#oh also i just read this back with a fresh mind and this requires context: they are in the dark lol

[strangerthings4theories]

Billy Is Going To Find The Byers

IMPORTANT: If you haven’t read my post “The Demogorgon Is Billy’s Dark Reflection,” please check it out, as it goes hand in hand with this one. Thanks :D

A few months ago, we all got our first look at some of the new characters for S4. I checked them out with great interest. 

“Lt. Colonel Sullivan... military dude in Hawkins... cool, makes sense. Victor Creel... ooooooh, played by Robert Englund, betcha he’s gonna be one of El’s predecessors. Eddie Munson... damn, he’s super sus. Argyle... Jonathan’s new bff, who delivers pizza for--”

I stopped.

And freaked. OUT.

Argyle delivers pizza for Surfer Boy Pizza.

Surfer Boy Pizza.

SURFER BOY PIZZA.

A whole constellation of dots connected, and I knew IMMEDIATELY where this is heading. Let’s walk through it step by step... starting with the inception of Stranger Things itself.

The Duffers love the movie Jaws, to the point that they give it pride of place in their list of inspirations. Hell, Stranger Things probably wouldn’t have existed without it. Initially, as a homage to the movie, the show was set in a Long Island beach town called Montauk. The setting didn’t change until the Duffers began pre-production:

They began by scouting locations on the northern tip of Long Island, but the community - so integral to the script - didn’t look as they had imagined, and its distance from New York City made the idea of anchoring the production there unfeasible. A new approach was required. (Worlds Turned Upside Down, p 25)

After that, they rewrote the script to take place in Indiana, and “Hawkins was born.” 

Still, you can tell their love for Jaws lingered. Hopper’s truck looks like Martin Brody’s:

Meanwhile, the Demogorgon was inspired by the shark, and the show isn’t shy about that fact. In S1, when Nancy explains her theory for what the Demogorgon is, she likens its bloodlust to that of a shark:

In the final episode, when Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve are hiding from the Demogorgon in Will’s room, the Jaws poster hangs prominently in the left side of the frame:

Furthermore, the Demogorgon’s behavior emulates that of the shark. Like Nancy points out, it hunts alone, emerging from the Upside Down (*COUGHTHEOCEANCOUGH*) to pick people off one by one. And though we don’t see its full form until the end, its presence haunts us throughout, infusing the story with dread.

Okay! So the Duffers originally set Stranger Things in a beach town, and the Demogorgon was inspired by the Jaws shark. Cool. What does this mean for us?

Everything.

Think about it. The Byers have moved to a new town. We aren’t sure where they went, but in S2 Bob suggested Maine. Maine is on the East Coast, not far from Long Island.

And as you can see, it has hundreds of miles of beaches.

If the Duffers have any sense, they wouldn’t drop the Byers in another town like Hawkins. That would be redundant and hella boring. Instead, they would seize the opportunity to explore a new setting with a different feel. Not an inland town surrounded by woods and farmland, but... oh, idk... a beach town.

On top of that, the Byers’ move gives the Duffers the perfect opportunity to return to the show’s roots. Finally, they can bring Montauk to life.

If that’s what they’ve done, and the Byers have moved to a beach town, we’re headed for prime Billy territory.

Billy OWNS the beach. In the context of the show, we get our first glimpse of a beach in his mind, for God’s sake. And he’s deeply connected to water as an element. He’s a surfer, lifeguard, swim instructor... need I say more?

He’s also likened to the Demogorgon - the monster inspired by the shark in Jaws.

I’ve already discussed the similarities between Billy and the Demogorgon. Those were fresh on my mind when I read Runaway Max for the first time. So, when I read this paragraph where Max describes the Camaro, I freaked out (I do that a lot):

Once, for two weeks back in April, I thought that Camaro was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. It had a long, hungry body like a shark, all sleek painted panels and sharp angles. It was the kind of car you could rob a bank in. (pp 12-13)

It’s a motherf***ing equation, y’all. Billy (by way of his Camaro) = the Demogorgon = the shark in Jaws.

And the Byers have just moved to a town where the local pizza place is called Surfer Boy Pizza.

A name like that doesn’t make sense unless they really are in a beach town.

Hence why I completely lost my shit when I read about Argyle. When you take all the evidence together, it looks like the Duffers have set up a situation where, figuratively, our heroes will think they see a shark in the water (aka the Demogorgon). 

But they’ll find out it’s not a shark. It’s a surfer boy coming back to shore.

Hints and leaks have confirmed this idea so far. The Stranger Things social media accounts teased the following exchange last year:

“What if it’s the Demogorgon?” “It’s not the Demogorgon.”

Just a couple weeks ago, we got our first photo of the Surfer Boy Pizza delivery truck (credit: strangerinsidebr on IG). And the writing on the side is telling.

The writing in the center doesn’t say, “Surfer Boy Pizza delivered hot to your door.” It says, “Surfer Boy delivered hot to your door.” The ‘pizza’ is way off to the side.

They’re making a joke, guys. A fuckin joke.

“Surfer boy delivered HOT to your door ;)”

Jokes aside, the potential for Billy’s intro scene is so CLEAR and VIVID that I took a stab at sketching out how it could happen. Obviously I don’t think it has to happen this way; the writers have plenty of wiggle room. But it illustrates the kind of scene I have in mind:

Episode 3: “The Survivor”

All this time, hints have been building that Billy is still alive. Creepy things keep happening that remind us of Will trying to communicate from the Upside Down in S1 (flickering lights, people feeling "haunted" by his "ghost," etc). At the end of the episode, a thunderstorm rolls into the Byers' beach town. Will and El are together at home, probably alone. As it's raining and thundering, strange things begin to happen that frighten them. They get a creepy phone call; the power goes out, but only at their house; etc. Remembering that horrific night three years ago, Will races to the window to look out. El follows him. Through the rain, they see a form swaying toward the house. Terrified, Will wants to leave, but El stops him. "But El, what if it's the Demogorgon?" "It's not the Demogorgon." They back away from the door and wait. To their shock, the chain unlocks by itself. The door opens, and their visitor walks in, looking like a drowned cat with a nosebleed. Billy.

God, I’m freaking out again just writing all this out lololol. I need to go lie down. 

BILLY’S COMING BACK, BITCHES. 

Peace.  ✌️

»»————-　✼　————-««

The “Billy Is Alive” Meta Series (So Far)

Billy Is Not a ‘B’ Character In Stranger Things

The First Rule of Analyzing Stranger Things: The Upside Down Is Symbolized By Water

The Lifeguard And The Rip Current: Our First Big Hint That Billy Is Alive

Why Haven’t We Seen Dacre On Set?

The Demogorgon Is Billy’s Dark Reflection

Frequently Asked Questions

For updates, follow the hashtag #billy is alive meta

[emotionallyits2009]

deancas fic rec list!

hello everyone! happy christmas to those who celebrate it, my gift to you is my fic rec list that i said i would make like a month ago. the only thing it is organized by is canonverse vs alternate universe. tried to cover a variety of subjects but there are in particular many fics of the genre “postcanon where cas is human and he and dean live together and slowly finally get their shit together” because i know what i’m about, son. HOPE U ENJOY. and if you wanna talk about any of them or rec me other fics please do. :) 

Canonverse:

where the weeds take root by deathbanjo, 30k, explicit “Are you happy? Y’know. Just—being here,” Dean says, gesturing to the yard with his beer bottle. “Being with—I mean, you used to fight in celestial wars and—and save the world. Now you’re growing vegetables and talking about chickens.” There are many fics set in a post-canon universe where Cas is human and he and Dean live together and slowly fall into a relationship. Imo this one is the best of the best of that genre. This was one of the first fics I read back in July when I was getting Back Into Supernatural where I was like oh fuck I’m like in this. Dean builds Cas planters and bookshelves and a chicken coop and they fight and work through it.

Cuckoo And Nest by komodobits, 10k, explicit For a long time, Castiel thought that every earthly possession other than the immediately necessary was excess to requirement. But Dean – Dean who named his car, who keeps a photograph of his mother in his wallet, some thirty-plus years after her death, who still has the crumpled ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign with a sleeping pelican emblazoned on it from the Microtel outside of Roanoke where he first kissed Castiel, clumsy and unsure, under the unsteady fluorescence of an exhausted bathroom bulb – is sentimental. It puzzles Castiel, where Dean draws the line between what is meaningful and what it is worthless. Really Gets the dynamic of Cas doesn’t think Dean wants him to stay/Dean thinks Cas will leave the first chance he gets. Also a nice example of Cas thinking he’s not wanted if he’s not useful/powerful and being told otherwise. Another all-time fave!

lonely hearts by outphastthemoat, 4.5k, gen He thinks he might give up having his own anything just to be able to step foot inside the room next door and sit on the edge of Dean’s bed instead. This one is for the CAS GIRLS who know what LONELINESS feels like.

Helionneiros by aeli_kindara, 24.2k, mature In which Dean visits his mother, and Claire takes Cas on a hunt. I’m always on the lookout for more fic with Claire and Jack. Jack doesn’t show up until the end here but the relationship between Cas and Claire is really nice.

Crawl by aeriallon, 11k, explicit It’s been almost four years since Castiel left Kansas; he'd eventually settled in an island town where he has a job, a house, and a life without the Winchesters. Every winter, Dean drives down to the coast to see him. Another fic where Cas is human but in this one he took some time for himself and got some distance from the Winchesters! He gets to be competent and weird as a human and we love that for him. I must warn you all that this fic contains one use of the phrase “making love” which would normally put me right off but it’s still worth reading. The first of a three-part series.

home where you hold me by microcomets, 1.6k, gen Cas and Dean, in the moments between their battles, ache for quiet spaces. Technically this is a coda to 10x20 but you don’t need the episode for context. Short and very sweet.

Build a Home by domesticadventures, 20.1k, teen After they save the world, Dean expects Cas to come back to the bunker with them. He doesn’t. This one is so cute it’s like what if once they were done saving the world Sam and Dean actually invited other hunters to move into the bunker with them. Obviously Dean wants that to include Cas but doesn’t know how to use his words.

the taste of gravel in the mouth by deathbanjo, 22.4k, explicit This is what Cas gave up Heaven for: greasy diner food, shitty motel rooms with even shittier cable, long car rides spent in complete silence except for the same six tapes playing over and over again, and a burnt-out husk of a man who can barely hold a conversation anymore. Angst fic! They go on a road trip and Dean is severely fucked up post-Mark of Cain.

Unknown Quantities by xylodemon, 8.6k, explicit No one ever tells Dean anything. Another nice getting-together fic.

Creature of Habit by trinityofone, 5.2k, teen The more you love someone, the more you want to kill them. Or: How Cas developed some bad habits, and Dean coped surprisingly well. This one is ancient by destiel standards (written during season 5) but it manages to nail the married couple vibes they give off in later seasons. Cas is a bitch and Dean likes him so much. <3

The (Mostly Accidental) Courtship of Dean Winchester by Tuesday, 11.2k, mature Angelic marriage rites were never intended to go quite like this. Another old one that is a lot of fun! They get Accidental Angel Married and if you don’t enjoy dumb fanfiction tropes like that I don’t know what to say to you.

Vena Amoris and Other Old-Fashioned Bullshit by pyrebi, 4k, teen In which angelic marriage bonds are apparently stupidly easy to trigger, Cas wages multidimensional war in Heaven, Dean can't catch a break like ever, Sam rather enjoys being a dick, love saves the day, and nobody consummates anything. The OTHER accidental angel marriage fic written in 2010. 

Crazy Diamonds by pantheon_of_discord, 24.8k, explicit A week ago, Dean was pulled out of Hell. Now, he’s apparently woken up in 2018, and the angel that a mere twenty-four hours beforehand had threatened to chuck him back into the pit is sleepily pouring himself coffee and wearing Dean’s second-favourite Zeppelin shirt. It all seems like a perfect happy ending, but with Hell’s scars still so fresh, Dean can’t imagine how he could have possibly gotten there. At the same time, the Dean who went to sleep in the bunker, right next to Cas, wakes up on Bobby’s couch in 2008. He’s instantly bombarded with questions by a Lilith-obsessed brother and a man who’s been dead for years, and must decide between keeping his finally-perfect life intact, and the lives he could save by re-writing history. Regardless of these choices, both Deans are trapped in the wrong decade, and their only way back lies with a Castiel still very much under Heaven’s thumb – one who might find the future Dean describes difficult to believe. Time travel is FUN. There’s an excellent part where (minor spoilers) future!Dean is like, “Guess what, asshole? You like me so much you marry me!!!!!!!!!!!” to 2008!Castiel that made me laugh out loud the first time I read it. Also just a good reminder of how most problems in life are temporary and if you could go back in time to talk to your younger self you’d be like, “Hey man. Chill out. You get through it.”

The Path of Fireflies by museaway, 63.7k, mature After his humanity is restored, Dean wakes up in bed with Castiel, a wedding ring, and no memory of the past twelve years. There’s a lot of amnesia fic and djinn fic out there were Dean wakes up ~suddenly together with Cas~ but I like this one in particular because he’s initially very confused and kind of a dick about it until he acknowledges that being with Cas makes him happy.

take the long way home by dothraki_shieldmaiden, 95k, explicit Three months ago, when Dean decided to retire, he thought his life was going to end up differently. He'd thought that he might get to have it all, Sam, Cas, Jack, and nice little place to live. Instead he gets Sam and Jack off on their Summer of Love Tour, radio silence from Cas, and a never-ending road trip consisting of himself. Still reeling from the loss of his grace, Castiel travels the country in search of hunts. Driven by a need to prove his usefulness, he pushes himself beyond all limits of endurance. Together, with the help of a few friends, a crumbling Victorian house, and a stray cat, Dean and Castiel patch themselves back together and create a home together. Do you wanna read almost one hundred thousand words of Dean and Cas having extremely intense feelings but refusing to voice them aloud? Haha of course you do that’s why you’re here. There’s also a lot about Cas adjusting to being human and being depressed about it which might resonate if you’ve ever felt weird about having a body. To be honest the author could stand to use a few more commas but there were also half a dozen moments that made me put my phone down and drag my hand slowly over my face and whisper “oh my god” to myself which is like, the ultimate measure of a good fanfiction so it gets to be on the list.

like moses and batman and james dean by saltyfeathers, 31.6k, explicit dean used to turn tricks. over a decade later, he met cas. Have you seen the fanon (apparently pioneered by Mr. Jackles “Original Deankin” Ackles himself) that Dean used to prostitute himself to feed himself and Sam when they were younger? Are you interested in exploring that concept in fanfiction? Well, this is the only fic you need. Mind the tags on this one! It’s not what I’d call happy but it’s good.

Some Assembly Required by narrow_staircases, 47k, mature It’s September of 2005, and Dean Winchester, in an attempt to outrun old mistakes and painful memories, finds himself in southern Kentucky on a wild goose chase. He’s completely certain this weird religious movement he’s “investigating” is a hoax, despite the miraculous healings people report, and he’ll be back on the road in a day or two. Things are looking up when he meets Cas, an awkward (and gorgeous) graduate student who’s actually doing honest-to-god research into the local tent revival meetings. When that research takes a weird and personal turn, Dean’s left to face two very serious realities: one, this may be a real case after all, and two, he’s fallen way harder for Cas than he should ever have let himself. Stanford-era AU of Dean trying to avoid his father and getting in over his head on a case.

Alternate universe:

And This, Your Living Kiss by opal_bullets, 57k, mature Only a very few people in the world know that the celebrated and reclusive poet Jack Allen is just Kansas mechanic Dean Winchester, a high school dropout with a few bucks to his name. Not that it matters anymore; life has left him so wrung out he never wants to pick up another pen. Until, that is, a string of coincidences leads Dean to auditing a poetry course with one Dr. Castiel Novak. The  professor is wildly intelligent, devastatingly handsome...and just so happens to be academia's foremost expert on the poetry of Jack Allen. Mundane AUs in this fandom have to be really, really good to catch my attention and this one is! It’s exactly what it says in the summary and the characterization is spot-on. 

Out to Drift by deathbanjo, 20.9k, mature Dean drives a black car with a loud engine. He lies too easily. He keeps a gun in the back of his jeans, and Castiel isn’t sure, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Dean has killed someone before. Two people in fucked-up unstable situations meeting and forming a connection. Honestly guys I really just love deathbanjo.

[inkformyblood]

You Speak Of Grace

Commander Cody Week Day 02 Origins [ @commandercodyweek ]

Pairing: Codywan

Summary: Cody is about to meet his new Jedi, but he will make sure his men are as prepared as they can be. Little does he know that Obi-Wan is anything but what he was expecting.

“Once more.” Cody’s voice rang out as the test alarms died away, eliciting a fresh wave of groans from the assembled clones. From behind his helmet, Cody glanced over the group, running through the list in his mind once again. The heavy gloves hid the faint trembling of his hands as his fingers danced over the datapad, drawing up another scenario. “Test Scenario 00726. Oya!”

Distantly, Cody could almost hear Alpha-17’s low rumbling laugh echo forth from his memory at their displays of grumbling compliance. He carefully ignored the brother at the back — Crys, he thought, judging from the bright yellow daubed over his pauldrons and the dark hair growing up through the unnatural yellow dye — who ducked behind a console and emerged after swallowing down the last dregs of his caf.

The consoles rang shrilly as they ran through the necessary checks once more, heads lowered as the other clones focused on their own work. Cody sensed movement just behind him, but didn’t turn, watching the grey painted shape of Helix, their medic, move up behind him in the reflection of a console.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

Helix’s voice was soft but no less filled with purpose, expecting to be heard and understood. Cody was the Commander of the Battalion, but Helix was the medic, and that was something entirely different.

“Granted.”

Helix tapped the comm on his wrist, shifting to a private channel, and Cody stifled the reflexive twinge of fear that rattled down his spine. Fear was useful, Alpha-17 had barked at the younger clones in the Command Track, echoing the words of the trainers before him, but it was also dangerous. Drawing in a deep breath, letting it flow through him rather than rule his thoughts, Cody switched to the private channel as well.

“You are doing a good job,” Helix murmured, his voice slightly distorted over the comm. “You are already a good commander, and having a Jedi won’t change that.”

Cody didn’t respond, didn’t want to think about what Helix could read in the sudden stillness of his hands or the lines of tension that flickered into life along his shoulders, but merely nodded, his throat tight.

Helix lightly tapped the back of his wrist guard against Cody’s hip in a silent benediction. “I’m going to head down to medical. Over the next few days, I’ll need to check on the troopers and the Jedi to get a baseline.”

“I’ll draw up a rota,” Cody promised, adding yet another item onto his mental checklist. Dimly, he spared a thought for how his brothers in the command track were faring. Their own comms channel had been eerily quiet since they had received their battalion allocations and left in the early hours of the morning with one final message each of “Oya”.

“Appreciate it,” Helix said with an inclination of his head and stepped away. The other medics, Border and Patience, shadowed him like ghosts, barely half a step behind in a haunting unison that would have made the trainers proud.

Cody turned back to the men, tracking their progress as they worked through the machines, feeling a warm glow of pride settle in his chest. This would work. This had to work.

A warning prickled at the base of his skull, and Cody was already turning to face the doorway by the time his mind had drawn the context clues together.

As Helix left, his pace had slowed slightly, and the soft whoosh of the doors closing took longer than it should have. One of the troopers had raised his head, gaze fixed at something over Cody’s shoulder as one of his hands formed the beginning of the symbol for ‘Mother’, a warning of being watched back on Kamino. But the critical clue was the message flashing from the Command Track Chat from Bly that only read ‘oh no my Jedi’s hot.’

“Hello there.”

“Hello, sir,” Cody said, running on instinct as the rest of his mind went blissfully blank. The only information he had been given was a name and a grainy holo picture to recognise his Jedi by. A small thrill ran down his spine at that thought. Possession was still something all the clones were getting used to, and the knowledge that this man was his, was theirs, was more than Cody could have thought possible.

“Jetti on bridge,” Cody barked over his shoulder to the others, feeling the weight of their eyes on his back.

Obi-Wan smiled, the edges of his eyes — so unbelievably blue, like the point where the ocean met the sky — crinkling. “Please, Commander, call me Obi-Wan.”

“Obi-Wan,” Cody repeated with a nod, further committing it to memory. He was grateful for the helmet that was still covering his head as he felt the heat settle in his cheeks. Full armour was cumbersome for now, but it had been better to be safe than sorry.

“From what I understand, you have names as well?” Obi-Wan’s gaze darted around the room; his voice pitched low. “I don’t wish to cause any offence; this situation is very new to me.” He tucked his hands into his sleeves, clasping them in front of him.

“CC-2224 is my designation. But my name is Cody, sir.”

It was as if Cody’s words ripped the oxygen from the room, every trooper freezing in place in perfect military rest. Obi-Wan had to feel the pressure lowering onto his shoulders, but he merely grinned once more.

“Cody. That’s an excellent name and a good choice.” Obi-Wan paused, glancing around the room and meeting the gaze of every trooper who quickly lowered their heads back to their consoles at Cody’s signal.

“I trust I can count on you to keep me right, Cody? I will defer to your expertise.” Obi-Wan’s grin was as warm as sunlight, intoxicating when it was directed at just Cody, and he felt his cheeks burst with heat once more.

“Yessir,” Cody said, snapping back into parade rest out of habit.

“I’m not sure what the Kamioans have told you, but if you’re amenable, full armour outside of active combat isn’t required.” Obi-Wan paused with a heavy sigh, looking far older than he was for a moment before he pushed whatever memory it was away. “This isn’t my first war, but no need to make it harder than it needs to be.”

“So,” Cody swallowed, turning his head slightly to track Boil and Waxer’s whispering, their heads pressed together out of the corner of his eye, “Permission to dismiss the men to store their extras?”

“Permission more than granted, Commander.”

If Cody had thought that his mind went blank before, it was nothing compared to being alone on the bridge with Obi-Wan. In every scenario, every training simulation or exercise, nothing could have prepared him for this moment. Alpha-17 and the others took after Prime almost perfectly, and that applied to his lack of attraction as well, at best able to offer rough support to a heartbroken trooper in basic training.

Obi-Wan began to move around the bridge, glancing over the simulated manoeuvres that had been programmed in with a gleam of interest in his eyes. “If you want, Cody, you can store your belongings as well. We’re going to be working together for a while, and I see no reason to start out with extreme formality.”

Cody’s hands were steady as he reached up to remove his helmet, subtly pressing at the itch that had erupted two hours ago at the nape of his skull as he did so. Obi-Wan’s face softened as he watched him, unable to hide the obvious curiosity in his eyes.

“I can definitely see the resemblance.”

Cody laughed, the noise startled out of him, jaw snapping shut with a click.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he began, but Obi-Wan cut him off with a wave of his hand, his shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter.

“Please, don’t apologise, Cody. If there is anyone at fault, then it is me.”

“No, sir.” Cody paused to find the correct words, tapping his fingers against the edge of the datapad as he thought. This wasn’t what he had been expecting, Obi-Wan wasn’t what he had been expecting, but he always had been quick on his feet. “As you said, no reason to start out with extreme formality. No fault here.”

Obi-Wan hummed quietly as he thought, and Cody took a moment to inspect the Jedi he would be serving under. The robes hid much of his frame, but Obi-Wan had moved with confidence, despite the fact that the fabric wouldn’t give much protection or possibly act as a hindrance. Cody made another note on his mental list, needing to confer with the other Commanders once everyone had settled again.

“I think this is going to be an excellent partnership, Cody,” Obi-Wan said at last. “With that in mind, with the full reassurance that you can tell me no at any time for whatever reason, would you like to join me for a cup of tea? I believe there is some final paperwork to go over.”

“Yessir,” Cody answered before the full implication hit him. Obi-Wan would be sharing, even serving most likely, something precious of his, something he had deliberately chosen to bring aboard a battleship, knowing the cargo restrictions. “I’d be honoured.”

“Excellent! Anakin, my padawan—” Obi-Wan paused, and Cody wordlessly fell into pace at his side, a few inches shorter than the other man as he titled his head to continue watching him, “—he never quite got the taste for it, unfortunately.”

“I am looking forward to it, sir.”

Obi-Wan gave him a look, his grin all fond curled edges.

“Obi-Wan,” Cody corrected himself. He felt like a fool to hope, but it was a hope he held onto tightly.

Out of sight, Cody tapped a message into the Command Chat before silencing it, knowing the explosions it would spawn. ‘Mine’s better, vod.’

[winterscaptain]

long shot.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic - no context required

a/n: this is in response to this ask in kind of a loose way, and also fulfills kiss prompt #6 (on a falling tear). i sat down and wrote this all in one sitting this weekend and it makes me smile SO MUCH. tell me what you think! i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it :) this one takes place in au!december 2012

words: 2.3k warnings: alcohol use/mention, allusions to sex, language

summary: “i couldn’t have dreamed you into existence because i didn’t even know i needed you. you must have been sent to me.” - kamand kojouri

It’s a rare early night off in December and you all make the ill-advised choice to go to the bar closest to the base for some drinks and dancing, completely forgetting that academy graduation is tomorrow. 

There’s part of you that feels aged by the whole thing. Even newly-minted agents your own age look fresh-faced and about a decade younger than you feel. 

When you all walk in, there’s a bit of a hush, a lull, in the conversations around you. You find eyes on you from all directions and realize your faces are familiar ones, and in the case of Aaron and Dave, almost-famous ones. 

Aaron pulls you further into him, almost shielding you with his body as you navigate through the crowd that parts before you. It seems like an eternity before you find a table, but Derek, Aaron, and Spencer hold down the fort while the rest of you manage drinks. Strategic postings at either end of the bar is likely going to get you the best return, so you fan out accordingly. 

It’s unsurprising in the least when the bartenders make a beeline for you all, getting your orders down and drinks started over the shouts of NATs - many of them already blasted with three or four shots under their belt. 

While you wait, you can still feel a fair few pairs of eyes on you. You meet one pair, set in the face of a rather handsome new agent about your age. He smiles at you, and you shift your eyes away from him, your expression unmoving. 

He apparently takes that as invitation enough. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot him as he winds his way to your side. 

You meet Aaron’s eyes across the room, and there’s a smile in them. You offer the smallest twitch of your lips and a wink. Watch this. 

Oh, I’m watching, his eyebrows say. 

“Hi.” The young agent finally reaches your side and offers his hand. You take it. “Agent Mark Sullivan.” 

You smile thinly and introduce yourself. “So, I take it you’ve just received an assignment?”

He laughs, making an attempt at charm. “Alright. You’re a profiler,” he says with confidence. “What gave me away?” It’s a challenge.

It’s also a long shot. A really really long shot. 

There were plenty of people in the vicinity that would be reeled in by his warm smile and handsome jawline, but your fine man (currently sprawled back in his chair with an arm on the back of the chair and a hand over his mouth to cover his smile) stands head and shoulders above the rest, sometimes literally. 

“Well,” you start, making a show of eyeing him from head to toe, “Your papers are still in your pocket and you’ve left your ID tag on, against academy and bureau regulations.” 

He startles and snatches it off his lapel, tucking it into his pocket. 

With a little smile, you soothe his embarrassment - it’s a play only designed to endear yourself to him. “It tells me you’re proud, excited. I felt the same way when I received my assignment and credentials. It’s a significant accomplishment.”

You can’t quite tell in the irregular darkness in the room, but he looks almost like he’s blushing. “Thanks.” He collects himself after a moment, putting his bravado back on. 

Your eyes flicker to Hotch once, twice. He’s still watchful. Amused. 

“So, I was lucky enough to see your lectures with the BAU and I must say...it’s impressive.” 

He says that like it’s some kind of validation. 

I need validation from this clown like I need a hole in the head. 

“Thanks. I’m usually rather modest, but I think it’s alright to say the BAU is a very fine unit.” If you’re honest, you’re talking about one particular unit chief’s...um...unit, specifically, but that’s neither here nor there.

He smirks. “What would you say if I told you I got a placement on one of the BAU teams?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Really? That’s quite the accomplishment.” A pair of arms wind around you and a kiss is pressed to your temple. 

It would also be a lie.

You smile and flip in Aaron’s arms, completely ignoring poor Mark. “I was just getting you a drink,” you explain, gesturing vaguely to the bar behind you. 

“I see. Did you get me -”

“Double scotch, neat, aged at least fifteen years? Yes, sir.” 

He smiles. “You know me so well.” 

“I sure do.” You pull him down by his tie and plant a firm kiss on his lips and shove him off with a smile. “Go. Sit. I’ve got it.” 

You turn back to Mark with a breathless sort of laugh. Aaron always makes you feel a little flushed and you’re happy to play it up for the benefit of the moment. “Sorry about that.” 

Mark, you find, is reconsidering his strategy. His face, while still outwardly warm, harbors a kind of calculated look to it that would almost be funny if you weren’t so eager to see what kind of trick he’d pull next. “So, Hotchner?”

“What about him?”

Mark shrugs. “I dunno. Doesn’t he have a kid?”

You nod. “Yep.” 

“And he’s a widower, right?”

“Yes.�� 

Mark laughs a little. “Wouldn’t it be kinda nice to, I dunno, have some fun for a little while?”

You frown at him, and your drink arrives at the hands of the frazzled bartender. You pull the fifty from your sleeve and pass it to him with a smile. After a sip, you ask. “What do you mean?”

“It seems like a lot to take on, you know?” He backpedals upon seeing your squint. “I mean, I’m sure he’s a great guy, but wouldn’t it be nice to have someone...I dunno -” He restores his confidence and leans on the bar. Again, his moves would probably work on someone else, but you were a lost cause. “- easier?”

Aaron’s scotch arrives. You pick it up in your free hand and shrug somewhat breezily. “Maybe.” 

You brush past him, leaving Mark a little confused and a bit stunned. When you return to the table after much jostling, you take a seat right on Aaron’s lap and pass him his drink, reclining in his arms. Scanning over the crowd, Mark’s frowning face sticks out like a sore thumb and you try not to look too smug. 

Other than Rossi, the rest of the team is already out on the dance floor, so you know Aaron doesn’t mind having you close. 

He sets his scotch down and wraps his arms around you kissing the underside of your jaw. You lean into his touch and smile. 

There’s nothing easier than this. 

+++

There’s something a bit sulky about Aaron when you settle next to him in bed. You squint at him, looking for his eyes as they follow the loose pattern on the bedspread. 

“Hey.” You bump his shoulder with yours. “What’s on your mind?” 

He shakes his head a little, still not meeting your eyes. “Nothing. Just thinking.” 

With a roll of your eyes, you throw the covers off and sling a leg over him, straddling his thighs. You tap your palms on his pecs on-beat with your begging. “Come on. Tell me tell me tell me tell -”

“Jesus, alright!” He cuts you off with two hands over yours, his thumbs running fondly over your knuckles. “I just…” He huffs, already a little frustrated with himself for feeling put out. 

You slide your hands out from underneath his, running up over his collarbones and shoulders to find the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I couldn’t help but overhear…”

You let all your breath out in a huff. “Oh, Aaron. He’s a stupid NAT who knows the only way to come after you is to come after your history.” You kiss his cheek and tuck into him. “He was trying to be a big-dick boy and it didn’t pay off for him.” 

There’s a halfhearted laugh from underneath you, and his hands wander across your back. “He is right, though. It would be easi-”

“If you say ‘easier,’ Aaron Hotchner, I’m going to lose my shit.” 

He sighs, and you pull back, tipping his chin up with a finger. 

“Hey. I love Jack. He is not an added weight in my life. He does not make my life harder in any way. Your son,” you emphasize with taps on his lips, “is the light of my life and I wouldn’t ever want to be without him.” 

Aaron’s eyes get a little misty. For his sake, you ignore it and continue. 

“I never feel like a replacement for Haley. I’ve never once minded leaving room for her in our lives because she’s my friend and I love her and I love you. I loved you before we lost her and I’ve loved you long after. This baggage keeps my feet firmly planted on the ground.” 

Aaron takes a deep breath, and his voice has the smallest of wavers when he speaks. Before he even starts, you concede to let him share what he’s feeling, if only to rebut it. “But you could - you could have so much. You could have someone ten or fifteen years younger who - I don’t know - could do things with you that thirty-somethings do. You wouldn’t have to spend your weekends at soccer games or your evenings rubbing Icy Hot on my bad knee or dealing with me on rough pain days or raising your voice because I can’t hear shit on my right side.” 

He shakes his head, and you brush the tears that fall with your thumbs. “You could have - You deserve, so much more...” The rest of his words go unspoken, but you hear them anyway. 

You deserve so much more than me.

Your eyes sting and you blink rapidly, letting your tears wet your lashes. Leaning forward, you kiss away his remaining tears, shifting your weight to wrap your legs around his waist and get as close as you can. 

With your head on his left shoulder, you whisper, “Aaron, I don’t want someone ten or fifteen years younger. I don’t care what I’m doing on my evenings and weekends because I get to spend them with you.” 

You pause for a moment. “And, I don’t need boys. I’m done with boys.” 

You lean back, looking him square in the eye, or at least trying to. “I have a man who has silver in his hair because he worries and is in his mid-forties and it doesn’t fucking matter. I have a man who is the subject of so many crushes and fantasies at the academy it makes me want to vomit.” You laugh a little at your own joke, but he’s still focused on the seam of your shirt at your collar. Changing gears, you bring your hands to the sides of his neck, feeling his pulse jump under your thumbs.

“I have no need for boys because I have a man who treats me with kindness and respect. A man who is thoughtful, who isn’t afraid of himself. A man who knows himself, who loves his son, who invited me into his life when he didn’t have to because he’s brave.”

A couple more tears fall down your cheeks and you frame his face with your hands. “You love better and more courageously than anyone I have ever known.” 

You sniffle a little. “Aaron, honey...I love you. I wouldn’t want anything else, or anyone else, for my life, to be my partner, my best friend, the person I love. Odds have it that you’ll be my husband and the father of any other kids we might acquire and that we’ll grow even older and grayer together.” 

You let a little facetious smirk cross your lips. “And I’d like you to look at me and tell me I’d be happy with some dickhead named Mark with a business degree who wears shoes well-outside his pay grade.” 

That does it. 

Aaron smiles and pulls you to him with a hand at the back of your head. Your lips meet and you can taste the saltwater, but it doesn’t matter. 

He pulls back to look at you, and he really looks at you. His eyes roam hungrily over your face as if trying to memorize every line and curve and lash and budding wrinkle he finds there. 

You simply melt in the dark brown of his eyes, watching him take his time. 

Even then, as you expected, there is some doubt - not in you, of course, but in him. “Really?”

“Really.” You hold up your fist between your faces, pinky extended. “Pinky promise.” 

He smiles a little and links your pinkies together, twisting your hands to kiss your knuckles. Your hands drop into your lap and another little smile crosses your face. 

“What?” He asks.

You shrug. “I’m also thinking about how thirty-something-year-old boys absolutely suck in bed. I can pretty much guarantee that you’re better at - well, just about everything.” 

He closes his eyes and smiles, looking the picture of a happy house cat in the sun. You draw closer, running your nose along his. He leans toward you and captures your lips again. 

The next few hours? Don’t worry. They’re spent proving your point.  

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile  @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @spencerelds @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @kerrswriting @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou

[rpsocsandcanonohmy]

A Fighting Chance

Note: This is part of an ongoing story that can be read on AO3 here. Reading previous installments is reccomended for context purposes but is not required. Posted here for Whumptober 2021 @whumptober-archive

Day 6: Bruises

-------- The next day, Lori was tasked with helping Abilene around the house. Despite the size of the house and how many people trekked through it on any given day, very little of the work centered around cleaning. No, today, Lori was going to be testing her patience with cooking and food prep.

Lori knew how to cook. In theory. She knew how to use an oven (electric, gas, and the occasional wood-burner). She knew how to heat up something in a pan or a pot. She could even make a few things from scratch, assuming she had the ingredients handy, mostly eggs and pasta.

Food prepping for a ranch was a much different story.

There was no experimenting to see if the temperature dial was accurate. There was no obsessively checking the clock in lieu of a timer. There was no double-checking the instructions written on the box. 

Nope. Abby’s kitchen was run with fresh ingredients that were either being prepped for a later meal or being used in a current one. Abby had (semi-correctly) assumed Lori didn’t have much experience with cooking like this and just put her in charge of cutting vegetables or stirring sauces. Technically she was also a Taste Tester but that seemed more like an honorary title than a useful role.

She was chopping some apples under Abby’s not-so-subtle watch when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” she said, leaving Lori to her chopping. A few moments later, she heard giggling and the sound of loud footsteps coming near the kitchn. “Oh, Cordi’ll be so happy to see you! It’s been ages… Oh, Lori! Hoyt, this is Lori. She’s one of Stella’s friends from school; her dad’s out of town so she’s staying with us for a while.”

Lori smiled softly and waved. “Hi….”

“Howdy.”

Abby snorted and gently pet Lori’s back. “I’m gonna go check on Bonham and Liam. Will you two be alright alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure.”

She turned back to her chopping. Hoyt came around the counter and grabbed a few pears to chop with her.

“So,” he started. “What happened?”

“Pardon?”

Hoyt chuckled. “You’re at home for the day on a school day, you’re working in the kitchen instead of being sick in bed, and I noticed that bandage. Something happened.”

Well. That was her caught. Lori shrugged, clearing away some apple chunks to make room for the next one. “I got into a fight. Some girl was being a bitch to Stella and August so I broke her nose.” There was no point in lying; it’d probably just come out later anyway.

“I can respect that,” Hoyt said. “Sounds like the kind of stuff I used to get into back in those days.”

Lori nodded, focusing on her chopping.

“You’re a good friend. Stella’s lucky she found you.”

She liked the way he said that, like she wasn’t some lucky charity case that got picked up out of pity. That didn’t make it any (potentially) less true, but still. Lori wondered if he had his own experience in a situation like that.

-----------

Lunch was miraculously uneventful. Hoyt didn't even ask her about why Liam was being careful around her, course he was likely too busy telling wild stories about whatever mess he’d gotten involved in while he was away. She was just glad not to be the topic of conversation at a meal for once.

She felt her phone vibrating in her pocket while she was putting away the last of the dishes. Checking to make sure no one was paying attention to her, Lori ducked into the next room and pulled out her phone. The text was from an unknown number, but she knew who it was. Only one person would text her out of the blue like this without an introduction.

[Text from: Unknown]: Hey boo. You still in Austin? There’s a tourney starting next week and I’d love to put your name in the ring. Withdrew your entry fee from my bank account today xo

[Text to: Unknown]: Hey. Yeah, I am. I’m not sure if I can compete though; I’m under a little surveillance atm

[Text from: Unknown]: When has that ever stopped you before lol xo

[Text to: Unknown]: It’s different

[Text from: Unknown]: Come onnnnnnn

[Text from: Unknown]: It’s a massive payout. Big city, big names, big tournament. It’s all monsters right now though. They’ll flip if they get a hunter in. Massive bucks sweetie 

[Text to: Unknown]: There’s always a massive payout

[Text from: Unknown]: Not like this. We’re talking almost 5 digits if you make it to the top

Okay, that was impressive. It would definitely come in handy when she met up with Dad again. They would definitely need the cash even if she didn’t have to pay bail this time.

[Text to: Unknown]: You know me so well

[Text from: Unknown]: Is that a yes?

[Text to: Unknown]: Duh

[Text to: Unknown]: Just get me the time and place

[Text from: Unknown]: I knew I could count on you xo

[Text from: Unknown]: I’ll get you the deets. Meet me in the locker room and we’ll discuss my cut

She wanted to respond but the number was blocked. Of course it was. That was how he operated. She’d never get used to that. He’d get her the address later, probably through email, and they’d just go from there. Like they always did.

All Lori had to do now was figure out how to sneak out….

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

One day, Lori was going to suggest the Walkers invest in a security system that wasn’t accessible through a smart device. She’d have to figure out how to bring that up without mentioning she’d been able to bypass the alarms on Cordell’s phone with relative ease first though.

Regardless, she was out and headed for her destination. Why are these things always held in the most out of the way place possible? she thought as she entered the abandoned warehouse. She worked her way through the crowd, holding her duffle bag with her gear close to her chest, and headed for the locker room area. Once she was there, she got dressed and checked her first aid supply while she waited

“I was afraid you might back out,” came the all too familiar voice.

“Like I’d ever squelch on a deal with you,” Lori replied with a grin. She turned around and there he was, standing uncomfortably close as usual. “How’s the crowd looking?”

Darian grinned. “Very good turnout. I worked the room a bit, lot of people looking forward to seeing you in the cage. And, get this, they put you against a Were for your first fight!”

Of course they did. Hunter v. Monster fights drew a crowd as it was. Pitting a Hunter against their Thing? Pure gold. “Do you know anything about them?”

He shrugged. “Just that he’s a small thing with a big temper. It’s not his first rodeo but he’s not as well known as you. A lot of people are betting on you to win.”

“I take it you tossed your hat into that ring too?”

Darian smirked. “Always. Don’t worry, you’ll get your cut of that once you get to the top.”

Classic Darian, working all the possible angles. He was a smart guy, for a shapeshifter. She was about to respond when the fighting bell rang and her name was called over the loudspeakers.

“Showtime, babygirl. Make me proud!” Darian waved her off as she headed for the arena.

Lori took a deep breath and her mind cleared as she entered the cage. The crowd roared and she let it all wash over her. The sounds, the lights, the smells, everything. This was it. In here, she wasn’t a pitiable soul taken in by a friend. She wasn’t a reminder of her mother. She wasn’t a forgotten soul in the wasteland of The System. Here, she was Lori fucking Graves, one of the best fighters in the ring and the youngest hunter in the system. She was a badass, an icon, the love-to-hate-em fave. And she owned it.

The bell rang and the fight was on. Werewolves were tricky because of their claws and teeth, especially when she didn’t have a weapon of her own. But she’d been in worse situations before. A swift kick to the nuts took him to his knees and gave her the chance to land a few solid punches to his face before he got back up. A part of her couldn’t wait to see the bruises later. The larger part of her was regretting she couldn't run away faster when he lifted her above his head and threw her at the chain-link wall. That was going to smart later. But she could handle it.

Punch, kick, jab, punch, dodge, swerve, punchkickjabdodgepunchkickswerve and on it and on it went. Once she got into a rhythm, she could work off muscle memory and fall into a state of near zen. This is why she loved the fights. This is why she’d never walk away. This is why the payout was always worth it. This is why working around the bruises and scrapes would always be worth it, no matter who she was with.

It felt glorious. 

Her opponent was tiring out and she took advantage of that to elbow him in the face and knock him to the ground with a kick to the shin. She pinned him down and spit in his face while the ref counted her. 

She won.

She was bloody and bruising and she was definitely sleeping in tomorrow. 

But she won.

“Excellent work, darling.” Darian smiled proudly and gently clapped her on the shoulder as she stepped out the ring. “Payout for tonight is $915. Well, minus my cut, of course….” He handed Lori the cash and she stuffed it in her bag.

“Thanks. When’s the next one?”

“They’re gonna finish out the first round over the next couple days. I’ll text you the morning of so you have time to figure out your excuses.”

Lori shouldered her duffle bag and made her way to the back exit. “Alright. I’ll see you then.” 

It was a long walk back home, but the bills she counted later were more than worth it. She just had to figure out how she was going to hide the evidence from the rest of the house…..

[maksylmyheart]

t's a balmy evening in June, the air rich with the smell of fresh flowers, the breeze rustling the trees and wafting the distant lilt of music on strings. The magical is meeting with the practical here: the idyllic beauty of a Provencal wedding reconciled with the aching realities of spending an afternoon walking gardens and gravel paths in a pair of heels. Instead of slipping away to gaze lovingly into one another's eyes, the bride and groom excuse themselves for a quick wardrobe change so that she can be more comfortable at the reception—not a fairytale romance, but the real world kind.

But just as it seems that the evening might be coming back down to earth, wonder reasserts itself. As they make their way back to their guests, the blue kiss of twilight turns buttery yellow under strings of lights woven between a lane of stretching plane trees, their friends and family seated for a feast beneath the glow of the lights.

"We just kept taking deep breaths and trying to take it in because I think that was one of the most impactful moments," says the bride, Meryl Davis. "We'd been dating for a long time and we've loved one another for a long time, and yet the experience of sharing that moment with each other was so beautiful. It's probably my favorite memory ever up to this point."

And that's some stiff competition: after all, for an Olympic medalist and Dancing With the Stars champion, there are plenty of spectacular memories to choose from.  

How Meryl and Fedor Got Together

Hailing from the suburbs of Detroit, an international hub for professional and competitive skating, Meryl Davis spent much of her young life training to achieve the heights of Olympics greatness that she reached with partner Charlie White at the 2014 winter Olympics, when the duo took gold in ice dancing.

"I didn't have to move away from my family or across the country or to a different country in order to pursue skating, which is pretty rare," she explains.

Meanwhile her now-husband Fedor Andreev, himself a professional skater, was in some ways the opposite—born in Russia, he moved to Canada as a child with his mother, Marina Zoueva, who would later go on to be Meryl's longtime coach. From there, he lived in a number of cities, including several years living and training in Detroit.

"We certainly got to know each other within the context of sport and within the figure skating community," said Meryl. "Fedor was five years older than me, and when you're young, that that feels like a big difference. So we are friends who've sort of blossomed over time."  

With such busy lives, the couple didn't begin to date until 2010, around the same time Fedor was preparing to retire from competitive skating. Not that retirement slowed their pace down much; in the years since they got together, Fedor graduated from the University of Michigan's Ross School of Business (Meryl is getting her anthropology there as well), Meryl earned first a silver and later a gold medal at the Olympics before retiring from the competition, and both have continued managing active careers on and off the ice.

Starting Their Adventure Together

"Adventure and travel has always been a part of our lives," explains Meryl. "I've always traveled to with figure skating for competition and I think I just gained an early appreciation of how much a sense of place can impact your experience. And then with Fedor being from Russia and moving to Canada, New York, Hong Kong, Detroit, he's a worldly person, so that's really been a part of our lives as a couple; traveling and experiencing different places."

They brought that love of travel home with them, too. "When we were renovating our home in Detroit, I wanted to incorporate sort of a French countryside element. I stumbled upon this Instagram account where this woman was sharing the renovation of an 18th century farmhouse in Provence."

The property in question was Le Mas des Poiriers, a 65-acre farm outside of Avignon with a seven bedroom farmhouse and cottage owned by Connecticut couple Shauna Varvel and her husband, who spent three years renovating the property after purchasing it in 2015.

"I was just completely fascinated by her eye for design and authenticity of the renovation, making sure to maintain the integrity of the home and the property," says Meryl.

When Meryl and Fedor got engaged in the summer of 2017, the property felt like a natural fit for their ceremony.

"Fedor and I visited the property and we both just were completely in awe of this magical place," says Meryl. "There's something about that part of the world that inspires you to embrace a slower pace; just sitting down and enjoying a meal and a glass of wine with your family and friends. That's really what we envisioned for our wedding, just really trying to be present and be in the moment."

Planning a Wedding Overseas

Despite their love of travel and the dreamy locale, a wedding in Provence did require some careful consideration, though.

"We spent a lot of time going back and forth trying to decide whether or not a destination wedding made sense because obviously it's an investment for not just us and our families, but for our guests as well," says Meryl. "Ultimately we felt, especially after talking to a lot of our friends and family who were like, 'oh, we'd love to come,' that adventure is just such a part of our lives and we were excited to utilize this opportunity to do that, not just together, but with our friends and family."

However, the couple were mindful of the fact that the style of their wedding meant foregoing some of the now-standard wedding extras. "Once we made that decision that it was going to be the destination, we wanted to keep everything else as simple as possible," Meryl explains. "I didn't want to ask people to do anything or plan any other trips, so I decided not to do a bachelorette party or a bridal shower. We just wanted everyone to have a good time and enjoy it and not feel obligated to do anything other than show up and have a great time."  

As for the technical aspects of the planning, the couple relied on event planners Matthew Robbins and Luis Otoya of Matthew Robbins Design for all of the details.  

"Matthew is the preferred event planner of the homeowner, so she introduced us to him and Luis. They were the first wedding planners we really spoke to and we were sold right away," says Meryl. "It feels like planning a destination wedding in Europe for just under a hundred people should be really stressful and complicated, but our planners made it such a pleasure and so easy."

Breaking With Tradition

For two people who have spent much of their young lives globetrotting and competing on the world stage, it's hardly a surprise that Meryl and Fedor aren't exactly your typical couple, nor could theirs be your typical wedding.

"We really want the weekend to be a reflection of us and who we are as opposed to just sticking to tradition for the sake of sticking to tradition," explains Meryl. "We stayed together throughout the week in France instead of having separate rooms or not seeing each other the day of the wedding. We wanted to enjoy the day of the wedding together and, and enjoy what an exciting time it was in our lives."

The couple chose to read personal letters to one another in place of classic wedding vows. Meryl's uncle, Cam Davis, served as the officiant for the ceremony.

Instead of a large bridal party, they chose to get their families involved in other ways. Meryl's uncle, Cam Davis, served as the officiant for the ceremony, and her brother Clayton was the man of honor. Fedor's cousin, Danielle Vincent, owner of beauty brand Kimiko, served double-duty as both his best lady and as Meryl's makeup artist.

"It was nice to have that personal touch, to have family doing my makeup," Meryl says. She adds, "I actually had the hairstylist that I worked with during Dancing With the Stars in 2014 come with us and she did my hair throughout the weekend, so that was really fun as well."

Both of Meryl's parents walked her down the aisle to her favorite song, "The Swan" by Camille Saint-Saëns.

"For me it was all really pragmatic, tactical things that I cared about," says Fedor. "That probably tells you something about our personalities too, but I wanted to not draw the ceremony out too long because the summer gets pretty hot and people are wearing suits. So we wanted to keep it as intimate as possible—maybe 10 to 12 minutes total."

At the reception, the couple opted for a parent dance instead of the typical father-daughter dance. "My dad and I danced while Fedor and his mom were also dancing." Meryl laughs, adding, "That was more because my dad doesn't like being the center of attention."

The Proposal

Of course, their wedding wasn't the start of their less-than-traditional streak. "I think Meryl would not have loved a super traditional proposal," says Fedor, "So it was a bit of a challenge kind of planning it."

In July 2017, as the couple were planning a trip to Napa with Meryl's parents in conjunction with a business engagement in San Francisco, Fedor decided to use their shared love of the outdoors and hiking to create a unique memory.

"I decided that it was a good idea to pop the question on a hike that we had never done before," he laughs. "I had no clue how challenging it would be. Because I had never been on the trail, I didn't know where the perfect place to do it would be, so several times I started taking the ring box out of my backpack and then was like, 'Whoa, no, abort, abort.'  It ended up working out on the back of the loop, right as we were going over a crest overlooking the ocean, I was like, 'Well, it's now or never cause there's only a quarter of a mile left.'"

"I always like taking pictures of the ocean and then when I turned around and put my phone down, Fedor was on one knee," Meryl explains. "That was a really beautiful emotional moment, just the two of us in the woods overlooking the ocean."  

The Ring

"The year prior [to our engagement] we had been on vacation in Santorini and Fedor was admiring some watches in a jewelry store," says Meryl. "I stumbled upon a ring I just loved, and apparently Fedor took note. When we got home from our vacation, he began designing and seeking out the perfect yellow diamonds."

Fedor jokes, "Apparently I was the only person to ever come to jeweler with a full PowerPoint presentation on what I wanted. I did a lot of research and I just wanted to make sure that it really captured everything that was important to Meryl."

Their Something Blue

While her engagement ring features yellow diamonds, the colors for the wedding went a different direction, inspired by Meryl's family.

The five-tiered wedding blue and white cake by Catherine Pierard from Provence-based Made In Cake.

"When I began telling [our wedding planners] Matthew and the Luis what I envisioned, it was sort of an elevated backyard dinner in the summer, with flowers that felt like they could be taken out of the garden," says Meryl. "Just very warm and welcoming. And for me, when I think of like warm and welcoming, I think of sitting down to family dinner around a table of blue and white Chinoiserie. That has sort of been our family tradition; my grandmother has collected those pieces for as long as I can remember."

Meryl's grandmother's collection served as the inspiration for the five-tiered wedding blue and white cake by Catherine Pierard from Provence-based Made In Cake, as well as the table settings in vintage china from Le Bazar de rêve by Veronique for the Brunet Frères Traiteur meal, with table linens from Linen Way and Juliska napkins.  

The food for the reception was catered by Brunet Frères Traiteur.

For the flowers, they kept to the blue theme with an equally familial inspiration.

"My parents still live in the same house in Michigan that I was born in, and Michigan summers are truly spectacular," says Meryl. "We always had these gigantic blue booming hydrangeas that just for me are the epitome of, you know, running barefoot through the grass and just being in the garden in the summer. It just felt like home, and it was also elegant."

The Dress

In keeping with her style, Meryl and her stylist Cynthia Cook Smith chose a Monique Lhuillier dress in a subtle neutral instead of the classic white.

"It was an interesting experience picking the wedding dress, just because ice dance tends to be very theatrical and ornate and, and costume design has been a really enjoyable part of our sport for me; I've always designed costumes with my mom."

Meryl's mother Cheryl Davis helped her get ready.

"Coming in, I thought, 'Do I really want something that looks like a skating dress or to purposefully gravitate away from what I would wear on the ice and make it very simple?' Ultimately, I just decided, I know what I feel comfortable in. We went shopping at a lot of really wonderful boutiques in Los Angeles, and actually the dress that I ended up picking was the very first wedding dress I ever tried on. It just felt like exactly what I had envisioned for the wedding. It was whimsical and it felt as though it would fit into the backyard garden setting."

Meryl and Fedor, right before he saw her in her dress for the first time.

Oliver Fly Photography

"The one thing that was actually traditional [about the wedding]," Fedor adds, "was that I didn't get to see the dress or Meryl wearing the dress prior to the wedding day. It was absolutely breathtaking getting to see Meryl walking out of the house. It was just extremely, extremely elegant."

The Reception

"One of the things that we were most struck by was just how surreal it was to have so many of the people that we love most from different parts of our lives together in one setting," says Meryl.

Along with their families, the happy couple were joined for the celebration by friends from school as well as colleagues from the skating world including Brian Boitano, Kristi Yamaguchi, Madison Chock, Evan Bates, and Meryl's partner on the ice, Charlie White and his wife, Tanith Belbin White.

"We were really emotional and overwhelmed by just what a once in a lifetime experience that was;, that collection of people who meant so much to us," says Meryl.

To maximize their time with their guests, the couple chose to extend the festivities with a pool party at the venue on the day after the wedding as well as an extended wedding week with their nearest and dearest.

Meryl changed into comfortable dancing shoes for the reception.

"It was a really nice way to connect with everybody in a very informal way," says Meryl. "Weddings go by so quickly, especially when it's just the wedding itself. We stayed in the house for a little under a week. Getting to experience the wedding weekend and then continue this celebration and spend time with our closest family was really special. We didn't want it to fly by, we really wanted to try to purposefully be present and take in as much as we could."

Photographs by Oliver Fly Photography; Event Planning by Matthew Robbins Design; Venue: Le Mas des Poiriers; Cake by Made In Cake; Catering by Brunet Frères Traiteur; Styling by Cynthia Cook Smith; Makeup by Danielle Vincent

Lauren Hubbard

Writer Lauren Hubbard is a freelance writer and Town & Country contributor who covers beauty, shopping, entertainment, travel, home decor, wine, and cocktails.

[tb5-hellbound]

talented amateurs - deleted scene (Scott and Jane)

the interlude to close out all that emotionally charged and highly dramatic Island Nonsense was originally going to be a monster of a chapter, a six way rotation through the POVs all of the significant other characters (plus a couple new voices) who we haven’t heard much from. this proved to be FAR too monumental a task and while I’m happier with the simplicity chapter I wound up with, there are still a few thousand words worth of written but unpublished extra content that add context and depth (as well as a bunch of important points I didn’t get to address on account of opting out of The Monster Chapter, fml), so here’s one of them.

There's a certain kind of long distance intimacy to the fact that they always know where to find one another. It's the first thing she does when she lands anywhere new---tells him where she is and how long she'll be there, just on the off chance that it's somewhere he's got the time to be. He responds in kind, and especially makes a point to let her know when he'll be free for more than one or two days at a stretch, and when possible, they'll both make a point to get together.

Jane's job takes her to almost as many corners of the world as his does, and currently she finds herself in a hotel room near the airport in Singapore, getting the requisite amount of sleep before her next cargo flight, a contracted sequence that takes her all over the South Pacific.

But she isn't sleeping. She'd already called Scott earlier in the evening to let him know she was going to be in the neighbourhood, relatively speaking, and he'd promised to get back to her as soon as possible. Now she's in her pajamas, curled up beneath the blankets in her hotel room bed. Instead of sleeping, she lies awake beneath beneath the bedsheets, frowning at the messages that glow from the screen of her comm.

S: I need to see you.

J: ooh I kinda hoped you might <3

J: Room 301 @ Aerotel Singapore ;)

J: bring me a bottle of whiskey or I'm not letting you in

S: Not like that.

J: oh.

J: Is everything okay?

S: Can't talk about it. Unsecured comm. I'll be there in an hour. Talk then.

And then nothing else. There's not much to go on, and she knows better by now than to try and press Scott for information when there's something bothering him, and she knows something's bothering him by the way he's terse and sharp and short. Whatever it is, it must be serious enough to warrant such strict privacy.

An hour is a long time to lie alone in the dark wondering what exactly her boyfriend's problem is. Initially she scours the news for any mention of any sort of disaster requiring the involvement of International Rescue and Thunderbird 1 by extension---but there's nothing. Nothing that's been publicly reported, at least. It's not in Jane's nature to worry about things she can't change, and so she puts it resolutely out of her mind. She passes the time reading recipes that she never intends to make, and browsing idly through the latest offerings from the tabloid press, though the "news" is all fairly stale and none of it sparks her interest.

She's dozing a little bit by the time there's a knock on her door, hard and loud enough that she starts awake, briefly bewildered before she remembers she's expecting company. There's an insistence to the second knock on the door that makes it more of a pounding, and she mutters uncharitably under her breath as she climbs out of bed.

The hotel room is cool, and it's late enough that it's starting to be early. Outside, the first suggestion of dawn creeps into the sky, a reminder that she really does need to be fresh and well-rested for her next flight, and whatever's brought Scott to her doorway right now had better be urgent.

Even though she's expecting him, natural caution has her stop and tap a fingertip against a touchscreen embedded at eye-level in the door. Just to be safe. This activates a camera to reveal a view of the hallway, and grants her a glimpse of Scott in an unguarded moment. The weariness and the worry in his bearing stifle any inclination she might have to tell him off for pounding on her door. He's rested one of his forearms against the doorjamb, and leans against it, looking worn out in a way he usually doesn't. He's also in full uniform, which isn't exactly uncommon, considering the usual manner of their meetings. Every now and again their schedules will overlap in such a way that she can join him somewhere where they can both be in their civvies---but tonight her uniform hangs pressed and ready in the closet by the door, and he's still in brilliant IR blue when Jane opens the door.

She only just catches him straightening up and pushing a hand through his hair, and if he doesn't quite smile when he sees her, some of the tension around his eyes seems to soften slightly.

"Hey," she says, and offers a smile that's gentle where it might otherwise be wicked, if this were their usual flavour of rendezvous. "C'mon in."

"Hi," he answers, but something about the way he says it seems almost absent, perfunctory. He's visibly distracted as he steps into her hotel room, moves swiftly past her as she closes the door behind him, and when she turns, he's made a beeline straight for the minibar in the corner of the room. A glass hits the countertop, and there's a melodic chime as the mini fridge swings open, and then three tiny bottles of liquor cluster around his chosen glass.

"I was kidding about the bottle of whiskey," Jane volunteers, watching as Scott deftly twists a tiny lid off a tiny bottle, and pours himself a shot of straight tequila. For Jane's part, her current employer maintains a strict zero-tolerance policy for drugs and alcohol, and there's a twelve hour delay required betwixt bottle and throttle. "I'm due back in the air in nine hours, I won't be joining you."

"Wasn't planning to share." Shots of rum and vodka join the tequila, tinting the concoction into a light amber colour. Scott reopens the mini fridge, frowns into it briefly, before closing it again. Before Jane can comment any further, he's picked up his drink and thrown it back, in the manner of somebody who'd better not intend to fly anywhere in the next twelve hours. This accomplished, he abandons his empty glass on the countertop, and turns away from the bar to drop bodily onto the waiting couch at the far end of her suite, tipping his head back and closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.

Jane, having watched this dramatic little one-man tableau from the doorway, takes her cue to pad across the room in her bare feet, and seats herself gingerly on the sleek coffee table in front of him. She doesn't say anything, quietly expectant, and waits patiently for Scott to set the tone with whatever he decides to say first.

To his credit, he doesn't make her wait long. "...Sorry." He lifts a still gloved (gauntleted, really) hand to rub his fingertips against closed eyes, and then drags his palm down his face.

"Hit the bottle kinda hard there, champ," Jane observes, keeping her tone carefully light and non-judgmental, at least until she has a better explanation of what's going on. "You're lucky the room gets charged to my company card."

Scott chuckles but doesn't look at her, darkly sardonic in a way that he just isn't, usually. "Just following orders."

That's uncharacteristically cryptic, and something about the way he's said it makes her skin crawl slightly, hinting at something she's starting to suspect, but doesn't want to believe. Three little bottles still sit empty atop the minibar, winking in the low lights of the hotel room and persistent at the edge of her awareness. She'd been joking about the bottle of whiskey, but it's true that some of the best times they've had together have been over beers at a ballgame, or sipping Scotch at some nameless hotel bar. But this is clearly different. And not just because he's on his way to getting very drunk, while she remains resolutely sober. Something's wrong; this isn't like him. Something brought this about.

Jane reaches out to put a hand on Scott's knee, and her voice is gentle and sincere as she asks, "Are you okay? What happened?"

Scott takes a deep breath, and his gaze falls to her hand upon his knee, as though he can't bring himself to look at her when he answers, "...I fucked up." His fingers close over hers with a kind of desperate urgency, like her touch is a lifeline he can't lose hold of. "I mean I really fucked up, Jane, and I came here because I need to talk to somebody, but I don't know if I can even tell you. It's some shit about me and some shit about my family, and it's big and ugly and complicated and none of it's good and I just---I don't know what you'll think."

He falls silent, and Jane isn't sure what to say. Even after two years, vulnerability is rare in the man who saved her life, and truth be told, Jane likes it that way. Not that she'd fault him for it, just that she wouldn't entirely know how to respond. She knows, though they never really talk about it, that Scott's seen some shit. Jane doesn't know how to talk about that kind of thing, because that kind of thing is the kind of thing she renders in terms like "seen some shit". Sensitivity isn't her strong suit. Softer emotions don't come naturally to her.

But then, Scott knows that. They have it in common.

It's some instinct, then, that has her take his hand in both of hers. Idly, absently, she starts to undo the assorted straps and buckles that fasten his gloves. It's easier to talk if she pretends that this task is meticulous and demands more attention than it really does. All she really wants is to get down to bare skin, the intimacy of real contact, and hope it'll help make her point clear.

"I remember when I told you about my dad," she says, not looking up and unbuckling a clasp and loosening a strap, and starting to work the fingers of the gloves loose. This gets a little tricky as Scott's fingers twitch, reflexively trying to clench into a fist at the mere mention of her father. She squeezes his wrist gently and his hand relaxes, so she goes on, "Speaking of 'big' and 'ugly' and 'complicated'. I didn't know what you were going to think, either."

She tugs the glove free, tosses it onto the couch beside him, as he protests, "This is different."

Now her hand clasps his for a moment, before she gets up from the coffee table, and sits right back down, beside him this time. Insistent, she curls herself up on the couch, leans against his chest, tilts her head against his shoulder. "Maybe. But you let me tell you, and you listened, and it helped to get it out, and now you know something about me that almost no one else does. If it would help to get it out, Scott, just talk. Or do you need me to get you another drink?"

"I need you to stay just exactly where you are." His right hand is bare now, and much more deftly than she had, he pulls his other glove off. Reflexively, maybe, his arm wraps around her shoulder, and though she'd nestled close, he pulls her closer still. The bare skin of his palm is warm against her arm, and she can smell the alcohol on his breath when he rests his cheek against the crown of her head and sighs.

Jane tilts her face up and kisses his cheek. For being as brave and intrepid and daring as he is, it can sometimes be hard to get the ball rolling with Scott. More often than not, Jane finds herself initiating things between them. She gives him another little nudge, literally and metaphorically. "Look---I recognize the irony of telling you this while we're in another damn hotel room, but babe, when we decided that this whole thing was going to be more than just hook-ups in hotel rooms, part of that was an agreement to talk to each other about our lives, once in a while."

He shifts beside her, but she refuses to do anything but cuddle stubbornly closer, even if she can hear the discomfort in his tone when he protests, "It's my brothers, though."

She can't help a snort of laughter at this. "You tell me everything about your brothers. The number of times you've come bitching to me at the end of a long day about Alan's whining or John's micromanaging---some days I think I know your brothers better than you do."

The statement is carefully crafted, deliberately phrased so as to needle at Scott's not-so-subtle competitive edge, his perpetual need to prove himself. Still, even thus prompted, it takes him a few long moments to volley back, and there's genuine anguish in his voice when he asks---

"Do you know what to do when one of them gets his girlfriend pregnant?"

[yourplasticlittlespastic]

ᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴇʙ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ -- Peter Parker fanfic (1/of many)

A/N: As you already know, MCU sometimes could be confusing so I'm doing my best to adapt the story to what happened in the movies. The story happens before Civil War and I'm not planning on ending it ٩(^ᴗ^)۶The main character has a name but c' mon it's fanfic if you want it to change it to yours, feel free, also that goes for the physique as well. 

They say that the first five seconds when you wake up you don't know who you are, your mind is blank, there are no worries, no memories... but in my case... I always know who I am

Wake up at 5:40 am

Brush teeth and change to yoga pants

Do at least 30 minutes at the treadmill

Shower in less than 12 minutes and change

I started applying some light makeup when the tablet my dad gave me started beeping and flashing blue lights, I touched it and a hologram appeared with a photo I took of my dad eating Doritos.

"Dad?"

"No Miss Stark, it's me, Friday" her calm voice emerges

"oh! good morning Friday... why you have that photo of my dad?"

"good morning Tannie, your father asked me to remind you of today"

"today? what's today?"

"he wants to watch a movie with you while eating dinner"

"Great! yes, thanks for the reminder... wait... what movie?", I said while putting my earrings and some bracelets

"he told me to tell you that it's one of the best movies in the history of cinema"

"I hope he's not talking about The Hangover or The Hangover 2" I took my small purse ready to leave and have some breakfast

"If it helps he never told me the name of the movie Miss Stark"

I stopped in front of the tablet "Friday, don't be so formal with me please I told you to call me T, Jarvis used to call me like that too"

"I'm sorry, formality is integrated into my system, I'll change it"

"Thanks, oh and mom is still asleep?"

"let me check" I waited some seconds "yes, I detect a thermal figure in the bed"

"Thank you Friday" I exited my room and went to the kitchen

I prepared some scrambled eggs with toast, I took the overnight oatmeal I prepared and chopped some fruit, the complex seemed incredibly quiet without the cavemen and with cavemen, I'm referring to Thor, Steve, usually Sam, Clint, and even my own dad. I heard one of the doors open and my mom came with a sleepy face.

"Mom, hey!"  I speak quietly "I prepared coffee for you"

She gratefully smiled and grabbed it and walked close to me "thank you honey" she yawns and gave me a kiss on my temple  "you even prepare breakfast?"

I just smile in response and offered her a plate for her to start eating, I started eating too.

"so... what are you doing today?" she grabbed the newspaper, flickering her eyes and started reading the headlights

"not much actually, in an hour I need to go to Midtown to bring in some papers for my file and I need to speak to Morita as well"

"why? is everything okay?" her drowsy voice stops and she lifts her eyes to me with a concerned expression

"yes, it's because I want to join a club and I need more info about it"

"club? dance? drama?" she smiles showing her subtle dimples

"mom... no, I mean yes... I do love dancing and drama but that's not my path. It's robotics lab's club" I proudly smile at her

"wow, honey, you'll do amazing I mean it!" she smiles and holds my hand  "actually I'm not surprised, I mean since you were this tall you spent hours beside your dad just looking how he built all of his stuff"

"yeah he is partially responsible for me liking robotics and I believe that I can build something that helps society" I felt my exciting going up just thinking about it

"oh dear, your eyes just lit up just saying that...just like your dad" she stared at me and then went back eating

"by the way mom, where is everyone? is seldom quiet?" I quickly started eating

"ha! I know right? I believe they're at the gym? or maybe saving the world?"

"well wish them luck...mmm now I have to go but I'll be here in less than two hours max" I kissed her cheek and place the dish in the sink, with a final wave I walk to the lift

"bye baby!" she yells

I patiently waited to be downstairs, when I got to the street I saw Happy already waiting... probably my mom texted him I was going out, I saw my bike, that I never use,  just on the other corner and tiptoed to it...

"Tannieeeee" Happy says with a warning tone, I stop in my track and spin to look at him

"hey, Happy! how are you today you seem happy" I winked at him and he chuckles but quickly his lips are a fine line

"what are you doing? huh?"

"I'm going to Midtown and taking my bike" I innocently smile at him fluttering my lashes

"good try Tannie but you can't do that" he points a finger at me and I roll my eyes

"please geez, Happy, it's just going there and returning here I can even send you a text when I get there"

"what's your name?" he suddenly asks

"what? Tannie..."

"your whole name..." he now rolls his eyes at me

"Tannie Maria Stark," I chant without a clue of what he's talking about

"oh! yes! Stark! the daughter of a billionaire man who happens to be Iron Man and best friends with other Avengers, right?" he exclaims and I sigh in defeat

"a'right got your point Happy, happy?" I step into the car feeling the leathered seats and Happy closes the door behind me

"very much so, yes" he says when he climbs inside the driver's seat

The drive was fast given how the traffic is on New York, Happy left me in front of the school and he made me swear for my whole family that I'll be careful returning to my home and that I need to send him a selfie proving it's me who's texting him. I waved goodbye and looked around, the school without the hormonal teenagers is better, I mean, I'm a teenager, yes, but given the context I was raised in, and probably my mother's genes (not my dad's) I'm more mature than most of the students in Midtown. I entered and walked to the administration office, I quickly gave my documents and walked towards Morita's Office.

"Principal Morita? may I come in?" I knock twice

"please, yes!" he excitedly says and I opened the door seeing him with a tropical shirt and two bags by his side "And Miss Stark, so punctual as always, have a sit please and forgive this dress code but I just returned from THE MOST relaxing place and I still keeping the vibe but I know the vibe will vanish the first day of school, therefore... tomorrow" I kindly smile at him

"so! you wanted to talk about registration to a club?"

"yes, I... want to enter to the Robotics Lab's club and I just wanted to see if I need to submit any previous work or any mmm letter of recommendation?"

"well, Miss Stark let me say I was hoping for the day of you joining and yes a submission of previous work is required but let me tell you that the projects students submit are like machines who feed automatically their pets or back scratchers and I know you are in another level... and letter of recommendation? your own name is the green pass"

That's what I thought...

"well I know but, with all due respect Principal, put yourself in my shoes... I don't want to enter just because of my name..." I confess

"very well, no favoritism I see, tomorrow at the auditorium there are going to be tables each one for each club and you can talk there to the president of the club and put your name on the list" he smiles, the corner of his eyes wrinkled

"perfect, thank you very much that was all I needed" I shake his hand and leave, I see the hallways and sigh, tomorrow will be chaos.

When I left school I breathe the fresh-ish air and started walking to my house, I closely watched everything street life has to offer and suddenly in front of me a man inside a building crashed into the glass window, it seemed like someone pushed him quite hard, I jump back and froze, he quickly grabs his gun and I immediately  hide between a car and a parking machine.

"come here, spidey boy!" I se how he's holding a backpack and suddenly he's kicked again by a flying... no, swinging figure... Spider-Man, I saw one of his videos last week

From where I am, I can only see his back and how he's confining the other man into a tiny corner

"please!- " he punches the man "be nicer " he punches him again "and never steal something!" he finally knocks the man down  "Police is coming! they'll deal with you" quickly he throws a web and literally as a modern Tarzan swings away, I closely watch him... who the hell is that guy?

I quickly stride away from the place and strictly went home, I knew Happy was right, my name is double-edged, I can be easily a target but I do need freedom once in a while. I arrive at the tower and see Happy waiting outside so I checked with him I was alive, of course, without mentioning the incident with the spider-ling thing, he sighs of relief and walks to his car to leave.

-------

Until 6 pm I binge-watched series and prepared some outfits for tomorrow, no sign of the Avengers nor my mom yet, so I grabbed a book and started reading when a smell of food being cooked woke my stomach, I entered the kitchen and smile when I saw Steve's broad back, every single time dressed as an old man... Jesus, help him.

"Hey Tannie! how was your day?" he smiles at me and I walk beside him peering inside the pan

"to ordinary actually, what about you? you left to early and you came so late?" I question him

"yes, some meetings with everyone, nothing else" I sense he was hiding something, these years with him and the others actually helped me to read their body language... well, I'm still trying with Nat... but probably it's for my own sake not to know about it

"well... glad you're here know, my dad is...?"

"at the living room," he points with the spatula

"Thank you and let me say that whatever you are cooking smells wonderful" I playfully grabbed his arm and he laughs and blushes  "Oh my god your arm is so fat, I mean, so fit!" I leave the kitchen and walk to the living room where my dad is talking through the phone

"yes, I know... I'm gonna talk to him okay? yes, bye-bye" he hangs up "My kid! my genes or half of them! How are you?" he loudly exclaims and I giggle throwing my arms to the air

"My dad! the provider of half my genes! I'm fine!" I continue with his joke and he chuckles

"oh, Tannie" he sits on the couch "the fact you share my sense of humor and my sarcasm makes me happy" he touches his arc reactor dramatically

"so... you wanted to watch a movie?"

"yes! yes, I want to!" he cheerfully claps and grabs the remote control to turn the TV on

"please tell me it's not The Hangover... or the second one.." I plea with puppy eyes

He rapidly turns to me with an over-exaggerated sad expression "what is with your hate for those movies? they're a Masterpiece of comedy and total drama!"

"I hope you are joking dad," I settle on the couch and his silence ends the little debate, I watch the screen and see how he's searching for something

"let's enjoy it, shall we?" he settles comfortably on the couch and my eyes dart again to the screen

the black background soon fades to a fast motion of a city"Welcome," a woman's voice says

"you're about to step into a wonderful journey of knowledge that will give you the best advice for having a healthy and harmonious life"

What hell is this?

I turn to look at my dad expecting some answer or saying he chose the wrong movie and with the corner of my eye I see Steve walking towards the TV to check what we're watching and his face changes, he winces. On the other side of the open room I see the big figure of Thor, then Sam, and Clint approaching too.

"Hello, kids! I'm Captain America and I'm so happy to talk to you face to face about some things you need to know about life"

Images of a woman and a man holding hands and kissing appear, my cheeks start to feel hot

"Human relationships are normal and at your age, you start generating hormones that can provoke you some changes, physically and mentally and you need to be prepared! just like I was when I drank the serum!"

Holy shit... it's a sex ed video...

"seriously dad?" I spin my head to him with a red face of embarrassment

"what? shhh, the next part is important" he ignores me so I stand up and walk in front of the TV, avoiding Steve's face

"that? seriously dad? c' mon really?  I... I don't need this video!"

"Okay, we can look for another one but let me tell you... this is the most liberal one" he points out and Steve gently slaps his shoulder

"no! I seriously don't need any kind of video. I totally know everything" I bring my hands to my hips

"oh, really missy? everything? how? huh?" he questions and the eyes of everyone falls on me

I sighed and roll my eyes "mom talked to me during this summer break and she never showed me a video by the way"

"oh ok! that is checked on the list on how to raise a daughter, your mom's the best" his face changes to the 'everything's good in this world and that includes me'  look

"but seriously dad, you really needed to put the video of Steve talking about sex?" I point to the paused video and see how Steve scratches his jaw

"well, I thought it will make you feel comfortable, right? like you are always seeing him and you sometimes play scrabble with him..."

"no, Tony, I don't think that's how it works" Steve steps in  "but come on Tannie, your dad has a point"

"yeah he does kid," Clint says  "I'm rehearsing for when I need to talk to my kids as well... especially Lila"

"I don't know what to say, I never had this on Asgard and look how I turned out!" Thor happily smiles at me and I just shake my head

"well, this is awkward," Sam whispers

"listen T, tomorrow you are starting Sophomore year, parties are wilder, boys are in need of girlfriends and like Cap said! hormones are everywhere, I'm a little concerned here, I'm a very devoted father you know?"

"Okay devoted father... now let me relax you... I have a curfew for parties, I don't drink, I don't have time for boyfriends and I don't need one right now, I have better things to do"

"like?" Sam quickly asks

"I'm joining the robotics lab's club"

"ha! nerd!" Thor starts laughing and Clint slaps his bicep

"yes! there you go, Tony! no need to worry about your daughter... now I'm going to eat because I'm starving" Cliny raises his hands in victory

"see ya! hey Steve save me some" Sam exits the living room and Thor and Steve too, I sit beside my dad

"robotics?" he huffs and smiles "pffff, I'm very proud of you T, seriously, you are like the perfect adolescent"

"thanks?...." I hug him "now please dad just burn that movie, pleaseeeee"

"yes! immediately! on it!"

--------

I finished my day eating cereal in the living room and playing charades with the teaming with Clint and Sam, and beating the sh... and beating Steve and Thor, who are new to pop culture, Finally, I went to sleep or tried to because I'm excited to learn new things... geez, Thor is right I'm a nerd.

A/N: hope you liked it! Also available in Wattpad! https://my.w.tt/sw2CZNdCv1

[rough-and-whump]

Rough is a Whumpee

So, yeah, this might end up being a series, ha ha! I tend to hurt myself a lot and this might be a fun thing for me.

Please keep in mind: I might “whumpify” some of my experiences to make it more interesting in a whump context.

I’m not sure if this might be a trigger for anyone, but obvs don’t read this too much if you don’t like the idea of “whump” type things happening to real people. 

Again, I do this for fun, and I’m as clumsy as a three-legged camel walking blindfolded and backwards on a snow-capped mountain.

Some context:

I do karate. Been practicing for about 9 years. I started as an adult and am one of the longer standing members of my club right now. Most of my peers in the front line have been practicing for 20+ years.

I have chosen to do this to myself, because it’s part of what I view as “my journey” as a martial artist. Plus also, I mean, my injuries in karate have never been that serious - I’m partially lucky, but mostly smart about how I fight and who I fight, lol!

I totally have a lot of times when I get hurt. Most times, it’s not bad - it’s just low-level stuff that bothers me during the day. But when I describe it, it definitely does sound bad - I find it’s okay, like, I can still function; but lots of folks I talk to about my injuries look at me like I’m stupid. But, frankly, I can’t afford to just stay home whenever I feel a bit uncomfortable. XD

The incident:

Canada Day Parade with my karate club. It’s been rainy and wet. We know that this makes boards harder to break, but we (me and my student) still wanted to do it. 

Boards seem fine, our test breaks two days before the Parade went well.

Parade time. First three breaks for me go fine. But there’s definitely more hurt in these boards than the ones we broke last year. Still decide to go ahead.

Break four, last of the parade. In front of a group of small kids, namely girls. It’s my student and my fave corner for breaks since the crowd is usually really amped up. 

It’s been raining now for the last twenty minutes - our boards are soaked. We know this, but we still go for it because we’re idiots.

I set up for an elbow break. I’ve done two of these and a front punch break all fine up to now. So I figure, okay, I can do this. Just all the power.

Fire it up, annnnnd... first one - bounce. Don’t swear, try again. Full power. Bounce.

I switch to a hammer fist break and get through it, but ooowwwwwww.

The consequence:

I have some righteous bruising on my elbow and hand from my two good elbow breaks, the front punch and the hammer fist. I don’t bruise easily and I have an olive/tan skin tone, so bruises don’t generally show through. But these are a niiiiice deep purple, ha ha!

Aaaaaand I have a separated AC joint in my right shoulder.

The whump, mental side:

The doubt of whether or not the injury is actually as bad as it is.

Don’t want to seem “weak”, so I often brush off pain that requires frequent and often medication.

Also don’t want to make a big deal if this really isn’t so bad. It isn’t a full on dislocation, it’s fixable, so it can’t be that bad.

Buuuut, legit it hurts. I refuse to take a bunch of painkillers because I don't like how they make me feel. I'm trying to make do using weed and rest.

Part of why I'm purposefully avoiding strong pain killers is also because when I've done that in the past, I've also ended up trying to "push through" my injury and it makes my recovery longer.

Extending on the point above: I’m purposefully choosing to feel more pain so that I know when to kinda pull back from what I’m doing. This said, I still feel it. So I’m spending the day with increased tension in my neck (manifesting headaches to boot) and a bit of mind fog from just having to devote some of my mind to ignoring the pain.

Details on the painkiller thing: I’m choosing not to use Robax, Motrin, or Tylenol much because I legit had a problem with them a few years back. I never developed any actual bad liver or kidney problems, but I was taking about a bottle of Robax Platinum every week for three weeks at one point. That’s a lot of Robax. And that was a recent blip. Before I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety and Clinical Depression, I turned to Robax and alcohol to manage my symptoms of panic and feelings of worthlessness. It really did a number on me. There were a lot of factors pushing me into that corner. Honestly, I wish I had access to weed at that time, because it would have helped me so much to have alternative, healthier, and less harmful pain relief and anxiety help. 

When I first stopped taking Robax and chose to just deal with the pain as best I could, it took me about a month to realize that I was feeling better and better and better. I didn’t know why - I thought hey maybe it was just weather or something. But after some more reflection and a bit of experimentation, I found that it was actually the chemical painkillers that made me feel that way.

Legit I was addicted to painkillers. I went from liking the relief I got from two Robax at a time to needing to take four at a time to get a sort of “high” feeling - I could put on “robax glasses” that made it easier to deal with my abusive boss, the blatant illegal activity happening at work, and the toxic work environment and shit pay.

The whump, physical stuff (aka the good stuff):

I can’t lift my right arm over my head, combined with being a creature of habit and right handed, it’s lead to a lot of “fuck, ow!” moments when reaching up for some stationary at the office or when reaching for something in the cabinets in the kitchen.

Sharp pains occasionally - not often - kind of radiates up and down in severity. I can’t find a trigger for it yet, if there is one. It could just be pain ‘cause it’s a busted shoulder. 

Pains tend to be:

“heat” at the shoulder itself

“radiating” lines of tension and sharp pulling pains up across the collarbone towards the base of the neck, up the side of the neck, into the right side of my head (somehow?! when I went to get accupuncture, that point was suuuuper effective/painful), and down towards the meeting point of all the lat muscles in the mid back.

The neck pain is the worst, it sends shooting pains up the right side of my head, and definitely puts me “on edge”.

Typing is a fresh horror. I work an office job in tech and do a lot of typing in my day, so I had to figure out with our office wellness dude (who is such a darling and so sweet, and legit he and I schedule “meetings” that end up just us chatting about our weekend adventures) how to set up my station so I keep my arm internally rotated.

Side note: legit, this separated shoulder thing is a much bigger deal than I think I want it to be. I’m scared of it, really. I don’t want to lose the full function of my right arm - I need to fight with it, plus I need to still be able to “Simba raise” my cat into the air on sunny mornings.

He was telling me I should look into getting a sling so it’s supported while I’m just sitting/not using it. I’m ok without one at work cause I can set up my station so my elbow is supported and I can keep my arm internally rotated. But like, this guy doesn’t make a big deal out of nothing - if he’s advising me to get a sling, I really should consider it... he’s a trained kinesiologist and former physiotherapist, like, he knows what he’s talking about. XD

Headache onset by 11:25 AM. Shit, I wish I took my CBD oil to work. 

It’s definitely a constant presence in my mind - it makes working harder to a degree because a part of my mind is just always firing. But at the same time, work is also better because I have a reason to kind of fully invest myself mentally into work - the pain also sort of drives it. But it’s exhausting and unsustainable. 

Fictional Whump Thoughts From This:

Again, this is me dramatizing my thoughts. I don’t actually think exactly like this - there are parts that are true, but most of it is just me using my experience as a whump jumping point.

“Ah! Fuck... Dammit.” (in response to trying to do a movement drill on Saturday but realizing even just pulling back my left arm with power makes my right shoulder hurt)

“No no, I’m good, it’s okay. It’s just that it hurts a bit and I can’t lift heavy things, but I can still do a lot - it’s okay.”

“Hey, uh, could, um, could I get help out to the car with this?” (sheepishly asked at the grocery store for four measly bags - I ended up just carrying the light stuff on the right side and taking forever because it took too long and I was too embarrassed to wait for help. I’m otherwise able, so I shouldn’t use resources, right?)

“Oh, no, it’s fine - it’s a small price to pay, really. I felt super badass.” (Truth, but some people don’t get it)

[This is less fictional more real, but let’s say it’s dramatized a bit]: I’m really glad this happened to me and not one of my students. I’ve trained for this. And I signed up to do the board breaking knowing it would be harder, more risky and I would certainly be injured. If nothing else, I anticipated bloodied knuckles (I still have the scars from last year’s parade). This would have seriously injured a younger, less experienced student of mine - and would have had lasting mental consequences. Especially done in a public setting like a parade. A lot of people think the boards we break are fake or styrofoam. McDojos might do that, but my club has a history of hard, traditional-style training. Our boards are half inch pine. They’re easier to break, but they still hurt.

“fuck, this is hard without painkillers... this without painkillers or weed?... ugh, my day is gonna be way harder than it should be.”

[In response to my boyfriend’s question of ‘what can I do to make it better?’]: “Naw, I’m good, it’s just me complaining. Don’t mind me, it’s fine. Just complaining about it makes it easier to deal with the pain.”

There’s a definite sense of irritation that I can’t do my usual activities to reduce tension in my neck. I can’t shake my head quickly, my neck mobility is limited, I’m getting tension pains in my left trap now, great.

When I’m in consistent, low-level pain, I often forget to breathe. When deep breathing pulls on the muscles in the shoulder due to how all the torso muscles connect, it makes it even worse.

Okay, legit tho, I’m starting to feel bummed out. So I’mma go throw myself into work.

Again, this is something I did to myself. A lot of my online friends don’t get why I’m so dedicated to this. But I’ve noticed martial artists all react to my injuries with the same reaction I have - sympathetic, but ultimately we’re a bunch of testosterone-ridden fools who like to brag about battle scars. And then ask for heat packs or back rubs ‘cause we’re bunches of teddy bears when we’re not fighting each other.

Anyways, legit this could probably turn into a series for me. I tend to be the whumpee or the caretaker in a lot of scenarios. 

Is this something y’all are good with? Would you prefer this be formatted differently? Anything else you want to know? Otherwise I’mma keep doin’ it just like this.

[forestwater87]

Gwenvid Week Day 5

Day 5: Community Appreciation / Favorite AU

To celebrate the amazing Gwenvid community, I took the really fascinating Ghoul AU that @color-theorist (or @color-theorist-art ) created, which has no explicit Gwenvid as of yet, and then somehow accidentally created several pages of momgwen with very little Gwenvid in it. Oops. And probably fucked up the lore. Double oops. Oh well, I hope y’all have fun anyway! :)

It wasn’t anything like Buffy, was the first thing Gwen realized about fighting monsters.

For one thing, it was a lot less fighting -- she wasn’t exactly built for dealing out pain -- and a lot more researching. And not in weathered tomes blanketed with a thick layer of dust with crinkled pages full of secrets. Sure, there was some of that, but ghouls in particular seemed to be a relatively new phenomenon, or were just so uninteresting to the ancients that they didn’t bother writing about them. Mostly it involved trawling internet forums and trying to arrange interviews with the leads who seemed the most promising. Which in itself required a great deal of convincing paranoid heroin addicts that she was neither a ghoul intent on devouring their flesh or a member of the government who would haul them off to Super Guantanamo. All that work, only to have her work dismissed by every publisher she’d recommended it to, and a pointed recommendation by the History Department chair that it would be best for her career at Sleepy Peak Community College if she found another subject to focus her studies on.

“‘It’s really all about the branding,’” she mimicked quietly, shifting her weight in a futile attempt to get comfortable. ”’Just call it “folklore.”’ That’s academically dis-fucking-honest, Mr. Bishop.” Gwen grabbed her bag from where it was dangling off the arm of a marble angel and hauled out a binder and a flashlight. “I’m the only professor under thirty who hasn’t gotten the fuck out of here after three months, Mr. Bishop. This shitty school wouldn’t even have a goddamn newspaper if it wasn’t for me, Mr. Bishop. Fuck, this is cold,” she muttered, glaring down at the polished granite with distaste before sliding down onto the grass, leaning back against the tombstone she’d just climbed off of. “I’m doing important work, here.”

Gwen opened the binder, eyeing the hand-drawn map of the Long Sleep Cemetery and tracing the scraggly line of bright red X’s that marked out fourteen ravaged graves, then flipping to a map of the entire city, which was covered in yellow dates around the church, hospital, and veterinary clinic. She glanced from these to the mausoleum she was staking out, like the ghoul would just appear there if she looked hard enough.

“Come on, asshole,” she said, flopping back against the tombstone and turning off the flashlight. “I know I did this right, so just show up where you’re supposed to.”

It was crazy, she knew all that. Knew her meticulous tracking of local robberies and vandalism looked from the outside like the scribblings of a madwoman fraying her last nerve. It was why she took so much care in repackaging every piece of evidence into a series of respectable, ponderous, academic -- boring, if she was being perfectly honest with herself -- books.

A series of respectable, academic, unpublished books.

Because this was all crazy. Believing in undead monsters that needed to consume the living (or recently-dead) was crazy. Objectively, she was probably rather crazy.

The thing was, she was right.

She just had to find a way to prove it.

“You’re not good at this, are you?”

Gwen jumped at the voice and whipped around, brandishing her flashlight in one hand and her binder in the other -- before she overbalanced and had to drop both, catching herself before she fell flat on her back in the dew-drenched grass. “Whaatherfucke --”

So. Not much like Buffy at all.

Her attacker was thin, stretched out and lanky like a very short Slenderman. As he stepped around the gravestone and moved towards her, his eyes reflected the light from a nearby streetlamp like a cat’s, gleaming out from underneath the dark hoodie that obscured most of his features.

Human eyes don’t glow like that.

She snatched up her flashlight and flicked it back on; she tried not to shine it in his face, but he flinched away from it anyway, hunching his shoulders and shoving his hands into his sweatshirt pocket. The light revealed a narrow brown face that was sickly yellow underneath the eyes and nearly gray in the hollows of his cheekbones. “Kids aren’t supposed to be out after ten pm,” she said, narrowing her eyes. She took in the teenager’s slouchy grace, the way he walked as though every movement was both naturally easy and indescribably exhausting.

“No one’s supposed to be in the graveyard after it closes, but that didn’t stop you,” he replied, slumping against the marble angel and watching her with those unnerving catlike eyes.

She’d found her ghoul.

Gwen drew herself up, standing so she could look down at him. “I have permission,” she lied. “I’m conducting research on the series of grave-robbings in the last few wee --”

“My dad’s a cop with really shitty password protection. You don’t have permission for shit.” He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. “You’re one of those nuts who wants to hunt vampires.”

“Ghouls aren’t vampires,” she corrected before she could stop herself, the pedantic need to be right temporarily overpowering her common sense. “Blood is evidently not an essential component of their diet, and -- you know what, this is a stupid conversation and I’m not having it.” She settled back against her tombstone and turned her gaze to the mausoleum her ghoul was supposed to be raiding instead of making snide comments about her profession. “Go get your dead person snack.”

The kid jolted, and she watched his look of horror out of the corner of her eye. “How the fuck --” He shook his head, a shock of floppy black hair escaping the hoodie and falling over one of his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

She pulled her binder back into her lap with a small grunt of effort. Christ, this thing was getting heavy. “Whoever’s been raiding the cemetery’s been really smart about it,” she said, refusing to look up at him. “Always hits it just as the attention is beginning to die down -- pardon the pun -- and always far enough from the others that the area is totally isolated. But they do it without making it look like a pattern.” She glanced up at him, a little gratified to see him leaning over her map curiously. So this was what validation felt like! “I’d been wondering how they knew when to sneak back in here, but . . . having a dad in the police force might do it, if the cop was dumb enough.” She turned to another section of her notes, an alphabetical list of everyone in the SPPD. “I knew I should’ve paid more attention to their families,” she mumbled, flipping through the officers. “Which of you is the idiot with an undead son?”

“Hey, fuck you!” he snapped, stepping away from the binder and back to the marble angel. “You can’t just go around calling people monsters because they’re wandering around a graveyard. Hell, that makes you sound just as much like one of those things as me.”

Gwen ticked off on her fingers without looking up from the police directory: “Alarmingly thin, glowing eyes, a bit of a nasty undead pallor -- bet people are constantly asking if you’re sick --”

“Again, fuck you.”

“-- and a tricky-but-predictable pattern of raiding cemeteries, morgues, and . . . have you been eating dead animals?” She glanced up at him then with a frown. “I didn’t know ghouls could do that.”

“They can’t,” he muttered, kicking at the grass, “but it was worth a shot.”

She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride. This was her first legitimate monster sighting! She wasn’t crazy! “It’s all circumstantial, of course. You never really know if you’ve got a ghoul or just someone with, like, lupus. But the cat-eye thing was a big tip off. Also, you know, hanging out in the cemetery when no one in their right minds would go anywhere near the place.” He looked at her for a long moment, and she cringed. “Yes, fine, I heard it.”

“So you’re like an expert in useless information no one gives a shit about, huh?”

She thought about getting offended, but he was kind of right. At least, a boatload of publishers would agree with him. “Yeah . . .”

He looked back over at the mausoleum thoughtfully, and she couldn’t help but be curious. “Does it taste good when it’s been dead for a while?” she asked. She was sorely tempted to grab her pencil and notebook, but that might scare the kid off. “I’ve read it’s not supposed to be as . . .” Nutritious just felt gross, in this context, so she let the sentence trail off.

He shrugged. “A little bland, but I kinda like it better. Got this weird kind of . . . cheesy aftertaste? Not like I’ve had cheese since I was a kid, but like that really smelly stuff rich people put on everything.”

“That’s pretty disgusting.” She couldn’t quite keep the note of appreciation out of her voice. (She’d always been a sucker for gory movies.) “So what’s with the change?”

“What’re you talking about?”

That was in her other binder. Gwen rustled through her backpack until she found the right one and opened it up to a spread of newspaper clippings. “All the killings. Two this week, three in the last two months. I haven’t put a map together yet --” and god, she already felt tired thinking about it, “-- but they don’t seem to have any sort of pattern. I figure it can’t be you because, well, all my research suggests that if you were eating fresh kills you’d be a lot more . . .” She gestured vaguely at him. “Alive-looking.”

He bared his teeth, and if they were sharper-looking than normal she was almost positive that was just her imagination. “You don’t have a lot of friends, do you?”

She didn’t, but that was beside the point. “So do you know who’s doing this?” she asked, scrambling to her knees and finally giving in to the urge to grab her pen. “Can you tell me? I interned as a police sketch artist, so even if you just describe them I bet I could --”

“You expect me to narc?”

“They’re killing people!”

“Eh, I --”

“Max?”

They were both blinded; squinting past the flashlight, Gwen could barely make out a male figure. The newcomer lowered the light, stepping forward. His eyebrows drew together as he took in the scene: a kid lounging on a tombstone, having a conversation with a woman kneeling in the damp grass surrounded by open books and binders. “What are you doing out here? You know it’s past curfew!”

The ghoul -- Max, it seemed -- rolled his eyes and sighed. “It’s not like you’re gonna arrest me. I just saw this weird lady sneaking into the graveyard and wanted to see what she was doing.”

As surreptitiously as she could, Gwen glanced down at the list of police officers in her lap, comparing the smiling photos to the grim-faced man shaking his head at Max. Officer David E. Greenwood. On the force for about ten years. According to some gossip she’d scribbled in the margin, he’d turned down the opportunity to become a detective a few years ago, holding onto his lower-paying desk job for the sake of his --

His son.

“Miss?” Greenwood waved the flashlight, dragging her attention back to the conversation. “I’m going to need to ask you to leave the --”

“Yeah, fine,” she grumbled, shoving her work back into her bag. “You know, I should get a special pass or something for doing research,” she said, more to herself than to the officer.

He cocked his head to the side, looking for all the world like a big puppy wearing a police badge. “Well, I’m afraid we can’t do anything like that, but I’d be very interested in learning what you’re researching!” He frowned. “Actually, you look familiar . . .”

“I used to be the department intern,” she said with a shrug. She was a little older than Greenwood, so it wasn’t like he’d have been working there to remember --

“Oh, Gwen! Yes, of course I’ve heard all about you!” He took a step forward, like he was about to wrap her up in a hug, before his smile dimmed a bit and he coughed lightly into his fist. “Mr. Campbell speaks very highly of you! He’s been saying he wishes more people would be willing to work for no money, but I’m sure he just meant that you did such a fantastic job! You work at the college now, right? You know, I’ve been meaning to take some classes but I just haven’t had the time --”

“Dad,” Max interrupted, “it’s cold as fuck. Can we just go?”

“Right! Sorry, Max.” He shot his son -- though they really looked nothing alike -- an apologetic grin before turning the smile toward her. “If you’ll just follow me, ma’am. Goodness, isn’t it lovely out here at night? Sometimes I wish . . .”

When they were outside, Max broke through Greenwood’s stream of pleasantries. “Hey, can I talk to her for a second before we go?” When they both shot him a confused, surprised look, he shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket, hunching his shoulders defensively. “What? We were in the middle of a conversation.”

Greenwood hummed thoughtfully, glancing between the two of them. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Gwen.” He shook her hand enthusiastically.

“You too, officer.”

“Please, call me David!” He winked, then strolled along the outer cemetery wall until he was well out of earshot, his hands clasped behind his back like a military at-ease. Max scuffed his shoe along the asphalt; Gwen had dealt with enough students to know not to push him, so she watched the clouds slide like molasses along the sky and waited.

“You know a lot about this stuff, huh? Like, it’s useless, but you still have a lot of research.” She nodded, watching curiosity wage war with misanthropy across his face. Finally he blurted out, “So can I read some of it sometime? I mean, it’s probably mostly bullshit, but . . .”

She’d given up on carrying copies of her books around with her, on the off chance that someone might be interested if it came up in conversation. “I’m usually on campus at noon,” she said. “Stop by my office. I’ve got a couple things you could borrow.” She fought to keep the eagerness out of her voice, but the thought of her self-bound books actually being read by someone was way too exciting.

Even if that someone was a moody undead kid with the most improbable home life she’d ever heard of.

He nodded, a little awkwardly, and started to walk away before she put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, are you gonna be all right without eating?”

He shrugged. “Isn’t the first time.”

Gwen hesitated. It could get so so fired, but . . . “Listen, I work some nights at the hospital morgue. Just like, processing bodies and stuff.”

“I thought you were a professor.”

She sighed. “Adjunct,” she admitted. “Only part time. Anyway, I can’t always . . . like obviously we’d have to be really careful, and there’s no real good way to . . . but if there’s actual murderous ghouls around you probably shouldn’t be so hungry they’ll kick your ass or something --”

“How did you make offering help come out so insulting?” Max sounded impressed. He glanced over his shoulder at David, then raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “We’ll work something out, yeah. Beats digging up coffins all night.”

David meandered back in their direction. “Would you like to be walked home, Miss Gwen? It’s not safe to be out alone at this time of night.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, sure.”

She knew how dangerous it was. Had written hundreds of pages on the subject, in fact.

But it was nice, for the first time in her life, to feel like she’d actually accomplished something useful.

“Dad wants you to come over for dinner again.”

Gwen jumped; Max had an infuriating tendency to just appear in doorways without a sound, usually when she was deep in concentration doing something else. She thought maybe he enjoyed scaring her. “I have class tonight,” she said, taking the book he held out, “but tell him thanks.”

Max slouched into the chair on the other side of her desk, watching her dig through her books for the next one in the series. Over the past few weeks he’d been going through her research, and while his habit of writing corrections or commentary in the margins -- with pen, no less! -- was unbelievably annoying, she was making more progress in two months than she had in years. “Second time this week,” he observed.

It took her a second to realize what he was saying. “Huh? Oh, yeah, I appreciate it. Seriously, make sure you thank him for me.” Dinners with Max and David were a little awkward, mostly because only David seemed to really want to be there, but it certainly beat microwave dinners in front of her computer.

“I think he likes you.”

She made a dismissive noise. “He likes everyone,” she said. In fact, she’d made it a personal goal to hear him say something unkind about somebody. It was unsuccessful so far, but she had faith. She handed him the next book, watching him turn it over in his hands appraisingly with something almost like nervousness. It was one thing to have someone read your life’s work -- it was quite another when the person reading your work was also literally the subject of it.

“So you’re gonna stop by after class, right?”

“I -- no?” Sure, sometimes Gwen did, if she’d forgotten to give Max something or if David’s texts had seemed especially plaintive; she got the sense that his life wasn’t as sunshine-and-rainbows as he tried to make it seem, and watching TV or sitting out on the porch after Max had disappeared into his room wasn’t much of a sacrifice. But it wasn’t a habit or anything. “Maybe I have shit to do.”

He snorted. “No you don’t.”

She didn’t, but she didn’t need to be reminded of the life she didn’t have by an obnoxious kid who literally had no life.

When she didn’t respond he stood up, tucking her book under his arm. “So I’ll tell Dad you’ll be by after class. And I’m gonna be at Neil’s tonight.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“Ugh, don’t make me say it. It’s fucking gross.”

Gwen watched Max lope out of her office, wondering if he was aware that he’d just told her his father was lonely. And that it worried him.

“For fuck’s sake, just go out already!”

Her pen jerked a scraggly line across the paper, jagged and uneven like the sudden spike in her heart rate. “Why can’t you knock, you shitty excuse for a Halloween monster?” she growled, shoving her notebook aside and glaring up at him.

He set her book on her desk with surprising gentleness for someone who reportedly didn’t care about anything. “First, Dad is so goddamn annoying, and if I have to hear him talk about how ‘sweet that Miss Gwen is, don’t you think so, Max?’ one more time I’m gonna eat him. Second, it’d probably be easier to sneak me food if you were dating, since it’d be less weird for me to hang out with my stepmom.”

“I’m not going to ask David out so it’s easier for you to feed,” she said, bristling at “stepmom.”

“No, you’re gonna do it because you keep staring at him like a creep whenever you think he’s not looking. That’s third, by the way,” he continued, holding up three fingers. “The only thing more annoying than him being all moony and stupid is you being all moony and stupid.”

“That . . .” is not true was on the tip of her tongue, but somehow she just couldn’t bring herself to say it. The problem was, she’d gotten accustomed to spending more evenings a week at the Greenwoods’ house than her own, and had started to find it more comforting. Which didn’t mean that she was interested in David, of course, but she’d been . . . surprised, by him.

By his genuine interest in her, and his support of her research even though it clearly made him uneasy. (Which was fair; “hey I think those murders you’re investigating are undead monsters” was a pretty uncomfortable thing to talk about, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to listen.)

By how he remembered stupid little things, like her favorite foods, and how even when he was thoughtless and absent-minded it never seemed to piss her off the way it should.

By his horrible sense of humor and his worse taste in TV shows. By how his eyelashes were longer than hers, and framed his eyes so prettily. By the freckles she could only see when they were sitting thigh-to-thigh on the couch, or when he pulled her in for a goodnight hug. By --

Well, fuck.

“Everyone I know is a fucking idiot,” Max groaned, tugging her out of her heart-attack-inciting epiphany. He ran his hands through his hair -- glossy and sleek because he’d eaten last night; everything about him was glowing and lively compared to usual, making him look almost human -- and stood. “Don’t even bother getting me the next book. You can drop it off with Dad tonight.”

“But he didn’t invite me to dinn --” She cut herself off at the look of pure exasperation he gave her, one that implied he couldn’t even deign that with a response.

“Fucking idiots,” he muttered, slipping out of her office.

“Okay, I know I basically made this happen because you’re both too dumb to function, but I’m hating every second of this. I take it all back.”

David practically leapt out of Gwen’s chair, almost knocking her out of his lap and face-first into a concussion courtesy of the corner of her desk. “M-Max! What are you doing here?!”

She just sighed, adjusting her position so she wasn’t in danger of falling and brushing her hair out of her eyes. “He does this.”

“I’m a student, Dad. I belong here.” He held up the binder -- Gwen’s most recent book in the making -- with a sharp, sarcastic grin. He was looking a little gray and drawn, and she made a mental note to grab him some intestines or something that wouldn’t be missed at work that night. When he was looking sick like this, his inhumanness stood out in stark relief, like the crisp lines of his teeth that were too big and too pointy for his supposedly-human mouth.

“In high school! Why aren’t you in class?”

He shrugged. “Lunch break,” he said. Gwen and David exchanged a look, because neither of them knew if that was true. It’d been a while since either of them had been students, after all. Dropping the binder on Gwen’s desk, he retreated to the door like he was afraid to coming too close to them. “What’re you doing here, anyway?”

“Um . . . lunch break,” David replied weakly, his face flushing.

Gwen picked up a stress ball and lightly tossed it at Max’s head. “Get out of here, you little shit.”

“I hate you both. See you at dinner,” he said casually, ducking out of the office and letting the door bang shut behind him.

David sighed, shaking his head. “Do you think he looks sick, Gwen? I’m worried he’s coming down with something.”

She winced. “Probably a 24-hour bug. Bet he’ll be fine tomorrow,” she said, ducking her face into the crook of his neck and kissing behind his ear. Sometimes she couldn’t fathom how someone who knew about ghouls could miss the fact that his own son was one.

But then again, David wasn’t an academic, and he certainly wasn’t trained in this kind of thing. And he had a tendency to ignore red flags when it came to people he cared about.

It was one of the things she loved most about him.

[statierogers]

You know  - Steve Rogers

Title: You know 

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve is keeping secrets from the reader, trying to protect her. But (Y/N) is not having that. (btw: the reader has mind powers)

Words: 4267

Warnings: None

Genere: I don’t even know. Fluffy?

A/N: Something that was supposed to be short but I got waaaaay into it. I really love the reader's powers. Thinking about writing an imagine with a reader with powers like this and Bucky. wouldn’t that be interesting? 

((AN 22.11.2021 - I have slightly rewritten this and changed the title, It was called “Stop Protecting me” before))

- Katie xx

My Masterlist

(Y/N) - Your Name

(Y/L/N) - Your last name

Your name: submit What is this?

°°°

The noise of (Y/N)'s steps on the floor were the only sound to be heard in the kitchen of the Avengers compound. It was unusually empty. She wasn't sure how that could happen. She just came back from a mission yesterday. So she may have let herself sleep until 10. Usually, her Teammates came in motion around 8 a.m. Tony would be somewhere in the lab. He probably even slept there. He tended to work into the morning hours on some new Gimmick and barely made it home, which would piss Pepper off. 

Bucky and Sam would be back from their morning run, and Wanda and Vision would be having breakfast. But (Y/N) didn't even meet one Avenger on her way here. Not even Steve, and he was always around somewhere. He would greet her good morning, give her a gentle smile and would basically spend his whole day with her. Steve and (Y/N) liked each other. A lot. It wasn't a secret. Both knew there was more than a friendship between them. They practically already acted like a couple. They fought like an old married couple and they sometimes slept in each others bed when the others needed comfort.

"FRIDAY? Where is everyone?" she asked while she poured herself coffee into her favourite mug. It was an Iron Man Mug that Tony gave to her for Christmas. 

"I'm not supposed to say," the robotic voice sounded guilty.

(Y/N) shook her head confused and stopped mid-movement.

"What? Why? Tell me!" she said.

"I'm afraid it's classified Miss (Y/L/N)," Friday answered. 

(Y/N) put the cup down on the counter forcefully. Tony must have tinkered with the system, and Friday had a bug. She was ready to walk down to the lab and yell at him, just as Tony's assistant entered the kitchen. She had a tray full of empty coffee cups in her hands and looked strangely guilty when she spotted (Y/N).

"Oh, Julie. Where is everyone?" (Y/N) asked her.

The slim woman put the cups down on the table next to her and turned around. As fast as she came in, she walked out again. (Y/N) frowned and shook her head to herself. 

"What the Hell?" (Y/N) mumbled and followed her.

What was going on this morning? She wasn't sure if she should be angry or worried. They were either keeping secrets from her, or something happened to them. She hated either of these options. 

"Julie? Why are you walking away?" she yelled, catching up with the woman, who looked torn.

"I am not supposed to say," she said and sped up.

Did they brainwash people to say that sentence to her? First FRIDAY and now her. Even in her heels, Julie could walk really fast. (Y/N) would have been impressed if she wasn't really irritated by her. (Y/N) stepped around her and looked deeply into her eyes. 

"Who told you not to tell me? I'd prefer you would tell me yourself instead of me looking into your head," (Y/N)'s voice was daunting.

She had the power to read minds or control them. It was a scary power for everyone. Even (Y/N) was scared of what she could do. And it was hard to get close to people in an honest way. She had to control herself to not take a peek into peoples heads. But it was a valuable skill to have in battle if it wouldn't exhaust her so much. It didn't take long for her to find something out on an untrained mind like Julie's. But there could be trained minds. They were harder to crack. Just like really stubborn people, for example, Steve. When she came here, she tried to have a look into his mind. As soon as she reached out, Steve had turned to her with an angry look. It's like he felt it. He felt her advance. She didn't try further because she was intimidated by the soldier. It's funny how people were usually uncomfortable around her, but Steve never seemed to care.

Although (Y/N) had threatened Julie, she still didn't say what was going on.

"Miss. I am certainly scared of you, but he scares me more," she mumbled. 

(Y/N) furrowed her brows. Not quite so sure anymore. But her aggressive stance flattered. She didn't want to force her way into an innocent girls head. Even though she had no idea what was going on or what exactly Julie meant. She didn't want the girl to be scared and quit her job. Tony couldn't afford to lose another one. 

"What?" (Y/N) just mumbled, furrowing her brows. 

That moment the door to their left opened, and Natasha and Clint stepped out. As soon they saw (Y/N), they lowered their eyes. 

"Don't lower your eyes at me!" she scowled. 

They didn't want her to see into their heads. Although she knew Tasha and Clint would fight her off. Before they could say a word to the young woman, Tony, Sam and Wanda interrupted by following them out of the room. Great, then she would just do it on one of them. She hated using her power on her friends. But (Y/N) decided to go for the weakest of the trio and grabbed him by his shoulder. His face had a shocked expression as (Y/N) starred into his eyes to look for the answer. She only picked up some shreds of Tony's memories. Enough for context. She sighed and closed her eyes.

"He is in there," Tony mumbled and pointed at the closed door.

She didn't even want to have this fight with Steve, but his recent behaviour was ridiculous. She let go of Tony and stormed into the room. It was one of the main mission meeting rooms the compound had. There were still some mugs and random papers spread out on the big table in the middle of the room. The screen on the right wall showed a map with a few red dots. They were having a meeting for a mission that apparently required most Avengers. Well, all except her, apparently. Or at least that is what Steve thought. Said man was currently sitting on the glass table discussing something with Bucky. The Cap's muscular back was facing her. Bucky looked generally shocked when she entered. Steve just turned in his seat slowly. He looked like he knew who was there before even laying his eyes on her. 

"(Y/N)," he said calmly.

Steve didn't even look ashamed. He didn't look like he'd done something wrong. He also didn't move up from his chair. No smile, no good morning. (Y/N) felt hurt, and she missed her soft Steve. Those blue eyes that looked at her adoringly just yesterday when she had returned. Bucky, on the other hand, who had recovered from his surprise, rose from the office chair. He walked over to the girl to give her a hug. She shifted her focus from one soldier to the other. For (Y/N), it was always weird how smooth Bucky was. He had the strut of dangerous men but the most boyish smile in the world. She most definitely understood how the women fell for him. He was polite, handsome and charming. 

"Hi. Have you slept well? How was your mission?" he asked and hugged her.

(Y/N) smiled. She couldn't hide it. Buck was one of her closest friends. They met about a year ago. (Y/N) knew Bucky like no one else. That was only because she fixed his mind. She was the one who pulled Bucky out. She removed the trigger words. This was a long and exhausting procedure for both of them, which brought them really close together. They had seen each other worst moments. (Y/N) hadn't seen Bucky in a few weeks. He was one of the few Avengers who didn't live here, like Tony, Clint and Natasha. Bucky was really fun to be around, so she had missed him. 

Steve didn't like it at all when Bucky did that. When he acted that way around his girl. Well, she wasn't his. He wanted her to be, though. Before she even met Bucky, Steve knew the girl. She was there when they had the first mission as Avengers. She was there when SHIELD fell. In the beginning, it was just a strong friendship he felt for her. But after a while, it transformed into love. She was there as soon as he entered this century, and she hadn't left him since. Even when he tore the Avengers apart, even when Thanos rained down hell on them, and both of them barely survived. (Y/N) stayed. Fought with him. And when she healed his best friend, he was there every step of it. He sat at her bed when the exhaustion took over, and she had to take a break. He had smiled down at her. It had pained him seeing her this way, but she saved his best friend, and he was forever grateful for that. 

"Hi, James. Well, I got a new scar," she said, letting him go. 

She took her hair to the side and showed him the scar on her shoulder. Bucky raised his eyebrows at the still fresh red flesh. 

"An Arrow. Probably would have ended worse if T'Challa wouldn't have been there," she mumbled, letting her hair fall again.

Steve remembered frantically touching that scar over and over again yesterday. She had told him so many times that she was okay, but he didn't believe her. He even had the Doctor check her over again. And when she crawled into his bed because he insisted on not leaving her side for a while, he had starred at it and decided that he hated it. Steve knew she had a few scars here and there, and he didn't mind them at all. He loved them like he loved her, but he still hated it when another was added to the collection. Steve was angry at himself for not joining her on the mission. He was thinking about it before she went, but she had assured him she would be fine with T'Challa by her side. But if that arrow had been only an inch closer, she could have died. He wanted to protect her, which was also why he didn't tell her about today's mission meeting. Yes, they would need every member for this. But he was too scared for her safety. There was nothing he loved more than her. And so he didn't want her to go. To get hurt, again. And he knew she could take care of herself, but what about him? He wouldn't be able to concentrate with her out there. What an incredibly selfish thought of him that actually was.

"Yea, I know those. They suck. I have a scar from one on my leg," Bucky mentioned pointing at the spot.

Steve furrowed his brows. He couldn't believe he actually felt jealous. That was the first time he felt angry over not scaring. The serum took that from him. Not from Bucky, though. He didn't like how much in common they had. He knew it was stupid. But his heart overruled his head, and before he could stop himself, he interfered. 

"Bucky, you can go now the meeting is over," he said and rose from his chair.

His friend and the girl both turned to him. (Y/N) pretty pissed at his behaviour, but Bucky just smiled. He knew. He knew what exactly Steve had on his mind. And not because they just talked about it. But Bucky knew Steve. He knew he was in love with the girl. He also understood how jealous he was. And Bucky was really annoyed about the fact that they didn't just tell each other how they felt. But maybe today was the day they would. So he turned to the door, giving them the chance.

"Well, I guess I'll let you two talk. Just bare in mind we have to leave in 10," he said and left.

(Y/N)'s eyes followed Bucky out of the door. Only as the door closed, she turned around to face Steve. Her stance was defensive. She was angry at him. He could see that. 

"What is this?" she asked, making a gesture tracing the room.

Steve crossed his muscular arms over his chest. (Y/N) was sure she heard him huff.  

"I don't know what you are talking about," he said.

His voice was dripping with authority. He would only use that voice when he was talking about missions or when he was talking to new recruits.

"Steve. You held a mission meeting without me," she complained.

Pretty much stating the obvious. She knew he was playing innocent; he wasn't stupid. Steve was just a thing coy he must have known this would bother her. What was up with him?

"Well, I don't need you for this mission. Your abilities are not required," he answered and moved to the iPad.

He was typing on something now. Trying to look busy. So he didn't have to see that face. Those intensive eyes of hers. 

"Don't talk to me like I am one of them. Like I am just one of your recruits. It's me (Y/N)... It's us, Steve. Now look me in the eyes and talk to me" (Y/N) yelled, now throwing her hands into the air.

She hated when he acted like this. So stubborn. It hurt. It hurt that the person, that meant so much to her would act so cold and disinterested towards her. 

"I don't know what you mean. You got hurt from your last mission. You are still in recovery. If I l let you on that field now, you will be over-exhausted after reading one mind," he just said, lazily lifting his arm to point at her shoulder. 

This time glancing into her direction before lowering his gaze again. This action confused her. Steve was never scared to look at her. 

"Rogers, I am going on this mission if you want to or not."

Anger laced her voice. She would not let him do this, not to her. He would not bench her. She was an asset to them, and a tiny fresh scar wouldn't stop that. Steve was overreacting. Yesterday his worried seemed endearing and made her heart flutter, but she would have never thought this what it would come to. He turned to her now, looking up from his tablet. His eyes were angry. (Y/N) didn't need to see into his head to know he was just as pissed as her. But she just challenged him. Steve was a leader, a soldier. He was her boss in a way. And her not listening, refusing his order made him angry. In his mind, she was the stupid and immature one. She would endanger herself. Her recklessness was always pointed out by Steve. But this was (Y/N) and Steve; they talked about their issues and made up; they never just yelled at each other for no reason. But today, he didn't seem to wanna listen or talk to her. She sighed, remembering that they had to leave soon. 

"I'll see you at the jet," she mumbled and tried walking past Steve.

But he stepped in front of the door. His hands to his hips. (Y/N) was sure his tight blue shirt would explode if he decided to flex his muscles more. He tried to intimidate her. She knew that. His need for control was too big for his body. She sucked at this authority thing. She never listened to people. She was stubborn and proud, just like Steve. Their Characters had clashed before, but never like this.

"Stand down. That is an order," he said firmly.

(Y/N) just raised her eyebrows and lifted her chin. He knew he couldn't make her. No one could make her do anything. And that was not only because of her powers. She wasn't sure if she could take on Steve, but she would go down trying.

"Try and make me Captain," her voice was close to a whisper and her smile cold.

She would use her powers, she wouldn't like it, but she would do it. Two could play that game. If he treated her like his recruit, she would treat him like Captain America. Not like the person she knew and loved. The person she would always stand by. But no one could stand by someone who pushed them away. He could see for himself if he enjoyed that. Steve didn't say anything. He just looked into her eyes. The blue of his Iris now seemed cold and like Ice. (Y/N) shook her head and walked past Steve after he didn't make a move to stop her. As soon as the door closed behind her, Steve's defensive statue flattered. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

°°°

"So you guys are fighting?" Bucky asked (Y/N) while kicking a man in the stomach.

He flew against the wall and slid to the floor, staying there unmoving. They were currently on a Hydra base in some remote location. The mission was easy. At least they thought. But after they got the Intel they needed, (Y/N) found out there was a bomb here from looking into someone's head. And if it would go off, it would take down the small town a few miles away. Steve, Bucky and (Y/N) were trying to get to said bomb. (Y/N) didn't want to be paired up with him on this mission, but Steve insisted. And the rest of the team followed his rules. He was still Captain America and in charge of the missions. A small part of her was still glad that he was here. She might have lied to Steve yesterday, and her body felt more exhausted than she led on. (Y/N) also had hurt her foot while fighting an agent. Steve had seen it the moment it happened, but he was too afraid to step closer. But since then, he seemed to try to take all the fire on him and away from her. 

"Well, Captain America is being an asshole," she said and grabbed an Agent around the neck.

(Y/N) turned him around so he would look into her eyes. She started searching in his head for the location of the bomb. She had been trying with the last five men she touched. All of them seemed to have something in their minds blocking her. Steve knew she had weakened already. That didn't help his worry. But he still rolled his eyes at her answer. Bucky looked at him reproachfully. He didn't like it when they fought. Steve would get all broody, while (Y/N) would only complain about Steve. And he wouldn't be able to take sides, unlike the rest of the team. Tony and Natasha would automatically side with (Y/N) while Sam and Clint would choose Steve. 

"I was only doing my Job," Steve said with gritted teeth and threw his shield at a guy coming closer to them.

All three of them knew that Steve was a jerk. He knew he caused this whole fight, but Steve wasn't good at holding back. And after he fucked up, he was too stubborn to admit it to anyone. At least he could put all his frustration into beating up the bad guys. Bucky and Steve were circling (Y/N), who was still trying to get the information, blocking the agents trying to get to her. The shield flew between the men like they had practised it. 

"(Y/N). Uhm, how long is this going to take?" Bucky asked, now raising his gun.

They were under time pressure. (Y/N) just furrowed her eyebrows more. She had gone pale over the last minute. Steve knew she was pushing herself. She had already shifted all her weight on her right foot, and he wasn't sure how much longer she could take it.

"Give me a second. He has few walls around his mind," she mumbled.

Her hands had begun to shake rapidly. Steve never saw it like this before. Maybe once when she tried to fix Bucky. This was the moment he would usually interfere and stop her when she was in Buck's head. Steve's focus shifted from fighting to her ever so often. 

"(Y/N) that's enough. We'll find another way," he said with a stern voice.

But (Y/N) didn't listen. She was determined to get it right. To show Steve, she was not useless or meant to be benched. He had hurt her pride so she would show him.

"No, I can do this," she said, her teeth grinding together.

 Steve had now turned around fully to her. Trusting Bucky to cover them. He needed her to stop now. They didn't know what would happen, and if she fell into unconsciousness, she would be a liability. Not just because they would have to take her out of here somehow, but also because Steve couldn't think straight anymore then. 

"(Y/N)! I said enough," he reaped sternly.

Seeing her getting weaker, her skin colour fading, hurt him inside. He felt it in his heart. It was aching for her. God, he just wanted to protect her. But maybe he was going about this the wrong way. Maybe he should have tried it with tenderness. He should have known that sternness wasn't going to work with her. His worry stopped him from thinking straight.

"Darling, please don't," his voice was quivering by now. 

He had placed a hand on her shoulder. (Y/N) took one deep breath before she let the man go. Both of them fell backwards. The man to the floor, but (Y/N) was caught by Steve. He looked down at her softly. He pushed a loose strand of hair out of her face.

"Second floor. Electricity room," she mumbled.

Her body was like a puddle in his arms. Steve shook his head at her. Astonished and worried at the same time. He touched her forehead with the back of his hand. She felt hot, too hot.

"Romanov?" Bucky mumbled into his earpiece, still battling the agents. 

"Yea, got it. Tony and I are on the move," she said.

Steve sometimes forgot that all his teammates could hear him. But now, he didn't care at all. He just looked at the girl in his arms.

"Told you I could do it. Go, team," she said to him weakly.

Her eyes were half-lidded, and she was obviously fading in and out of consciousness. But a smile graced her lips. A proud smile. He would have laughed at that if the situation had been different.

"I know…You did well. But please, can I get you out of here now?" he mumbled, giving her a forced smile.

Steve tried to be nice. But even the nearly unconscious (Y/N) could see that he was worried like hell. She hated being incapable of things. But maybe she would let him take care of her, for once. He didn't move even f every fibre of his being wanted to run out of here. But he was going to respect her wishes now. She nodded weakly. And the moment Steve caught that movement, he started moving down the hall. Bucky followed him. He had only paid attention with one ear, but he knew (Y/N) didn't seem well. She looked like they had sucked her life force out of her. And this time, it wasn't his mind that did this.

"Sam, can you get her please," was the last thing she heard and the feeling of flying.

After that, she went fully unconscious. 

°°°

She woke up from the sunlight coming through her curtains. It took (Y/N) a while to open her eyes. The first thing she saw was Steves face next to her. She smiled lazily. She loved this sight. The soldier had his hands under his pillow. Her eyes travelled from his chin to the sharp cheekbones, then to his long lashes. Steve always looked like he thought really hard about something when he slept. A frown covered his face. (Y/N) reached out her hand and touched the folds between his eyebrows with her tump, then she placed a hand on his cheek. Seconds after, she was starring into beautiful blue eyes. A smile graced the Captain's face as he saw her awake.

"Glad to see you waking up," she mumbled.

Steve covered her hand with his and took it from his face, shaking his head at her. He stared at (Y/N)s hand a bit before he spoke. 

"Me? You have been out the last couple of days," he mumbled. 

His smile flattened. The memory of her pale face and hollow cheeks haunted him. Even though she seemed better now. They had wrapped her foot up. It wasn't broken, just a torn ligament.

"Bruce said there was nothing wrong with you. You just overused your power. And all you would need is sleep. But 3 days is a long time," he continued, lost in thoughts.

(Y/N) was searching for Steve's eyes. He sounded so pained. He looked up at her abruptly.

"Please be careful on every mission from now on. Just think before you do stuff. I… If something happens again...," he trailed off. 

His face only showed worry. (Y/N) titled her head to the side. She new he was worried about her, but there had to be another way for him to deal with this. 

"Steve…Your worry can't stop what I do. I am just like every other Avenger," she mumbled. 

The Captain sighed and took a deep breath. He grabbed her hand and put it to his heart. 

"Not to me, you're not," his voice was quiet.

Steve needed her to know. To understand how he felt. How he loved her. How he needed her. He wanted her to feel what he felt.  

"If you'd look into my mind, you would know..." he began thinking out loud.

He didn't know if he would like her to know it all, but at least she could see what he had been struggling to put into words for so long. But she shook her head with a tired smile.

"I don't need to know it all, Steve. I think we just finally need to tell each other how we feel," she said.

Steve looked at her, and it seemed like his words were stuck in his throat. He was usually so good at giving emotional speeches, but when it came to declaring his love, he seemed to suck at it. (Y/N) had her head propped up in her elbow, and the other still lay on his chest covered by his bigger one.

"I know you already know how I feel. But maybe I do need to tell you just once," Steve said. "I love you. I have for a while."

He laughed a little; it's funny how they were dancing around each other, actually never telling each other. Maybe they had never felt the need to tell each other before. (Y/N) turned around her hand and held his. She stared at their intertwined hands for a second before she dipped down and kissed him softly and slowly. It was their first kiss, but it felt so familiar. Because it was them, they had known each other for over ten years now. She only moved away from him slightly. 

"You know I love you too," she answered.

[astralbooks]

A Place Called Zamora by LB Gschwandter

Read: 04/09/2020 - 08/09/2020

Rating: 1/5

Review: 

CW: violence, murder, child murder, child abuse, sexual assualt, rape, mention of pedophillia, ableism, fatphobia, homophobia, pushing of Christianity as moral, victim blaming

This is the worst book I’ve read so far in 2020. It’s up there among the worst books I’ve read ever. I only read the whole thing because I don’t think that it’s fair to give a book that I DNF’d 1 star and a full negative review, and at least one of the criticisms I have for this book required me to have read the whole thing to ensure that it was valid. This book isn’t just bad, it’s harmful. This will be a rant review, there will be spoilers, and I will not be polite.

The worldbuilding was awful, and at times what little of it there was contradicted itself a few pages later. The world is a fairly generic dystopia, nothing about it stood out to me, and it wasn’t particularly imaginative. The villain is named Villinkish, for crying out loud. A lot of people live in deep poverty and struggle to feed themselves on a day to day basis. Oh! Except for this old woman who sells fresh produce, sandwiches, and ice cold cans of lemonade across the whole city that she gets from ~somewhere~ and everyone’s able to buy things from her every day. The Regime (that’s what the government is officially called in this book, by the way) decides that all the children have to be surrendered and raised by the state. Oh! Except for a lot of people apparently, with no rhyme or reason as to who gets to stay with their family and who gets taken away. I would put actual money on this just being an excuse to get Niko away from his parents, and Gschwandter completely forgot about it afterwards. Religion has been completely outlawed, and all the priests were hunted down and executed years ago. Oh! Except for a convent that was allowed to keep running for some reason, and this one priest who somehow survived and is able to keep being very public about being a priest and everybody knows him and he doesn’t get executed because.......... I have no idea.

In addition, this book was straight up badly written. There were often sentences that made no sense, which made it obvious to me that this badly needed at least one more round of edits, though I doubt that would’ve managed to save this mess. When sentences did make sense, the writing style was overly simplistic. It read like a children’s book, and a bad children’s book at that. Which makes no sense considering the amount of times that rape and sexual assault were used throughout the story.

The story was mostly told out of chronological order. This wouldn’t be a problem if the flashbacks had been clearly defined as such, or if they’d been woven seamlessly into the story. But they were not. Every single POV and time switch was done with nothing but a new line, with no indication of what was going on, and with no logic to them at all. This had the end result of the majority of a section titled ‘The Aftermath’ mostly showing events from before the incident that its supposed to be about the aftermath of, and there being at least one scene that I legitimately cannot place anywhere in the storyline as the flashback shown immediately after it overtook and contradicted the original scene. It gave me the impression that Gschwandter had heard the writing advice to write scenes in whichever order you want to, which is usually good advice, but then she forgot to move them into their correct places afterwards.

Circling back to the use of rape and sexual assault, it was all just there for shock value, and to emphasise just how evil some of the people in this world are. To me it just communicates a lack of creativity on Gschwandter’s part. Also, a major incident in the book is when Niko nearly rapes El, only changing his mind at the last second. El cuts his face during the struggle. First of all, I don’t know how Gschwandter expected me to be able to sympathise with this character for the rest of the book, because I was certainly unable to. Second, El cutting her would-be rapist’s face and Niko nearly raping someone are treated as equal crimes by absolutely everybody in the book, without exception. This victim blaming isn’t condemned by a single person, not even El, which results in a narrative that pushes the idea that if you defend yourself when you’re getting raped then you’re just as bad as your rapist. This is appalling and disgusting. Third, the almost rape isn’t actually shown to the reader through the ordinary narration, but through both El and Niko telling side characters their side of the story after the fact in excruciating detail. This was a defining moment in the book, and a major incident for both these characters. And it wasn’t shown, it was told. Either have the guts to show (not tell) what you want to include in your character’s storylines, find a better way of telling (The detail wasn’t necessary! It all boils down to a single sentence and that was truly all that needed to be said!), or just don’t include it at all.

Near the end of the book, El suddenly had major wilderness survival powers, despite having been raised in a convent for most of her life and never having had any reason why she should possibly know how to make cups out of leaves. Because of course she does.

If the only reference to queer people in your book is in the context of someone maybe being a pedophile, then you have written a bad book. It’s that fucking simple. Gschwandter has written a bad book.

The narration contained multiple incidences of ableism and fatphobia, and unsurprisingly these went unchallenged and uncondemned.

If I had known that this book was going to push Christianity as being the last bastion of goodness in an otherwise awful world, that would have been enough for me to not pick this book up. This isn’t something that I’m interested in reading about at all, and nothing about this book’s marketing mentioned that this was the approach that it would be taking. There are also several references to the crusades, specifically framing them as a good as positive thing for the church to have done. There’s also no mention of how other religions were treated during and after society’s collapse. All that anyone cares about is Christianity.

I’m a firm believer that, when writing, you should google the names you’re planning on using in your book at least once, even if that name is for a minor character who isn’t going to be on more than one page. Do me a favour and google the name ‘Osana’. What’s the main association with that name? Is it something that a sensible author should want their book to remind the reader of, even for a moment? I could give Gschwandter the benefit of the doubt and assume that she got the name off of a baby name website and just didn’t check it, or I can assume that it’s a deliberate reference to yet another fictional mess. Come to think of it, it would be fitting if the link was intentional. This character is only mentioned once, and doesn’t appear on page, but seeing the name ‘Osana’ on the page gave me such a visceral reaction that I had to step away from the book for a bit.

When I saw that Gschwandter had included questions for book clubs at the end of the book, and on her website, I couldn’t help but laugh. No self respecting book club would discuss this book using those questions. If they discussed it at all, it would be about how terrible it is. A Place Called Zamora is a masterclass on how to get absolutely everything wrong. If I’d written anything that was even a fraction as bad or harmful as this book, quite frankly I’d be embarrassed, and it would never see the light of day.

I requested this because I share my name with one of the protagonists. More fool me I guess. Obviously, I don’t recommend this to anyone.

I received an e-arc through Netgalley in return for an honest review. Any quotes may differ in the published version.

[mrninjapineapple]

Fallout 4 Word Prompts - Patisserie Tank Shamrock Penguin

This is the longest prompt I wrote, which takes place in a utopian AU where all of the factions have made a truce and formed a formal coalition for the good of the Commonwealth. Anyway, enjoy! :D

They passed by the patisserie, arm-in-arm, both smiling at the sweet smell of fresh pastry. They soldiered on however, full after their dinner, and walked past the other shops, soon reaching the end of the pier.

Nate leaned on the railing, Nora resting her head on his shoulder. They both looked out at the ocean, endless waves of midnight blue shining in the moonlight.

‘It’s beautiful’ whispered Nora as she stared up at the pale circle set in the star-studded curtain of deep indigo.

Nate turned to her, his eyes taking in the beauty of her profile, softly silhouetted against the lights of the fairground at the other end of the pier.

‘Yes, it is’ he agreed without following her gaze.

She raised her head to look at him, her expression suddenly bashful. She jostled his arm playfully with a small laugh.

‘You know, you still haven’t told me what all this was about,’ she said, eyeing him suspiciously, smile still on her face. ‘Dancing, a movie, dinner, and now a romantic walk by the sea? If I didn’t know any better, Mr Howard, I’d say you had an ulterior motive for this evening.’

‘You got me,’ he admitted with a chuckle. ‘Not letting that degree go to waste, I see. Can’t get anything past the new hotshot lawyer in town.’

She went to punch him on the arm but he dodged to the side, grabbing her hand as he pulled her against him. They both laughed as Nora gained her bearings once more.

As their laughter slowly faded, Nate leaned in for a kiss, tasting the sweetness from their apple pie dessert on her lips. He pulled away and stared into her piercing, green eyes.

‘I love you,’ he said, barely above a whisper, before lowering himself onto one knee. ‘Nora Elizabeth Murphy…’

Her eyes widened as she realised what was happening.

‘…Will you make me the happiest man in the world?’ he continued, taking a small box from his jacket pocket and opening it up. Inside was a small golden ring, a diamond set neatly in the bezel, glistening in the light as it winked up at her. ‘Will you marry me?’

Nora raised her hands to her mouth, eyes welling at the sight before her. She managed a nod and flung her arms around Nate as he rose, a manic laugh escaping both of their lips through tears of joy.

As they began to kiss, the world shuddered, a ripple running through it like a wave through water. Colour began to drain from the world around them, everything turning cold and grey.

Marcus disengaged the memory lounger, opening the glass pod and sitting up, the experience fresh in his mind. Doctor Amari approached, reading data from the holographic tablet in her hand.

‘Did the memory freeze at the end?’ she asked, a frown creasing her brow.

‘No,’ answered Marcus, squeezing his eyes shut as a familiar ache began just above his left eyebrow. ‘I just… couldn’t remember what happens next. And you’ve told me a thousand times: “A memory can’t be created…”’

‘”…merely recreated,”’ she said, finishing the quote with a small smile. ‘Very well Mr Howard, if you say the equipment is working as intended, then I shall believe you.’

‘How many times, Doc? Call me Marcus.’

The Doctor flashed him a quick grin before turning away.

‘Good night Mr Howard’ she said as she left the room.

Marcus sat on the edge of the memory lounger and exhaled deeply. He hadn’t lied to Doctor Amari, the machine worked perfectly with the new upgrades, but…

I couldn’t remember what happened next.

The thought floated in his mind, alongside the vague trill of Nora’s voice, and the faint odour of her perfume.

Am I forgetting everything from my old life? My wedding, Shaun’s birth… Nora?

He ran a hand through his hair and stood, willing himself on, trying to ignore the hollow pit growing in his stomach.

Leaving the room, he entered the main hall and looked around.

Memory loungers were placed around the edges of the room. Set an equal distance apart from each other, they, along with the clean white walls and floor, gave the room a cold, clinical appearance. They were the original series of lounger, standard pods with no added features.

Doctor Amari had invited him to try the upgraded version, complete with detailed simulations and POV functionality, allowing him to experience the memory from his own point of view. He had also heard whispers of a new type of lounger, created with a large tank of specialised gel to give the user advanced sensory input, but Father had been scarce with the details.

The Memory Den suddenly feeling cramped and stifling, Marcus left through the large double doors, feeling the cool morning air of Goodneighbour soothing his mind. A guard passed him, his features distorted slightly and his skin sagging as if too big for his face.

Must be in the final stages of de-ghoulification.

Marcus dismissed the observation as he continued on, entering the Old State House and leaving the cold behind. He climbed the stairs up to Hancock’s infamous retreat, taking the stairs one at a time for a change, savouring the quiet.

The soft hiss of the decontamination arch greeted him as he stepped through, two guards waving him into the Den.

Through the doors, he could see Hancock posing for a portrait, his signature costume draped over his irradiated body. As Marcus entered, he felt a familiar sense of respect for the ghoul mayor. Despite the fact that a cure for ghoulification had been found, Mayor Hancock had staunchly refused, sticking by the founding philosophy of Goodneighbour and its love of the abnormal members of the Commonwealth – “Of the people, for the people.”

Codsworth, holding a brush tentatively within the mechanical grasp of his claw appendage, made swirls and splatters of colour across the canvas, the blobs of paint eventually coalescing to form an abstract profile of Hancock.

‘There we are, sir!’ exclaimed the Mr Handy bot as he revealed his work. ‘I think you’ll be most pleased.’

Hancock relaxed his pose and stared at the image for a minute, his frown lost amongst the numerous strands of discoloured muscle and cartilage stretched across his forehead.

‘Erm… what is that?’ he asked as politely as he could.

‘Why, sir, it’s a cubist representation of your glorious visage of course’ cried Codsworth, spinning with glee.

Hancock paused for a moment before reaching over and turning down a dial on the side of Codsworth’s body.

‘Sir, what are you…’ the bot began, before his system adjusted to the reduced culture setting. He saw the portrait before him. ‘Oh sir! I do apologise! This childish scrawl was not my intention…’

‘It’s okay, Codsworth,’ replied the ghoul mayor. ‘We can try again tomorrow.’

The Mr Handy bot took that as his cue and hovered out of the room, his eyestalks sagging in dismay at his failed artistic skills.

‘It’s an improvement’ said Marcus with a grin as he entered the room properly, gesturing towards the smeared portrait.

‘Yeah yeah,’ chuckled Hancock. ‘What brings you to Goodneighbour, oh Sniper of Sanctuary? How may I be of assistance?’

Marcus knew that he was aware of his visits to the Memory Den but appreciated the gesture regardless. Nothing happened in Goodneighbour with Hancock knowing.

‘Just helping Doctor Amari before I see to some business for Father,’ he said, noting the way Hancock squirmed at the name. Despite the truce between the factions, the trust of the people was a difficult thing to earn, with many vividly remembering the fear caused by them in years past. ‘You haven’t seen Cait, have you?’

Hancock took off his hat and scratched his head.

‘I think she said something about going over to Nuka-World,’ he said. ‘Something about a… zoo?’

Marcus smiled and left the room, leaving without providing any context. He left the Old State House and went to the tall building opposite the entrance to the Third Rail, walking through the automatic door and proceeding through another set of decontamination arches.

The interior of the foyer was well-furnished and neat, with an almost militaristic precision to the arrangement of the furniture. A large sign was hung on the wall before him, the words ‘Teleportation Hub: Goodneighbour Station’ clearly emblazoned across.

He allowed himself a smile as he thought about the pristine building, built and maintained by the Coalition; the formalised name for the alliance between the Commonwealth’s main four factions. Ever since he had negotiated peace, the Commonwealth had flourished under the rule of the Coalition.

Each faction had an accepted role within the makeshift government, under the main leadership comprised of the highest ranked members of each faction along with Marcus himself. The Brotherhood were the military, using their might to crush various raider groups and super mutant hordes. They also donated their top scientists to the Institute’s research branch, whose main focus was the scientific development of the new world.

The Minutemen, being a well-respected militia, were the perfect candidates for a police force, settling disputes and guarding settlements, both large and small. The final faction – the Railroad – helped wherever they could, with their best field agents joining both the Brotherhood and Minutemen, and their scientists aiding the scientific pursuits of the Institute. The main role of the Railroad however, was integral to the success of the Coalition, as they were responsible for opening trade routes, communication lines, and scouting settlements across the Commonwealth.

Marcus was broken out of his reverie as a synthetic receptionist greeted him, rising from the chair behind the desk as she asked him if he required assistance. He held up a hand, politely declining, and watched as she receded back into her seat, a smile on her face as she continued her paperwork.

Focused on his task once more, he entered a set of double doors to the right of the desk and followed the signs pointing him to the Nuka-World teleporter. He stepped onto the raised dais and felt a short pulse of energy before a deafening thunderclap sounded and the world went dark.

‘Your ears still ringin’?’ asked Cait as she placed another glass of whiskey in front of Marcus. In truth, the chipped tumbler held a noxious brown liquid reminiscent of the whiskey he once knew but Cait would take no excuses.

He downed the pungent concoction and winced as the fire made its way down his throat like shards of burning glass.

‘Smooth’ he croaked, before words failed him and he devolved into a small coughing fit. Cait remained oblivious however, pouring a glass for herself as she sat opposite him.

‘So… what brings you to my neck of the wasteland?’ she asked in her Irish lilt. ‘You don’t come around Nuka-World unless you have to…’

She fixed him with a knowing glare, a small smile playing on her lips, reminding Marcus of her keen intelligence. He remembered when he had first met her as a lost and lonely drug addict in the Combat Zone, fighting for her next fix of Jet. After he helped her to break her addiction, he wasn’t sure whether she would have the strength to resist the almost inevitable relapse.

Looking around, he was in awe of her resilience. Not only had she resisted but she had thrived, taking a part of the recently cleared Nuka-World as her own and transforming it into a quaint market town; not unlike the Irish quarter of the Boston he once knew.

‘Just thought I’d stop by and see how the zoo was coming along,’ he answered, his mind returning to reality. ‘Besides, I don’t need a reason to come visit, do I?’

It was his turn to flash a grin as she drained her glass.

‘Best be careful,’ she said. ‘Don’t want poor Piper to get the wrong idea… or the right one.’

She stared into his eyes from across the table… before they both devolved into a fit of laughter. As Marcus wiped his eyes, he felt a rush of affection for her. Piper would always have his heart but when it came to friends, there was nobody he would rather have at his side than Cait.

‘Come on, best get a move on,’ she continued, mirroring his own action as she wiped her eyes. ‘Cito and Curie should still be there.’

She pressed a button on her armband and Marcus saw the words “TRANSPORT EN ROUTE” flash across the small screen. With that, they left the saloon, both of them shading their eyes from the harsh noonday sun. Entering the wide street, they found themselves flanked by stores of every kind, with vendors selling their wares to passers-by and each building flying the same shamrock banner.

‘The town has certainly flourished’ thought Marcus as they passed a group of people who waved and smiled at Cait, with one even cheering her.

‘You seem to be popular’ he said, flashing another grin.

She brushed off the compliment absent-mindedly but he noticed a swell of pride as she quickened her pace alongside.

Reaching the transit station at the edge of the town, they boarded the waiting Corvega – The Red Rocket – and travelled to the large zoo facility of Safari Adventure. The ride over was brief but Cait regaled Marcus with news and tales from her time away from the Commonwealth.

Stepping out of the car, Marcus was in awe of the progress the Coalition had made. The structure of Safari Adventure remained the same, with large pre-war signage and walled perimeter, but the Institute and Brotherhood workers had erected large-scale renovations, adding entire sections and wings to the antiquated theme park area. Above the walls, a large glass dome covered the facility.

There was a hiss as the electronic doors parted as they entered and Marcus found himself stifled by the artificial humidity in the dense overgrowth. Plants and trees had been given free reign within the enclosure and had flourished, with vines creeping over almost every surface aside from the pristine pathway.

High above them, the pair could see the glistening light of the dome filtered through the canopy. A flash of red zipped past a nearby tree and a loud caw sounded.

‘What are those things?’ asked Cait in wonderment, staring after the red streaks through the trees.

‘Parrots’ Marcus answered with a smile, remembering the time he had seen the pre-war creatures at a local fair.

Together, they made their way along the winding path, passing lush vegetation full of life. With each step, the artificial biomes seemed to open up further, giving way to enclosed expanses of thick forestry, murky swampland, and arid desert; each with their own plants and creatures.

Reaching the end of the pathway, they made their way down a long flight of stairs, eventually emerging within a large subterranean structure, with thick metal pillars holding up the ceiling. As they walked through a doorway, they found themselves in a small room with a large machine dominating the space.

The cloning machine was an eight foot tube anchored to both the ceiling and the floor, connected to a small array of electrical equipment and machinery. Standing at one of these terminals, Curie smiled and waved them over as she finished making her adjustments.

‘Monsieur Marcus!’ she exclaimed as she drew him into an embrace, kissing his cheek before letting him go.

‘Curie,’ he said, flashing a smile. ‘How have you been?’

‘Tres bien!’ she replied excitedly. ‘I have been-‘

‘Eh?!’ interrupted Cait, staring pointedly at Curie as she flung her arms out wide. ‘Where’s my hug?’

‘Oh Cait, you make me laugh’ said Curie, offering a quick peck on the cheek.

‘Not bad I guess,’ shrugged Cait. ‘Where’s that hunk of meat you normally have hangin’ round?’

Curie looked puzzled for a moment, before a small smile spread across her face.

‘Cito? He is in the generator room I think. He-‘

Without waiting for her to finish, Cait had left through another doorway.

‘She is an odd one, non?’ said Curie, turning back to Marcus.

‘That’s one word for her,’ he laughed. ‘I almost feel sorry for poor Cito. He has no idea what’s about to hit him.’

‘I do not think that Madame Cait intends to attack him’ said Curie, wearing a confused expression.

‘It’s a metaphor, Curie,’ replied Marcus, chuckling at her blank stare. ‘So how goes the work?’

He gestured to the machinery around them and her eyes lit up with joy. Not for the first time, Marcus found himself admiring the life-like nature of her artificial body as he felt his face grow warm.

Curie didn’t seem to notice however, as she launched into a tirade about her work. Marcus caught a few words in the jumble but before he knew what was happened, she had grabbed his wrist and was leading him through a long hallway, glass enclosures stretching down both sides.

They passed lizards and other reptiles in their rocky habitats, big cats and large apes, bears and wolves, and all manner of different creatures. Curie continued leading him, offering insightful titbits of information about the animals.

She stopped in front of a glass panel and cleared her throat before starting her spiel.

‘This enclosure holds a group of-‘

‘Penguins!’ cried Marcus, staring in amazement at the stumpy little creatures waddling around the enclosure.

A look of irritation at the interruption flickered across Curie’s face for a second before she regained her composure.

‘Oui. Emperor penguins to be precise. The tallest and heaviest species of penguin, they were once found across the vast tundra region known as Antarctica.’

Marcus couldn’t hear her however, as he stared absent-mindedly into the artificial habitat. Another memory had surfaced from his pre-war life; a time where at the start of their relationship, Nate and Nora had visited a local fair. Wandering through the open area, they had spied a zoo and were meandering around the menagerie when Nora spotted the penguins.

Small fat creatures, they stood awkwardly nibbling at the iron bars of the cage in a sense of bewilderment, running at every loud child that walked past. A group were huddled together in the centre of the enclosure, warbling in affection with flat, expressionless eyes.

‘It’s so sad,’ Nora had said suddenly, her eyes never leaving the cage and the creatures within. ‘They don’t even understand where they are. They can’t fly away. There’s no ice, no snow. Nothing they can recognise… except each other.’

A baby penguin escaped the huddle and bobbed over to the bars, peering up with half-open eyes. Nora crouched, reaching out her hand to caress the chick’s head, smiling as the curious infant buried its face in her fingers.

It had only been the beginning of their relationship but for Nate, it was all he needed to know. In that moment, he knew that Nora would be the only one for him.

An image of Piper flashed across his mind and he jerked back instinctively.

In his reverie, he hadn’t noticed that Curie had sidled up beside him.

‘Another memory?’ she asked gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. He nodded. ‘It is difficult to lead two lives, Monsieur. Adjusting to human life has been… a struggle. But you must not hold on to the past.’

He began to reply but Curie continued.

‘You are no longer the man you were. Oui?’ she asked. Again, he nodded. ‘That is why you are now Marcus and not Nate. You have to let go.’

He looked at her for a moment before lowering his head, a sad smile on his face. She had grown so much as a person, he couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for her.

‘Thank you Curie,’ he said quietly before perking up slightly. ‘I’m sorry I ruined your tour.’

‘It is no problem, we can continue another time,’ she replied. Her brow furrowed as she struggled to formulate her next thought. ‘I do not like to see… a friend in pain.’

Once more, he remembered the emotionless Miss Nanny bot he had met so long ago and couldn’t help but smile. He pulled her into a firm embrace and was glad of the companions he had gained during his time in the Commonwealth.

‘Come on,’ he said eventually, letting go with a sly grin. ‘Let’s go save what’s left of Cito.’

[a-single-solitary-bread]

UQ Holder is Bad

[echoeternally]

Fresh Air (Fanfic)

Hello again, followers and readers! I have another Pokemon one-shot that I’d like to post up. This one is about Quagsire, and how he was inspired to become a knight for the Iceberg Empire.

It offers a little characterization to Empoleon and Abomasnow, and focuses on Quagsire as a Wooper. And, like the others, it’s quasi-canon, with more the idea than the actual word-for-word context being canon.

It’s not too long, and will be posted below the cut, so click “Keep Reading” to enjoy a new one-shot!

Shrouded within a frozen palace in the northern regions, an emperor penguin sat on his throne and heavily sighed. He stared at the ceiling high above him, and muttered to himself. Gazing at the banners on the sides of the walls, he straightened up as the door creaked open. A large, tree-like yeti wandered down the throne room, one arm stuck rubbing behind his head, as he approached the emperor.

 “Report, General.” The penguin’s gaze narrowed.

 “…Emperor Empoleon—”

 “Report, General Abomasnow,” repeated the penguin.

 “As you wish.” Abomasnow sighed. “Two knights went missing today, on the search for the past four that we lost over a week ago. This puts your royal army ranks down to…five knights, as of now.”

 Empoleon squeezed his eyes shut, and held a tightened grip on his throne.

 “…The rest, General.”

 “Sire, what’s the point—?”

 “My point, Abomasnow,” thundered Empoleon, “is that I have continued the long held tradition of losing soldiers not to war, but to a vast white wasteland. And until I have a day that you come in here and report that we’ve lost no soldiers out there, I will continue to torment myself to the news of every lost soul that will never return, and drown in the guilt for doing so.”

 “Why, sir?” Abomasnow shook his head. “What do we need from the Frozen Fields? Surely we could find alternatives to the crops and minerals found out there.”

 “Our most critical resources from there are the medicinal herbs,” reminded Empoleon. “Without them, our people would suffer from the backlash of this horrid weather.”

 “Perhaps relocation is in order for those that cannot withstand it?” Abomasnow frowned at Empoleon’s dark glare. “Very well, that’s a fair counterpoint, sire. However, we have not been able to procure a Revival Herb in years.”

 “Can we still craft Heal Powder?”

 “Of course, sir. We have enough for Energy Powder, at least.”

 “Then every effort is worth it.”

 “For that bitter trash?”

 “For people to live.”

 “Honestly, I do believe my solution is the better of ours,” grumbled Abomasnow. “But, that is not my place to argue.”

 “Would you need me to detail the other reasons that we need our resources from there?”

 “No need.” Abomasnow folded his heavy arms and raised an eyebrow at his emperor. “Sire…is another reason we send troops out there…is it based on those legends as well?”

 “Of?”

 “You know, those…those myths.” Abomasnow shifted his weight around, as he locked eyes with Empoleon. “Like that fairy tale about the blue rose of the damned lovers, the one about the time jumper, those blasted blades—”

 “As I recall, the legend for that one states the location is closest to the Mountain Monarchy,” recalled Empoleon. “…Or are they sticking with that new name of Mountains Queendom, still? I can never—”

 “Sire, you’re off point.”

 “Ah, yes.” Empoleon shook his head. “At any rate, discovering any kind of artifacts or truths to those stories would be a greatly gained bonus, but no, they are not the primary objective as to why we are out there.”

 “Good.” Abomasnow tugged on loose fur from his head. “Your grandfather—”

 “Was obsessed with them, and they claimed that my father would follow in his footsteps,” recited Empoleon. “To which, however, he never did.”

 “Well—”

 “He never did,” harshly repeated Empoleon.

 “Right, of course not.” Abomasnow lowered his head and bowed. “Do you require anything else, milord?”

 “No, Abomasnow. That will be all.”

 Nodding, the yeti general pivoted and made his way back across the throne room. He stopped about half way and turned back.

 “What did you forget, General?” Empoleon’s question rang out before Abomasnow moved another step toward him.

 “Actually, we do have a new recruit,” revealed Abomasnow. “He comes from the southern lands, the marshes.”

 “From where?” Empoleon shook his head. “Why in the gods’ names would he come all of the way out here?”

 “Haven’t a clue, milord.” Abomasnow shrugged. “He passed each of my tests, however, and he more than fulfills the requirements at becoming a knight. On top of that, he’s a strong swimmer as well, something that you told me I needed to collect more of, yes?”

 “Correct, but…” Empoleon shook his head. “Here, as in outside now?”

 “Yes, sire.” Abomasnow tugged at the fur nearest his mouth. “Shall I bring him in, or have him come back later, or not at all, or—”

 “Send him in,” decided Empoleon. “Just him, you need to continue training the other soldiers. If I finish with him in time, I’ll send him over to you.”

 “Very well, sire. Thank you, sire.”

 Bowing again, Abomasnow turned back around and made his way from the throne room. The doors closed and Empoleon sat alone for a moment, rubbing his beak before standing from his throne.

 The doors at the far end opened again, as a giant salamander ambled through them. He wore a small smile, and tired eyes, as he made his way into the throne room.

 “Your name?”

 “Quagsire, milord,” introduced the salamander.

 “Tell me, why the smile?”

 “This is a nice empire, and better than my old home,” divulged Quagsire. “I’ve also been told that it’s better to smile to leave a good impression.”

 “Not something that you should freely admit to, but yes.” Empoleon narrowed his eyes as he studied the approaching salamander. “You do realize this would be your new home, and not the Grass Fields Kingdom, correct?”

 “Yes, I understand.”

 “Why would you not become a knight at the castle down there?”

 “Coming up here was better for me.” Quagsire slowed to a halt as he reached the base of the throne’s plateau. “It’s quieter out here.”

 “Quiet isn’t always better,” countered Empoleon. “Has General Abomasnow explained our weakened forces?”

 “They die out in the Frozen Fields.”

 “He explained enough, then.” Empoleon folded his wings together. “And this…doesn’t dissuade you?”

 “Nope.” Quagsire shrugged. “I’m a knight and soldier. If my life isn’t at risk, my job isn’t required.”

 “That’s…certainly one way to put it, yes.” Empoleon blinked and released his wings. “You’ll need to explain this more to me.”

 “What would you like to know?”

 Empoleon’s deep blue eyes fixated on Quagsire’s soft dark eyes, as he tapped a wing against his beak.

  Further south of the Grass Fields Kingdom, a small Wooper groaned as a clatter woke him from his rest. He sighed and stood from his grassy cushion by the river, and blinked at the sky. A burning sun overhead caused the little blue axolotl to squint, and he strolled to take a dip in the water.

 “Oh…”

 Wooper grumbled as he slipped into the warm river, much too warm for his tastes. He sulked as he sank down in the water, almost able to stand in his shallow spot.

 “Hey, check this out!”

 Shutting his eyes, the Wooper waited until a splash erupted from nearby, covering his face with droplets. He slowly opened them as a small blue crocodile with red spines on his head burst out from the water beside him.

 “Wasn’t that so cool guys?!”

 “Ha, not bad,” complimented a dark blue frog with orange cheeks. “But you should try something more flashy, like this!”

 Back flipping, the frog flailed in the air as he crashed into the water, with his splash hitting Wooper once again. He popped out and wrestled with the crocodile, as the two laughed and shoved one another back and forth in the water. Wooper drifted further down the river, but was promptly smacked as the crocodile flew into him.

 “Ha, I win again, Totodile!”

 “Sorry about that,” apologized the crocodile to Wooper.

 “It’s fine,” mumbled Wooper.

 “Ha, it’s just a little Wooper, Totodile, don’t worry about it!” The frog bounced forward and splashed at Wooper’s face. “These things crash into logs and debris all over the water, all the time!”

 “Uh, that’s not—”

 “Croagunk, are you and Totodile done wrestling in this sludge?”

 A ball of blue vines pushed past the tall grass, and walked to the river’s edge. Only eyes were visible from a dark patch in the vines.

 “We practically just got in here, Tangela,” snapped Croagunk.

 “Ugh, so?” She rolled her eyes and whipped some of her vines out. “How long do you even need in there? What, do you want to be like that Wooper, and just vanish into the water forever?”

 “Ew, we’re not that bad,” defended Croagunk. “Right, Totodile?”

 “Well, I don’t think that Wooper—”

 “See, he agrees.” Croagunk splashed water at Tangela, who shrieked and jumped back. “Ha, what, afraid of getting wet?”

 “If I hadn’t just had a nice mud bath, certainly, but I’m already cleaned proper,” argued Tangela. “So, if you two don’t mind, keep your filthy water in that swamp!”

 “Actually, a swamp has more forest and trees around it,” corrected Wooper.

 “Exactly who are you to tell me that I’m wrong?!” Tangela huffed and slapped her extended vines against grass blades, flinging some at Wooper. “You’re just a dopey little salamander!”

 “Wow, look at you getting so bothered by him,” teased Croagunk.

 “He’s so weird, why are you even near one?”

 “He was just in here.”

 “All the more reason for you two to get out!” She moaned and backed from the water, before Croagunk could splash her again. “Don’t! I’m serious!”

 “Ah, you’re no fun. Come on, Totodile.”

 Croagunk pushed from the water, and turned to wait for Totodile. The little crocodile frowned, as he glanced back to Wooper, before following the frog from the water. Both shook the water from their bodies, as Tangela tried to block droplets from hitting her. She failed to hear a tiny bud stroll up behind her.

 “Hi Tangy!”

 Shrieking again, Tangela’s vines slapped the small bud into the river. Crashing in, she wailed and squirmed in the river, and Wooper tried to swim to the flower bud.

 “Geez, Tangela, you drowned her!”

 “She snuck up on me!”

 Totodile hurried back to the water’s edge, but a vine wrapped around him, dragging him back. Another wrapped around Croagunk and squeezed him tight as well.

 “Quick, we’re getting out of here!”

 Dragging her companions off, Tangela disappeared into the tall grass with them. Wooper yelped as the bud splashed water in his face, forcing him back.

 She squealed as a long and thin pink tongue wrapped around her body. It lifted her from the water and helped her back onto the grass by the river.

 Standing in the shallows again, Wooper watched as the bud was set down next to a blue and tan toad. The tongue retreated from the bud and slipped back into the toad’s mouth.

 “Are you ok, little one?”

 “Y-yes.” The bud sniffled and whimpered.

 “Hey now, no need to cry.” The toad nuzzled the small bud. “Why don’t we get you home to your parents, ok?” Sniffling again, the bud nodded to him. “Good. What’s your name?”

 “B-Budew.”

 “Budew, such a pretty name. I’m Palpitoad.” He smiled to her, and waited as she smiled back up to him. “There we go, that’s better. And who is that there, in the water?”

 Blinking, Wooper shook his head. Budew twirled around and stared at him for a moment. She swayed around, but spun back to Palpitoad.

 “No idea!”

 “Hm? He’s not your friend?”

 “Nope!”

 “Huh.” Palpitoad stepped forward to Wooper, who slumped down in the shallow water. “Did you knock her in?”

 “It wasn’t him!” The bud bounced around. “It was those bullies, Tangy and her mean friends!”

 “Tangy?” Palpitoad faced Budew again.

 “Yeah, she has vines!”

 “…A…Tangela?”

 “Yeah, yeah!”

 “Ah, that makes sense.” He turned back and smiled to Wooper. “Well, that means you tried to save her, huh?” Mouth open, Wooper quickly nodded. “Good effort, at least. Though, you’re pretty young too, so make sure you’re careful as well.”

 With a nod to Wooper, Palpitoad returned his attention to Budew. She bounced and swayed, almost waving to Wooper, as the two turned away.

 “Take me to where you live, and I’ll help you find your parents, ok?”

 “Ok!”

 Together, the pair vanished behind the tall grass as well. Wooper heavily sighed, and climbed from the river. Yawning, he crawled back to his grassy cushion, with the grass blades scattered about.

 Shaking his head, Wooper pushed clumps of mud together instead, and patted it with his tail. Creating a small nest for himself, he curled into it to sleep once again.

 More yelling, however, woke him up again, and Wooper’s strained dark eyes snapped open as two ducks now quacked and splashed around in the water together. Groaning softly, Wooper retreated from the river and shoved through the tall grass.

 Working through the tall plants around him, Wooper pushed around and shuffled to a clearing filled with small berry trees. He wandered close to a short pink one, and plucked a tiny red berry with a yellow base. Eating it quickly, Wooper plucked the remaining berry, and the tree swayed as he ate the last berry it offered.

 He worked his way to the next pink colored tree, as his belly growled again, and drooled as he came close to a round, blue berry sitting in it. A vine slapped him back and forced him away.

 “Stupid Wooper! That’s my Oran Berry!”

 Shaking his head, Wooper blinked and stared at Tangela, as she tugged three Oran Berries from the tree. Croagunk and Totodile waddled up beside her.

 “There’s enough here for all of us,” complained Wooper. “You don’t have to be rude.”

 “Ugh! Are you seriously talking back to me?!” Tangela scoffed. “You’re just a common Wooper, nothing beneath me! My family comes from a noble house!”

 “One that’s ranked far beneath the royal family.”

 “Shut up, Croagunk!” She cracked a vine at him. “You’re lucky to even be anywhere near me either!”

 “Yeesh, relax, princess.” Croagunk rolled his eyes. “Anyway, just knock the pest out of here.”

 “He’s right, though,” argued Totodile. “We have more than enough berry trees to eat from here.”

 “Totodile, don’t side with common peasants,” snapped Tangela. “That’s certainly beneath your station too.”

 “That’s besides the point, though.”

 “Hey, it’s a pest in the princess’s way,” chimed in Croagunk. “You want to tell her no?”

 “She’s not even a princess—”

 “Compared to everyone here, I might as well be!”

 “That doesn’t even make sense.”

 “Nobody asked you!” Tangela fumed and whipped at Wooper again, who yelped and jumped back. “Now, either you get out of here, or we’ll be forced to take action!”

 “Tangela—”

 “You two had better help me,” she snapped to her companions, “especially if you want to eat any berries too!”

 “Yeah, yeah, you got it, princess,” mocked Croagunk, facing Wooper. “I’ll take care of him.”

 Croagunk puffed out his cheeks, as Wooper backed away, shuddering. Tangela cracked her vines again, and laughed as Wooper leapt away from another whip.

 “This will be easy!”

 “That will be enough.”

 From the shuddering grass near the clearning, Palpitoad emerged. He hurried over to Wooper’s side.

 “And who are you supposed to be?”

 “Just a very concerned toad.” He narrowed his eyes against the trio. “Do we have a problem here?”

 “Just eradicating a minor pest,” quipped Tangela.

 “Right, so, problem then.” Palpitoad rolled his eyes. “Very well, let’s get on with it.”

 “H-huh?”

 “You’re battling with him, right?” Palpitoad nodded. “Battle him, you’re battling me too.”

 “B-but…you’re so much older…”

 “So your point is…?”

 “That it’s not fair!”

 “There are three of you.”

 “But you’re older and probably at a higher level!” Tangela stomped the ground. “Why are you defending him, anyway? He’s just a common Wooper!”

 “Because I would defend anyone that gets picked on from the likes of you,” spat Palpitoad. “Now, you three against us, let’s have at it.”

 “Not a chance.” Totodile shook his head. “They’re the ones picking on Wooper. I’m going home after today, and I’d rather not get into any more trouble.”

 “More trouble?” Palpitoad stepped forward. “You were the ones that knocked Budew into the river after all.”

 “Nah, just her.” Croagunk pointed at Tangela, who smacked him with a vine. “Hey, I’m on your side!”

 “Then act like it!” She pivoted to Totodile. “And what do you think you’re even doing?! Don’t walk away!”

 “Keep your berries, Tangela. If you want to battle for them, go ahead.” Totodile shook his head. “I’m going home tomorrow, and I’m not getting into a fight.”

 Hurrying away, Totodile disappeared from the area. Croagunk shook his head and returned his attention to Palpitoad and Wooper, as poison oozed from his hands. Tangela shivered and loosened her vine whips.

 “F-fine! L-let’s battle them!”

 “But I can’t attack well yet,” murmured Wooper.

 “Don’t worry,” assured Palpitoad. “I know what I’m doing. We’re not that far from the river.”

 “Get them!”

 Running forward, Tangela and Croagunk rushed at the pair. Vibrating his body, Palpitoad stomped the earth, and growled out. Waves of muddy river water burst from past the plants and grass, rushing forward at the pair.

 “W-what?!”

 “Look out!”

 Tangela shrieked as the waves slammed against her and Croagunk, pushing them back and away from the area. Palpitoad smirked and nodded, turning back to Wooper.

 “They’re not much older than you, so it wasn’t tough for me,” soothed Palpitoad. “Pretty cool, huh?”

 “Y-yeah.”

 Wooper blinked as the water dissipated from the clearing, and watched as Palpitoad turned away and began to leave.

 “Um…thank you, for helping.”

 Stopping, Palpitoad turned back and smiled to Wooper. “No problem, kid!” He nodded to the small salamander. “You know, maybe some day, you can defend this place yourself.”

 “Me?” Wooper shook his head. “I don’t like it here.”

 “No? Hmm.” Palpitoad shook his head. “Then, maybe you’ll be able to stick up for others elsewhere one day. I think you’d do well at it.”

 “I just want somewhere quiet,” mumbled Wooper.

 “Well, the best way to find peace is to help make it.” Palpitoad nodded. “I think you understand that better now. After all, there are more like Budew out there. Citizens need someone strong that they can depend on.” He smirked. “Maybe you’re not there yet, but I believe you could be, one day.” Wooper slowly nodded back to Palpitoad. “Great! One day, I hope that others will look up to you! Until then, I need to get going myself. Take care!”

 Taking off, Palpitoad kicked a loose Oran Berry to Wooper. He bid farewell again and left, as the Wooper picked up and ate the berry. He quietly sat in the clearing, and yawned softly, before wandering off once more.

  Empoleon sat back on his throne and tapped on it, as Quagsire yawned.

 “So, you were inspired to help others when you were younger,” he mused aloud.

 “And go somewhere quieter,” reminded Quagsire. “It’s like I can breathe again.”

 “Hm, yes. Well…I suppose, if you would rather be here than Grass Fields, then you’re welcome to stay.”

 “It’s nicer here,” praised Quagsire. “The water is cooler, and the people seem nicer, few as they are.”

 “Yes, I like to think so myself.” Empoleon nodded. “At any rate, we do have healthy ties with Grass Fields, so if ever you wish to return, I’m certain I could have it arranged.”

 “No, sire. Here will be fine.”

 “Very well.” Empoleon stood and lifted a wing forth. “Then, welcome to the Iceberg Empire, Quagsire. And, in time, you may become a valiant knight to our roster.”

 “Thank you, sire.” Another yawn interrupted him before he finished. “I hope to serve your Empire well.”

 “Hopefully. Has General Abomasnow told you where to meet him?”

 “Yes, sire.”

 “Very good. Go to meet him and the others.” Empoleon nodded. “And again, welcome.”

 “I shall. Thank you.”

 For the first time, Quagsire’s smile broadened. He bowed, waved to Emperor Empoleon, and exited the throne room, off to meet the general for training. Empoleon pondered quietly as the new knight disappeared behind his doors, with a soft gust flowing in, and sat back against his throne.

 Perhaps, maybe, this one might last.

A small origin story for Quagsire, yay!

I’m not sure if it’s been mentioned anywhere yet, but Quagsire is the knight that’s been in Empoleon’s ranks the longest, based on the current roster in my fanfic, Melting Gelid Roses.

He’s a gentle character, so I wanted to give him more of an origin that fits him, one that encourages him to help others based on not his immediate decision, but by what he was influenced by. Palpitoad is one that inspired him to eventually decide on knighthood.

There was also some fun to be had with Empoleon and Abomasnow, and by fun, I mean feels. After all, nothing’s more “fun” than leading a kingdom of dying soldiers and citizens, ohoho! ...Well, at least the current roster has been doing well, lately.

A few extra characters that were possibly one-offs, possibly not. Depends on how it’s interpreted. Maybe that will be explained again in the distant future.

For now, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Still working on my other fanfics, but it’s nice to get content out there too.

[persuadedproject-blog]

Chapter 7

    From their first quiet but traumatic run-in, Wentworth and Anne were perpetually in each other’s company. He and the Crofts were folded into all the Musgrove’s fraternizing, and became an expected part of the family dinners and outings. Since CJ recovered inconveniently fast, Anne had no more excuses to keep her reasonably away from the sociable scene. Whether or not the old feelings were to be revived remained to be shown; being around each other could not help but bring back memories of the old times. 

Wentworth’s natural disposition led him to talk at length with his new acquaintances, and to introduce them to his past. Since the year they almost got engaged was also the year he had officially joined the agency, he could not help but talk about that summer. He talked about it smoothly, like a well-rehearsed actor, without a single ‘um’ or  ‘like’ out of the word’s proper context. Although his story was flawless and seemingly carefree, his eyes never so much as wandered down to her end of the table. Anne knew that his mind at least had to be leaning her direction while he told his story. She listened and felt the same pain that must have brushed his own heart at the careful omissions and half-truths that allowed him to skate entirely around their relationship. They had no lasting conversations, and there was no meat to their words when they were forced to talk to each other for politeness’ sake. Cold, nervous smiles, and a quick,

    “How are you? It seems cooler today,” was as far as things got - never further than the weather. The only exception was at their first evening spent together, a game night at the Musgroves. While choosing teams for Catchphrase, Admiral Croft picked Anne with the comment,

    “You must know so many words, with all your reading! The first time I was at your father’s office, I don’t think you ever looked up from the paperwork on your desk. And the next time it was a book, poetry or something fancy like that.” He scooted over on the plump floral couch to make room for Anne, while Wentworth involuntarily asked,

    “Your father’s office?” With all the dignity she could muster, Anne replied,

    “Yes, my father’s office. I am his assistant.”

    “The best secretary in Washington, D.C.!” the admiral proclaimed. “She pretty much keeps the whole city afloat through her work.”

    “A big favor to society,” was Wentworth’s only comment before he started picking his team. Anne was grateful for the Admiral’s display of friendship (she did not think he had remembered her from his visits to the office), but she wished he had not brought up her being her father’s assistant. After all her lofty hopes, all of the plans that she had not given up for Cap, now she was a secretary. She could see how it looked, and a part of her longed to sit down with him and explain how the chips had fallen, but from his body language and her own reserve she could not see a realistic situation where that could happen. They had once meant so much in their words and to each other, and now - nothing. Before, at a dinner they would keep returning to each other, having an anchor of someone they trusted and were entirely comfortable with. Now, they somehow managed to always be on the opposite side of the room from each other. Far from being respites, their brief interactions now required recovery on Anne’s part. With the Crofts as the only exception, no other two hearts had ever been so open, so unified; none of the other couples came close to their similarity in taste and opinions, no persons so cherished. Now they were like total strangers. No, it was worse than that; now they could never get to know each other, not in a meaningful way. It was just as good as (or possibly more effective than) a formal estrangement.

   On one of their first dinner parties all together, much of Wentworth’s time talking was spent explaining basic things to the Musgroves, who had a general lack of knowledge about the real workings of Washington, D.C. To a Washington crowd, his story about being a diplomat without the legal ability to give any details would have brought on knowing nods and winks, but here it was accepted on face value (even by Mary, who was busy carefully avoiding the noodles, or anything they had touched). Once dinner had been cleared away from the wide table and replaced by dessert, the Musgrove girls pulled out the atlas, and had Wentworth show them all the places he had served across the world. The atlas had never moved from its display on the coffee table, but now there was an urgent need for it. Hazel and Louise, although educated, were pursuing a ‘ring by the spring’ mentality with greater zeal than an excellent GPA. Hazel had actually been going out with a Charles Hayter from Maryland, almost to the point of being seriously together. Anne was a little surprised to see how readily she listened to Wentworth’s bravado, how close she sat over his shoulder, with her own happy relationship taking a backseat. On the other hand, Cap was the sort of person that turned everyone into a bit of a flirt; everyone naturally wanted to please him, to be noticed by him, to have him think well of them. He had an unintentional pull on most people, one which was drawing in all of the Musgroves - not that he seemed to mind. Louise dusted off the atlas saying,

    “You told me the name of your first post was Aher - Azeb -”

    “Azerbaijan,” he said. Taking the atlas, he flipped through confidently until he found the correct entry. “That was a tiny office, really more like an apartment with lots of paperwork and no air conditioning.” After a pause for effect, he added, “And holes in the roof.” At the girl’s surprise, he explained, “The government bureaucrats sometimes entertain themselves by sending the young bucks fresh out of training (and full of plans to change the world) to their most remote, most monotonous offices in the world to push paper and suffer for about a year. I think I did more repair work trying to get us heat or cooling than actual work.” The admiral spoke up from his end of the table.

    “You all were lucky to have work fresh out of training. Most college students can’t say the same thing! And the climate of Azerbaijan is not so bad, from what my friends who have served on the Caspian Sea tell me. Nice people, too. You could’ve done worse.”

    “I knew I was lucky to be there,” he said seriously. “Those early experiences, and being immersed in a new culture - I would not trade them for a more glamorous first assignment. At the time, I desperately wanted to be out of the country, away from everything I knew. I needed to be doing something significant and meaningful.” With a rueful laugh, “Even if that meant tinkering with utilities for a year.”

    “I’m sure you wanted to be out of the country! What would you have done with yourself, with six months on a job hunt?” With a nudge for his wife, the admiral theorized, “If a man does not have a wife he wants to be out and away, doing significant work, I think.” Anne concentrated very hard on her slice of pecan pie. Louise teasingly questioned Wentworth, from whom her attention had not strayed.

    “You mean to say you weren’t disappointed, not even a little bit,  when you got there?”

    “Oh, I knew what I was in for when I packed my bags. Azerbaijan has been made a bit of a legend in the hiring process. It was kind of like taking an umbrella out that you know is old and full of holes. When you get rained on it’s not a surprise, it’s actually kind of funny. The embassy was in such a dry old building, I was the last to experience its wonders. One night an electrical fire started in our file room and burnt the whole building to the ground. It’s lucky I didn’t decide to sleep in the office that night, my eulogy might have been ‘Here lies Frederick Wentworth, who Served his Country for about Five Minutes’.” The Crofts laughed, since the story had been told to them many times, while the senior Musgroves and Anne shuddered quietly, and the girls made their horror known. Mrs. Musgrove, who was seated next to Anne, said,

    “Then I guess you went up to Munich. A certain Someone must have been watching out for us, putting you in that city. We will never forget what you did.” Her feelings made her speak softly, and unusual thing for the hardy woman. Between her quietness and his mind being a literal thousand miles away from Rich Musgrove, Wentworth waited for her to fill in the blanks. What service was she talking about?

    “My brother,” one of the girls whispered. “Mama is thinking about poor Richard.”

    “He was so much steadier, much better at keeping up with me when he was hanging around you. It would’ve been better for him if he had not let the connection fade away.”

    For a fraction of a second, a funny expression crossed Wentworth’s face. A gleam in his eye, a quirk at the corner of his mouth made Anne think that he had probably worked very hard to make sure his relationship with Mrs. Musgrove’s most beloved son had died out. Anyone but Anne would not have been able to detect it, much less interpret it. The amusement only lasted for a second, though - he quickly swallowed his smile, got up, and crouched next to Mrs. Musgrove’s chair. His back was to Anne, but he was just next to her. Placing a hand on the arm of the bereaved mother’s chair, he settled there for a while telling her about the genuinely best parts of her son. He spoke kindly, having a care for her poor parently feelings, trying to make her comfortable. He was actually right there - if they had been at a dinner party five years earlier, she might have reached out her rand, rested it gently on his back or shoulder as a, ‘Hey, friend. I’m here,’ gesture. But now she sat bolt upright, facing straight ahead, paying sudden attention to Charles. Or at least, her eyes were. Her ears were practically bent over to the right from straining. Although Anne’s agitation were shielded from him, we must give Wentworth a bit of credit for paying careful attention to Mrs. Musgrove’s sighing over her missing son, who nobody really cared for when they knew where he was. The admiral roamed the room, as if his seafaring self could not stand still. After circling the room once or twice, a quick shake of the head from Mrs. Cross made him come to a standstill. He was right in front of his brother-in-law when his march was suddenly halted, and said to him without the slightest idea he was interrupting,

    “If you had been around for one more week in Munich, you would have had to help the Griers family out of that tricky situation at the embassy. You probably would have had to sneak them out of the city, to an airport over the border, just to be safe.”

    This brought on an outcry from the admiral, who wanted to know just why Wentworth opposed the idea of being helpful. He defended himself by saying he would never willingly take ladies into his care, particularly in circumstances like that.

    “Not for a lack of care for the fair sex - it might actually be the last bit of chivalry I have left,” he tried to explain himself. “If I were to make a trip like that, it would be fast, with no stops, fueled on gas station food. I’ve traveled solo for so many years, I would have no idea how to begin making a woman comfortable in that situation, emotionally or otherwise. And making the embassy presentable for women who did not work there?” he waved his hands, “Impossible. At least, it was in the out-of-the-way places I started in. I would never have a lady staying in our wards, if I had anything to say about it. They were nothing more than hostiles.” In explaining himself, he had only dug a deeper pit (at least, it was a pit in the quicker minds at the table). The wrath of Sophie was brought upon him, in a way that a sister can be all at once wrathful, loving, and pointing out unsound reasoning.

    “Frederick Elias Wentworth! I can’t believe you. Mom and I raised you better than this! I have lived all over the world, in all kinds of houses, with varying degrees of safety, and I have never been more comfortable than in our shoddiest little house in the Philippines, even at the Kellynch House,” this with a nod to Anne. “I have lived on the road and out of boxes more than in a single place, and I am physically and mentally sound. Maybe better than the ‘ladies’ who have had the good luck to have men like you shielding them from anything mildly unpleasant.” Wentworth made the mistake of trying to argue back.

    “You knew what you signed up for when you married a young Lieutenant Croft.”

    “Plenty of women thrive in situations they did not sign up for,” Sophie retorted. “Also, I seem to remember you brought Maria Harville and her three children from Louisiana all the way down to Monterey. Where was this fine ‘chivalry’ then?”

    “All from my friendship with her husband. I would bring anything from the world’s end if Will Harville asked me to - it doesn’t mean I did not have reservations about it, but my feelings on the matter did not stop me from driving them and a U-Haul trailer on a very long stretch of highway.”

    “I just hate to hear you talk this way, assuming those feelings make you a better person - and that all females are these fine ladies, instead of rational minds inside female bodies. None of us - not one - wants to be in calm water all our days.”

    “Sophie,” the admiral tweaked her shoulder with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “when he has a wife himself, he will change his tune.”

    “He’ll have to correct that attitude before he can get one worth having,” Sophie laughed. “But I do believe you’re right.”

    “We need to stop this right here!” Wentworth exclaimed. “Once married people decide to attack me with ‘You’ll think very differently when you are married’, all I can say back is ‘No, I won’t.’ Then it just goes back and forth until it devolves into Yo Mama jokes, which will not be pretty, since Sophie and I share a mother.” He stood up, and helped Mr. Musgrove clear and wash the dessert dishes (Mrs. Musgrove, being of old Southern tradition, could not be brought around to use paper plates, not even the pretty ones from Tuesday Morning).

    The evening ended with all of them trooping down to the park, where a brass band composed of mostly retirees was playing old-timey swing songs. One of the band members was a new friend of Anne’s, the butcher from the Piggly Wiggly. Since Mary had very specific requirements for the kind of meat she ingested, Anne and Mr. Miller had spent a few long spells together, to ensure a satisfactory experience for her. Both playing and turning pages proved to be too big of a challenge, and after seeing Anne sitting on the lawn, Mr. Miller called her over to help. A precarious lawn chair was pulled up for her, and she began to follow the music. While the couples in the park swayed back and forth, Anne watched Mr. Miller for a violent bob of the head, which was the indication she should flip the page. The band was playing for a happy, rowdy-with-joy kind of crowd that whooped and hollered at the end of each piece. Even Walter and CJ hopped and spun around in a bizarre imitation of dancing. Lightning bugs glowed with abandon, and the warm air encouraged the merry crowd to stay late. No one seemed happier than Wentworth, surrounded solely by girls who admired him and people who thought nothing but good of him. While the girls had to sit a while on the grass, shooing crickets away and waiting for their turn to dance, he never sat down. It became a little difficult to track the notes because her eyes misted over several times, obscuring the notes and words to the old love songs, which now seemed to mock her. She was just glad to be busy - all she asked in exchange was to be unobserved. He charmed and spun and swayed in a way that was familiar to Anne, but a million miles away from how she was feeling. She found him looking over his partner’s shoulder at her once, probably trying to find the old structure amongst the pale ruins. Later, she knew he must have asked about her, because she hear Louise answer a little too loudly,

    “Anne, dance? Never, I think she stopped dancing in elementary school, and gave it up for books. She always finds something to help the musicians, or picking the playlist. She is really good with music, I don’t think she ever gets tired of thinking it through for us.”

    Before they parted, he did talk to Anne once. During the short intermission she had gone back to their picnic blanket to check on CJ’s shoulder. When she got back to Mr. Miller and his french horn, Cap was seated next to the old timer, making a new friend and asking about song requests. Seeing her, he stood up in the middle of the conversation.

    “I’m sorry, this is your seat.”

     “No, you don’t need to rush - take your time -” But none of her sputterings could convince him to sit back down. While the band struck back up (playing As Time Goes By for yet another dose of cruel irony), the Musgrove and Croft families retreated. Mary had begun to worry about the effects of all the mosquito bites she was acquiring, and the Musgroves had a big day planned. While her family walked back up the hill, Anne maintained her post, thinking that if this was to be the flavor of her and Wentworth’s interactions, silence would be better than this distant, dead politeness.

For the record, Azerbaijan is a real place worth Wikipedia-ing. As is Tuesday Morning. Thanks to my five readers for sticking around! 

Chapter 8: http://bit.ly/2vAaSdk