#most coherent draft today so far

[ken-dom]

Midnight Thoughts

Sebastian Wilder x Jacob Palmer

1.2k words

∘₊✧ Summary: Jacob, feeling lonely, reaches out. Seb, feeling irritated, makes an offer.

∘₊✧ Author's notes: This is entirely thanks to my pals on goosecord with extra special thank you's to Sascha and Clam for the fun chat that encouraged me to write this, and to K for checking my first draft and being my sanity as always! Song title from Midnight Thoughts by Set If Off, which seems so them somehow, especially from Jacob's point of view. Also, I am already SO tempted to write a second part to this…

∘₊✧ Warning/content: NSFW, masturbation, anal play, dildos, crying, hinted exhibitionism, sexting

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

Jacob’s hips rock in a steady rhythm; not exactly slow but he’s not really going for it either. He’s bored, you see.

He’s riding a brand new dildo, thick and long and pinned between his heels while he slides himself down and raises his hips up again, an abundance of old – and some new – toys scattered around him on his crisp but ruffled bed sheets. The newest ones remain unopened, some he’s tried once or twice, and most are well-used, but none can quite hit the spot he needs them to. They rarely do.

He’s hard, he needs to cum. But he can’t. Because there is no one to see him climax, and where’s the fun in that?

He left the curtains drawn back on his floor to ceiling windows that stretch the full length of one wall in his bedroom. There’s no one out there, though, in the expanse of landscaped gardens. And why would there be? He lives alone, and he doesn’t get visitors. And if his gardener was on shift today, he would have drawn those curtains for sure, but then he wouldn’t have even got this far before giving up.

He needs attention and has no one to give him it. His cock needs attention, too, but he refuses to cum at his own touch whilst sobbing into his pillow again. Not today. If he’s going to sob, someone needs to make him sob. Make it a thrill rather than a pathetic attempt to feel some worth.

With a resigned sigh, he flops back and onto his side, propping his head on the foam pillow and reaching for his phone from the nightstand, his neglected cock twitching, but not leaking.

****

A drawn out, satisfied moan echoes around Seb’s apartment. A thin blade of sunlight illuminates a strip across his naked form, and if he was more coherent right now, he would appreciate the art of it, but all he can focus on his the heat building in his core as he fucks himself on his dildo, slow and deliberate movements clouding his thoughts into a haze of bliss.

He only has one toy, he’s used it for years, and it does the trick every time. Seb is well practised at getting what he wants, and pleasure is no exception.

The tip of his toy, perfectly shaped for his body, brushes so deliciously against that spot inside him that makes his toes curl every time he drags it out and pushes it back in, and he trembles, forcing himself not to speed up. Not yet. He intends to prolong his pleasure for as long as he can manage, until his throbbing, weeping cock can’t take any more and will be fit to explode with the slightest touch. 

Much like jazz, it’s an art.

The first thick pearl of precum pumps from his tip and he gasps at the brief, temporary relief in his already achingly untouched cock, and that’s alright for now. It’s building up, slowly but surely to the explosive orgasm he craves. After all, he has all day.

****

Jacob stares at his phone. He’s messaged three women now, all of whom usually seem so desperate to jump into bed with him. But he’s getting nothing. Why aren’t they responding? None of them? Is there a Women Who’ve Slept With Jacob Palmer convention that he missed the memo for? Surely he should be a guest speaker at the very least.

His lip trembles and a single teardrop wets his pillowcase. Just one, at least, for now. 

He can’t let this end in him sobbing himself to sleep and being discovered by his cleaner in the morning, surrounded by dildos and vibes and fleshlights, and miserably alone.

‘Fuck it,’ he growls, frustrated, and opens up another new conversation, scrolling down his contacts to select a name from lower down the list. Lower, that is, than ‘Girl 1,’ ‘Girl 2,’ and ‘Girl 3 - v.2.’

****

Seb is gripping his pillow so hard with his free hand that his knuckles have begun to ache. He doesn’t notice this, though, until his phone pings and disrupts his flow.

On hearing the shrill tone, his fingers uncurl from the thin cotton, and his eyes, brimming with irritation, pop open.

He can’t have this. He simply cannot have the outside world ruining his pleasure with something as banal as ‘notifications.’

He deserves to cum in peace, in his own time, undisturbed. To finish his work of art.

Carefully, he reaches for his phone to switch it onto silent mode, forget about the disruption, and continue on as he was, but when he lifts the device from where he discarded it face-down on the bed, he sees the screen and his cock twitches.

Jacob Palmer1 unread message

His eyes widen at the natural response of his body, and he almost drops his phone in haste to unlock the message and see what Jacob wants.

‘Hey’

Seb rolls his eyes. Hey. How Jacob manages to get so many women into bed is beyond Seb, between his unoriginal chat up schtick and the way he seems to be absolutely convinced they’re all falling over themselves to have him between their thighs. Idiot.

But, beyond his better judgement, Seb, clenching around his dildo, lets go of the base to use both hands for typing, and replies with a simple, ‘Hi, Jacob.’

As if the reply was already prepared and ready to send, it flashes up immediately beneath his own text.

‘What u doing’

Seb huffs a disbelieving laugh. No punctuation. Shorthand. Jesus. Still, he types a reply.

‘Some quite important business. Did you want something?’

Attention, Jacob thinks, but he types, ‘No girls are texting back, felt lonely, thought you’d understand’

Seb rolls his eyes again, this time it’s partly at how quickly Jacob replies every time – he’s so much more needy than he realises – and partly at the assumption that Seb is bothered by women deciding not to reply to him.

He smirks as he crafts the perfect response, if he does say so himself. 

‘So you thought you’d text a guy instead?’

Jacob’s heart races. He bites his lip, hands shaking as he types, ‘I’m not gay…’ and hits send. His cock is finally leaking and his fingers turn white where he grips his phone hard, unblinking, as he awaits Seb’s response.

Seb sighs at Jacob’s passe reply exasperatedly and shakes his head. 

Fuck it. If he didn’t try now, it would never happen.

Blood boiling, he replies, ‘I fuck men and I’m trying to fuck myself right now so stop texting. Either get over here and fuck me yourself or I’ll come over there and fuck you.’

A pause. 

The longest pause Seb has ever seen from Jacob. He wonders if he’s scared Jacob off for good, their playful, intermittent flirting finally coming to an end because Seb was a little too honest. He begins to feel something similar to what Jacob had started out with swelling in his chest.

Then, to his relief, three dots. Jacob is typing.

‘On my way.’

[crookednachogalaxy]

okay my prior post regarding Wendy's and Luigi's father-daughter relationship had me itching to get something out of my system. i hope yall enjoy this much-longer-than-anticipated mess.

i apologize for any spelling mistakes, this is absolutely a first draft that i haphazardly typed out in my notes app on my phone, and it was absolutely not beta read at all. i typed out words and immediately did not associate them with myself any longer. i hope it's coherent lmao.

_________________________________________

Today marked the Koopa Kingdom's first year of peace celebrations with the Mushroom Kingdom. The newly established peace, that officially came into force with Luigi's marriage to King Bowser, was to be celebrated with a festival lasting no less than three days. Festivities would begin in the Koopa Kingdom, the Mushroom Royal Family being invited as honoured guests, before they would shift over to the Mushroom Kingdom. The first event of this celebration would be the Royal Parade, supposed to start within the hour - yet something was still amiss.

"Where is she?!"

Bowser was getting impatient. He, Luigi, and all of their children were patiently waiting for the last member of the family to appear so that the Royal Parade could commence. Wendy, however, was still nowhere to be seen. An unusual fact in itself, as she was, apart from Ludwig, one of Bowser's most punctual children.

And yet she wasn't here.

"That's it, I'm going up there to check on her." Bowser started walking in the direction of the private wing when Kamek flew in front of him, causing him to stop.

"I would not suggest for you to go, Your Majesty!" he said, slightly adjusting his grip on the broomstick he sat on. "The princess is still getting ready. Rushing her will do no good."

"How long could she possibly take?! She's never this late!"

As the discussion between the King and his advisor continued, Luigi sighed. He could hear the murmurs of the children behind him, theorizing on why Wendy was so late, and Bowser's impatience was a force in and of itself. The room they were in was a little stuffy, too, and his royal suit's fabric was just a bit too tight and itchy for Luigi's liking. All in all, it was uncomfortable to be here.

But it was true that Wendy's tardiness was a cause for worry. She had always made it clear that punctuality was important to her, going so far as to scold and chastise her brothers for their tardiness. Her prolonged absence was making Luigi believe there may be more to it than a simple 'she's still getting ready'.

He, once again, pulled his suit away from resting so closely to his neck, and proceeded to quickly approach his husband. Quietly laying a hand on his arm, he pulled both King and advisor's attention to him.

"Maybe I could go check on her?"

Luigi saw Bowser's face turn to surprise for a second before Kamek interrupted them both with enthusiasm.

"Oh, that would be most wonderful, Your Kindness! I'm sure the princess would appreciate you checking in," he clapped. "Please, just this way."

Kamek pointed towards the private wing as he moved out of Luigi's way. The King Consort barely got a few steps far when he heard Bowser exclaim his frustrations.

"Oh, so you'll let him check on her and not me?!"

"You would not be in any condition to help Her Highness, Your Crankiness."

"Oh, come on!"

With a fond shake of his head, Luigi left the King and his advisor to their argument. He had a daughter to get to, after all.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Wendy stood in front of her mirror, analyzing and criticizing her royal dress on every perceived imperfection she could find. Today's celebration was important to both the Kingdom and her fathers, and nothing less than perfection would do. Even so, as she stood in her dress, she couldn't help the sinking feeling in her stomach.

She was no stranger to formal events. She had worn plenty dresses to different Koopa festivities over the years, and had also attended Mushroom events since her father's marriage to Luigi. This day and festival was not in any way unusual or unknown, so why was she hesitating?

The door to her room started opening, and Wendy, in immediate panic, ran to her vanity to accessorize as she called out that she wasn't ready. Expecting the King at her door, she stilled as she heard a different voice call out to her.

"It's just me, principessa."

Luigi, in his royal regalia, entered her room - she couldn't help but see how well his suit fit him, from the colours to the composition. It made her wonder why she couldn't feel the same way about herself.

"What's wrong?"

Snapping out of her thoughts, she tried to come up with an excuse that was believable; anything that could explain why she was so late, why she wasn't ready. Despite her efforts, however, her mind stayed blank, and she slowly deflated as a light shame crept up within her.

A gentle hand came to rest upon her shoulder, turning her towards Luigi, who embraced her. She reciprocated the gesture, letting him pat her head assuringly as he spoke.

"Why didn't you call us if you were having trouble? Your father and I could help."

"Papa wouldn't understand..."

Wendy closed her eyes, thoughts running wild at how her father would have reacted had it been him here.

"And what about me, hm?"

She looked up at Luigi. His face was calm, inquisitive, no frustration or anger anywhere. Gentle, and kind, and most of all understanding.

She stepped out of his embrace, choosing to look down at her dress, taking the skirt's fabric in her hand as she moved it around. Silence enveloped them both as she gathered her thoughts. Luigi watched her quietly, if only to make sure her thoughts didn't turn sour.

Wendy spoke, but slowly; her hesitation in revealing her thoughts clear.

"I feel... uncomfortable."

She stepped back in front of the mirror, letting her eyes wander all over again.

"With the dress?"

Silence.

Luigi stepped forward, standing behind his daughter in the mirror's reflection. Laying a gentle hand upon her shoulder again, he asked her:

"What are you feeling right now?"

Wendy's eyes caught Luigi's in the reflection. The sincere and worried look on his face broke down her defenses, tears appearing in her eyes as her voice wavered.

"I just... I feel like I don't fit. I'm the only girl here, the only one who likes dresses and makeup. I have no one I can share that with..."

Slowly, her voice faltered and turned quiet as she continued.

"And... I see the other princesses at events. They always look so formal... so elegant... and I..."

"Stop right there."

Wendy flinched a little at the strong and even tone of her stepfather's voice, despite the gentleness it was said with. She didn't dare to look at him, a small part of her afraid he wouldn't understand either.

"You are just as elegant and formal as any other princess," Luigi started. "Your dresses don't change that, and your body doesn't either."

She completely deflated at this statement, her insecurities having come to light now.

"If you feel alone, if you have doubts, then you can always share them with your father and me. We will help you in any way we can, you know that. We love you, and we want you to be happy."

Luigi turned her towards him once again, gently lifting her face with his other hand. He made sure to keep eye contact with her as he continued, speaking in a softer tone than before.

"Please don't compare yourself to other princesses. Your worth isn't tied to your dresses or your manners or anything else. You are enough, just by being you."

Wendy sniffled, a tear starting to run down her face. Luigi embraced her again, whispering reassurances to her as he held her tight. Intermittent kisses to her head helped calm her as she cried, her face hidden in her father's chest.

It took a few minutes before the tears and sniffles ceased, and a few more until she separated herself from him. She rubbed at her eyes harshly, before letting Luigi wipe the rest of her tears away. He led her back to her vanity, sitting her down as he started organizing the slight mess that was her jewellery.

"Feeling a little better?" Luigi asked her, noting the still uncertain face she made. While she was no longer crying, her brows were still furrowed in thought, as if she were unconvinced yet.

Wendy gave an affirmative response, but it seemed the worries weren't gone yet. Putting the last of her jewelley back into its box, he had an idea.

"Amore," he started, turning back to his daughter, "I want to show you something. Wait here for me?"

She could only nod in confusion, watching as Luigi shuffled out of her room quickly.

It didn't take long for her stepfather to return, shocking the young Koopa with the long, flowy black and green dress he was wearing. Red and gold accents all around tied the colours together, the shoulder ruffles being the same as they were on her own dress. He had also abandoned the small ponytail he wore before, allowing his hair to rest on his shoulders naturally.

"I figured this might make you more comfortable," Luigi said, the slight blush on his face betraying the casual confidence he tried to put on. "You won't be the only one wearing a dress tonight."

He walked over to her, picking up one of her brushes and choosing an eyeshadow palette. Gently instructing her to close her eyes, he started applying the makeup to her eyelids.

Wendy's entire demeanor had changed to curiosity and excitement. As Luigi helped her with makeup and accessorizing, she asked question after question - the King Consort dutifully answering each one as they came. He told her of how he found that he liked wearing dresses, how Peach had taught him everything he knew about makeup, how he had several dresses in his wardrobe that Bowser didn't know about yet.

When they finished, Wendy was as ready as she could ever be for the celebration. She looked over herself in the mirror, swaying and twirling in happiness and newfound confidence. Luigi watched her with a smile on his face, glad that he was able to help her in some way.

As he made his way out of the room, Wendy told him to wait. She insisted on putting some eyeshadow on him as well, so we can match, and he was more than willing to oblige her. He sat at the same vanity as she had, letting her do the same as he had done; the only difference being that he preferred lipgloss over lipstick.

The two now made their way to the rest of the family, still talking about Luigi's history with femininity. Wendy looked up at her stepfather as he told a story, any last worry left melting away in happiness. She had someone to share this with now - someone who understood, someone who was willing to try new things with her. Without a warning, she tightly embraced him with a grin on her face.

"Thank you, daddy," she whispered to him, lightly purring as he affectionately rubbed her back and head in their hold.

With a kiss to her head, he answered "Never a problem, principessa."

Making sure that there was no gloss residue on her head, the two smiled at each other and walked back to the rest of their family, hand in hand.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Alright, that is it! I'm going back there to get them now!"

Bowser was done with waiting. The parade was about to start any minute now, and Luigi and Wendy still weren't back. What could be taking them this long anyway? It was ridiculous.

"My liege, please wait a little longer. I'm sure the King and Princess are almost here!" Kamek responded, causing Bowser to let out another huff.

"It's been more than thirty minutes, how long could they possibly take-"

Bowser stilled as he caught sight of his husband and daughter finally arriving together. Wendy looked as elegant and royal as she did for every occasion like this one, her face happy and excited, but what shocked him the most was Luigi. When he left, he still wore the suit that he had Kamek make for him - but watching him walk towards him in a dress, the flowy skirt trailing behind him, had Bowser breathless somehow. It was an unfamiliar sight, but one he could definitely get used to.

"I'm sorry it took us so long," Luigi said, apologetic eyes looking up at Bowser. "We had a little situation to deal with, but it got sorted out."

The Koopa King was unable to reply at all, eyes stuck and staring at Luigi in surprise and wonder. He barely noticed as his husband turned to Kamek to confirm everything was ready for the parade to start, nor did he process his children swarming the Consort in support, complimenting him in any way they could.

"Of course, the parade can start whenever you are seated and ready, Your Gentleness," Kamek spoke. Guiding the children to their carriages, he let the King have a short moment with his beloved.

Luigi looked up at Bowser - the blush on the King's face made him blush as well. Assuring him that he would explain later, he took Bowser's arm to lead him to their own carriage. With the Royal Parade, the celebrations could finally start.

Though there was much to explain still, and even more experiences to be had, Luigi was glad he chose this path. He couldn't help the grin that overcame him as he saw his kingdom and his family - the hope and warmth that bloomed within him testament to his happiness. No matter what may come in the future, they would face it together, as one.

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

WIP Wednesday (on a Thursday. Time's arbitrary.)

Thank you for the tag, @icybluepenguin! 🩷 Oh me oh my, I have a couple of messy WIPs that are all over the place, ranging from body horror, cutesy Valentine fluff, dadstarion, chapter i of a long fic, and some very early smut draft (that's going to be so good though, if i may say so✨)... I gotta go with the dadstarion piece for this, though, because it's the most coherent so far! Thinking about making this two parts long (has been decided a minute ago) so I can insert Astarion's POV:

Saying that you are pissed when Astarion vanishes from the chamber barely an hour after your daughter’s birth would be a gross understatement. You make it a point to not take your eyes off the infant in your arms as the door falls shut behind him. In turn, your daughter’s watercolour eyes seem to follow your every move, from the deep frown on your forehead to the hot tears threatening to stream down your face. Neither of her parents are leaving a very good first impression, it seems.  “It’s alright,” you smile weakly, stroking the babe’s darling little cheek with your finger. She’s lovely, perfect even—and a massive surprise for the second time in her short existence so far. You hadn’t expected to give birth for another fortnight or so, but this little one clearly had other plans for today. As did her father, it seems, and maybe—if you hadn’t just pushed a whole new being into existence—you might have continued being lenient with Astarion. But you’re rather at your limits as it is and you decide that you’re positively done indulging Astarion’s months-long behaviour—once and for all. If he doesn’t want to be here, well, then he can stay away.

tagging @littlejuicebox for this, because her dadstarion pieces are just 💕💕💕 and a well of inspiration, always. I also happen to know that @spacebarbarianweird has some really nice smut up her sleeve atm that ought to be shared👀

[randbitb]

UR SO RIGHTTTT false interacting with pix in her latest video made me INSANE!!!! THE DYNAMIC!! THEM!!!!!!!! no coherent thoughts btw hope that's okay <3 if u have any please share <3 <3

See I had written a reply to my own post and then got distracted making a cup of tea and then the draft never saved because I’m not smart but bUT OKAY so it includes Joel too because this dynamic Rlly can work without him but he is my special little princess and I think he deserves some friends. Anyways

Pix, False and Joel all have two themes that really connect them. History, and Loneliness. There’s an air of loneliness in all of their series (yes even pix who has a more nebulous character that isn’t really a character listen. He has one when the other empires rulers are around. Which is enough for me)

False not knowing where she is, when she is, how she got here, it’s scary, she’s alone, all these people must have lived here before right? I mean she hid from everyone else until she knew it was safe to come out, she’s living a lonely experience, and has no mark really on the world before arriving there. She misses her home, and because Oli is. Trapped in goblin jail as of before his second episode releases today, she has no idea he exists, that he’s similar to her in anyway shape or form. Neither of them want to be here really, and they both just want their friends and family back. I could talk about the Oli and False similarities, but I would be waiting to watch Olis ep whenever that drops.

Pix is all about the past, his “character” is an Archeologist, not a ruler, Hes studying the past, and the past is a lonely place, he lives in the catacombs of a long gone society that he’s slowly breathing life into, and only NOW has gotten a few companions in the form of the dodo’s, instead of having no history, he has a harvest of it, bringing life to places and even creatures that were long gone. There’s an air of loneliness to the ancient capital, but there’s also love and care. It’s not stagnant, its not going to be forgotten again, pix has been spending his season making sure these things can’t be forgotten, preserving them.

Joel is a bit harder to explain, mainly because yes, He's been making shit up as he goes, but it makes all of the Actually Juicy stuff so much more interesting. He’s a god, an immortal god, a man so entrenched in history it’s really hard to actually separate his character as a fixture of the world. He’s lived so long he’s forgotten the names, faces, appearances of the people he lived with, who he knew. Joel lives in a silent, floating city, no bustling life, nothing but cold winds and the distant sounds of civilization so far down it doesn’t make much of a difference. Joel has no history he can remember, and no one around him aside from Hermes occasionally, even sausage only really talks to him through signs when it’s time to pass over Hermes.

And it’s so interesting, these three characters are so similar in their themes, but it’s their approach to their tragedy that sets them apart. Joel copes with being a bully, He's loud, brash, he uses comedy as a coping mechanism, and it works outwardly sure. But he’s not been making any friends really, he’s not got anyone aside from sausage who will back him up. False From what I can tell, kinda stays out of everyone’s way (I’m making my way through falses series I promise I’ll get there it’s Very Hard when you’re watching like 6 empires povs, and 8 hermit povs at the same time) and from all of the people I watch, false isn’t anything but a balloon on the bridge until she ran into pix. And Pix, copes by continuing his work, he’s the most well attuned of the three, he talks to the empire rulers, but mostly sticks with his dodos and preservation and conservation efforts.

All three of them could have SUCH COOL FUCKING INTERACTIONS. an Archeologist helping a god remember the people who he knew before he was the last one left, a woman who hasn’t had the chance to learn much of anything getting impromptu lessons on the world. They could go insane with it. They should. I want them to go insane with it. An amnesiac isekai protagonist, a god who’s lived so long he’s the last left and is dealing with a lonely eternity, and their best friend SOME GUY who likes history and has massive birds

[randomvarious]

2 Unlimited - "Here I Go" 1995 Eurodance / Eurohouse

So, yesterday, we had Belgian-Dutch dance project 2 Unlimited at their saddest, with their lame Euroreggae-pop hit, "No One," but today we have them at quite possibly their scariest, with "Here I Go," which sees them back on the dancefloor in order to catchily contemplate their potential and very literal descent into hell! 😈😱

And really, the only way their songs could've ever had some semi-coherent theme to them like this in the first place is if rapper Ray Slijngaard supplied bars that consistently stayed on some kind of topic, which he hadn't really done much of on any of 2 Unlimited's prior singles. But on the group's third album, Real Things, you started to see their songs acquiring, like, maybe, a quarter-inch of depth to them, as they tried to make music about, well...real things...😅.

There's no way out, man you try to escape Concentrate your mind cause it might just break Into half, crack down fast I keep my face straight no need to laugh I did some right, I did some wrong I regret these things, but I gotta stay strong I feel depressed, now don't you know Catch me, 'cause I'm falling deep down below

Reads a little bit like a very rough draft of an angst-ridden Linkin Park verse, doesn't it? And hey, weren't they fronted by a rapping and singing pair too? 🤔

Now, try not to read this following chorus from singer Anita Doth as if it's being delivered by Chester Bennington instead:

Oh, I can't escape I'm trapped and there is no safe place to go And I do regret the things I did but how on earth could I know? Here I go Here I go catch me I'm falling deep Here I go Here I go catch me I'm falling falling

Now, folks, am I really about to uncork one of the hottest and also single-stupidest takes in the history of music blogging here? Yes; yes I am:

The late period of 2 Unlimited's initial run in the mid-90s, when the lyrics on their singles started to employ actual themes, represents a clear predecessor to Linkin Park. In fact, the year that Ray and Anita both left 2 Unlimited was the same year that Linkin Park formed under their first name, Xero! It's actually all on the same continuum!

Anyway, this black-and-white video for "Here I Go" is pure, unadulterated nightmare fuel too, as people seem to be falling from very high distances, only to be caught by spider webs made of thick rope, which seems to delight some freaky-looking, underground-dwelling humans who live down there. And each one of those humans were all probably once one of those people who fell into one of those webs too. But now some of them very unsettlingly crawl on stilts, and the leader of the pack appears to get around in some kind of insectoid contraption.

Never could've imagined that exploring 2 Unlimited's videography past their popular US singles would ever lead me down into such a deep and dark hole, but here we apparently are right now! And "Here I Go" appears to have marked a turning point for the group as well, as it was their first single to not chart as highly throughout Europe as they'd probably hoped and expected. But funnily enough, while the well was clearly starting to run dry in 1995 with this one, two of the group's earliest hits, "Get Ready for This" and "Twilight Zone," would end up appearing Stateside on the platinum-selling first volume of Jock Jams that same year. And then further appearances on future installments of that series would end up extending 2 Unlimited's relevancy in the US far past the time of their initial breakup, which most Americans were undoubtedly completely unaware had even ever happened!

More fun videos here.

[kinetic-elaboration]

August 25: Spooky Stories Rundown

Upon some reflection, I think if I’m going to do a one-shot that isn’t the Blake Siblings AU, it has to be some sort of autumnal/spooky/horror story. When I look through my list and think about any other option, my first thought is ‘well I shouldn’t waste fall on this, it’s not autumnal.’

Thus my options are:

Kane/Luna Conclave Fic: My half-planned idea for Troped Conclave. The pros of this fic are the pairing, which I keep wanting to write but never fully do; and the potential for Vibes. It’s an Ark-AU-slash-magic-AU with a lot of industrial imagery, water imagery, haziness and hallucination. The downsides are that I keep running myself into corners while planning it and I’m not entirely sure the main idea is coherent. Or at least, I haven’t figured out how to make it coherent yet. I tried to re-plan this cold recently and I think it went pretty well but I’m kind of... on the fence about it. It’s definitely the closest to being ready to write.

Slasher: I have some very broad brainstorm notes on this, from last year, but actually my biggest concern is that it might be more fun to plan than to write. I have no idea how I’ll get the tone right for this. It’s more hypothetical than real as of now.

Tropical Horror: I found my notes on this today and typed some of them up! Again, it’s early days, though I did make major progress the last (/first) time I sat down to do serious brainstorming. This is probably one of my favorite ideas, also. (Though that might change when I get more into it and realize it’s hard.

Troped Madness Horror Round: This is the idea I’m most excited about developing and I think I should put it the top of my brainstorming agenda. It just feels so far away from being write-able. Maybe it will all fall into place unexpectedly soon?

So... I think I want to up the planning on the Madness fic and see if I can push it to the top of the list by the time I finish Slide. I want to work on SGAU planning too, but that definitely won’t be ready in time. If I can’t and I finish my draft and I want to write something, I might get done some of the Conclave fic or just work on the Blake Siblings AU since even in September it will feel like summer...

[sugarbundust]

updates; blurb; semi-rant

ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ At the home-stretch! Wanted to try to post early, but the last few days have been a bit chaotic.

tl;dr til next bold point - Money issues, and a random ass deer deciding it wants to live rent-free in my yard lmao

So many job interviews while being on/off sick, and then got sent bills for additional things we didn’t anticipate having to deal with (like a giant tree in our front yard the township decided it wants to cut down, but the law in our State is we have to pay??? I’m;??;). So I had to try and sell a bunch of things for quick cash, because they won’t work with us for a payment plan.

Goodbye special edition Pokémon Nintendo Switch, and majority of our games and manga. 😑 (Also why are these town services so expensive????) 

I’m incredibly salty. I keep telling myself it’s only monetary goods we can rebuy when we’re not hurting financially, but it’s still upsetting. I hate having to sell stuff. Our savings are pretty much depleted by now, so that’s a looming cloud that’s just the best. /s 

Got some positive news about one potential source of income, though, so knocking on wood that that works out. 🤞🏻

Then today we found out a pregnant deer somehow got into our gated backyard and had a baby, and it was in the middle of a rain storm so bad you could barely see. 😵‍💫 

For context, I live in a town. Deer like this don’t ever wander around here. I can count on a single hand the amount of times I’ve seen them (and never in our yard!). They’re way, way more common farther up by the river, which is like a half-hour drive, so I guess it wandered and got lost? They just... they don’t live here lmao it’s too many people/cars, no shelter or trees for them to hide, etc.

And I don’t say all that because I’m enamored by the fact that they exist—I’m actually very used to deer being around, due to living in areas where they’re far more common. They would run in huge herds through my parents’ property when growing up, along with bear and the like. 

It was just super weird to see one at random when our gates are too tall for them to normally jump???? Like, we don’t even know how she got in?? The baby deer couldn’t get out on its own, we had to help them both leave and stay united, and also panic that they don’t go running into a street with cars. @w@

So that was fantastic way to start the day, being in the heavy rain with a dog that I had to walk, and being surprised by and then advanced on by an angry/panicked mother deer. I don’t need to be trampled lmao and right after I woke up, sans coffee 😂 It was a good thing I had my dog on a leash for all parties involved lmao 

It’s one of those weeks where it’s like, what else can happen?

Also, for those wondering, yes, both deer are fine. 

Now, the positives! Got a lot of editing done last night. Went through over half of the chapter, making it more coherent and trimming fat. Only a small chunk left to go, and then I can post and start drafting the next chapter. Got a bunch of ideas for that, but I’m trying to figure out how far I can stretch things before the fighting/action-scenes begin again. I don’t want to have another mini arc turn into a full-blown ten chapter episode (thank you again, Shinsou). 😂 But there are a few things I want to touch on before we get to the 1-VS-1s. I hope it will be entertaining!

Also had to redo my embedded blockquotes all over again (Thank you AO3 for not following my inputted HTML every time I Save Draft.) lol, so I’m really hoping mobile-readers are going to be okay 🥲  It’s actually worse than the chapter with Aizawa’s learned packet breakdown. OTL If it’s not easily legible when posted, I sincerely apologize!! I tried for a ridiculously long time to make it work 😭 

I’m not going to do deep-set blockquotes going forward. This was it lmao. I understand now why most people just create graphics and embed them into their work 😭💀 Rich Text to HTML conversion was hard enough already. (Why did I make so much more work for myself? lol I always seem to do this. 😂)

But alas. Gonna try to finish tonight! ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ I hope it will be worth it! ❤️

[nyenyerle]

Absolutely unbearable that Elrond looked at the snotty little kid and went, "your nickname, and not your 200 predecessors' whom i also raised, is going to be Estel." Elrond son of Gil-Estel, who "saw no hope left in the lands of Middle Earth, and turned back in despair and came not home."

[marvelyhp]

Still you | chapter II

Chapter II: The comeback

Synopsis: Y/n decides to help the Avengers despite their betrayal two years prior and her life makes a big shift once again.

Pairing: Y/n x Bucky Barnes and some Y/n x Sam Wilson

Word count: 5,997

warnings: cussing, some fluff

note: I know I took so long but I had writer's block. then, I got covid and I felt too awful to write. But I'm okay now so this is what I could come up with. Not my greatest stuff. the tag list is open :)

Side note: I would really appreciate hearing from you and your thoughts!

--------------------

We managed to lower two floors without raising suspicion or making too much noise. At least, James and I were pretty silent, whispering if needed. But of course, Stark always had to open his damn mouth. He had been talking all the way —pretty loudly too— and he just did it again.

“Where’s the grandpa with the bad luck of having you as a tenant?” The man didn’t know the meaning of whispering. Or maybe he did. He just wanted to make my life more complex than it was. I looked frantically behind me, praying he had not seen me sneaking out. At the sight of no one, a breath of relief exploded out of me. But it didn’t last long, irritation quickly dampening my already poor mood.

“Shut the hell up!” I hissed. My patience with the insufferable man wearing thin.

“Oh, relax. If he sees us, we’ll knock him out and blame you.” He mocked, a chuckle erupting throughout the hall and following the stairlike a draft of wind. My blood started to boil inside my veins and I felt the heat spread from head to toes. I was afraid to be reaching my tipping point already because this was nothing. Two years out of practice left me hypersensitive to his shit. I wondered how long I would be able to stand the insufferable mortal and regret hit me like a ton of bricks.

“He is a good man, Stark. We will not knock him out.” I whispered as I pressed myself against the wall. Twisting my head around the corner at the end of the hall, I sneaked a glance at the stairs and the visible space from the top. “Watch your step here. His room is right underneath the stairs. We don’t want to wake him up.

I walked forward, pressing my foot in the first step, praying the creak of the old wood would keep quiet today as it did some nights. At least that’s what I hoped but it wasn’t what happened. A groan broke the silence in the room and I knew that if he was awake, he definitely heard it. I waited a couple of seconds, alert to any noise. When nothing came, I advanced four more steps. I focused on the one shadow dancing in the wall and relief swept through me. He wasn’t awake.

I turned, thinking the guys were still up. However, I let out a gasp when Bucky’s face came into view, mere inches away from mine. Thanks to the startle, the foot I had dangerously close to the edge slipped.

My heart stopped as I thought about the fall and the inevitable bone-crushing pain that would come after it. The stairs were pretty high and even though they were wood, it was quite sharp. Splinters roamed everywhere. I waited for the pain and the strenuous sound. It was phenomenal, the first time I saw the team in two years and I would meet them in a body bag with a broken neck.

However, it never came.

When I opened my eyes, blue electric eyes stared back at me. Our faces were inches away from each other. A hand wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against him to hold me from falling. I was hyper-aware of our breaths clashing against each other, making the most sinful of sounds. Our lips were separated by a small space, too close for my brain to catch up quickly. I noticed how his lips roamed my face, stopping at my lips slightly parted by the surprise. His eyes held a fervent fire and my breath quickened once I felt the inevitable rush of warmth roaring my body.

Coughing slightly, I took a step backward, stepping out of his grasp. I forgot all about the landlord as I scolded myself. The man looked at me and there I was getting flushed like a raging hormonal teenager. I looked at everything but Bucky’s face, why I knew still had his eyes on me except now his jaw was firmly set. I wanted to ask him what was going on inside his head but a hovering shadow at the top of the stairs captured my attention.

“What are you still doing up there?'' The man looked utterly confused standing at the top of the stairs surrounded by darkness. I wondered if it had to do with what he just witnessed.

“You care about that grandpa, don’t you?” His expression was one of disbelief. His body wasn’t moving as if in shock or trying to process the information he thought was correct. And it was, but he didn’t have to know.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, unaffected.

“Of course you do. You care about the landlord.”

I whirled around as fast as I could with the incident earlier present in my head as a gruff voice filled the room. A short, stubby old man stood at the foot of the stair dressed in a white t-shirt and some basketball shorts. The ends of his hair stood up as if held by a string and maneuvered by a child. His narrowed black eyes stared back at us. His lips pressed in a thin line.

“Of course, she does, kid. Why shouldn't she?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. I followed the movement of the milk dancing in the glass on his right hand. I felt proud of the English I had taught him and how-- as much as I didn't want this to happen-- useful it would be. I looked back at Stark to find him gaping like a fish. Little croaks came from his throat but no coherent words came from him. It was the first time I had seen Stark speechless. “I’m an incredible landlord if I say so myself.”

He was.

I cursed inwardly. There were things I didn't want everyone to know. To a certain extent, I wasn’t ready for the team, for Stark, to find out that I wasn’t the monster he expected me to be. I wasn’t ready for him to look at me differently. Andrei had the power to change our whole dynamic.

It wasn’t that Andrei and I shared anything about life. Or at least I didn’t. Andrei liked to talk, to share his life with me, and try to make me talk. He said I was too reserved. I remember that day like it was yesterday.

It had been a warm evening. I could see the sun filtering through the windows. Shining onto the top of the show top and illuminating the cottage-like bakery. The dough in my hands stuck to my skin, lumps of a uniformed cream mass suffocating the fingers. The powdered white dust sat beside me and I felt irritated. I hadn’t thought about pouring it on the mixture before I touched it. ‘I was out of my element here’ I thought as I reached for the flour.

Andrei’s baker had abruptly called five minutes before work notifying him he couldn’t work his shift. His grandmother had fallen down the stairs and fractured her hip, hence his lack of concern for Andrei. He was the only living relative she had so it fell upon him to look after her. One missed shift would turn into dozens. The bakery was small and hidden in a remote part of Romania. The clientèle was not much besides those living in the small town from years ago, or even since they were born.

Everyone in town knew each other. When I arrived I had my doubts about staying in this place because of that same reason. I would be the talk for weeks and I couldn’t risk so many people questioning my presence. Except, I was lucky.

One evening, I sat in a small and dark corner of a bar near the outskirts of the town where it was most probable to see an outsider. Two men sat a couple of feet away from me, talking fairly loudly. Out of boredom and desire to know the people I might have been seeing every day, I heard and studied their moments. Taking notes about their behaviors and storing them far into the file I had on humanity. Their voices were cheery as they ate pastries that I was sure to not be from the small bar.

“This is so good! I can’t believe I haven't tasted a pastry this good since I left,” he moaned loudly in reaction to the puff on his hand. The crumbly dessert spilling powdered sugar all over his dark gray pants. “Andrei hasn’t lost his touch.”

“Who is this Andrei you talk so highly of?” The older male asked the seemingly young partner. The man wore an expensive suit, not one that could be found here and from what I gathered from their conversation, he had not grown up here. But his friend did. What he said next grabbed my attention the most.

“His bakery is pretty hidden in the town. Someone that didn’t know the road would not find him. He used to be a criminal, on the run and all that. But since he got out of prison he became a baker. the man sure has a gift. I don’t even know why he went to jail, because the man is a sweetheart. I think he was just dealt a bad hand.” The man kept munching on his pastry as he talked. The vowels all merging to create a soundless blob. I swore he said more but that was all I could understand and by the face of his friend, he understood less.

“It’s such a small town. Why was it never known?”

“I don’t know. Rumor has it that he was born here but left, something to do with his family. He came back years later, on the run from some people. People we assumed to be the police. Of course, the police followed his trail and eventually found him here. Two years later. He hid pretty well if, you asked me. He treats people with respect but he never talks about himself. He has always been reserved when it comes to his life, only telling small details that lead to nothing. You know, not enough to form a life picture…”

Before he finished talking, I was out of my seat, walking towards the pair. I plastered an innocent look on my face, one I had studied and perfected many times since coming to earth. I relaxed my posture, knowing I had been tense and tucked since I entered this town. I still can’t believe I was social before. Nobody would believe that if I told them now.

“Hey, those pastries look marvelous!” I said in a cheery voice when I reached the pair. Both of their heads whipped towards my direction, curiosity written in their faces. I could hear the questions in their head about me and where I came from and what I looked for in town. Typical gossiping mortals. I wanted to cut the tie between our heads, feeling bad about corrupting the men’s thoughts. But I couldn’t, not until I had what I wanted. “Do you know where could I find them?”

“Sure thing. What’s your name, sweet thing?” Sweet thing, that’s funny. If he had been into the American news he would not say that.

“Calypso. Do you know where the place is? Can you explain it to me?” I said, trying to hide the hurry in my voice. His thoughts were front seat in my mind, not wanting to miss a thing.

“So eager.” He chuckled. Instead of the route, I was expecting, he thought about my naked form and countless sexual images began replaying. I resisted the urge to impale his backside, taking a deep breath and counting to ten. I played his game. I battered my eyelashes and looked at him from hooded eyes. I bit my lip gently and walked closer. Sneaking a glance at his friend, I noticed he was no longer looking at us. He seemed uncomfortable and had turned to his coffee and pastries. I wish I had a coffee to turn to.

“Maybe you could take me there. If you remember the way, of course.” He smirked and grabbed the jacket slung over the wooden chair he sat on. His friend looked at us, startled as if he wasn’t expecting my response. However, the joy of his friend would be short-lived. Images of the way to the small bakery filled my head and I smirked. Before he could take my hand to guide me to his car I asked for the restroom.

As soon as I came in, my eyes searched for some window I could use to leave unnoticed. And I found it in the corner of the bathroom beside one of the huge black and white mirrors. I locked the door and hurried to open the window, sliding through the door. The darkness of the night didn’t face me but my alert was high. Everybody could hide in the dark. My heart rocked against my chest as I saw the same guy from early waiting beside his car. I hurried along the alleyway, pulling my hood up and hiding my hair, disappearing into the dark.

“Calypso, boy for you.” I was brought from my memories by the rough voice of Andrei. Whoever didn’t spend much time with him would think he was mad all the time thanks to his voice and forever furrowed white bushy eyebrows. I matched the furrowing of his eyebrows when he mentioned a boy. I had been careful enough to not get attached or get anyone attached to myself so the mention of another human being besides Andrei spooked me.

Suddenly, the thought of agents looking for me or the usual threats I had filled me with panic. I heard the thunderous beat of my heart. The tremble of my hands disrupted the beautiful form of the pastry in my hands. quickly cleaning and taking away the apron full of white dust, I walked to the front of the door.

A dark-haired man in his early twenties stood next to the door with a blue box in his hands. A white shimmering ribbon adorned the delicate box, wrapping silkily around it to form a well-done bow. The chiseled bone structure of his profile caught my breath as he looked to the small, underpopulated plaza in the corner of the rondure. The curvature of his roman nose and the thin shape of his lips sticking in his profile.

I saw him regularly at the small bakery. His usual was a Papanaşia with a black strong coffee. He left three dollars on the tip jar three times a week and I noticed if he was overly happy, he would leave a fiver regardless of the day or how many days he had tipped. I had seen him mad twice in the store. Seemingly, he was one of those guys that harbored every trouble inside in a chaotic turmoil. I knew because I had invaded his mind one of those times. Curiosity had gotten the best of me, knowing he was always the type of guy that carried the sun on his shoulder. Every time he caught my attention, I tried to remind myself that he could’ve been an agent sent by Hydra to kill me or worse, kidnap me.

“Hello. What can I help you with?” I said, confidence laced in my voice. The confidence I did not expect to have. His head whipped towards me. A smile broke on his face at the sight of me. I saw the fidgeting of the box in his hands and the sudden bobbing of his knee. He didn’t appear to be harboring any secrets, or at least not deadly ones.

“Hey. I know this will probably look very weird to you but I’ve been watch- I mean not watching but I just- I,” His stammering caused a giggle to leave my lips involuntarily. My hand immediately flew to my lips, hiding the smile corrupting my face. He lowered his face but not before giving me one of those smiles that could light up a world. God, I felt sappy. He looked at me once again. “I don’t know how to do this. I definitely didn’t think it through.” He chuckled. One of his hands came up to brush his face while shaking it, side to side. I could tell he was nervous, maybe more that I initially had been.

Seeing him stammer was the cutest thing I had seen since the little green and purple flowers that grew back home and surrounded our palace. So, I decided to help him a bit. “You could start with your name,” I said, trying to not smile too much. Agent, agent, agent…

“God, you probably should’ve done that first. Nice one.” He said, more to himself than for me to hear it. “I’m Razvan. It's lovely to finally meet you.” I shook his hand. It was rough yet soft with elongated fingers caressing my own small and thin one.

“Calypso.”

“What I meant to say, you know, before I shot myself in the foot was that you caught my eye since I first saw you. Now, I swear I'm not stalking you because it could be easy to think after the horrible introduction I just did. But, yeah, I would like to get to know you, if that’s okay with you.”

I did think about it. I swear I did. I thought about how he could be linked to Hydra and if you searched on the deepest paranoid corner, the Avengers. I thought he could’ve been just a random murderer whose floor I had shaken. My voice of reason said no. and with the saddest feeling settling my stomach, I told him what I thought. Or tried to.

“I’m sorry, I-I can’t. You seem like the loveliest person b-but I…” For some reason, I couldn’t just say no. “Can I think about this?” That was the only thing that came out of my mouth while I tried to get the words ‘go away and ‘don’t speak to me’ out of my mouth. His smile faded a bit, but even then he tried to keep his positivity and bright personality on. I could feel the waves of disappointment once I started speaking but hope soon came flooding back.

“Sure. I'm a complete stranger coming here every day just to see you. I can see how that’s alarming. take your time.” He shook his head as if realizing what he had just said. He chuckled and I tried to give him a small smile. Before I could turn away and leave, I felt him touch my elbow. I jumped back.

His brows furrowed quickly. “Forgive me. This is for you. And please accept it.” I thought about refusing but this would only prolong this meeting, pushing me to accept a company I wasn't ready for. I took the small box, my hand already trying to open the shimmering blue box. “No, please. Open it later, more calmly and everything and you can tell me whenever you’re ready if you like it.” I gave him a smile, which he returned brightly before diving back inside the back of the store.

Once inside, I undid the delicate ribbon, watching it dissolve like seafoam by the lovely blue water. The glistening gold chain with a tiny, colorful Koi fish rested in the center of the box. My heart swelled and I felt a way I hadn’t felt since Bucky. He remembered what I had told him that first, and the only time we had talked before today.

The voice of Andrei brought me out of my stupor with a jump. A hand traveled to grasp my heart while the other held the box tightly.

“Razvan is nice guy.” His voice was gruff and deep like it had been since I had met him. He walked behind me and grabbed a pack of flour to dump beside me. I looked towards the other and realized I was running out of it.

“Do you know him?”

“Yes. Comes every day for two years. Great boy.”

When I didn’t say anything, he stopped cutting open the pack of flour and turned to look at me. “You too reserved. Not want to end like Andrei alone. Give guy chance.” That was all he said before he left. A tall wrinkly woman with short red hair calling out for him.

The last thing I thought that day after he left drove me to the same road he had set me on. I didn’t want to end alone or die alone for that matter. But what was I to do if everyone thought I was a selfish monster who just wanted to kill and bring chaos? The only person who didn’t feel that particular way was the same man I was leaving without saying goodbye.

Stark seemed to have gathered his words together because he suddenly began spewing some shit on Andrei. shit, he didn’t like it.

“The girl is no selfish girl. Only a fool like yourself would think so. Only a blind man would propose such a thing.” His brows were furrowed but Otherwise, he was calmly standing at the bottom of the stairs sipping his milk. He seemed like he would continue but I made sure to stop him

“Andrei, no.”

“I see. She holds you hostage and controls you, doesn’t she?” Stark countered, a smirk settling in his features. I pinched my nose, sighing loudly.

“You have to leave with this buffoon?” I walked down to his side, muttering an annoyed yes. “I’m sadder for you than him.” A chuckle escaped him as he hugged my shoulders with one arm. I tried to push him away but found no will to do so. I would miss Andrei. He felt like the father I never had. Worry settled in my stomach knowing I had been here and I would no longer be if anything happened to him. I hugged him back, despite my better judgment and the four pairs of eyes staring back at me.

“Don’t forget about me, violet. Nor dear Razvan.’ He told me after letting me go. I nodded before calling back to my two companions. Stark came down, slowly walked to the front door. Bucky at his heels. They both turned. Bucky’s face had some sort of emotion I couldn't decipher. I thought I could, but I doubt he would feel happy about finding someone genuine to spend my days with.

Stark, on the other hand, looked at Andrei as if he had grown an extra head.

“I’m confused. Aren’t you supposed to be dying at her touch or something? Are you sure she didn’t threaten you to act this way?” The funny thing was, he sounded genuinely confused. The skepticism in his voice hurt my feelings but the mere fact it was stark made me forget quickly. He was an insensitive prick with a personal vendetta.

“Take this fool away before I turn him into a human pastry,” Andrei commented. I walked towards them, chuckling. “Ai grijă, violet aprins.” Take care, fiery violet. The elder said before we shut the door behind us. my heart swelled at his words. I knew I would long for those quiet evenings where it would rain and we would sit down in the living room with a book, quietly enjoying our presence. We laughed and made new and invented pastries in the kitchen for days, always looking for new and innovative flavors. I would miss the man that had treated me like his daughter.

“Take care, Pop.” I whispered to myself. Not thinking a long-haired blue-eyed soldier would hear.

And just like that, we disappeared quietly into the night and I said goodbye to one of the most important people in my life.

James let me know they came in the Quinjet, that enormous thing I had refused to sit on two years ago. the walk was not far from where we were and we found it in a while.

The Quinjet was hidden behind one of the buildings next to the bakery. the gigantic thing sleeping while we arrived to climb up. clint stood outside, his arms crossed. that man always looked like he was in a power pose.

“Romania? What is it with chased people and Romania?” Confusion and genuine interest were written all over his face.

Barton had always been a friend before I knew the truth. Nat told me she had told him in a drunken stupor. he tried to talk to her about telling me but she didn’t listen. I didn’t hold it against him because I knew he wasn’t actively participating but he didn’t do anything either.

I shrugged. “It’s a good hiding place. too many criminals organizations for you to matter. nobody cares who the hell you are as long as you keep quiet.”

“Good shadow place.” Bucky added as he tried to help me get in the Quinjet. I ignored his hand, focusing on Clint’s face.

“Exactly.” My response was clipped. if he was fishing for a normal conversation he was in for a treat.

After a while, we took off. My legs became restless as I sat in front of Stark and Bucky while Clint piloted the flying thing. boredom pushed me to get up from my seat and walk towards the front of the Quinjet. that, and Straks glare along with the awkwardness of Bucky’s movements.

Clint’s focused face came into view as I sat beside him. silence engulfed the both of us before he broke the silence with some words I didn’t expect.

“We missed you.” it was a quiet remark but full of shocking force. I just sat there, wide-eyed looking towards the already clearing sky. I looked towards him and forced myself to respond. a scoff came out of me, causing Clint to look rapidly towards me.

“You have no reason to believe me, but it’s the truth. Nat was pretty shaken up when you left. we looked for you everywhere and decided you didn’t want to be found. that you needed some time. it took you longer than we thought.”

“You didn’t find me because you didn’t look. You don’t have to lie to me, Barton.” I said, masking the hurt I felt with anger. why keep lying to me? I knew they didn’t care sop they didn’t need to act as they did.

“What? we did loo-” He never finished his sentence since Stark’s voice boomed around the small space. he came to let us know where would land soon as if we didn’t know already. Clint was the pilot, it was impossible for us to not know. suspicion arose in my chest but I soon forgot it when I saw the massive compound below us.

✹✹✹ I would be lying if I said my stomach wasn’t fluttering and my hands trembled slightly. I subtly rubbed my hands in my jeans, hoping to get some moisture away. But, there was something else bothering me. It had been there for a little while. The emptiness in my chest divided in two, as though… I don’t even know. The doors slid with a swift sound and my heart rate hit new floors.

I tried to avoid showing any emotion I felt. Seeing them surrounding the long table, all in their daily clothing made it hard to remember. I couldn’t show the happiness of seeing them all right after two years. Nor could I show the excitement deep in my bones seeing Wanda’s face. I couldn’t forget the damage (situation) those high-held beings made to my heart.

I looked at them with a mask of indifference firmly placed.

Wanda was the first to step forwards, as I knew she would. I didn’t expect her to but a part of me screamed how she had been the only real friend through the year I spent in this cage. I resisted the urge to hug her, touch her, and receive the reassurance I so deeply wanted.

“I thought- we thought you were dead.” The revelation shocked me. It felt as though they couldn’t believe I was alive. But I was. The question was… why did they think so?

“Nop. Still kicking.” I replied.

“Unfortunately.” I heard Stark mutter under his breath. I rolled my eyes and resisted the urge to kick him. I could make him feel a true kick in his brain. And his ass, too.

“Y/n!” A high-pitched voice came from the corner next to me. The smiley face of Pepper Potts came rushing towards me, engulfing me in a hug. My nerve endings shot and I prayed my instinctive responses wouldn’t go through. Fortunately for me, they didn’t. Before I could even think to hold her back—which I wouldn’t have done anyway— she stepped back. Smile intact and a gleam in her eyes capable of illuminating the whole room.

“Jesus. You’ve changed so much!” Her hands settled on my shoulder, holding softly and slightly shaking my shocked frame. “I missed you.” Her vice took a sweet edge and her head lolled to the side. Her eyes scrutinized me with the look of a mother who had just seen her child after a hard year abroad. I resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably out of her grasp. I wasn’t used to this.

“Honey, leave the feral alien alone.” Tony’s voice reached my ears. “We have important matters to discuss.”

“God, Tony. Give us a break. We haven’t seen the kid in two years.” Natasha’s ______ filled the room as I saw her taking steps towards me. I noticed there were no relaxed steps but tense and wary. Her eyes held a sort of apology mixed with caution.

I just stared. Deep inside I didn’t know how to react to someone I hadn’t seen in a long time, someone who betrayed me gets closer. Her body language told me she was sorry but still cautious of my reaction but I didn’t know if I should forgive her. Her right hand stretched towards my frame. I shifted uncomfortably in place, moving slightly away from her.

I saw her eyes roam my body, noticing the discomfort. She came to a halt three feet away from me. Her lips were pursed as she let her head drop for a second. She recovered quickly, extending her same hand towards me, this time to shake my hand.

“It’s good to have you back, Y/n.”

I took her hand in mine, shaking firmly. I nodded my head towards her. My lips pursed. The movement of Wanda’s body caught my eye. She stepped closer to me, her hands nervously trembling beside her big, red jumper.

“Can I hug you?” Hearing those words coming out of her froze the ongoing flow of blood through my veins. I was shocked, to say the least. I bet I looked like a gaping fish as an incomprehensible string of detached words escaped my lips. Everyone else seemed as surprised as I was. For completely different reasons I would bet. As Stark had said, they thought I was a free being.

She waited patiently, probably aware of the shock and ongoing battle I had inside me. She was the only one aware of my thoughts about showing anything besides contempt. And she knew why. But I sent it all to hell and for once, I did what I wanted to do. I nodded.

Her smile was worth enough as she moved quickly towards me, as though worried I would change my opinion. Her thin arms wrapped around my neck, my lack of height apparent as my 5’1 ass reached her shoulders. I resisted the urge to cry as I wrapped my arms around her back, relishing in a familiar face that didn’t hate my only existence.

“I missed you.” It was a whisper, only for me to hear. A small smile escaped my lips as hope blossomed in my chest. Hope that maybe I wasn’t a lost cause. Hope that maybe someday I could have a family.

“I did too, Red.” I murmured back. Careful to not raise my voice as I didn’t want anyone to know anything. I felt oddly vulnerable to be hugging someone let alone hugging someone in front of seven people. I noticed Vision staring and I gave him a subtle nod, a small smile creeping upon my lips. He nodded back with that usual blank expression not in compass with the feelings he harbored. After some time, I let her go before Stark had another remark to make.

I noticed Steve leaning against a far-away table, maybe ten feet away from where I was. His head lowered, eyes on the ground. His arms surrounded his build, hugging himself with a heavy frown on his face. He didn’t want to look towards me and I thought I knew why. He was ashamed of what he did. He was guilty anyway you looked at it. He was guided by Bucky to do everything. He followed the man despite knowing it was wrong. Not because your friend tells you to throw yourself out the window means you’ll do it. He knew full well what was wrong and right. He knew Barnes' proposal was as low as a man could get.

If he didn’t apologize and acknowledge what he did, he was dead to me. I mean, he had tried to apologize that day, but I was devastated and no words came through my anger.

There were a few handshakes and subtle nods here and there before I noticed a presence missing. I looked around for the usual big man with an overinflated sense of heroism but didn’t find him. He was big enough for anyone to spot him. I felt a pang in my chest and a tingle at the back of my head and I knew something was wrong. The air shifted and my hands started trembling slightly.

“Where’s my brother?” I asked, my voice slightly shaky. I tried to compose myself, knowing he had to be alright or I would’ve felt something.

“We don’t know. We couldn’t get a hold of him.” Natasha replied. I noticed the subtle worry etched in her face lines.

Suddenly, I understood that emptiness inside me. That swirling emotion unlatched to an earthy body. One of the connectors inside of me, besides bucky’s, was empty. It didn’t have any energy to connect to.

No.

No.

No.

I didn’t realize I began hyperventilating while the word repeated itself over and over in my head. My chest rose and fell quickly while the air got caught in my throat. My hand shot out to grasp anything in reach I could hold myself up with.

“Y/n?! What’s wrong?” Wanda was the first to step forward and grab my elbow. Her soft touch didn't completely register in my sensory sense. The only thing in my mind was the heavy colorless fog swirling around in my insides.

The worst part was, I didn’t know which of my brothers it belonged to. I thought about them and how long it had been since I had seen them. Since I had been with them.

“Can you all excuse me?” I pulled myself together and without waiting for a response, I hurried across the room. I thought about the me that they just saw but somewhere deep down, I didn’t care.

I hurried, passing Steve's body. This time, he looked intently at me. I didn’t expect him to stand up and grab my shoulders. By this point, my vision was blurry and I tried hard to reconnect with the missing life essence.

“Y/n, I-”

“Can we do this later, Rogers?” I spat, cutting him off before getting my elbow out of his grasp. I left, shuddering and feeling a wave of anger rising in my chest.

What a good way to make a comeback.

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[leiawritesstories]

Another Place

Nessian Week, Day 5: Alternate Universe (AU) Day

Yes, I took the prompt literally. ;)

Word count: 2914

Warnings: fuzzy science, fuzzy space mumbo jumbo, language

Skye Penderwick belongs to Jeanne Birdsall. All other characters belong to SJM. 

@nessianweek

~~~~~~

“I’m heading out, Doctor.”

Dr. Nesta Archeron, who held a PhD in astrophysics, looked up from her desk. “All right, Skye, thanks for everything. See you tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. Don’t forget to sleep, Dr. Arch!”

“Never do, Dr. Pen!”

The other astrophysicist’s snort of laughter floated down the hall. “Yeah, right.”

Fine, maybe there were nights when Nesta stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, scribbling calculations on the chalkboards and in her notes, combing through theories of all the great scientists before her, adding bits and pieces to her own theory, and generally ruining her sleep schedule with badly timed, random “a-ha!” moments. But to be fair, seven years of developing a theory of alternate universes would do that to a person. 

Seven years ago, she’d run across an anomaly on a deep-space image that didn’t match anything ever recorded or observed by any scientist, ever. And yet it was small enough that most scientists could easily overlook it; it blended into the edge of the nebula that was the focus of the image. Nesta had noticed it, though, and that small imperfection, the wrinkle in the darkness of space, rooted into her mind and stayed there, leading her to question what the hell that blur was and why the hell it was there.

Which in turn led her down the murky rabbit hole of various theories of wormholes and other flaws in space-time, none of which aligned with her observations. And then down the even murkier rabbit hole of theories (of varying degrees of coherence) of parallel and alternate universes. The alternate universe idea in particular intrigued Nesta, and she spent weeks researching every bit of information available, noting how it lined up with her observations, and finally coming to a realization that this image her team had captured could serve as visible, concrete evidence in favor of a theory of alternate universes.

She’d drafted the first bit of her theory and formed a small team to develop it by the next morning.

After five years, countless different images of the anomaly, multiple variations on complex equations, much screaming, and three lifetimes’ worth of coffee, Dr. Nesta Archeron hit a wall.

Literally and figuratively.

Because when she ran into what seemed like an insurmountable block, she punched the nearest wall as hard as possible.

The cracks still radiated across one wall of her lab.

That block, and her efforts to break through it, introduced her to Dr. Skye Penderwick, a brilliant American astrophysicist who, coincidentally, also happened to be fascinated by the theory of alternate universes, despite having no theory of her own. She’d been working at the same facility as Nesta for several months before the two actually met, and within days of Nesta inviting her into her lab, she’d proposed a potential solution to the Archeron team’s roadblock.

It worked.

Nesta offered her a collaborator position that very day. Skye accepted.

Two years later, they were on the edge of breakthrough. Both of them knew it. Both of them saw clearly where their calculations, their notes, their carefully chronicled, detailed observations of the motion of the anomaly, and their years of hard work were leading. The theory Nesta so elegantly posited was nearly complete. All the two self-described space nerds needed was something, anything, to hint beyond scientific explanation that on the other side of that anomaly laid an alternate Earth.

Unfortunately, that something hadn’t shown up quite yet.

For, despite all the remarkable achievements of space science--lightspeed travel, quantum leaping, imaging software capable of capturing formations’ minute details, even the discovery of other habitable planets in faraway galaxies--nobody had yet been able to present a coherent, plausible theory of an alternate universe.

Yet.

Sighing, Nesta pushed back from her desk and walked to the back of her laboratory. She placed her index finger in a barely visible indent in the pristine white wall. A panel slid silently open, revealing a space illuminated by a soft blue glow. A nondescript grey-and-cobalt pressure suit hung neatly in a glass case. Nudging the panel closed, Nesta opened the case and removed the pressure suit.

Hers.

For her…uncatalogued trips. Trips to the station her team had planted by the anomaly. 

Trips which Nesta took regularly. She couldn’t risk any of her team traveling; each and every one of them was needed in the lab. No, it was her job and hers alone to make a regular leap to the station, check on their telescopes, and observe the anomaly up close.

She’d never tried to cross it. Not that she believed there was no passage; in fact, she’d painstakingly detailed the fascinatingly inexplicable illusion of a gap that appeared once every year, and had always failed to conclude if there truly was a gap.

Hence tonight’s little jaunt to the station. That gap had just appeared, and since it only showed for sixty hours, she had to go now.

So Dr. Nesta Archeron slid into her pressure suit, fastened the sleek boots and gloves, programmed the correct coordinates into the screen built into the underside of the suit’s left forearm, locked on her helmet, and keyed in the quantum leap sequence.

A blink later, she stood on the steel tiles of her team’s small, simple station deep in the reaches of outer space. Removing her helmet, Nesta allowed herself exactly three minutes to drink in the wonders of deep space.

Then she set the station’s timers for forty-eight hours, sat at the control panel, and piloted her space station/highly advanced spaceship into the gap in the universe.

For it was indeed a gap.

~

Commander Cassian Ilnair released the cockpit hatch of his sleek “interstellar exploration transport,” or, as he called her, the Millenium Falcon. Bloody government and their bloody idiotic pompous names for spaceships. That’s all it was, a spaceship, albeit a highly advanced, highly adaptable one that had carried him and up to four crew safely across nearly every corner of the universe and back to Earth.

Pulling his flight helmet off, he shook out his unruly shoulder-length hair, half- unzipped his navy blue pressure suit, and started postflight checks. 

“She’ll need to be refueled and the usual before she travels again, but other than that, good as new,” he reported to his CO, a woman five feet tall if she was an inch whose impeccable, formidable exploration resumé and take-no-bullshit demeanor made up for her diminutive height. 

“Excellent, Commander. I expect a full report on Disturbance AS-2947C by noon.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Cassian saluted.

“Dismissed.”

As he headed for the shower, Cass stole a glance at his wrist screen, which showed eight-fifteen a.m. Damn space time, he grumbled to himself, throws off my goddamn body clock. Luckily, he’d noted no significant change in that particular disturbance since the last time he visited it two weeks ago. That’d make his report much easier, indeed.

Sure, the disturbance was rippling ever so slightly, but it did that every year at this time and had been doing so since it appeared exactly seven years ago. 

Not a single scientist in all the ranks of the space force could provide a plausible explanation, or even a cohesive theory.

Disturbance AS-2947C was just that, a disturbance. A puzzling, inexplicable snag in the fabric of space time that had just appeared one day and sat around for seven years, following a routine path of motion but not really moving anywhere, just pulsing, and showing a ripple for exactly sixty hours exactly once per year.

Cassian knew his brilliant astrophysicist friend Dr. Emerie Nguyen was developing a theory that AS-2947C was a wormhole, but so far she hadn’t found any evidence to support there being another side to it. So far, all Emerie could say was that this disturbance could very well be the concrete evidence of stable wormholes she and every other member of the space sciences sector had been chasing for years. And yet they were still chasing it. 

He quickly showered and changed into his everyday uniform, slipped his wristband back on, and drew up a quick set of notes for the commodore. At exactly two minutes before noon, he knocked on her office door.

“Enter.”

Cassian stepped into the office, closed the door, and saluted. “Ma’am.”

“At ease, Commander. I believe you’re early today.”

“Some days I try to be punctual, Commodore.”

“I see.” She motioned to the west wall. “Report, Commander.”

Tapping three fingers twice against the wall, Cassian swiped an image from his tablet onto the wall, which doubled as a presentation screen. 

“Today’s imaging of Disturbance AS-2947C shows no remarkable differences from the last set. The formation has not morphed or shifted noticeably in any direction.” He swiped to a new image. “The annual irregularity in the approximate center of the disturbance appeared on schedule roughly three hours before we arrived, making it now roughly seven hours visible.” 

“Any notable observations about the irregularity?”

“No, Commodore. The irregularity is behaving exactly like it has for the six years we’ve observed it. It merely appears as what looks to be the illusion of a gap, holds steady for sixty hours, and disappears. We have never been able to decipher if the irregularity is in fact a gap or if it is simply a change in the observed color.”

“Have you never attempted to pilot your craft towards this irregularity?”

Cassian swallowed. “With all due respect, Commodore, yes. I believe you are familiar with the deep-space engine failure incident of last year?”

“I am.”

“That was my attempt to discover more about the irregularity.”

“Ah.” The commodore tilted her head, her eyes calculating. “Though I never did hear the pilot’s explanation of this failure.”

“First, may I ask what the engineers’ conclusion was?”

“The engineers concluded that the engine failure, which somehow you managed to prevent from becoming catastrophic, was the result of a power failure caused by the change in the conditions of space within the disturbance. They informed me that the engine short-circuited when your craft entered the boundary of the disturbance, but they could not explain or even theorize why.”

Cassian nodded. “I can theorize why. Commodore, I believe the power failed because, simply put, the way we fuel our crafts does not exist within the disturbance.”

“Are you implying that neither solar nor stellar energy exists within AS-2947C?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am. The instant I entered that region, my engines went completely silent. I had no time to observe anything else, as my immediate reaction was to reverse course and exit, lest I risk total craft failure and being stranded in the deepest parts of space. My craft regained power once outside the disturbance region, and I made it back, despite one of my engines being nonfunctional. As I’ve thought about it over the months, I can only come to the conclusion that the power cut off because there was no available power source.”

Commodore Amren considered Cass’s explanation. “It is logical, and it would explain why the engineers could not determine the cause of the failure. Power source failure, when rectified immediately, leaves behind no visible evidence within the engines of our craft.”

“Commodore, I still want to enter the disturbance. I believe that a craft carrying physical fuel could safely enter the region.”

“Physical fuel became obsolete decades ago, Commander.”

“And yet we still have stores. This is why. We knew there was a chance some mission might need to use fuel rather than energy to power its craft. This is that mission.”

“Commander, I’m afraid I cannot give you clearance to enter the disturbance. Not at the moment, at least. You know the regulations.”

Cassian sighed. “Right, right, seven days between active pilot duty.”

“There is one thing I can do, if you wish.”

“Tell me?”

“You may take a small stationary craft to the observation point. Stations do not qualify as actively piloted craft. I can assign you a seventy-two-hour observation mission, which will allow you to be as close to Disturbance AS-2947C as possible without endangering yourself or your craft, and also will allow you to report any noteworthy changes. Acceptable?”

“Accepted, ma’am. Thank you.”

The commodore nodded once. “I’ll get the assignment written up now. Prepare for launch at 1600 hours.”

Cassian snapped a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Dismissed.”

Four hours later, Cassian’s small observation stationcraft left Earth’s atmosphere, set its destination coordinates, and blinked away into a quantum leap, arriving at the observation point in mere seconds. 

Arrived at destination, the cool, mechanical autopilot voice announced. Artificial gravity effective in sixty seconds.

Cassian sat back, checking his harness. All secure.

Artificial gravity in effect.

Unbuckling, he stood up, pulled off his helmet, and walked to the windows, staring into the fascinating mystery of Disturbance AS-2947C. The irregularity rippled, gently, like he’d seen it do before, taunting him with the possibility of something on the other side. He stood there barely thinking, just marveling at the sight of this enigmatic corner of deep space.

And then the irregularity expanded. And a craft like nothing he’d ever seen flew out.

~

Nesta hadn’t known whether she was sane when she flew into the gap. Hell, she hadn’t known if she was thinking, let alone doing. If wormhole theory meant anything, then she’d expected a moment of terrifying flight through stark blackness that ended in her ship landing in some other, possibly uncharted, part of the universe.

She hadn’t been expecting to see an alien station.

But there it was.

The gap was a tunnel of sorts. And at the other end was a station Nesta didn’t recognize. 

She directed her ship around the foreign station, intending to capture images for examination in her lab. But before she could key in the command to the ship’s cameras, her radio cracked with static. And then someone spoke.

“Who the hell are you?”

Nesta stared at the receiver, then dragged her gaze to the station. Standing in what looked like an observation deck was a man wearing a pressure suit and boots, holding a comm device to his mouth.

“I repeat, who the hell are you?”

“You tell me first. And while you’re at it, what the hell is that station you’re in?”

“It’s a standard observation craft, of course. Unlike whatever alien craft you’re flying.”

“This is a typical exploration ship, you coarse, callous idiot.”

“Like fuck it is.”

“What’s the matter, never seen a woman fly a real ship before?”

“Never seen that particular ship before in my entire life as a pilot. Or in any of my texts.”

“You’re telling me this very real ship I’m flying doesn’t exist?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then--” Nesta’s eyes widened in shock. “Pilot, may I have your name and credentials?”

“Commander Cassian Ilnair, Earth’s space force.”

“Earth’s space force,” Nesta muttered to herself, scanning through her mind for anything related to that name. Nothing. And then it hit her.

“Commander Ilnair, who leads your nation?”

“My nation?” He seemed confused by the word. “Nations melded into a global government centuries ago. President Amarantha currently heads the Global Council.”

A look of wonder crossed Nesta’s face. “It’s true…it’s true. I can’t believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“Commander, my name is Dr. Nesta Archeron. I’m from an alternate Earth.”

The man standing in the unfamiliar station dropped his comm device. And stared.

“Permission to attempt to dock at your station? We have some items to discuss.”

He sat down on the deck floor and picked up his radio. “Granted, if you can.”

Nesta flew a slow lap around the station, noticing two docking ports, both with airlocks that seemed oddly familiar. Hmm, she thought, airlock design is clearly universal. Aiming for the port closer to the observation deck, she carefully guided her ship into the space and sighed in relief when the hatch clicked into place with the station’s airlock. 

“Connect the airlock to my ship, if you would?”

“What’s the magic word, Dr. Archeron?” Nesta swore she could hear his damn smirk.

“Please connect your airlock to my ship so I can explain myself.”

“Of course.”

Less than two minutes later, Nesta heard the familiar hiss of an airlock sealing into place around her ship’s hatch. 

“Clear for exit, Dr. Archeron.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

Nesta placed her tablet and several images into her pack, slung it over her shoulder, released her exit hatch, and swiftly ascended the ladder into the station. The moment her head cleared, she was looking around, mentally cataloguing every detail of the spacecraft. It was basic, functional, only containing living quarters and an observation lab. 

“Whenever you’re done gaping, Doctor, we can talk.”

Nesta turned to face the commander, who was leaning against a wall just outside the airlock. “There is a difference between observing and gaping, pilot, not that you would know.”

A cocky grin crept across his face. “Naturally, I’m just one of the best pilots in the universe, I wouldn’t know.”

“Your universe,” she corrected.

“What?”

“Your universe, Commander Ilnair. Or has your tiny brain already forgotten what I said about being from an alternate universe?”

He shook his head. “Right. Sorry, I’m still trying to process that.”

“As am I. Show me to the lab?”

“Not much to show, but follow me.” He led her down a short hallway onto the observation deck and laboratory, clearly the main space of the station. “Here we are. I believe you mentioned something about explaining yourself?”

“I did.”

He gestured toward her. “Go ahead.”

So she did.

[goindownshipping]

Take me back to the night we met

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker)

Rating: Teen (T)

Notes: Cranked out the second and final chapter of this fun story today. I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: None, light angst/miscommuncation. All with a happy ending!

Word count: 3k

Summary:

What will happen when Tony and Peter leave their small town and head back to New York?

Read chapter 1 here

Read full story on AO3 here

6 weeks later

“Tony!” Natasha called.

Tony’s gaze snapped up from his desk to his red-headed assistant, immediately pulled out of whatever trance he was in this time. He shook his head rather violently and focused on Natasha’s impatient glare.

“Yeah, yep! Sorry Nat, what’s up?” he rushed.

Natasha just gaped at him, realizing she’d be repeating the last several minutes of updates about various plans she needed Tony’s approval on.

“I needed your signature on these documents, like a week ago. Now, I’m late to a meeting, so please, I beg you, look over these and I’ll pick them up from you by the end of the day.” Natasha left the room in a tizzy. Tony didn’t even have time to respond before the door was closing behind her.

He glanced down at his desk, his numerous unsent text messages mocking him in broad daylight. He couldn’t bring himself to pay any mind to the far more important documents directly in front of him; for some reason, unbeknownst to even himself, he still couldn’t manage to pull his thoughts away from one Peter Parker.

It had been over a month since he returned home from Springdale with a new number in his phone and the silliest crush he’d had since high school. For what must have been the millionth time in a month, he let his mind wander to the all-too-brief interactions with Peter that weekend. That first night in town had been just the beginning of Peter worming his way into Tony’s previously impermeable heart.

How he managed to get under Tony’s skin so quickly, Tony couldn’t possibly comprehend. Maybe it had something to do with that thing Peter did with his tongue, but in all reality, Tony knew it was much more than that. It was Peter’s ability to challenge Tony intellectually, his knack for making Tony smile more earnestly than anyone in years, his insistence that Tony didn’t owe anyone any explanations for why he left Springdale or why he now called New York home, and so much more. Peter made Tony feel seen. Any other time, and by any other person, Tony hated being seen for all that he was. But with Peter, he relished that feeling. That entire weekend in Springdale, Tony selfishly soaked up moment after moment with Peter, imagining what it would be like to feel this content with himself on a regular basis.

They danced, they flirted, they kissed, and they fell into bed together after the wedding. It was a short trip for both of them, but neither man seemed concerned with the passing of time. Whispered promises between sheets and under the stars encouraged Tony to believe that maybe this wasn’t just a passing moment for the two of them. Maybe, finally, Tony found someone that could keep up with him. Someone that wanted Tony for everything he came with.

He headed home with butterflies in his stomach, eager to see Peter again and find out what would come next for the two of them. He’d sent him a text before his plane even left the ground in Springdale, not giving himself the time to second-guess anything:

Tony: Hey Pete, it’s Tony! I’m just heading back to NYC. I hope I’ll see you soon ;)

That was more than one month ago. No response, no acknowledgement of the message, nothing. Peter had gone completely radio-silent.

At first, Tony didn’t panic. It was a busy time for Peter’s team at work, and Tony even lost himself in his work for a while. But after a couple weeks with nothing, Tony began to feel the pit in his stomach. Realization dawned on him that if Peter, millennial Peter who was always attached to his phone, hadn’t responded at that point, Tony shouldn’t expect anything.

When that realization came about, he lost the newfound pep in his step, his self-deprecation returned in full force, and he was no longer pleasant nor productive at work. Sure, he could have ventured a few floors below his office to seek out Peter, but that was crossing a line, even for Tony. it would be unprofessional and unfair to put him in that position. Instead, Tony wallowed. He pretended nothing had happened; that he hadn’t returned from his trip as a different person and then suddenly reverted back to his destructive ways.

So here he was now. The essential documents requiring his attention and signature mocked him while his phone sat open with dozens of texts he’d never managed to send to Peter. He wasn’t sure where to start or what to say. Each time he thought he was finally going to just hit send, he managed to convince himself not to.

Peter knew how to contact him. He would have if he really wanted anything to do with Tony.

Tony shook his head before tossing his phone in a random desk drawer and finally buckled down. By the end of the day he’d made it through each of the documents Nat needed him to sign, and he even managed to bring them to her office to save her the trip, and annoyance.

“Hey, Tony!” she called out before he could leave her office.

“Yeah, Nat?”

“Development wanted me to remind you that they have a new StarkPhone prototype they want you to check out. I can have them leave a sample on your desk sometime this week. Does that work for you?”

“Sure, yeah. Just make sure they get my info on the phone so I can actually use it. What’s the point of testing if it’s not functional?”

Nat nodded and made a note on her computer. “Sure thing, boss. Just keep an eye out for it by Friday.”

“Thanks, Nat. I’m headed out for the day, have a good night.”

He offered a small wave before retreating down the hallway.

A few days later, Tony found a sleek new phone on his desk. He was immediately impressed by his developers and engineers. He clicked around the various applications and settings, habitually checking his messages. Unsurprisingly, there weren’t any messages from Peter, and, gratefully, it appeared that his unsent drafts must have been cleared out when his information and settings were uploaded onto this phone. He let out a long, slow breath, willing himself to see this as a way to move forward without the constant reminder of words that had gone unsaid.

Little did he know, Peter Parker woke up to his phone buzzing incessantly as dozens of text messages from an unknown number flooded his phone.

Peter was suddenly awoken by his cell phone repeatedly buzzing on his nightstand, so consistently that he couldn’t help but worry that something was seriously wrong. He snatched his phone and was shocked to find more messages than he could count flooding his notifications. All the messages were from the same unknown number. Through his sleep-blurred vision he couldn’t make much out, but the messages didn’t seem to be coherent, and some of them were incomplete thoughts. When his vision finally focused on the too-bright screen in his dark bedroom, he felt his heart drop to his stomach.

Unknown Number: I’m so sorry for whatever I did between Springdale and now. I was really hoping you and I would have a chance Pete. I hope you’re doing well xx

Unknown Number: Hey Pete! I hope you got back home safely :) I’d love to grab a coffee if you have any free time in the next couple days. Lmk!

Unknown Number: For once, I thought I found someone. I just wish you’d tell me if

Peter felt his hands start to shake as he scrolled through the messages. Everything was scrambled - he had no idea when any of these were sent or in what order. It was as if the floodgates had opened and Peter had a direct glimpse into Tony’s thoughts.

Peter knew there was nothing to be done at 5:00 AM, and he really didn’t want to try to piece everything together over text. He took a deep breath resolving to attempt to talk to Tony in-person at work. Knowing there was no point in attempting to get back to sleep, Peter went about his morning routine, determined to get to the office early. If he had any hope of talking to Tony, it had to be soon.

He managed to get to work on autopilot, his thoughts never leaving the older man he’d fallen for back in Springdale. He was beyond disappointed when Tony never actually contacted him, but Peter just assumed it was par for the course with Tony Stark. What more could he have expected? Sure, it felt like they’d had a real connection, but Peter knew how different they really were. Tony owned the damn company Peter worked for! It had been a tough pill to swallow, but he’d managed to stop dwelling on it after a few weeks and some sharp words from MJ.

But now, Peter didn’t know what to think. His mind was as scrambled as these messages from Tony. Why now? Did Tony even mean to send these? Oh god, was he drunk? Did he even know what he’d done?

Peter shook his head in an attempt to clear it as he made his way up from the Subway toward the office. It was barely 7:00 AM; Peter made a silent wish that he’d be able to talk to Tony. Forgoing his own floor, Peter went straight to the executive floor, shocked that his badge was cleared when he pressed the highest button in the elevator.

The executive floor was nearly silent and most of the lights were out. Peter could see a soft glow coming from underneath the door to Tony’s office and he steeled himself as he took long steps down the corridor. Upon reaching the door, Peter took a deep breath and knocked softly.

“It’s open!” Tony called, clearly expecting anyone besides Peter.

Peter hesitantly pushed the door open, but didn’t move an inch. Tony looked up from his desk and froze. Peter could hear the breath catch in his throat and didn’t miss the slight flinch throughout his entire body.

“Um, what?” Tony blurted.

“I-”

“No. No, you don’t get to just show up here like this. After what, a month? No, Peter this isn’t fair-”

“Not fair?” Peter exclaimed. “You know what’s not fair Tony? Nothing from you this whole time and then you just spam my phone in the middle of the night? What the hell is that about!”

Tony just blinked at Peter. Peter huffed, hurt and frustrated by Tony’s lack of acknowledgement for what he’d done. Peter just shook his head.

“I don’t know what I thought I was doing coming up here. Never mind. See you, Tony.”

He moved to pull the door shut and retreat from the doorway.

“Wait! Peter, wait!” Tony jumped up from his chair, nearly knocking everything off his desk with the force of his hip knocking into the corner.

Peter stood, waiting.

“Will you just… will you come in here so we can talk? I literally have no idea what you’re talking about, Peter.”

Peter let out another frustrated sigh, but acquiesced. He stepped through the doorway and gently pulled the door shut behind him. When he turned to face Tony, he was surprised by how close they were standing.

“Tony,” Peter started softly. “What’s going on? I don’t understand.”

“That makes two of us Pete.” Tony shook his head, unable to bring himself to look at Peter.

“Well,” Peter pulled his phone out of his back pocket, “how about we start with these.”

As Peter turned his phone so Tony could see the screen, Tony could feel the color drain from his face. There, he saw a thread of messages that were never sent from him to Peter. Tony shook his head and pulled out his own phone, pulling up his unsent message drafts to confirm that they had been cleared out when he switched phones. When he pulled up his messages, he suddenly wished the floor would open up and swallow him. All his drafts had been sent; every single one now had a little check mark next to them, indicating that they’d been delivered rather than deleted as he assumed.

“Peter, I’m so sorry,” Tony rushed out. “You were never supposed to get those messages, I never meant to bother you like this, oh my god. Oh god, I’m a disaster, how could-”

“Whoa, Tony! It’s okay!” Peter reassured him. Peter wanted to move just a bit closer, enough to reach out and soothe Tony himself. But he stopped himself short, his hand twitching at his side.

“I was happy to hear from you, Tony,” Peter said softly, careful not to spook Tony where he still refused to make eye contact. “I just don’t understand why you never sent any of these to me.”

At that, Tony’s head whipped up and he fixed Peter with a cold stare. “I texted you before I even left Springdale. Don’t act like this is on me. The ball has been in your court, Peter. That’s why I didn’t send any of these to you. It was pretty damn clear you didn’t want to hear from me!”

Peter just gaped at Tony. “Tony, I never got any messages from you. See!” Peter scrolled to the top of the thread, where the earliest message was dated as that morning. “These all came in this morning. They’re all out of order, but I didn’t get anything from you before now. I thought you didn’t want to talk to me!”

“What?!” Tony snatched Peter’s phone without thinking and scrolled through the messages that his phone had betrayed him with. As he scrolled through the mixed up messages, he came upon the one that Peter was meant to have received. Instead of receiving it six weeks prior, it was delivered in the flurry of drafts this morning.

“I don’t… how did this happen?” Tony muttered to himself.

He thought back to the day he left Springdale. He remembered being in a rush to get some work messages sent as he was taking off, going back and forth between emails and texts. Nat was insistent on getting some documents from Tony, and he had been late, as usual. He distinctly remembered finishing his message to Peter after responding to Nat right as his plane was taking off.

“Stupid old fucking phone,” Tony whispered.

“What?” Peter finally asked.

Finally, Tony made eye contact with Peter that didn’t make Peter feel like he was being hit with ice. In fact, Tony looked a bit sheepish.

“For a self-proclaimed tech genius, I’m really very stupid.”

Peter let himself smile ever so slightly.

“Turns out if I’d just checked my phone like a normal person, I would’ve noticed that I never actually hit send on that first message to you. And since I’m anything but normal, I’ve spent the last six weeks convincing myself that you didn’t want anything to do with me. Hence the message drafts that were never supposed to be sent to you. Again, I’m a stupid genius and my phone went ahead and sent out all my drafts when I updated to a new prototype.”

Peter took a deep breath as Tony handed his phone back to him. “You mean to tell me,” Peter grinned carefully, “that you, Tony Stark, forgot to hit send ?” He took a hesitant step toward Tony. “And then,” he continued, and took another step, “you wrote 20 texts that you never sent , all of which were sent to me when you got a new phone?”

“Um, yes,” Tony admitted as he looked up at Peter who had now entered his personal space.

In an instant, Peter threw back his head and let out an incredulous laugh. Before he could think about it, he wrapped an arm around Tony’s waist and hauled him across the last few inches between them. Tony stumbled into him and gripped Peter’s shoulders to stabilize himself. Peter quickly slid his phone into his pocket and brought his hand up to cradle the back of Tony’s head.

The touch was gentle and intimate, but neither man seemed to think anything of it. Peter leaned his forehead against Tony’s and the older man loosened his grip on Peter to loop his arms around his neck.

“Tony,” Peter murmured softly.

Tony couldn’t hide the way his body quivered at the feeling of Peter’s breath on his face, their proximity, and the tone of Peter’s voice in that moment. Peter only gripped him tighter to his body as Tony buried his face in Peter’s neck. Forget moving too fast or being dignified, Tony missed him.

Tony stiffened, realizing he must’ve said that out loud when Peter whispered, “I missed you too, Tony.”

Peter craned his head back just enough to nose his way along Tony’s temple as his lips lightly brushed Tony’s cheek. Tony got the hint and angled his face up just slightly, inviting Peter in. Peter didn’t hesitate for a second, immediately feeling his way to Tony’s lips and slotting his against Tony’s. It was firm and soft, comforting and intense, brand new and like coming home. Peter let out a soft moan as Tony’s lips parted and his tongue darted out to run along the seam of Peter’s lips. Peter parted his lips in response and pulled Tony impossibly closer. Peter’s hand at the back of Tony’s head tangled in his hair, pulling just enough to make Tony gasp and part his lips even more. Peter took the opportunity to slip his tongue into Tony’s hot mouth, and they both moaned at the contact.

Peter pulled away with a wet smack, catching Tony’s weight as he leaned in for more. “Tony,” Peter breathed as he leaned his forehead against Tony’s again. Tony looked up at him through long eyelashes, and Peter could’ve melted right there. Peter just sighed and pressed a soft kiss to the top of Tony’s head before taking a small step back.

“Just to be clear,” Peter says softly. “I want you, I want us, Tony.”

Tony let out one final sigh of relief, not realizing how much he’d needed to hear that. “Oh thank god, Pete,” Tony grinned.

“But I swear to god Tony, if you ever wake me up with 25 unsent text messages, ever again, I swear-”

“Hey! It’s not my fault that I’m bad with technology.”

“Says the CEO and founder of Stark Industries. I’m sure your customers will be thrilled to hear that,” Peter teased.

“Be nice,” Tony pouted. “I missed you and I’m fragile.”

Peter just smiled. “Yeah, I missed you too, Tony. But you’re stuck with me now, I promise”.

Before Tony could reply, Natasha stormed into the office, mid-rant. “Tony Stark! What are all these damn emails you spammed me with this morning?!”

Tony just smiled sheepishly and hid his face in Peter’s neck. He had some learning to do.

[pocketsizedquasar]

So.... I followed you in the wee beginnings of my giant moby dick obsession and I've been avidly consuming your comic. But TODAY I found your writings on the musical and... oh my gosh that part with Fedallah . just. you make all the good points there! And its like... I saw it at ART before my giant obsession took root, but so much of it confuses me! and moby dick is a book with some pretty explicit sections about race (if not a big coherent Take) 1/?

so to take it and then make it all about how some white man is ruining the voyage (ahem, the US) is so strange to me!? Like there ARE sections about whiteness, and there are parts where Ishmael totally turns protestant evangelizing ideas on their heads (queequeg as being tainted by christianity, also the part where queequeg says something along the lines of ... poor ishmael, so confused). Idk maybe i'm just a purist. 2/?

I have to say though... the song version of the reverend's sermon at the beginning absolutely takes my breath away (and i'm sad that I don't have any audio version...). Do you have a take on all the prophet imagery/stuff going on in the book? (elijah, ahab, jonah &c).ANyways, I've been rambling. tl;dr: your comic is So Good and I have opinions about the 2019 musical. 3/3

--

hhhh first off thank u for following & for ur kind words!! i’m so glad to be a part of Whale Obsessions & i’m glad you like my comic!!

& ohhh boy. the musical. the musical the musical. i actually have a more distilled, shorter post in my drafts about my problems w the musical bc my existing review is kind of long and unwieldy but YEAH, tl;dr a white man trying to take a story already very intrinsically about race and modify the racial aspects to make it “more relevant” to “modern america” is. dumb and shitty and not his place as a white man to do and i’m Not a Fan. you don’t need to try to make md relevant to modern day america! by virtue of the fact that it’s already about race and racialized dynamics in the 19th century US -- dynamics which still exist -- it’s already relevant to today! especially when he takes away a lot of the existing racial commentary in favor of adding his own lukewarm white takes on racism! like what abt the time ishmael learns he fucked up wrt queequeg on his own, without queequeg having to pull some bs “i’m just like you!!” moment like so many characters of color in white narratives are forced to? what about ishmael drawing comparisons between the pequod and colonialism/imperialism, and talking abt how the act of whaling at sea mirrors US colonialism on land? what abt the fact that all of the officers on the pequod are white and most of the sailors are poc (which is mentioned in a brief throwaway line in the musical but otherwise not meaningfully discussed bc the officers are played by WOC)? there’s like. so much to work with already that you can build off instead of just... eschewing that to insert your own opinions lmao. and it’s less work!! to just work with what already exists and build on it!! 

and !! yeah the sermon song is absolutely fantastic. there are several really really good musical moments in the show (which makes the problems w it all the more frustrating imo). it’s a lovely lovely song sung beautifully and a really wonderful opener. psst if you want an audio boot of the show dm me i can link u to one that my friend took the night we went together

but yeah re: prophet stuff in the book-- i live for that shit. the sermon chapter is probably one of my favorites in the story, both for its beautiful language and for how much it foreshadows everything! something i think a lot of adaptations (not just the musical) get wrong about Moby Dick is the exclusion of the on land chapters. and, like, I understand why people do it -- they want to get to sea and the adventure as soon as possible -- but the problem is those first 20 or so chapters exist to frame the story in a way that we can’t really when we get to sea. there’s so much foreshadowing and tone-setting and groundwork that’s done in those early chapters that we miss out on if we just skip them (not to mention the adorable character interactions btwn Ish & Queequeg, Ish & Peter Coffin, & really just the only time we actually get to see Ishmael be a character).

putting the rest under a cut cause this is getting long lol

but yeah so much of what shows up in the latter half of the book is explicitly referenced in those opening chapters. aside from the obvious biblical connotations of the names (ishmael, elijah, ahab), connotations that the narrative itself is well aware of and comments on, there’s so many little things that just... really nicely hint at what comes in the end.

like, okay. ishmael getting saved by queequeg’s coffin at the very end? in what can easily be interpreted as ~divine~ or ~angelic~ intervention (esp if we consider the biblical origins of his name)? okay, cool, look at this line that ishmael yells when he first sees queequeg in peter coffin’s inn:

(ID: “Landlord, for God’s sake, Peter Coffin!” shouted I. “Landlord! Watch! Coffin! Angels! save me!”)

or how about the swinging lantern in Jonah’s cabin that shows up in the sermon? 

(ID:  “Screwed at its axis against the side, a swinging lamp slightly oscillates in Jonah’s room; and the ship, heeling over towards the wharf with the weight of the last bales received, the lamp, flame and all, though in slight motion, still maintains a permanent obliquity with reference to the room; though, in truth, infallibly straight itself, it but made obvious the false, lying levels among which it hung. The lamp alarms and frightens Jonah; as lying in his berth his tormented eyes roll round the place, and this thus far successful fugitive finds no refuge for his restless glance. But that contradiction in the lamp more and more appals him. The floor, the ceiling, and the side, are all awry. ‘Oh! so my conscience hangs in me!’ he groans, ‘straight upwards, so it burns; but the chambers of my soul are all in crookedness!’”)

that image, the rocking, swinging lantern, reappears again and again in Ahab’s cabin throughout the book! it’s there in the beginning when we see Ahab charting their course for the first time, it’s there when the ship sees the mysterious spooky Spirit Spout TM and Starbuck finds Ahab sleeping in the cabin, clinging to a rocking lantern, it’s there when Starbuck has his existential crisis over whether or not he’s going to kill Ahab (another Jonah parallel -- killing the captain would save everyone else).

or how about when queequeg saves that racist dumbass on the schooner to nantucket, and ishmael literally tells us queequeg’s going to die?

(ID: All hands voted Queequeg a noble trump; the captain begged his pardon. From that hour I clove to Queequeg like a barnacle; yea, till poor Queequeg took his last long dive.)

there’s just a ton of really lovely little nods and details and symbols in the early chapters that lay down the foundations for what comes later. those chapters, and elijah and ahab and jonah and the sermon and peter coffin, have a job to do: they’re there so we know how this ends before we’ve even started. before ishmael ever sets foot on the claw-footed pequod, we know, at least on some level, she’s destined to sink.

remember, ishmael is telling us this story in hindsight. he knows how it ends. he doesn’t deceive us, doesn’t try to hide or avoid it. he makes it very clear from the beginning that this is a story where everyone dies.

sorry that got so long! thank you for the asks i always love an excuse to ramble about Dick

[join-the-joywrite]

Hamish & Vera soulmate au headcannons

Look at me, back on the vermish train

Okay so, you and your soulmate can communicate with each other telepathically. Most often, it's a conscious thing, you have to intend to do it. However (who doesn't love angst skjsjw) it can happen that during moments of intense fear or rage or even unfiltered joy -- so basically, overwhelmed, I guess -- you can project without even knowing.

Remember how I said I loved the idea that Vera's name isn't Vera? Yeah, we're going with that one here too. For the sake of making sure all of these in the same collection have similar facts to them, we're gonna say her name is Sophia.

Since she was like 4 or 5, Vera's been trying to talk to her soulmate. She's sure at this point that her soulmate is either deaf or dead. When Hamish is eventually capable of coherent thought, Vera tells him this. He thinks it's funny. She thinks it's rude that she had to wait so long to get some responses.

"The kids at kindergarten are being mean to me." "Tell them Sophia Stone can and will fuck them up." "You said a bad word! You thought a bad word!"

I like my childhood best friends turned lovers trope okay, so Vera and Hamish grow up "together" telling each other nearly everything.

When he's 12, Hamish realises that at this point, the age gap between them is pretty huge considering Hamish hasn't hit puberty yet while Vera's somewhere having a baby.

"Tell her I said hi." "She kicked me. I don't think she likes you." "She will."

When the little baby dies, Hamish hears nothing but Vera's choked sobs for days on end. He doesn't know what to do. He's just a kid himself -- so is she, to be honest -- but he does his best.

"I saw a shooting star. I'm sure that was her. Did you see it?" "The curtains are closed. Give her a wave from me?" "Of course, Soph."

When Vera packs up and leaves everything behind her, she leaves behind Sophia. She tells Hamish that she's changing her name but given that he refuses to stop calling her Sophia over every single name she suggests, she never actually remembers to give him her new one. Besides, Hamish knows every goddamn thing about her. As far as she cares, he can call her whatever the hell he wants.

Many many many years later, by the time Jack Morton has come to town, Vera still hasn't given Hamish her new name and Hamish has actually forgotten that she said she'd changed her name.

Chancellor Vera Stone knows that Hamish Duke is a TA at Belgrave. She wonders if that's her Hamish. Sometimes she wants to go up to him and strike a conversation. She's not sure what she's afraid of more: that he is or that he isn't.

If he isn't, then she's gone and shown affection. Besides that, she would have expectations and hopes and they'd all come crashing down.

If he is, then he's in a shitload of danger, given her position in the Order. Better to keep him unaware and safe. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.

Hamish thinks about telling his Sophia about the Knights. He never does. He'd already lost Cassie. He remembered all the times he lay awake at night, thinking about Cassie and then he would get so overwhelmed with how amazing she was, he'd eventually hear a voice in his head "SHUT THE FUCK UP SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO SLEEP"

After Cassie's death, if he thought to much about Cassie, the little voice in his head would be much more consoling and softer.

"I saw a shooting star. Do you think that was her?" "I saw two." And she would quieten, probably lost in her own thoughts about her daughter.

It was then, around the same time someone had murdered one of Vera's close friends in the Order, that they both mastered the art of keeping their thoughts to themselves. They could never let each other into the dangers and the death in their lives. They were both safer off never knowing the Knights or thr Order existed.

"Vera," Jack says several months after arriving and bringing the catalyst for a shitstorm, "this is Randall, Hamish, and Lilith. They'll try not to kill you."

Vera glares at them. The Knights of St Christopher, enemies to the Blue Rose. "I suppose I can try too."

"Well, that would be highly appreciated."

Vera wouldn't say she was an expert, but being part of a secret society that requires masks to be worn in certain circumstances, one has to have at least some level of skill in identifying voices. As the Temple Magus, it's no surprise that Vera is very good at identifying voices. And the voice that came out of that werewolf's mouth was the same one she'd been hearing in her head all her life.

Unfortunately, she didn't have the luxury of time to sit and talk about it.

Hamish doesn't notice. In his minimal defence, he's still convinced the voice in his head belongs to a Sophia.

Vera considered being the one to powder Hamish. Leader to leader. Soulmates. She won't admit it, but she chickened out. She didn't think she'd be able to do it if she looked him in the eyes without the threat of death around the corner.

Werewolf or not, Hamish was still the person she trusted most in the whole world. She was afraid that if she looked him in the eye, she'd break.

"When you hit Mr Duke with the pulveris memoriae, make sure you tell him [important stuff] and that his soulmate's name is Sophia." "Why is that important--" "are you questioning me, Medicum?" 0.0 "no, Grand Magus"

Selena wants to know why Vera knows the name of a werewolf's soulmate, but she really doesn't want to cross paths with Vera again.

"I feel like I'm missing something. I don't know what it is." "... are you wearing pants?" "You know that's not what I mean, Soph."

Guilt eats Vera up nearly every single day. He's safer this way, she tells herself. Away from the Order and all the dangers it brings.

When Lilith brews the potion to restore and protect their memories, Hamish is swarmed by every single conversation he ever had with Sophia and like a semi-trailer truck, realization strikes him.

"That bitch!" "Who?" "Uh . . . The Order." "Same"

Hamish doesn't say anything to Vera that he wouldn't normally, and he doesn't say anything to "Sophia" either.

"Bring me something in a tall glass." Hamish: oh you already fuckin know about this don't you, you little witch, I'll show you a tall glass akxnsnsb

Shenanigans ensue as Hamish tries to keep Vera and Sophia separate so that Vera doesn't figure that the Knights have their memories back.

"Hamish, who are you talking to?" "....Myself."

"Hamish, who's Sophia?" "..............no one." "Sure..."

"Mr Duke, are you talking to my floor?" Vera asks to break Hamish's concentration because she's trying very hard to reprimand Randall for something and it's not helping that Hamish's voice is in her head. "Not at all, Magus." Tight smiles as they refrain from attempting to maim each other while having a "normal" conversation in their heads.

Randall: what the fuck is all this eye sex about

OKAY BUT VERA WITH THE PROMETHEANS????

Hamish is on Foley's tail but he has to stop for a minute to catch his breath because every single moment of pain in Vera's life is screaming into the mind of every Promethean, but also his.

"Miss Dupres told me you let Foley get away earlier." "I did." "You didn't. What happened?"

Hamish wants to tell her what happened but he also doesn't want to shatter the fragile barrier between Sophia and Vera. Between the light-hearted joyous woman in his head and the broken and hardened leader in front of him.

"Nothing happened, Vera. He got away earlier. That's all."

All he wants is to hold her. For so many years, on the anniversary of the baby girl's death, he'd wished he could be there to give her a hug and hold her while she cries. Every year. And now, now she's standing right in front of him but he can't let her know. He can't let her know he knows.

Hamish watches her turn to leave. She shudders once before composing herself and starting to walk.

Fuck it.

Vera is startled when she finds herself trapped. Her first instinct is panic. Pure fear and terror. Then anger settles in because to her, as far as Hamish knows, he is a disciple of the Order. The anger barely lasts a second, though.

I saw a shooting star before I came down here. I gave her a hello from you

Vera just knows the voice was in her head and not out loud. She stands still as Hamish buries his face in her shoulder. "I miss her. Every single day. Today was . . ."

"I know."

"You know, I think she would have liked you, eventually," Vera whispers honestly. Hamish laughs. "Are you agreeing that I'm likeable? Werewolf hide and all?"

"Don't get greedy, Acolyte."

"What defines greedy, Magus? Stealing a kiss or two?"

"I'm warning you--"

No one believes the Acolyte that says she saw the Grand Magus furiously making out with one of the disciples. Well, not no one.

Randall waltzes into the den. "Guess what, Lame-ish? I heard that the teacher you've been thirsting over was seen with one of the disciples in the temple. According to the Acolyte, she--"

"Yes, I know, I was there."

"You saw them?!"

Raised eyebrow

"YOU WERE THEM????"

Mr Duke, if you say one more word to Mr Carpio, I will revoke your access to the reliquary and spread word that you got called out for being a nerd in fourth grade and your response was to recite positive synonyms for nerd to defend yourself.

Hamish snorts and won't tell Randall what was so funny.

and we have to stop here because if I go on, we'll head into angst territory and I've got too many happy vibes going on here to make it angsty without feeling sad myself.

Me: has 4 other drafts in here waiting to he completed and posted.

Also me: I'm gonna do another soulmate au set

See the other headcannons I've screamed about lately

[mithranqueersmusings]

The Night Before XII

Chapter: 12/15

Rating: U

Summary: Ringo hangs around after the club closes and meets a stranger.

Tags: Smut, Slow Burn

Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr (Background McLennon)

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

The following day was spent rather unproductively, Ringo hardly moved from his bed and refused to get dressed into anything decent. Paul and John had left early, they could easily tell when Ringo wanted to left alone, but they ensured that at least one of them would be available should Ringo need anything at all. Last night hardly felt tangible, but the grogginess of Ringo's mind and the overhanging sadness made it difficult to forget. He wasn't entirely sure what he felt so bummed out about: was it merely the pain he felt to see George with another man? Or was it the sheer humiliation Ringo had experienced, having to expose his feelings to George in such an unappealing way? Perhaps it was a mixture of both, but he was determined to only let it sully this single day for tomorrow held endless possibilities and he truly believed that the date with George would still go fairly well, even with all this tension now risen to the surface.

Sometimes it was nice to have days like this, comfortably lounging around in pyjamas with no real objectives in mind. Ringo channelled out any lasting aggression he was harbouring by blasting music on his speakers, just about loud enough to stop himself from thinking. He had more than several comfort films to watch, many of which starred his favourite actor Peter Sellers, to make the time fly by without much thought. Throughout the day he conversed sparsely with John and Paul, neither of them addressing the actual events of last night but their concerned tones were enough of an allusion.

He treated himself to some pizza for dinner, settling down in front of his television and letting the hours pass. These days of nothingness were necessary, especially with the amount of excitement he'd been unwillingly plagued with this past week. Part of him debated not even bothering to get into bed, just to gradually pass into unconsciousness on his sofa, but the mature section of his mind - one which was often ignored - convinced him to tuck himself into the covers and let sleep wash over him.

Ringo gladly slept well into the afternoon, the only thing getting him out of bed was his growling stomach. Reaching for his phone he swiped away a variety of meaningless notifications then paused when he noticed a text from George. His mixed feelings were considerably less tangled than they had been previously, but there was still a hint of dread in his stomach when he thought about him.

Look outside your door.

It was sent a couple of hours ago, Ringo worried he'd missed whatever surprise had been waiting for him. He didn't appreciate the cryptic tone, nonetheless he padded over to the front of his flat and cautiously opened the door. Sitting before him was a vase sporting a diverse bouquet of flowers, Ringo wasn't even sure he could name half of them. He looked at it for a while, registering how to fit this in with his torn attitude towards George, and noticed a small card perked upon one of the leaves; he picked it up and inspected it closely.

First of many treats I have planned for tonight. I hope your hangover isn't too bad and you aren't regretting giving me another chance.

Ringo found himself smiling, he must have looked rather odd standing in nothing but his boxers and socks clutching onto this card for longer than he needed to. The thought of one of his neighbours seeing him in this precarious situation spurred him to take the vase inside and shut the door behind him, he inhaled the fresh smell deeply as he brought them into the kitchen to find an adequate placement. He couldn't deny how beautiful they looked, as much as his pessimism wanted to convince him that this was merely a disingenuous ploy. It was difficult to hold onto the resentment, Ringo found himself leaning more towards the attitude that it was merely an extremely unfortunate situation and that George had never intended on hurting him. What use was there in holding onto the past?

Drinking his morning cup of tea, Ringo stared at the flowers before he realised he should probably respond to George's text.

sorry i only just woke up the flowers are gorgeous thank you so much

You're welcome It's the least I can do really There's plenty more where that came from

flowers or surprises??

Both Just you wait

havent got much a choice have i?

I can pick up you around 7 Does that work for you?

it sure does

Ringo debated whether to send another text, he really wanted to clear the air completely but wondered whether it would be better to do it in person. The last thing he wanted was for the whole night to feel like George was having to make it up to him, rather than it being an enjoyable night for the both of them. He understood George's guilt completely, but it would no doubt make him feel rather ridiculous with the forced nature of it all. If only things could just go back to normal, was that too much to ask? He let out a sigh, drafting out a message and staring at it for a while.

i dont want this to come across as harsh or ungrateful or anything but could we leave out any conversation about last night?? i just want to have a good time and not think about that stupid stuff

Impulsively, Ringo sent it without much further thought. He knew it wasn't the most coherent or effective way of getting across his jumbled thought process but the last thing he needed was even more stress seeping into today.

Last night? What happened last night? I was at home didn't step outside for a second

you're right how silly of me must have you confused for someone else

Ringo felt relief washing over him, a grin spreading across his face as he continued to stare at the message from George. Perhaps tonight wouldn't be as stressful as he'd originally anticipated, he'd almost forgotten how at ease George was able to make him feel.

Now arrived the age old dilemma: what on Earth was he meant to wear? He probably should've asked how upscale the place was that George had picked out for them, he didn't want to risk dressing up too much and looking like a fool. Not that Ringo had a great array of formal clothes to choose from, he wasn't one to frequent snobbish establishments if he could help it. He emptied out almost his entire wardrobe, tossing clothes behind him into barely distinguishable piles like he was starring in a teen movie. It took far longer than necessary to narrow down his choices, eventually settling on a navy jumper and some dark trousers. Looking at himself in the mirror he realised there was no way this outfit reflected the amount of time he'd spent choosing it, but the last thing Ringo was about to do was spend more time agonising over something that no doubt didn't matter much at all.

His stomach started rumbling while he waited for George to arrive, he only hoped the food would be appealing. Ringo had a reputation for being a picky eater, not that he could necessarily help it with his endless list of allergies. He found himself worrying that wherever they went Ringo wouldn't be able to eat anything and it would spiral the entire date into disaster. Exactly where this paranoia came from he didn't know, he only hoped it would disappear as soon as he laid eyes on George.

When the long-awaited text finally arrived, Ringo grabbed his jacket and hurried down the stairs. If he didn't eat soon he felt like he was going to pass out, he knew that wasn't truly the case but he couldn't deny that it felt that way. George beamed at him through the glass window, Ringo reciprocated the grin without it feeling even the slightest bit forced. Everything felt normal, thank goodness.

"Don't you look dashing?" George spoke first, a playful tone in his voice.

"Why thank you." Ringo stepped out of the building "I wasn't quite sure what to wear, if I'm being honest."

George was sporting a dark green turtleneck, on top of which he wore a black chequered blazer with trousers to match. It was the most dressed up Ringo had ever seen him, and it was a pleasant sight to say the least.

"Well you look great." George reassured him "Now, I'm absolutely starving so let's get a move on."

They slid into George's car, Ringo felt a little strange to not be the one doing the driving. As they began pulling out onto the main road, Ringo felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Trying to be polite, he decided to ignore it, it was likely only Paul or John wishing him good luck on his date. Neither of them spoke much as they drove, they'd have plenty of time to talk once they got to the restaurant. George hummed to himself rather quietly, Ringo wasn't sure he was even aware he was doing it. After several minutes, George's hand gradually moved away from the steering wheel and onto Ringo's thigh; he never turned to look at him, his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. Experimentally he began rubbing his thumb on the fabric of Ringo's trousers, it was a sweet gesture that Ringo appreciated. Ringo gathered the courage to press it one step further, sliding his own hand underneath and interlocking their fingers together. Once again George didn't turn, but a small smile spread on his face. Ringo wasn't sure this was exactly the safest way to drive, but it helped relax his nerves a little.

Not too much time had passed before they'd arrived at their destination, a rather small building with a cosy looking interior. George turned the ignition off but neither of them made any further movements, sat firmly in their seats with their hands still clasped together. The muffled sound of the bustling city outside the car overpowered any potential awkward silence, Ringo was afraid to move lest he ruined the moment.

"You ready to go inside?" George asked, his voice far quieter than necessary, finally turning to face Ringo.

Ringo nodded, hopefully managing to hide his disappointment as George's hand slipped away. They both stepped outside of the car and made their way towards the restaurant, it was pretty packed but fortunately George had booked a table for the both of them. Anxiety began to creep into Ringo's mind as they were guided to their seats, he hadn't been on a proper date like this for so long, he felt like he'd forgotten how to make regular conversation. Yet sitting down across from George made all those worries disappear, all he needed was the smallest amount of eye contact and he felt safe once again.

"You like wine?" George asked, perusing the drinks menu.

"I can't lie, I'm not a fan." Ringo didn't want to risk sounding rude.

"How about a cocktail or something? Just don't look at the prices." George chuckled "Whatever you want, my treat."

"I'd love a Sex on the Beach, if you're offering." Ringo said rather sheepishly.

"Last time I checked Liverpool didn't have any beaches." George feigned a quizzical expression "I think I'll have one too."

The drinks didn't take too long to arrive, Ringo felt relieved to get some alcohol in his body to help him relax. Although he was determined to not get too drunk tonight, it was about time he experienced George's company sober. The atmosphere of the restaurant was nice, rather homely, far less intimidating than the grand vision Ringo had conjured during one of his bouts of paranoia.

Everything just felt right, there was nowhere else he'd rather be or anyone else he'd rather be with. The gleam in George's eyes and the faint smile always barely hidden on his lips let Ringo know that he was feeling the exact same way.

[nikkoliferous]

Confirmation of Joe Biden’s election victory and his looming inauguration as the next President of the United States has elicited a joyful response from large swathes of the press and across social media. Yet for those people who are aware of Biden’s politics and record, beyond the spurious ‘nice guy’ image projected by the media, and therefore understand what the implications of his victory are likely to be, witnessing the mainstream reaction to it has been a profoundly alienating experience. This feeling of isolation has been exacerbated by the fact that legitimate criticism of Biden and his running mate, Kamala Harris, has frequently been met with personal invective, as though it is an attack on the very being of those who are currently celebrating their win.

As Devyn Springer has explained, ‘the gutting of political education and virality of capitalist miseducation means that people offering valid criticism, analysis, and reproval are likened to “hating” and “not letting people enjoy things” in the stunted Amerikan [sic] political imaginary.’ Lamentably, the absence of critical thinking and political imagination in the US is also a feature of political discourse in the UK. Contrary to the idea that feeling no joy regarding the prospect of a Biden-Harris administration is driven by a mean-spirited desire to spoil the happiness of others, it is in fact a sentiment that springs ultimately from love and solidarity – a crucial distinction that Steven Salaita recently expressed with characteristic eloquence. The inability to feel any joy at Biden winning, even if simultaneously relieved to see Trump lose, is borne out of compassion for all the past (and future) victims of both Biden’s personal actions, and of the neo-liberal and imperialist politics that he so perfectly embodies.

It should be plainly stated that by any meaningful and honest measure, Biden is a monster who has caused an incalculable amount of suffering over his many decades as a senior official of the US empire. Given the length of Biden’s career, a comprehensive rap sheet requires a book-length study, but his ‘highlights’ include his central role in drafting a number of deeply racist pieces of legislation (including the infamous 1994 Crime Bill) that both exacerbated and consolidated the mass incarceration of Black Americans, and legislation that went on to be passed largely unchanged as the Patriot Act of 2001 that gutted civil liberties in the US; his prominent role in lobbying the Senate and the American public for the war on Iraq as Chairman of the Senate’s Foreign Relations Committee; and his ‘unconditional, career-long commitment to Israel’ that has seen him develop close friendships with a number of fellow war criminals including Benjamin Netanyahu and the late Ariel Sharon, at whose funeral he delivered a eulogy. In short, Biden is a racist authoritarian at home and an enthusiastic and unapologetic imperialist abroad. On environmental issues, in spite of the hopes that liberals are already investing in him, Biden is little better. During the campaign he repeatedly announced that he will not ban fracking and his adviser on energy issues, who served as Energy Secretary under Obama, is a notorious lobbyist for the fossil fuel industry. It is alarming to note too that Ezekiel Emanuel, a member of Biden’s recently announced Coronavirus taskforce, has argued that life is not worth living beyond the age of 75.

In addition to the long list of sexual assault allegations he has faced,  something that is rarely publicised or discussed outside of pro-Trump media, is the deeply disturbing fact that even when the cameras are rolling, Biden appears to be incapable of not smelling, kissing, groping and otherwise acting wildly inappropriately with women and girls with whom he comes into contact. Such is the incredible power of the media to continually re-invent and sanitise public reputations, that virtually all of this lamentable record is simply cast aside and intentionally obscured. Instead, Biden is regularly portrayed in a highly favourable light as a ‘decent, empathic man’ who supposedly stands in stark contrast to Trump. The truth, as articulated plainly in a recent interview by Evo Morales – the former President of Bolivia deposed in a US coup in November 2019 – there is really little difference between the two men and the parties they represent, except for that Trump’s racism and fascism is more explicit. All this does not even address the other elephant in the room: namely that Biden is evidently undergoing some form of cognitive decline, which, on multiple occasions throughout the campaign period, has left him unable to form coherent sentences and repeatedly slurred basic words and phrases.

It is telling, if not surprising, that many of those who have thus far publicly celebrated the election results with the most glee are those liberals who in their own words, cannot wait to stop caring about politics again. It was Trump’s overt racism, crude style and unpredictable theatrics on Twitter and elsewhere – the cause of such embarrassment to them and the US liberal establishment as a whole – that they opposed, not the actual content and results of his policies, so many of which were in fact a direct continuation of policies inherited from the Obama-Biden Administration, including the caging of migrant children and the much-derided ‘Muslim ban’. In fact, Trump’s recognition of Jerusalem as the capital of Israel, one of his most criticised decisions internationally, was only legally possible as a result of earlier legislation that Biden himself voted for and was later supported by Obama. It is evident that for many of those who formed the so-called ‘resistance’ to Trump, their opposition to his presidency was not driven by the harm that it inflicted, but rather by the damage it caused to America’s reputation globally and the subsequent embarrassment and discomfort they felt.

A widespread concern among elements of the US establishment, especially early on in Trump’s Presidency, was that he would make good on some of the anti-war rhetoric he had occasionally deployed during his campaign and not be sufficiently imperialist in outlook. It is for this reason that Trump received perhaps the most unanimously positive coverage in the media on the day on which he authorised air strikes on Syria. No such fears exist with Biden, who, as though such reassurance was required, has repeatedly gone out of his way during the campaign to demonstrate his hawkish credentials on a host of foreign policy issues including his stance on China, Syria and Iran. Accordingly, The Guardian has already called on Biden to ‘reassert America’s role as the global problem-solver’ because under Trump ‘the “indispensable nation” disappeared when it was needed most.’ A sentiment that is a perfect illustration of John Pilger’s maxim that ‘the task of liberal realists is to ensure that western imperialism is interpreted as crisis management, rather than the cause of the crisis and its escalation.’

In essence, liberals are fawning over Biden solely by virtue of him not being as obscenely and openly racist as Trump. To do so in spite of his disastrous record and in the absence of him running on any meaningful policy platform or alternative vision brings to mind C. Wright Mills’ scathing assessment of liberalism from his work The Marxists (1962), which is relevant enough to quote at length:

“As a set of theories – or better, of assumptions about man, society, history – liberalism today is at a dead end. The optative mood has so thoroughly taken over that liberals often appear out of touch with the going realities. That is one reason it is so difficult to sort out distinctively liberal theories as such. Often failing to recognize facts that cry out to be recognized, liberalism is irrelevant to much that is happening in much of the world. Liberal ways of looking at these facts too often become mannerisms by which liberals avoid considering the structural conditions of social life and the need to change them. In fact, liberals have no convincing view of the structure of society as a whole – other than the now vague notion of it as some kind of a big balance. They have no firm sense of the history of our times and of their nation’s.”

Under Trump’s leadership, most notably at the height of the vicious repression of the Black Lives Matters protests in May and June of this year, the superficial mask of American liberalism dropped entirely, exposing the ugly fascism at its core. Biden’s win is undoubtedly the start of a concerted effort to lift that mask back up, restore America’s image and get back to the business of imperialism disguised as ‘global problem-solving’. Trump’s overt racism will be replaced with the more refined, tacit variety at which the Democratic Party excels, and his candid admissions regarding the true motivations behind US military action substituted with statesman-like messaging about humanitarian intervention and the international community’s ‘responsibility to protect’. That Biden’s Vice-President will be Kamala Harris, a half Black, half South Asian-origin woman – regardless of the fact her politics are as reactionary as his – will also be used to project an ostensibly progressive image of the incoming administration. All those who are committed to opposing all forms of racism and imperialism, of the refined variety or otherwise, must resist these dishonest attempts to portray a Biden win as anything more than an administrative reshuffle within the bi-partisan management of a genocidal empire that, whoever is President, represents a grave danger to its own people and the future of everyone else on this planet.

[thestorytellersapprentice]

Pulled out of Orbit

Pairing: Jo Yeong/Myeong Seung-ah

Fandom: The King: Eternal Monarch

Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff

Summary: Being in a possible courtship with Jo Yeong sucked. One minute, he could be so sweet (albeit also such a grandma), but next he could act like such a prick, she wanted to throw something at his head.

Notes: Unbeta-ed. Post drama. A direct continuation to "Over Booze and Buzz", and references "Duality of a Man", but the two fics are not absolutely required to read and enjoy this. This can also work as a stand-alone, though their relationship in this fic will feel more natural if you’ve read the mentioned fics as companions :)

Link: ArchiveofOurOwn / Fic Master list on Tumblr

~ How would you feel, if you had this crush on someone who you thought was really, really cool, the best on his field, the shield of the nation, the personification of an action hero, just, like, insanely cool and all, okay, and said crush had just swooped in and whisked you away from - well, at the expense of sounding a little bit dramatic - death? Would you even have any brain capacity to put together even a coherent thought?

No?

Yeah, same here, Myeong Seung-ah concluded.

“It's just a graze,” the doctor, a kind-looking man in his early seventies who had tended to her, had said after inspecting her wound.

Seung-ah blinked several times, trying to scare the blurriness away. 

She was vaguely aware that she was still vertical, sitting somewhere inside the medical van. Her entire body was still kind of sore from the impact, and some part of the back of her head still throbbed, ever slightly. She tried to hold up the ice pack against her head properly, but her arm felt like jelly, nearly with no energy left.

“You might have a mild concussion," the doctor continued as he finished up bandaging her upper arm. "Make sure you have someone staying with you tonight."

Seung-ah nodded at that, but her mind was not really there. Instead, she flashed back to the series of events which just happened.

One minute she was standing to the side, busy composing and drafting posts of the King’s opening speech for the official Royal SNS account, and the next thing she knew, gunshots rang out loud inside the stadium and chaos ensued. She barely had time to register what the hell had just happened when she caught him on her line of sight: the shooter, a masked man with the black baseball cap. He was emptying his gun blindly among the fleeing crowds before turning his aim at her general direction.

If someone had asked her what thought crossed her mind at that fateful time, then Myeong Seung-ah could only answer with: nothing.

It all happened too fast.

She just knew that she was completely frozen, rooted on her spot, and then another gunshot rang out - too loud, why is it so loud - and then she just remembered the blur of a shadow came in between the bullet and her, tackling her to the ground, hard.

It took Seung-ah a while - felt too much like a lifetime - to realize that it was Jo Yeong.

The Captain had her pinned down, his body covering her view completely from the madman as he wasted no time barking orders to secure His Majesty away and take the assailant down. She remembered taking a peek over his shoulders in muted awareness, seeing his fellow royal guards swarming in on the shooter. A couple of guys from the special forces, identifiable from their all-black uniform, also joined in, all of their weapons drawn up.

So, yeah, basically, she was almost shot.

If the Captain hadn't tackled her to the ground, then she was sure that her body would be decorated by bullet holes by now. She knew how extremely lucky she was that the bullet just grazed her. If it was a couple of centimeters more to the side, then-

Seung-ah stopped that trail of thought.

Her head spun.

She could not stop herself to recall that it was not her first time being rescued by the Captain. Curiously, it just happened that both times involved a madman with a gun.

If she was a believer that there was no such thing as mere coincidences, only fate, then Seung-ah would definitely interpret it as a clear warning sign from the Universe: stay very far away from this man, he’s dangerous.

She turned in her seat, seeking him out.

Her head throbbed even more from the movement, but she was more overwhelmed by how it felt like her heart just made a weird flip inside her chest as she realized that the man in question, Captain Jo Yeong, was still there, on the exact same spot she last saw him after he had rushed her to the medic.

He was still standing on the edge of the opened van, his gaze directed slightly to the side, sporting a hard expression on his face. He looked like he could and had every intention to murder someone.

Yeah, he definitely is dangerous.

“She’s okay, Jo daejangnim,” the elderly doctor got up to approach the Captain. He ducked his head to avoid the ceiling. “Mild concussion, perhaps, but as long as she’s careful, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Thank you, Doctor Byun,“ Seung-ah heard him say quietly.

The doctor patted the younger man on the shoulder before he exited the vehicle, presumably to talk to his team.

Directly after, the Captain climbed into the van and took the seat beside her. He kept a calculated distance, but it was still close enough for their shoulders and knees to touch.

His gaze first landed on her newly bandaged arm, before moving up to her face and lingered there. Their eyes locked. “You really feel okay?”

“Guess so,” Seung-ah replied, probably a beat too soon, but what else could she respond to that? It was not as if she could tell the man beside her that it took a great deal of her self-restraint not to just lean on his shoulder right there and then.

She wondered briefly if he would let her. He did allow, and even initiate, things to happen between them already, so it was a fair assumption that she had the privilege. But she thought better of it.

She just felt extremely tired and wanted to sleep, so, so bad.

Seung-ah crossed her arms purposefully. Her hands were still shaking, slightly, but she hoped he didn’t notice.

There was no such luck, though, she could see it from the way one his eyebrows twitched slightly upon her lie. But he did not make a comment.

Instead, he just let out a long, low exhale, before continuing on, his voice soft and steady, “Come on, let’s get you home.”

~

In the car, the next thing Seung-ah did after giving him her address was to call Choi Soo-ji, her childhood friend. She did hear and remember the kind doctor's advice not to be alone, and she intended to comply.

If she was being honest with herself, of course she wanted no one but Jo Yeong himself to stay with her that night. But even at her most self-serving state, Seung-ah knew how crazy it sounded and she would not even entertain that idea any further.

She chose to focus her attention to Choi Soo-ji instead. "Soo-ji-ya, can you come over and stay with me tonight?"

"Right now? What's the occasion?" Soo-ji was a cellist and Seung-ah knew that she was currently busy preparing for her solo recital, but she just felt awkward phoning her other friends. She mostly got estranged from most of them except for Soo-ji when she was living in Canada. Choi Soo-ji was kind of her only hope.

"I-"

Seung-ah thought it over quickly, thinking of how much she should tell her. Her friend would find out the truth from the news pretty soon anyway, if she hadn’t already. Seung-ah assumed it was futile to try dodging the question, so she finally settled on the following, "I banged my head at work today. Need you to monitor me, just in case I grow two heads or something."

At the end of the line, her so-called best friend just responded with: "Don't you have those already?"

“Yah, Choi Soo-ji,” Seung-ah chided. But actually, she was glad that her friend chose to joke about it. There was a lifelong understanding between them, and she was really not in the mood to answer any more questions than what was necessary.

The cellist chuckled. “Alright then. Some heads up, though, I’m gonna raid your chocolate and ice cream stash. I’m this close to losing my mind!”

After they both said their goodbyes, Seung-ah stole a glance sideways at the Captain as she ended the call.

For some reason, she found herself at a loss for words, wondering what she should open their conversation with. It was weird, really, because she usually had no problem teasing him or anything. But at that moment, her mind just went blank.

True, they had kissed that night during the King's birthday, not just in the locker room, but also at the secluded halls of the palace. (It was one of the perks of getting it from a Royal Guard who knew precisely where all the CCTV cameras were by heart.) And Seung-ah had to stress that the kissing part was good. More than good, actually.

It was intense, and a little bit rough.

It was everything she imagined it would be and then more-

But they hadn’t even had the chance to have the talk.

Both were practically swept away with their respective responsibilities right after the party ended. Him, with the security debriefing, and her, with the event photos and publication which needed to move on tight deadlines.

After that, the following few days happened to be a busy period for the Captain, something that Seung-ah herself was also privy to as a staff of the PA Office. The King and Royal Court always had several public appearances scheduled right following his birthday, many which she also helped to organize, and she and her coworkers had been working around the clock to accommodate the sudden changes which always seemed to happen around such events.

Between the two of them, phone messages were exchanged and short calls were occasionally made, but they all happened sporadically. Often, he would reply to her messages on all sorts of odds hours. In return, she would feel bad engaging him in extended trivial conversations, so their message thread was a mess of half-baked inquiries and choppy attempts at discourse.

She was even worried that he was not getting enough sleep as he should, so Seung-ah had to practice a whole lot of self-restraints.

Being in a possible courtship with Jo Yeong sucked.

Of course, she would like to know where they stood too. Were they considered dating already? Were they still strictly coworkers, but he's still trying to court her? Was it still the other way around, her chasing him? Or all of it didn't mean anything to him?

Seung-ah was pretty sure it wouldn't come to the last option, though. She was not a genius, but the fact that the Captain of the Royal Guards chose to stay with her and take her home instead of guarding the King in the aftermath of such a huge incident felt like a declaration already, coming from him.

So, why was she being so nervous, all of the sudden?

It should be the uncomfortable silence which fell between them. He didn’t even turn on his radio, no surprise there, but even for his standards, it was a new level of quietness.

It unnerved her.

What really did not help was that his cell phone, which was connected to his car systems, kept ringing and ringing, and he kept declining the calls. He had even taken off his earpiece too, she realized belatedly when she noticed that his right ear was bare, no device in sight.

She really tried to make sense of the mood - his mood, to be more specific, but she was only able to come up with one easy assumption: he must be furious.

"Daejangnim?" she started, testing the water.

He did not even give her any indication that he heard her.

"Are you....angry?" She took a pause, unsure if she should continue. But she did. She wanted to know. "With me?"

Seung-ah watched him carefully as his furrowed brows deepened upon hearing the question.

"No,” he replied. Icy. Curt. Dismissive. What he said totally contradicted how he said it.

At times like these, she just hated his monosyllabic tendencies.

He confused her further though, by finally turning to look at her as they stopped in traffic. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?" He had said, his tone was tender this time around. "I'll wake you when we've arrived."

Seung-ah decided she would just agree to his suggestion. Her head did feel heavy, and his ever changing moods were a bit too much for her to also deal with at the moment.

Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the window, and soon drifted off.

~

"Be sure to give the hospital a call on the first sign of discomfort, okay?" He reminded her, seemed to revert back to his gentle self when he escorted her to her front door. "Watch out for any ringing in your ears, nausea, or even if you experience any sleep disruption."

"I will. Thank you for taking me home, daejangnim," she said, basking in his attention.

"Has your friend arrived already?”

“Hang on.”

Soo-ji knew her passcode, so Seung-ah just needed to key in her code and check her apartment’s entryway for her friend’s shoes to know the answer. And right on cue, Soo-ji’s bright red pumps greeted her sight. They were already lined up neatly beside her boots and heels, in exchange for one of her room slippers.

“Ah, yes, she’s here already,” Seung-ah informed him, feeling a pang of disappointment. She would not get the chance to invite the Captain inside for a quick tea after all. She was not ready for him to meet any of her friends just yet, even if said friend was Soo-ji. Especially Soo-ji, with her Spanish Inquisition.

“Okay then,” Jo Yeong had said. He nodded his goodbye greeting and then turned on his heels. She caught the sight of him instantly re-attaching his earpiece as he started to go down the stairs.

Seung-ah stayed put, leaving her door open as she watched his receding back for a while. The Captain finally took his phone out and answered his call. “Cut it out, Heok-pil. You don't have to keep calling me. I've told you, I'll deal with it after I got back-"

She could still hear his frustrated sigh from her doorway, before his voice became fainter as he expanded the distance. "Fine, might as well. Just put him on.”

Seung-ah visibly deflated.

Being in a potential courtship with Jo Yeong totally sucks, big time.

~

At first, she thought that it should be a mistake.

But then she reread and reread the latest email that the Captain of the Royal Guards had just sent to the whole PA Office regarding their latest proposal, and then she just went angrier by the minute. No, enraged.

She never thought such a day would come. Not that soon, anyway.

"Where is Jo daejangnim?" demanded Seung-ah to her Royal Guards acquaintance, Park In-young, whom she encountered just outside of the Royal Guards Headquarter which also served as the Palace’s Control Tower.

The Royal Guard in question had just closed the door to said office behind her. “He’s inside,” In-young replied.

She should have noticed the fire in her eyes, because In-young continued a beat later, her tone urgent, “Hey, you don't want to disturb him right now, Miss Myeong Seung-ah."

Why the hell not, was what she’d like to say, but it was not In-young she was furious with. So, Seung-ah settled with, "Why not?"

"He had been pulling all-nighters for several days now. Heok-pil had gotten such an earful about some minor typos in his report, Jo daejangnim looked like he’s this close to explode. He is scariest whenever he’s trying to hold it in instead, you know.”

Ah, so he still retained his murderous mood from the incident, Seung-ah thought.

“We all have been walking in eggshells,” she concluded. "Tread with caution."

“Thank you for the warning,” Seung-ah replied, even though she felt like she did not give a damn.

At that time, she would bet that she was even angrier than him, though strictly only for professional reasons. On the personal front, her relationship with the Captain was having very little progress since he had dropped her off last week, but it was indeed peak season for both and they took their respective jobs very seriously, so she had no complaints on that subject as of yet. What also helped was his last text to her, which was stamped at 5:02 a.m. that morning, consisted of a sincere morning greeting and a gentle reminder to bring her umbrella to work that day because of the weather forecast. She had been woken up to it with a smile on her face.

Jo Yeong could be sweet when he wanted to (albeit also such a grandma).

But he could also turn into such a prick at work.

“Jo daejangnim, I would like some explanation, please," she wasted no time stating her disapproval right after she entered his office. She marched up towards his desk. "You can't just-"

Seung-ah stopped herself when she finally arrived in front of him.

He looked bad. Well, that was such a quick way to describe it, actually, but it did sum up the sight before her at that moment.

When she approached, he was in the middle of pinching his temples with one hand, rubbing them with his thumb and middle finger in circular motion. The Captain stopped what he was doing, though, once he clearly registered her voice. When he lowered his hand, Yeong looked weary, the dark circles under his eyes were unmistakable, and he was slightly paler than usual.

He let out an annoyed exhale as he rose up from his seat to meet her gaze.

His voice came out scarily level then, like it took him a great deal not to chew her up right then and there. "I've sent memos to the Royal Public Affairs Office about our code of conduct, have I not? You cannot just propose a new event, on such an open space, consisting of such outrageous proposals to involve so many civilians on divided fronts, with just a week's notice to the Royal Guards. I have explained it all in the documents, which now I doubt you read."

Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see the remaining Royal Guards in the room try to shuffle quietly towards the door.

"But you cannot just make the recommendation to dismiss the whole event. We've worked hard for months on it-”

"I can, and I just did," he stood his ground. At that point, he gave her an unflinching glare.

Seung-ah felt like crying in frustrations.

The Royal Public Affairs, especially she, had been working on the event for months. They planned on revamping the Royal Court image to reflect the modern times and promote science and knowledge all at the same time by inviting carefully selected digital influencers from various backgrounds to a single conference: from biotechnology scientists, startup practitioners, financial advisors, to entrepreneurs and digital marketers. There should be a packed schedule of interactive presentations, and each of the influencers would be prompted to stream the conference’s contents to their own platforms. Offline and online spreading of knowledge and networking opportunities, all at once.

The King, being a man of science and knowledge himself, had been reviewing the initiative with enthusiasm right from the start. He had even volunteered his expanded time to collaborate on-site with a few of the influencers.

To say that the event was a big deal for Seung-ah was a bit of an understatement.

"I'm just trying to understand," her voice quivered slightly then.

Yeong closed his eyes at that, his eyebrows knitted even more than usual as he let out a long exhale. "Please, not now, Miss Myeong Seung-ah."

When he reopened his eyes, she was stunned to see the resigned plea in his eyes. "My head hurts," he said, quietly.

She softened in an instant.

"I'm sorry if I make it worse," she said, her anger evaporated. “I just-”

She did not finish her sentence. Everything she had been prepared to counterattack him with felt awfully childish then. She had never seen the Captain like that. He made her both confused and slightly terrified at the same time.

They fell into a pregnant pause.

Yeong threw his gaze away from her after a while. And then, after drawing in a breath, he finally confessed, "I- I did not even think about Pyeha when I dived in to save you."

Seung-ah froze, taking his admission in. The patterns and connections started to form in her head.

He should have felt lost, she realized. Jo Yeong, the best swordsman of the nation, whose single focus for almost the entirety of his life was to protect His Majesty and His Majesty only, suddenly had his life priorities yanked from under him.

How was she supposed to know that her initiative to have both the King and herself circling the conference independently all day long was enough to push the Captain over the edge?

He looked absolutely terrified. "Look what you've done to me, Miss Myeong Seung-ah."

Seung-ah rushed over to him then, hugging him real tight. Her heart ached seeing him that way. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry I make it harder for you. I didn't know you feel that way."

He burrowed his head on the crook of her neck, returning her embrace.

They stayed like that for a while.

"I'll follow your stupid rules, then,” Seung-ah relented, her voice half muffled by his shirt.

Yeong let out an incredulous chuckle.

Finally, Seung-ah thought, the tightness in her chest instantly dissipated. She would have to overhaul her proposal, but she supposed it’s worth it. She realized that she was way too lenient with the man.

"Thank you," he replied quietly. He broke their embrace to look at her properly. “Just this once. Next time, give me much more time to prepare, will you? We can go over the best course of action together."

“I need to make sure I can protect both you and the Majesty at all times,” was unsaid, but he didn’t need to spell it out for her. She could see it in his eyes, loud and clear.

“It’ll be my pleasure,” she replied, already pulling him into another hug.

A few minutes passed, and when it should’ve dawned on him that she probably wouldn’t budge anytime soon, Yeong finally voiced his concern, "Uh, Seung-ah?"

"Let me be," she said. "Just for five minutes more. I just had a fight with my captain, I need some time to calm myself down."

Somewhere above her, she heard Yeong made a mortified noise.

She just stood there, comforted by the sound of his beating heart. Strong. Steady. The one who's worried for her. Her protector.

Seung-ah's smiles got wider as Yeong started to caress her hair.

Being in a courtship with Jo Yeong can be so wonderful, her heart is full.