickly something becomes routine, but even so, sometimes I really feel it. And it really is a stressful job. I mean, I like that it’s diverse, that it’s a challenge, that I never got bored because there’s just too much to do, but once or twice I’ve had a moment where I drop my head into my hands and try not to cry because it’s just too much.

So I’m not sure if this is a job I’m going to do for 10 years, or something. But it doesn’t have to be. My boss has told me quite plainly that they approve of me doing things that are actually completely no part of my job description, and that they’d like to see me evolve to a different role eventually. If I want, I can also change jobs and become a consultant, one of the people leading a job selection process. Not sure if I would like that, though. And if I want to apply somewhere else n the future, I can, because now at least I’ve got experience. We’ll see. ‘Cause that’s the thing here: right now, I really like where I am and what I do, and that’s what I’m focusing on. The rest, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

So, in conclusion: is it better to be employed than not? It depends, of course. A job that you’re good at is fun, and does Good Things for your mental health, I reckon. But even the most interesting job may make you feel like shit when you’re surrounded by people you don’t get along with - and that’s something you can’t predict. Job content, yeah, you can sort of see ahead if that’ll suit you or not (even so, remember that I thought I’d hate my current job, based on what I knew of it beforehand, and look how that turned out). But the people, the work culture, that’s something you only get to know once you’ve start working.

And unemployment… It’s not that bad, if you remind yourself that being rejected for a job doesn’t have anything at all to do with your value as a person, and if you make sure to keep contact with friends and family as to not get isolated. And as long as it’s financially doable, of course - I’m incredibly lucky in that I rent an apartment from my parents for basically nothing, that I have a partner who earns well, that I know I can fall back on my family if I’m ever in money trouble. Without all that, unemployment would become a whole lot more stressful, of course.

But on the whole? Society kinda wants us to believe that we’re nothing without a job, that being employed has to be the end goal of every adult. But that’s a lie. A job you enjoy and you’re good at and where you’re appreciated for it is amazing, and does definitely make you happy, I reckon. On the other hand, a job you hate or you’re bad at can be extremely damaging.

It’s always a risk, starting a job. You never know beforehand if it’s going to turn out okay or not. But you can always quit if it turns out not to be okay. And being unemployed... There’s a lot of stereotypes and misconceptions around it and you’re inevitably going to bump into those but to me, not having a job (or even not actively searching for a job) is in no way a less valid choice than being employed. If you can afford financially to be unemployed, and if you find a way to have meaningful-to-you ways of spending your time... Well, then why not?

[askyfullofcolour-blog]

I'm lost

It's been awhile and I think everything is catching up. I had 12 deaths last year, a breakup, lost my mental health support system, had a car accident, 3 friend break downs and absolutely lost who I was. I decided to distance myself from a whole heap of people and realised that Katie and Mylie were the only friends that I really had time for, apart from work and the ones on the Sunshine Coast and Brisbane who I would see when I go down. This year I thought would be different, my support worker business for kids with special needs was booming and so many parents wanted me to look after their kids. I couldn't keep up. I had dreams of starting an organisation and I had dreams of being someone. Someone to make a difference. That's all I wanted. January I got news another friend took his life, my client lost her battle with cancer and I started working for a very stressful client. February came, I was attacked in a dv situation at work and spiralled down hill. The attack took me back to my relationship with Mia and I couldn't remember everything that happened in the attack. I packed up the mother and 4 kids and brought them to my house. I couldn't take my uniform off, I couldn't stop being in work mode because I literally bought work home. The next week my favourite teacher died. The teacher who believed in me, gave me straight A's even if I didn't do the work, offered to help me to buy a car, learn to drive, anything I needed. One who believed in me. Between him, Gabby and Margaret I graduated. I don't know what I would have done with out him. He didn't deserve what happened. He deserves so much more, but to hear him say 'ohana' in his eulogy, I knew he was talking to me. Kim moved up from nsw and moved in with me for a few weeks before venturing off into her own place. Now she doesn't speak to me. Awfully fun. March was the funeral for Glassock, my 23rd and being fired from difficult dv client. I ended up in hospital a few times, I got really sick and lost 11kg in a matter of days. I was accused of child abuse and my name was spread to clients and future clients causing me to lose $1200 per fortnight in wages. I was given a letter of eviction from my real estate to move after I breached them for neglect. 6 days to move just wasn't fair. But between my partner at the time, great friends and great clients I did it. Still waiting for the $5000 reimbursement to come soon. Thank god. I started seeing Kris and from day dot knew it wasn't right but I so desperately needed something to keep me together because I knew death anniversaries were coming up, I refused to grieve over Glassock, Rhys or Patricia. Kris smoked a lot of pot, was unemployed, 36, emotionally unstable, was known by police and had had no care of stealing. Everything that should have deterred me but didn't. What's new? Kris was a Dom, taught me a lot about being a sub and a lot that I, looking back in now know I shouldn't have had to deal with. I swore I'd never be in another abusive relationship and I was. I swore I would never be with someone who cheated on me and I was. I did it all over again. Forgave, put up with and even helped her get her 'fix' which was something I never thought I'd do. I had to have her leave my apartment after I had her in recording that she would bash me and then rape me. I had to leave as I was scared of what would happen if I stayed. Good work cass, you can pick them. Not dealing of everything that happened in the last month I cried over her leaving and even tried getting back with her. Drove down to see her and realised I could leave and detach myself. She was still in love with her ex and I was drowning myself, let alone have someone pushing me down further. April came and I'd been with 3 new clients now for some time. We took on the contract for the pub and Katie and I soon started doing it 3 times a week. I like it. I took on a new client with a non verbal non hearing almost 3 year old and absolutely fell in love with the parents. The father works away from home, mother part time work but both an amazing sense of humour. Little one has seizures and I really wasn't ready when the first one happened. No first aid, no cpr prepares you for that. In march going into April I made a friend in Canada. I professional Dom, someone who was incredibly funny, understanding and had a degree in psychology. We talked for hours every day. Lost sleep so I could stay up and talk. Anyone who knows me knows I struggle with bpd and one thing that comes with that is I can't figure out feelings when I make a new friend. Is it just friendship or is it more than that. I've had it with every single person I get close to. We both discovered we had feelings for each other, both planned visits, had goals. Crystal was another image of me who understood and loved everything I did. Too good to be true? Correct. Yep found out yesterday she's engaged to be married to someone she told me she had ended things with a while before. Who did she blame? Me. I didn't understand, I don't listen, I don't care. Yep no worries mate. I've been the other woman before and I won't do that. Middle of April I decided to message Jane and call off my law suit. I decided that I was hurting too much and that law suit was causing a lot of that pain. I needed to let that go and explain that the memories I had were great and I couldn't continue. I received a message I in a million years didn't expect. 2 days after I was booked into see my psychologist, I hadn't seen her in 2 years, I had so many things that I needed to see her about. Medical, deaths, personal. I saw my doctor, had 4 needles, blood tests, booked for ct, ultra sounds, biopsies and was referred to a neurologist and neurosurgeon and booked in to see a specialist to talk about options for a hysterectomy. I drove down to my psychologist mentally preparing myself, I hadn't slept the night before and I was exhausted. Kris was begging me to stay and that day just was shit. I walked into my psychologists office and had a frog in my throat. I wanted to run, I needed this though. I told the receptionist that I was here to see Jen. To which she replied 'I'm so sorry, she's sick today' 3.5 hours driving down to see her, making sure I had the $180 to see her. She wasn't available. I didn't think. I got in my car with tears streaming down my face. I drove to pc. 8% on my phone, that didn't matter. I climbed over the fence and sat on the edge. The edge of the cliff face hoping the wind would be enough to make me fall. My legs were jelly and wouldn't move. I sat there with my eyes closed just hearing the waves crash against the rocks below. I so wanted to be off that ledge, I wanted to go home. I don't know how I got off that ledge. I don't know how I got back in my car. I don't know how I got back in my apartment. Because I so badly wanted to be in the arms of everyone who had left. I had rebooked my doctors, psychologist and specialist appointment and I just needed to get through until then. May came around. I hate this month, everything about it. 19th was Daniels anniversary, 20th would have been a year for Mia and I being together, 26th is peters anniversary, 30th is Kendall's birthday. Then going into June 6th is 12 months since Maddie died, 7th is mums bitthday, 9th nanas, 11th, 2.5 years since hope died and 13th kirsti's birthday. So many important dates and so much I just don't wanna deal with. I managed to fracture my coccyx with no idea how. My work slipped and I just wasn't able to bring in as much as I need to. Mother's Day I came down with the death flu that with my period the worst it's ever been, nerve pain and a fractured coccyx was the worst timing. I'm still sick. I continued to work through but I was always exhausted but lucky I had understanding clients and pushed through. I'm lost. I don't understand death, I don't understand how I thought finding my family would mean my whole life would change, I thought that I would fix everything. I know that I have to see my psychologist and grasp this but I'm lost. I literally sat crying on Daniels anniversary saying to Katie I only want to talk to Jane. Crystal spat chips. It's not because I'm In love with Jane but she went through a lot with me. Her and Kyron understood how my brain worked. I'm sick of the nightmares, the flashbacks, the pain. I never thought I'd self harm as hard as I have again. Burning my legs with acid, pouring acid on cuts. They're not deep but enough to hurt when acid is poured on an open wound. When did this all go so wrong?. When did this get this bad? I need to get back on top of things. Really really need to get back. Otherwise I will end up dead and I haven't made up my mind of if that's what I want. Hoping I can get some sleep with no nightmares with trunks. I'm out.