#oh god that was entirely too long for something clearly not innovative

[codename-adler]

i’ll oh so probably regret letting myself roam Good Omens Tumblr like an absolutely feral goat-pigeon but i just have to say I JUST–

it’s about home alright?

Aziraphale has never fell (yet), only assigned (or perhaps demoted?) to Earth and humans. Heaven is his home. that is where he comes from, what he has always known. he may live on Earth and in his bookshop, may spend the rest of eternity there if allowed, but he’ll always have his first home waiting for him, or perhaps his first home he is waiting for to call him back, tugging incessantly at the back of his mind. it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t fit there quite as nicely as the other angels. it doesn’t matter that Gabriel and the others threatened him and everything he loves. it doesn’t matter the danger, the toxicity, the abuse, the manipulation, the selfishness, the cold and cruelty of it all. that’s his home. Heaven is home. and angels are supposed to love and see the best in everything, unconditionally. it doesn’t mean they see right, but that’s angel eyes for you. and so the bookshop is his home-away-from-home. it isn’t meant to last forever, as he tells Crowley. it isn’t. the bookshop is Aziraphale’s own little corner of Heaven on Earth, his physical shelter among humans. but it is just a place. that doesn’t diminish his love for it, for what it contains, nor the time he has passed in it or the people he has shared it with. to Aziraphale, the place doesn’t equate the memories. it’s just a place. it’s just an impermanent and concrete house. never a forever home.

Crowley… lost his home. Heaven was home, and he rejoiced creating for it, expanding it. but Crowley fell (and that we must see in s3 i am begging) and the doors of Heaven locked him out. whether he bargained to come back, immediately denied or accepted his fate, took centuries to come to terms with his exile or with his flawed perception of Heaven–we don’t know. but two facts remain: Crowley lost his home, and Crowley can never go back. he does not welcome Hell as his new home either. unlike Aziraphale, his time on Earth is never framed in temporality. he does not have that anchor he can rely on in either Hell or Heaven. he’s going through the motions as best as he can, coming to terms with his fall from above and the Above’s fall in his esteem and personal concept of morality. so no home. forever nomad. except. except. Aziraphale and the bookshop. those he always relied on, and he told his angel so. ok, yeah, duh, obvious. to everyone, including us. but not to Aziraphale. angel doesn’t know home for him and home for Crowley are vastly different concepts. we know Crowley relinquished his flat to Shax when she took his job, but did he tell Aziraphale? anyone? no. because the flat doesn’t matter. the flat is to Crowley what the bookshop is to Aziraphale, and even less than that. the Bentley would rank a little closer to the truth. but even the Bentley he lost once in s1, and mourned it, but it’s more like losing a limb. not your heart. your heart you keep safe at home. in a bookshop. in the hands of the angel you love.

but your angel doesn’t see your home for what it is and is wholeheartedly willing to leave it behind and take it away from you.

but your demon doesn’t see your home for what it is and is hellbent on forsaking it and keeping you away from it.

their homes don’t align. and so their hearts cannot either.

Oh, Crowley. Nothing lasts forever…

No… No, I don’t suppose it does.

the whole exchange is a double one-sided conversation tainted by their respective traumas.

Aziraphale says I’m touched you care so much about my love for the bookshop, but don’t you be sad Crowley, I’m bringing both of us home now because I love you and I’ve always wanted to give you back what you lost. Crowley hears This place you’ve let yourself call home? I don’t care for it, nor for your heart, and I’m crushing both because only Heaven is forever—and you were a sad fool to believe anything different would happen.

Crowley responds I can see now I was entirely mistaken to trust you would care for my heart and I’m letting you go back to the place you truly want, the only place that doesn’t want me, and that hurts angel. Aziraphale hears I’m judging your choices and feel such pity for your dreams of home that I would never want to be a part of it.

THIS IS MY HOME. YOU ARE IT. // I WANT BETTER FOR US. FOR YOU.

they’ve become so intrinsically intertwined and obsessed and with each other that they cannot fathom the other thinking of home differently. they are BLIND. blinded and blinding. 6,000 years of loyal companionship will do that to you. and perhaps it is time for each of them to grow a little on their own, so they can circle back to each other, back home home, back to them, their us, just like stars in a nebula align.

[nanamikentcs]

SIREN’S SONG

word count: 1.7k

genre: fluff (??), reader meets diluc for the first time,  mutual admiration

warnings: none (gn!reader, not proofread)

summary: god isn’t some bigshot in the sky. god is a redhead playing the violin against the setting sun, while you watch in complete admiration. inspired by that new official art where diluc plays the violin.

Of the tasks undertaken this particular week, this seemed the least burdensome and most straightforward to you. One of the employees of Dawn Winery—presumably Charles (whose name you only learned recently), since he was within the immediate vicinity of the Adventurer’s Guild—put forth a commission to deliver a set of documents to the Winery itself, somewhere along the city outskirts. For a myriad of reasons—most revolving around the relatively low appeal of the commission, given that adventurers were drawn to more thrilling tasks—none had yet accepted the job. 

You wonder if, perhaps, another reason for the lack of interest in the request involved an unexpected run in with the Winery’s owner. 

By no means was Diluc Ragnvindr an unpleasant man. The reputable former knight was known for his courteousness, his polite nature most likely spawned by the esteem upheld by families of old. His demeanor was, nonetheless, off-putting, to say the least. He often kept to himself,  speaking rarely to others beyond business and smiling even less often. Shrouded by an aura of both invulnerability and power, the young Ragnvindr’s unapproachable nature served as an effective ward against not only those he explicitly opposed, but perhaps against those who longed to forge a connection with him as well. 

But, you were here for matters relating to work. Even if he hadn’t been aware of the commission, the documents you carried in your pack must’ve been important enough for a commission to be issued in the first place. Of course, having only encountered the redhead a couple of times—and oftentimes with a mind half-buzzed thanks to an alcoholic spell—your image of him was less intimidating than that of the locals’. 

The sweltering heat of the sun receded into gentler warmth. You kept your eyes trailed on the road ahead of you, watching how the path changed from pavements to rough roads as you neared your destination. Hailing leagues away from the City of Freedom, you appreciated Mondstadt for the little details that solidified the beauty intrinsic to the region. Fontaine—a place you once called home—was a city known for its artistry and innovation; but Mondstadt, in its simple yet unrestrained nature, called to your heart in ways you did not understand.

By the time you arrived at the Winery, the sky had settled into a yellow-orange hue, denoting the incoming arrival of sunset. A signpost indicating the Winery’s location seemed unnecessary, considering the visibility of the vineyard from miles away. This was the first time you’d step foot onto a property so large, so busy with the duty of sustaining an entire city’s economic stability. Still, your business lay ahead of you, and you would much rather be done with your tasks before nightfall.

“Are these from Charles?” A white-haired man questioned as he sifted through the papers you handed him, addressing you but not looking away from the documents.

“Ah, I didn’t get to check who posted the commission,” you admitted, slightly embarrassed to overlook such a detail. “But it was posted in the afternoon, so it must’ve been someone in the city.”

The man—his name was Elzer, if you caught it correctly—hummed at your response, staying silent for a few moments. You shifted awkwardly, half-wondering if this was your cue to leave, yet half-expecting a proper dismissal, as though you’d still been a student awaiting your teacher’s approval.

After a brief period (which frankly seemed like a lifetime to you), Elzer finally looked in your direction, promptly thanked you for your service, and assured you that your remuneration would be facilitated through the Guild.

As you turned to leave, however, he called after you. “Ah, wait,” the tone that laced his voice betrayed just the slightest hint of exhaustion. “Could you perchance hand these over to the young master himself? These documents should’ve been given to him directly anyway.”

You stopped in your tracks, wondering if you’d heard him right. Your only instructions were to deliver the documents to the Winery. You didn’t know that they had to be given to Master Diluc himself. 

“He’s at his study at the moment. First door to the left, once you ascend the stairs.” Elzer added, and, despite not having accepted the sudden request, you moved forward to retrieve the documents you’d just handed over. Following the directions he gave, you made your way to Diluc’s study, knocking once, knocking again, knocking twice for a third time, and knocking thrice for a fifth. No answer. Frustrated at the delay and the impending approach of the dark, you turned to find Elzer once more. You’d done your job. They couldn’t hold this against you, right?

Then you heard it: music created by a bow against steel strings, and for a moment you recall the endless symphonies composed by one frustrated musician after another in your hometown. Each was beautiful in their own right, but never seemed to meet the standard of perfection that greatness demanded. This song, however, was not perfect nor was it especially great—but it was indubitably beautiful.

Your feet moved by their own accord, following the direction of the violin and the mystery musician—not at all considering who’d dwelt there and who were expecting to find in the first place. The melody drew you in by some invisible thread, and before you knew it, you stood openmouthed by a door left ajar.

This was the first time you saw Master Diluc without his typical bravado. You watched as he nestled the violin in the crook of his neck, his right hand moving with grace as he shepherded the bow upwards and down, and the fingers of his other hand gliding with deftness across the violin. The sight of him and the sun setting through the window behind him was enough to root you into place. You did not understand why your heart leapt, but perhaps it was because it had not witnessed anything more beautiful.

He stopped. You wish he hadn’t but he did. His senses were keen, and though you had been too silent to make a sound, he knew he was in the presence of another. Turning to face you, an intruder in his personal area, he regarded you with an expression that furthered your surprise: he did not seem the least bit annoyed, nor did he appear to be upset at your sudden arrival. The glint in his eyes betrayed some curiosity, but beyond that, his face remained neutral.

“Was there something you needed?” He asked, as though your presence was a natural occurrence. 

“Oh, I...I was on a commission...and well,” You managed to stammer out, electing to present the documents in your hand instead of relying on your ability to form a coherent sentence. “Th-These are for you.”

Diluc glanced at the papers in your hands, noticing the slight tremble to them, and sighed before setting his instrument down. As he took the documents, you immediately pulled your hand away, eager to hide both the tremor and incoming clamminess. You knew you should’ve apologized for your intrusion, thanked him for his patience, and left at the soonest possible moment. Instead, the more irrational part of your brain decided to blurt out: “That was beautiful. The way you played, I mean. I’ve heard a lot of violinists back in Fontaine but you...I mean you could easily outclass them.”

The pair of you seemed shocked by your profuse compliment. Diluc gathered himself first (and fairly quickly), clearing his throat before offering a small yet gentle smile. Strange, you thought. I’ve never seen him smile before.

“Thank you. Do you recognize it?” He asked, a faintly amused lilt in his voice. You shook your head in response. He nodded, as though expecting it. “It’s a composition from the olden days of Mondstadt. Not many recognize it anymore, more so if one were from another place. You mentioned Fontaine, yes?”

You did not understand why you could not use your voice. You only nodded, hoping he charged your nervousness to introversion. He paused to consider your response, turning to the violin he’d set down earlier, then returning his attention to you. 

You watched as he opened his mouth to say something, then abruptly close it as though he changed his mind midway. Shifting his eyes away for a brief moment, he turned his gaze back towards you, asking, “Do you play?”

“The violin?” You inquired, rather dumbly now that you’d said it. “Oh, no, I don’t. I mean, I played for a little while then stopped. Hardly learned past the basics.”

He hummed at your response, unexpectedly content to hear your voice. 

“I play the piano a little bit better, though.” you added, after a moment’s quiet. Perhaps it was to impress the clearly impressive man in front of you, or perhaps it was your pride in your own abilities. Either way, you felt compelled to add that detail.

Diluc considered your words, scrutinizing you in a private silence he shared with you. To both your surprise and his, he raised the question: “Would you like to play together, then?”

The invitation was extended like a hand requesting one’s own before a dance. You wanted to take that plunge, accept the invitation and waltz a symphonic dance with the man before you. But, enrapt in allure and the desire to prepare for a more impressive showcase of your talents, you said instead: “I’m a bit out of practice, and it’s going to be night soon. But next time...I’d love to, next time.”

Had you not directed your gaze towards your shifting feet and the wooden floors, perhaps you would’ve noticed the flash of disappointment in his eyes. 

“Next time, then.” Diluc said, again with a small smile that rarely graced his features. He thanked you for fulfilling the commission, and watched as you turned to leave, unable to understand how one interaction could ignite so many emotions within him. With a sigh, he returned to his abandoned violin, absentmindedly plucking at the strings. 

Diluc Ragnvindr, in all his acumen and knowledge of the workings of the world, could not pinpoint what it was about your exchange and what it was about you that stupefied him so much that he--only much later did he realize--had not asked for your name. 

[blushing-starker]

Anon asked for alpha Peter and omega Tony for a baby announcement. Thank you to the wonderful @vaguekiwi for motivating me and sharing her thoughts on the story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did, anon.

"Tony, Tony? Are you up? It's 7:30am already, you have a meeting with Miss Potts in forty minutes. Tony?"

Soft hands curl into already silver hair, scratching at the strands in an attempt to wake him up gently. Butterfly kisses on a cold nape, a ridiculously hot nose nuzzling everywhere. Peter knows scenting the billionaire is basically the only way one can ensure a calm morning.

Not today. And not for the next few months either.

He loves his husband, appreciates the nearly romantic demeanor, he does. But "unless you have a cup of coffee for me, there is no way in hell i am gonna leave this bed. your child has kept me up with nausea the entire night. I wanna hurl my guts out more than that time Rhodes found Dad's liquor cabinet. please, tell me you have coffee."

"..." Tony is severely displeased by the fact he can read Peter like a book even with half his mind shut off because fine, he's right and dammit all.

"I want that weird drink you make. The one with milk, cinnamon and chunks of brownie. And French toast with waffles. No jam, not too much butter, as much sugar as possible. Now, go before I scream at you for having the only dick that could get a hormone fucked forty something omega pregnant. "

The kid scrambles from bed, practically face plants with all the covers tangling long legs and yup, this is the person that the universe designated as his soulmate. Because Tony Stark can never have a partner with a reasonable, normal amount of enthusiasm, stamina and a sense of balance.

That sounds like he's ungrateful, he's not. But it turns out being three months pregnant gives him plenty of perspective to peer at life in a whole new way that does not include caffeine, alcohol or sex.

Would he kill and die for this amazing human being that makes Tony's heart race no matter the day, that inspires him to be a better version of himself? Yes, no questions asked. No hesitation and no regret.

Would he clobber Peter for doing the impossible and technically causing Tony incredible discomfort on a daily basis thanks to what his doctors can only assume is a superhuman baby he already loves and adores more than life itself? Also yes.

Things aren't mutually exclusive in this household.

Pep, bless her, has yet to find out about their future mini Parker so there's been no respite on the whole 'running a multi billion dollar industry ' thing. And yeah, while it's not exactly easy, he can focus on other things and not fall into a panicky state of mind — because him? A father? Of a super baby? Tony Stark, infamous playboy with a hedonistic streak, a dad?

Just thinking along those lines makes shame and self doubt slither over a metallic plate. Working, dealing with innovative scientists, crafting the new world of tomorrow, guaranteeing the safety of their planet, shapeshifting into a role model, a mentor (for the interns and school kids he visits, not Peter, of course, thank God they left that dynamic ages ago), loyal friend, reluctant errand boy (fuck the assholes in charge of the Accords), great husband, good man, it all distracts a fearful child from thinking, what if I turn into Howard?

"I couldn't find brownies, so cookies it is! Aunt May had a few boxes sent in when I told her work was keeping you on your feet all the time. Said it'd be a good idea to snack along the day in case you—" Peter freezes, tenses with a not-so-narrow back held ramrod straight. Oh, his husband brought him breakfast in bed.

How could he ever think to clobber such a nice, wonderful—

"Your scent is odd."

"Yeah, well fuck you too then."

Five seconds of silence.

"I'm bringing you one cup of coffee and the hormone pills."

" Yup, that's a great idea. "

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

Tony’s mumbo jumbo with self loathing is firmly put on the back burner after inhaling a delicious breakfast and chugging that one glorious cup of coffee. Until they go to the bathroom and he sees himself in the mirror.

"We gotta tell them."

"You said you wanted to wait a while before saying anything."

Peter strips, ducks into the warm shower, lets out a pleased little sigh and Tony wants to rip his fingernails off. Is it bad, having sex while pregnant? No! The doctors, every single one of them, said it's a perfectly normal thing to do. It'd be bad if they didn't have sex because Tony, thanks to his crazy hormone production, needs the extra attention for his body to understand this is a happy process that shouldn't include sad pheromones or stressed out moments. Will Peter put him out of his misery and allow a quickie in the mornings? No.

"Take more than five minutes in that shower and I'm joining you."

Listen, he grew up in the 80's and 90's, Tony wasn't immune to peer pressure. Did he cave and eventually do so many squat competitions with Rhodey his butt turned into a duck's butt? There's no evidence, he's made sure, but yes. And Starks have always turned out to be beautiful, doesn't matter your gender or age. Finding a companion for the night has never been a problem for anyone in his family tree.

That, and his work as Iron Man has kept him — well, not ripped like Cap, certainly not as lean and (God help him) athletic as Peter, but fit. Sturdy. Firm. Solid. (Peter once muttered the words 'daddy-like' in regards to his body and he nearly choked on water.)

The passage of time has made him a bit slower, dusted once black hair with, as his husband says, stardust and the corners of his eyes now show how much time Tony spends laughing or frowning. All in all, he looks fucking spectacular for his age and experience as a villain-punching-bag. Thing is, he has a belly. A bump. A curve where it was once, well. Less curvy. Is it a problem for Peter? Nope, as acknowledged every time his alpha tackles him if he so much as looks oddly in the mirror. Is it a problem for him? He'll get back to you on that.

The point is, there's a belly when just a few months ago there wasn't such a pronounced belly. It's great, of course. Proof their child is growing steadily and Tony's body is adjusting to it accordingly. A small part of him, the omega part he actually lets live, is fascinated and proud. He's doing that, Tony's the one growing a human being, creating life out of nothing in his own body. That child, although not the only physical embodiment of their relationship, is a result of his love for Peter. Of how much his husband loves him. They love each other so much they're gonna start another family together. That chokes him up a bit, reminds him how grateful he is for Peter and for the other Avengers. If they hadn't been so accepting of his status, would he have ever considered going through with this?

Anyway, he's not gonna start sobbing this early in the morning when there's no alcohol involved. It's fantastic seeing his child develop, good, warm and fuzzy feelings, yada yada yada, it's also not very easy to hide. And Tony...Tony wanted to hide it from his family because.

Because Peter hasn't been the only partner in all his life that has wondered about a future with a white picket fence. Because when he was Peter's age, in his goddamn prime, a doctor, ten doctors, all the doctors told him the same thing, smashed his dream into a million pieces. Tony was nearly infertile. There was a one in a million chances of him getting pregnant. If he did, they couldn't be sure his body would be able to maintain two hearts. And then the cave happened.

So yeah. It happened to his cousins, his aunt, a few uncles, his grandmother. Tony would do a baby announcement, but only the second that baby was outside of him and safely in his arms. Now there are still several months left and nothing certain. But time is a bitch and beginning to show the world, maybe those extra pounds aren't from eating the Parker's amazing breakfasts.

"Tony, you know I don't wanna risk-" Losing control of my strength. They've been together long enough that Tony can see quite clearly between the lines.

"Hurting us, yeah, I know, I understand. I'm getting too wide, we're gonna have to tell them or Natasha will take one look at me and whoops, impromptu announcement from someone else. It's a miracle she was out on those missions when we found out." Thank God for renegade troops.

He's still looking at himself in the mirror when Peter comes out, barely dries up and slides behind him. His husband is slightly taller now, can easily hook a curved jaw on Tony's shoulder to peer at the image they make. Contrasts, he supposes, have always enthralled Tony. The study of light and shadow. Variations of the same basic components. Where his body is aging, showing signs of wear and tear, Peter's is evolving into something beautiful, majestic. Silver hair, chestnut brown. Scarred canvas, silky smooth and sunkissed skin. Soft, fragile curves, chiseled lines that deserve to be revered more than Michelangelo’s David. But their eyes, their eyes are equally tired.

“We can tell them if you want, have dinner together and just, just say it. Like that -”

“No. It's our kid, we're not gonna act like it's ripping off a band aid. This is special, unique. Dinner is good. Fantastic, actually. Wait for dessert, and announce it. “ Peter comes ever closer, wraps arms that could carry the world around him and how did he get so lucky?

They've lied to each other in the past. Mostly in the beginning, when they were too worried about hurting their new relationship to show their desires and wants. Tony didn't explain the Training Wheels Protocol. Peter tried to fight high level crime on his own. Things got hard to understand, like being in the right place at the wrong time. Puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit together, an extra inch of space prohibiting them from seeing all the possibilities that the truth could bring. They were walking the same path, just in parallel lines that never crossed.

But then he'd been rejected, thrown away and able to realize how fucking stupid it was to let Peter go when being near the kid, it felt like finally breathing after residing in the deep end of a pool for a thousand years. So Tony ran after him one day, crashed into his AP English class, half assed an excuse for the baffled teacher, yanked Peter out of the room and proceeded to have the best make out session of his life with his back against the kid's locker. And now they don't lie, ever.

Which is why it's so hard to accept Peter's, “You're beautiful, Tony. The handsomest man I've ever seen in my life. I loved you before, I love you now, I'll love you forever, Anthony Stark. You carrying our kid doesn't change that, how could it, Tony? It's going to be ok. The three of us will be ok and I won't stop thanking whoever decided I'd get to marry my wet dream.”

Scorching kisses trace his pulse point slowly, sharp nails start dragging against a too thin shirt, but it's the fact that Peter hasn't looked away from him, is confidently holding his gaze through the glass, that makes Tony shudder and stop breathing.

The bathroom is flooded with pheromones, cinnamon and honey assaulting an unprepared billionaire, and he'll die if they stay like this, can't function properly, brain switching gears, trying valiantly to remember baseball stats, past wounds, May's cooking because Peter's gonna wreck his sanity if those hands keep winding down, if those lips don't stop unraveling him like a Christmas present.

“If I'd known you'd get this handsy and romantic, I would have complained about how I look earlier." It's a gasp, half murmur, half plea as Peter grins at him shamelessly. “I know it's rude and wrong and sexist, but I like comforting my omega, acting like a stereotypical alpha. Makes me feel like I'm doing my job of making you happy. “

He quirks an eyebrow, is glad Peter can be comfortable enough to take the reins every once in a while. “You're telling me that assuring me I'm still drop dead gorgeous, “ his husband snorts, nips at Tony's shoulder for that quip, “ makes you horny because you feel like an alpha comforting, and I quote, ‘your omega’? “

Peter reverts back to the shy teenager who could barely ask a girl out to the homecoming dance, ducks his head into Tony’s neck with a blush quickly spreading over damp skin. “Well, I've got news for you, sweetheart. Your wet dream also thoroughly enjoys it so you better break tradition and have sex with me to remind me I'm the hottest man you've ever seen. "

He's actually serious about this, his self esteem hasn't exactly been, you know, the best and Tony's mood always improves significantly after playing around in bed with Peter. Besides, it's a sign of trust. Peter won't hurt him or their child, will be able to hold back his strength. He always does.

Listen, it's not exactly moral, but he has more than enough problems to go ahead and analyze his attraction and dependency on Peter while pregnant.

“So, I can distract you from your bad thoughts by acting sort of possessive and taking you to bed? " Oh, he adores when his husband is afraid of showing a new side of himself and asks for permission ever so sweetly.

“Babe, if you don't, I'll kick you out of the apartment. Give me possessive Peter Parker any day you want, like I'm gonna complain about a gorgeous, brilliant twenty something year old all over me. Now what's it gonna be, alpha dear, bathroom or bedroom? I wouldn't mind the tile but, oh God, I forgot you could pick me up." Tony clings to broad shoulders, can't help but laugh because aren't they a pair?

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

After having what he's sure was the best sex of his life, Tony stumbles out of the bedroom with torn clothes, a dazed look in his eyes and several bruises blossoming around his neck. Peter's halfway out the doorway when Tony whistles, makes sure all their family is paying attention, blurts out, “Peter and I are having a kid. I'm pregnant, woohoo, it's great, it's amazing, save your congratulations for later. We'll do a proper thing soon, if anyone interrupts and they're not dying, I'll kill you myself. See you in a few hours, " and yanks him back in while Friday activates Sock on the Doorknob Protocol.

Rhodey and Nat clink glasses while waiting on the others to pay up on their bets regarding Tony and Peter's odd behavior.

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

Later, much later, like, two days later, they have a proper dinner with their family in the tower. There are balloons and streamers, cake and ice cream, warm hugs and gentle cheek kisses, subtle tears and full on weeping (Happy had to borrow a box of Kleenex), pictures and videos and a pile of gifts taller than Tony.

The most important thing, though, is that the A.I recorded the reaction after Clint asked about baby names. He's grateful they went to the doctor before tonight. The visit revealed a treasure Tony thought he'd never have. Now it's time to reveal it to their pack.

His husband snuggles up to him, is so ecstatic the whole dining room smells like cinnamon and honey, like joyous love he'll never get enough of. Tony grins at him, curls their hands together and repeats the same thing over and over again in his head.

It'll be ok. They'll be ok. If the universe keeps giving Tony the greatest gifts he could ever want, maybe it's time he stopped looking at the horse's mouth. That's how it goes, right? Right.

He turns to look at Peter, loves him so much it aches, feels tiny feet pressing against his stomach. Guesses he's not the only one smitten with this incredible human being.

“We were thinking Marie,” Peter smiles at him, eyes lit up and lovely.

Tony is never going to forget this moment, this warmth in his chest.

“And Benjamin Parker-Stark.”

Their family loses their shit and both Friday and Karen have ample proof.

(@puppypeter look, omega tones! @tonystarkisaslut thank you so much for allowing me to use the prompt board! I am still accepting prompts! Although I can't guarantee getting them ready within a few days, I'll try to finish them on the one week mark depending on how long the fic is!)

[sillyandquiteawkward]

little father and bayley fic under the cut bc i forgot my ao3 password and im lazy. hope you enjoy

Food supplements and leafy greens sat on Doctor Bayley's plate, which he picked at distastefully. The Director of the Institute, Father, sat across from him, making decent headway with his own meal.

"I don't think I can ever learn to enjoy the food supplements. This flavor isn’t palatable either," Bayley curtly complained with a heavy sigh. He felt Father's lingering judgement upon him for refusing most of his meal again, without even having to look up. He poked at the slab of supplement with the tines of his fork. Even the various flavors the Institute boasted of supplements couldn't save Bayley from the pastes, powders, and bars turning his stomach. He was trying his best to find a flavor he could stand, but to Bayley, even mirelurk was easier to eat. At least the fresh vegetables were decent, if not simply boiled or baked if cooked at all. "I'd kill for some real meat on your menu."

"Come now, Doctor, we have little need to slaughter irradiated animals for food in this day and age. BioScience has developed the perfect meal dozens of times over, consisting of the exact amount of daily nutrients a man like yourself needs," Father replies coolly. Bayley glared at the older man. Of course he'd like them -- he grew up on the damn things. Well, Bayley grew up on real food!

"Designed a food that doesn't even fill your stomach," he mumbled behind his mug as he took a sip. Now to their credit, this was something Bayley actually liked. The coffee wasn't stale 200 year old beans and grounds. My god, they perfected the damn synthetic coffee and Bayley couldn't imagine going back.

Father confidently smirked, passing smoothly over Bayley's remark with a gentle shake of his head. "You poor surface dwellers, eating any and all the food you can scrounge to stave off hunger. I'm glad we were able to save you from that life. Give it time, Doctor. Your stomach will re-adjust to your new diet."

Bayley scoffed dismissively and set his fork down to keep nursing his coffee. Father took his own sip of tea. The pair fell into a dip of silence, accompanied by the gentle clink of silverware against plate as Father continued to finish off his lunch. Behind them a few tables over, there was a slight chatter from another pair of scientists in the cafeteria. Licking a crumb of food supplement left on the edge of his mug with a grimace, Bayley listened to their distant hushed conversation. Sounded like gossip about another scientist’s love affair... Hard to believe that even the “perfect” Institute could be filled with, what was ultimately, humans.

Father spoke up after a minute of Bayley straining to eavesdrop, "Why don't you tell me about yourself, Doctor?"

"...Why?" Bayley eyed Father suspiciously. "Don't you already know all about me? Isn't that why I'm here?"

Father took a warm sip of his mug before continuing. "I know about your reputation, or lack thereof." Bayley all but growled at the dig. "And I know you care deeply for the progress of humanity, as do I, albeit a tad misguided. You’re a highly intelligent man, Doctor, but I'm afraid I don't know about you, personally. I'd like to remedy that."

What could Bayley tell Father about? Why should he? Oh, but he loved to talk about himself... Bayley leaned back in his chair with folded hands in his lap, food left forgotten on his plate. "What is there to say? I'm a man married to his work, who likes breathing fresh air. On the surface."

“What got you into studying radiation?” Bayley noticed Father missed his complaint, or at least was ignoring it. “Surely you didn’t set out from the start on such a dangerous fascination.” Father had a look of curiosity on his face that seemed genuine to Bayley, although he still had suspicions this had ulterior motives.

“It was almost from the beginning actually. As I studied medicine in my youth, traveling along the Wasteland, I have to admit,” Bayley paused to consider his wording. “I had a distinct admiration of the ghoul’s ability to utilize radiation to build themself anew. The destructive power of radiation makes using it dangerous and even deadly, true, but I imagined a world where we could manipulate the human body to replicate how a ghoul’s body uses the gamma particles destructive properties to heal themselves, sans the ghoulification process of course.” Okay, so maybe he planned to be cagey, but Father just had to ask him about the thing he’s devoted his entire life to. Sorry, he’s gonna get excited. “I’d seen first hand ghouls reattach long lost limbs to themselves and remain functional, ferals even being brought back to life by glowing ones’ radiation bursts, and the stories of people growing functional limbs from radiation exposure caught my particular attention at a young age.”

“Fascinating things ghouls are, although their rotten brains and appearance are less than desirable. If anything their longevity is what catches my attention. Living over hundreds of years...” Father drifts off, looking past Bayley. “Imagine what one could achieve with that extra time.”

“Living forever doesn’t matter if you aren’t healthy,” Bayley corrected. “What’s the point of living if you are just suffering every day. I’m focusing myself to helping people in this day and age, instead of chasing functional immortality.”

“Maybe that’s the difference between us,” Father sighs. “Everything I do is for tomorrow, and tomorrow’s tomorrow. Humanity's future lies in our successor’s hands. It’s a shame we cannot directly work with our future generations to combine our knowledge. All we can do is help prepare them for when we are gone.”

“Eventually people in charge need to step down and let the fresh ideas in, otherwise we’ll collectively stagnate. We are stubborn creatures who hate change, snuffing out ideas that contradict our own. If someone like you lived forever, he’d never give up the reins.”

“I suppose you’d do the same,” Father states blandly, eyes half-lidded. “As you said, we are stubborn creatures.”

Bayley sputters, sitting back up in his chair. “No, I am the innovator in this scenario! I’ve been ostracized for my ideas, kicked out and shunned. No one sees my potential to change the world!”

“And in your age, have you begun to prepare an heir to your scientific knowledge, Doctor? Or do you think you can finish this chronicle yourself, with the few years left in your life?”

“I-I have to prove myself first! No one trusts my work because they don’t see the proof -- which I was working on when you so kindly stole me away from my clinic and subjects!” Bayley hissed, gripping the edge of the table.

Unphased, Father folded his hands on the table. “I trust your work, Doctor Bayley. I’ve seen your studies, seen what you can do when you are truly devoted to a cause. This is why I wanted you with us at the Institute. I want you to share your knowledge to us, so that we may pass it to the future with us. Let us help you ensure your legacy. We have the same goals, and we even have similar methods if you can believe it. Imagine what we can do together when we combine our knowledge, for humanity’s sake.”

Bayley raised an eyebrow at that. “Similar goals perhaps, but I wont be a part of the kidnapping and killing of Commonwealth citizens. You Institute folk are outrageously barbaric for all your self-righteousness.”

“We simply know how to weigh the importance of breaking a few eggs for the omelette. You too understand this principle closely, don’t you?”

Bayley grimaced flatly. “You truly know how to charm a man to your side.” This conversation was over if Bayley had anything to say about it, which he did. He gulped from his mug, keeping it up to his mouth as he turned physically away from Father. He’ll finish this and go back to his room. Trapped in the Institute with these madmen, forced to go along with things else suffer the same fate as the hundreds of others taken to the Institute. And Father had the gall to act like they were the same, that Bayley could excuse innocents murdered for “science.” He slammed the mug back onto the table.

“I hope you’ll understand one day soon, Doctor. I really do.” Father sighed, closing his eyes in defeat as Bayley stood up.

“I don’t want to understand,” Bayley said as he stormed past Father back to the concourse.

It was too much to think about, if Bayley was being honest with himself. He grit his teeth climbing the stairs, tense. A scientist descending the stairs stood to the side as Bayley passed, clearly wanting to give the angry man some space and avoid any conflict. Good. If he was to stay here, people should give way for him. Now if only Father was like that. He passed a pair of expressionless generation two synth guards eyeing their laser weapons as he ascended the next flight.

God, he was annoyed. Of course Father had to go ruin another meal together talking nonsense of Bayley hurting others. He tried his best not to hurt his subjects -- everyone was willing and importantly, no one had died under his care! Sick perhaps in the early days... but it wasn’t death! Bayley couldn’t stand the idea his great idea could possibly kill others when it was supposed to be helping them. If he was ever responsible for someone’s death...

Bayley slid open the automatic door to his small, barren room. It was just a simple bed and desk, which was plenty for Bayley, but he wished he had his trinkets and such if he was going to be living here until the day he dies. He collapsed onto the stiff bed, face pressing against the cool pillow. He missed his couch. He missed his clinic. Bayley even considered he missed being annoyed by Jonathan and Jay’s antics. Jay would try his best to cheer him out of this spiraling train of thought, and Jon would know plenty of things to distract him with.

If he was ever responsible for their deaths, Bayley considered he’d quit on the spot. He’d probably become deeply depressed until he really did just curl up and die, however fast it came after. All his life’s work to save humanity, and he’d killed the only people who trusted him most to do so.

But the truly terrible part of him hidden away deep in his heart wondered that if someone was to die as a result of his work, perhaps even if he wasn’t working willingly with the Institute, that he'd simply wouldn’t care.

[purvishraick]

A TALE OF ALWAYS AND FOREVER

CHAPTER 7

Fanfiction : Bloodbound (Choices)

Pairing : Adrian Raines x Amy Richard Parker (MC)

Warning : none

Rating: Teen

TAG LIST : @otherworldlypresents ​  , @evelynistic ​   , @silma-words ​ , @fireycookie , @lauren-raines-x , @nala-raines

If anyone wanna be tagged in future do let me know….

read previous chapter here ….. Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6

So here i promised this last night but sorry it got delayed ...got stuck in some important work .... now here i am .... i hope u like it

Amy had to forcefully cut the call, in order to shut her brother and she new that this will make him angry. But she didn’t need a pep talk for not getting wasted in the club before her interview. She could handle her brother afterwards and the interview was important. She wandered here and there and settled on the bench. She felt like she is being watched from behind but didn’t find someone. Just then a stunning woman with an icy demeanor came towards her.

“Amy?” stern woman said .

“ yes that’s me “ she replied .

“I am Nicole Anderson, VP of operations at Raines Corp. I will interview you . “ she said .

Amy was surprised to see that she was going to be interviewed by someone so high at post but her queries were eased when she reminded her that they take their hiring process very seriously and she followed her in the conference room keeping her confident look .

“ now then. The Raines Corporation is a global leader in technology and innovation . Why exactly are you interested in being the executive assistant to our CEO ? “

“well…” Amy took a deep breath and continued , “ I’d love to help make the world a better place . what I admire most about the Raines Corporation is your dedication to global innovation and improvement. The clean – water initiative …the vaccine for the cerella virus …the green energy project… you guys aren’t just getting rich. You’re trying to help people, to make technology that’ll save the planet. I can’t think of anything better than being a part of that.”

“hmm……a good answer. A bit cloying , perhaps, but Adrian might actually like that “ Nicole said with an appreciative look.

Just as she was going to speak the next thing , the door at the back of the room swings open , and a handsome man in a perfectly – tailored suit strolls in.

Intelligence sparks through his eyes . He was extremely charming , with his black obsidian eyes assessing her , her already killer nervousness now peaked a whole new level.

“ Adrian I wasn’t expecting you…” Nicole asked unable to hide the surprise in her voice .

Adrian as in Adrian Raines …well all escalated very quickly for her .

“ I had a free minute. Is this the candidate ?” he asked taking the authority in his hands as he decided.

Professionalism and seriousness reflected in his voice .

“ yes …but I’ve just started the interview and—“ Nicole asked stammering .

“ I’ll take over from here “ he cut her off not wanting to take any excuses .

“……of course sir , go right ahead “ she surrendered .

Adrian sat across Amy , eyes burning right through her . He has never seen such a beautiful person in his entire existence , god knows how would she be as a person .

Amy’s nervousness grew even more when his eyes bore through her but she remembered once more , she is Amy Richard Parker and nothing in this world ever scares her , she remembered her brothers’ advices on professionality and confidence and recalled her dad’s proud thought about her and her mother’s loving smile . Now that was enough to calm her down , so she put on the brave and fearless smile again on her face and straightened her back.

“ Amy , is it ? “ Adrian looked at her and saw her hazel brown eyes which her so hypnotizing , with all his strength he prevented himself from being lost in them .

“ that’s right “ she said interrupting his thoughts .

“ tell me Amy , what do you desire ? “ he asked her and she was surprised at the question .

Amy was already so mesmerized from him that this question surprised her.

“ You mean ……why do I want this job ? Because I – “ but was interrupted by Adrian .

“ I didn’t ask why you want this job. I asked what do you desire . “ he asked seriously and professionally.

“ I desire ……PASSION “ she answered after thinking fir a while .

“ oh , really ? “ he asked , his brows raising , he was in true sense intrigued by her answer .

“Sorry , if that is too personal but I am just being honest . I want to feel deeply. I want to experience life , live every moment like my last. We never know when is our last moment , it is better to live our life to the fullest than to regret it afterwards . That’s what I desire “ she answered honestly and it was the true answer she saw what happened to her family everything was good and happy then suddenly they lost everything , she do not want to regret anything .

“ I can relate“ Adrian was impressed internally but didn’t expressed it. He supressed a smile to reach his face. He was truly impressed by her desire to live and feel and experience. He now looked at her resume .

“ lets see here … graduated college 3 years ago …masters in communication …interned at Mannon financial…volunteered in San Torbida and France abroad for a year “ he read out and again was impressed from her but wondered why it took her an extra year to sign up for this interview or for that matter any other one .

“ yep that’s right “ she said .

“ well , how was that tell me in three words “ he asked .

“ difficult. Enlighting. Rewarding. “ she replied easily .

“ good , this job can be challenging and unpredictable , are you comfortable running unusual errands ?”

“Absolutely “

I have been doing them since a long time now , she thought to herself , smiling .

“ Handling confidential information ? “

“ I can keep a secret “

You wont even realise how many I am keeping right now too , she thought again and smirked .

“ Working nights ? “

“ Always been a night owl “

Okay , I atleast told him one thing fully without strings attached , she smiled while thinking .

“ Good , Anything else I should know about you ? “

“ Hmmmm …… I have got WORLD CLASS people skills “ , she said with a proud smile .

“ Oh , really ? “ he asked with questioning eyes .

“ I was voted ‘ most likable ‘ in my high school class . Also ‘ most popular ‘ and ‘ best smile ‘ . Technichally you are not supposed to win in multiple categories , but I was able to persuade them . And also the cherry on the top I was the PROM QUEEN “ , she stated out all of her achievements proudly and remembered how happy and proud her father was to see her that day . She and her brothers has always been the brightest in the whole family , anyways. Suddenly feeling nostalgic and tears building in her eyes she averted her gaze on the floor.

“ Thus proving your point “ said a grinning and impressed Adrian , but he saw a glint of sadness in her eyes and he doubted that he saw tears too , and was unable to understand why counting her proud moments made her sad .

“ exactly” Amy said after controlling her emotions and forcing a smile.

“ one more question “ Adrian leaned forward hands folded on the table and with an intense expression , told her the story of a man who got a genie lamp and destroyed everything , and then finally asked her about what should his final wish should be .

“I think his final wish should be to undo his first two wishes “ she said after thinking for a while .

“because ?” Adrian asked curious to know her theory .

“ because he already had everything he could ask for a family and many friends …what could he ask for more it was more than enough …all he wanted or ever needed was right there in front of him …this is a story of temptation and greed …he should have never played this game …all now he can do is making things as they were before “

Her answer was something totally honest … Adrian glanced at her and then noticed how true each and every word was . she was not only beautiful but also quite intelligent …in true sense beauty with brains.

She was quite interesting too …Adrian personally never saw such a person in his entire life … and he needed to know her …he knew that it is a huge risk and a mistake but he already did that when he decided to interview her himself …now he couldn’t resist her … so then he does the only thing he could do …he knew that Nicole will be a big trouble after this but guess he was okay with that if it was what would keep this girl around .

Then he grins brightly at Amy and says

“ You’re hired “

“wait what ? …seriously “ Amy asked with wide eyes , she was surprised , how in world is it possible that someone gets hired so fast …this was weird to her … but of course she was happy .

Adrian left an inside giggle watching her surprised reaction …she looked adorable with those wide eyes …his smile grew even wider … and he extends his hand …which obviously she took .

‘ oh my god …his skin is impossibly smooth…and hold so firm …wow he is really handso-……no no no …stop brain stop thinking …no eyes …don’t look in his eyes for too long … fuck …, I am a disaster …stop cheeks don’t turn red …god please ‘ she thought .

Good god if god wanted to kill her please kill her in this exact moment …someone save her from this embarrassment …she was a disaster with wide eyes blushing cheeks …FUCK.

Adrian saw her flustered reaction which was by far the cutest thing he saw in his life … his vampire senses made her blushing cheeks clearly visible …the dark pink tint on her cheek made her impossibly adorable.

“welcome to Raines Corporation “ , he said with a bright smile

They made eye contact for just moment but everything stood still for that particular moment …it was mesmerising .

In that moment Adrian didn’t knew about Amy but he knew that they were going to go a long way .

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

@choicesficwriterscreations

[random-imagines-blog]

Scars {Maria Hill x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3266 Summary: You’re afraid of your own fire powers; Maria, however, is not, even when you do accidentally burn a house down. Notes: Swearing; Minor Death

You were careful to never leave your hands, or your arms, exposed to others. The SHIELD uniform did a good job of that, covering your body like another skin, and then the gloves which slipped over your fingers smoothly. They had heat sensors wired inside of the fabric that helped to tell your body temperature, particularly if you were heating up. It warned you by shining lights inside, changing the color of the glove as a warning that you were getting too heated. Dangerous things could happen when that was the case. It was a handy little suit that they gave you, full of such technological innovations. If only other aspects of your life were as helpful; like if only you had powers that were more useful than accidentally starting forest fires, or burning marshmallows when attempting to make smores.

At least the carrier that you worked on, alongside many other agents, wasn’t made of wood and timber, but rather many different types of metal which didn’t easily melt. You weren’t considered a total liability. SHIELD, Nick Fury in particular, believed that your brain was better than your powers, and wanted you to work by his side, as his third in command, just in case something was to happen to Maria Hill.

Ahh, Maria. She was one of the reasons why you wished life could be just a little bit simpler. If all you had to worry about was SHIELD’s disapproval of employees dating one another. Where the worst thing that could happen was getting fired if you were caught sneaking around during off-shift hours. You were in love with the woman, and had been since you met her. God, she was absolutely beautiful, even though she held the same stern facial expression ninety percent of the time. But occasionally, if you caught her in a good moment, she would smile or she would laugh and it was like a field of butterflies on an already beautiful day.

“There you are!” A loud voice said, coming to you from across the hallway. You looked up to see Nick Fury walking towards you, and you instantly straightened up your posture, going from daydreaming to work mode. “I wanted you in the control room five minutes ago!”

“Yes sir. Sorry sir,” You said, chasticizing yourself. There were many rules on board the aircaft, but there was one that was especially important. Always, always, always be on time when Nick Fury wanted you somewhere. You strode beside him, small steps, hands by your side. Your eyes always seemed to wander to them, making sure that they were the color that they were supposed to be. “Is there anything in particular you needed me for, Sir?”

“There’s a mission that I need you and Maria to do for me.”

-

The terrain under the vehicle was far from easy to drive on, and the jeep kept bumping you around. You had to hold on tight to the exterior in order to keep yourself from getting hurt. How Maria was handling it, while driving, was beyond you. A large bump nearly set you falling from the seat, seatbelt be damned. “Now this is what I call off-roading,” You muttered to yourself, but Maria’s keen ears caught you.

“You don’t know the half of it,” She said, eyes forward. “Hold on-” She put her arm out, catching you in the chest as you went over what must have been an ancient log or something, since it broke under the wheels and sent the jeep careening forward. You fell back with a deep breath against the seat.

“Thanks,” You said, taking note of the faint yellow glow coming from your gloves. It was far from orange, so you felt that you were safe from exploding, but you weren’t sure how much more stress that you could take. Being around so many flammable trees didn’t help your nerves in the slightest. “Do you know how much further until we hit a road again?”

“Another minute, I can see it from here,” Maria said. Her tone gave you a hint, and you held onto the door for dear life as the vehicle roared towards the asphalt, did a quick u-turn with the tires squealing and protesting all the way, then rushed forward. Once you were on smooth ground, you were able to relax once more, and put your hands onto your lap.

“You should be a stunt driver in movies if SHIELD doesn’t work out for you,” You said, looking out the window at the jungle that you had come out of. That made Maria laugh, just a single time, then go back to concentrating on the road. Her hair had come out of the bun that she had put it in before driving, and was hanging in her face, framing it wonderfully. She pushed it out of her face, sweat helping to make it stick back.

Yeah, you were smitten.

Since you were on a steady road now, heading towards the destination, you brought out your tablet and went through the mission details again. You were to bring in someone who had done a number of things to violate SHIELD’s protocol. A disgruntled former employee, who had been caught pulling pranks, which was a serious waste of resources. The guy had apparently been spilling secrets, out of date secrets but confidential none-the-less, to criminals who were willing to pay for that sort of information. Blueprints of old carriers, inventories, any weak spots that SHIELD might have.

The guy was clearly an idiot. He was hiding out in Peru, thinking that would keep him safe. As if the renowned SHIELD wouldn’t be able to track him down easier than finding a fly in a web. At least he was in the lowlands, rather than up high. Making the climb up to Macchu Pichu was on your bucketlist, but not like this.

“Obviously, the more alive the guy is the better,” You said, reading about how he was wanted dead or alive. You didn’t like to hurt people unless it was necessary. “Though how he’s still alive is beyond me. Keeping companies with war criminals is a dangerous business.”

“They’re just using him until he has nothing more to give. Then they’ll kill him. Hardly seems worth saving.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance, Maria,” You said, avoiding looking at her. Instead, you kept your eyes on the tablet, opening up the map to see how far it was to your destination. She would know what you meant. She knew why you kept yourself emotionally unavailable despite the strong feelings between the two of you. She knew why you wore the gloves at all times. Because as long as you were safe, you were worth the second chance that SHIELD had given you.

“Not everyone,” She stated. She pressed her foot down on the gas pedal and the Jeep roared in response, speeding you to your destination. You bit down on your lip, seeing the yellow in your gloves glow all the brighter.

-

With searing red hands, the gloves having burnt off by now, you pushed Maria out of the path of the falling ceiling. You were beyond the thought of hurting her, just making sure that she didn’t get killed was enough for you right now. It was getting harder to breathe, even to you, so it must have been nearly impossible for her.

A lot of people talk about the way that fire feels, how the warmth surrounds and it suffocates. They never talk about the way that it smells. It wasn’t pleasant, like a campfire, though a lot of wood was burning around them right now. The Cabana paradise that the traitor had fled to had a lot of wooden insides, but brick walls with insulation inside, for hurricanes were popular in this region. The smell of burnt plastic, of hair burning on exposed skin, it was heavy, and overbearing.

Maria coughed as she got back up from where you had pushed her, but didn’t hesitate for a moment to ask what you were doing. She knew you. She knew that you loved her, and that you would do nothing to harm her on purpose. As the ceiling fell down behind her, you managed to burn it into ash, causing it to look like a black snow that landed on your shoulders. Your hands were pure white, like the hottest flames, for that was what was coming out of them. You could destroy the whole building if you had wanted to, but that was not your intention coming into this house.

When you arrived a half hour earlier, you played dumb. Just two girls who were out and about on a beach vacation. The guy, seeing right through it, invited you in nonetheless. He couldn’t help but take his chances to brag about getting away with everything, about how he knew that you were coming for him, about how he was going to make you regret coming here.

You exchanged looks with Maria. Men and their bragging monologues. You were anticipating this, counting on it in fact. You played scared as he tied you down to a chair, though you could easily burn through the ropes. Maria did the same, but stated that she was going to report him to Nick Fury, and oh boy, would he be in trouble then. The perp laughed right in her face. “Oh, you won’t be talking to Fury ever again,” He gloated.

The plan was to wait until he made a further move. Let him implicate himself even further. The speaker inside of your hoodie was recording everything. It would be played at his trial and he’d get sentenced to life in a dirty prison.

But then something happened that got rid of the plan entirely. A knock on the door. Neither you, nor Maria, were expecting any sort of backup since this was meant to be an easy but important job. You looked at one another again, not with annoyance, but with confusion.

“I’ll be right back, don’t you move,” The perp said, then laughed as if he thought that it was funny. He turned his back on you, which was never a good idea. And considering that you were off of the beaten path, it was a bad idea for him to get the door since it seemed unlikely to be a pizza deliveryman.

You thought of something infuriating. You thought about how you were never going to be able to touch, or to kiss Maria, in the way that you wanted, all because of these stupid powers. And that caused enough heat for you to be able to burn through the ropes, and get to your feet in the stealthiest way that SHIELD had taught you. You hid behind the wall, peering out towards the front door where the perp stood, unlocking it, then opening it.  

He was greeted with a bullet to the head.

It was an unexpected sound, and made you jump, which of course, triggered your powers. You began to feel your hand growing warm, and your glove was nearly burned off by the time the body hit the floor. You held your hand out to shoot fire at the gunman, but hit the wooden door instead, which started to burn. “Shit!” You swore, looking back to see Maria escape from her own constraints and get to her feet, pulling her gun out. “Come on, let’s find a back way out, we might be able to catch him still.”

Maria nodded, then turned to go through the kitchen to see if there was a back way. She then returned then shook her head. You really fucked this one up, since the flames were spreading towards the cheap curtains. Everything would be going up in smoke within a few minutes. Given the wooden and polyester furniture, you would guess you had maybe ten minutes.

You went over to the body, ignoring the heat of the door. You could handle it without getting burned. It was all a part of your ‘gift’, or mutation as you called it. The shot was perfect, right through the forehead. The victim didn’t even have the chance to be surprised. He died with a smile on his face. You took a picture with your phone, which sent it right to SHIELD, then called in a potential SOS. It meant that someone would be keeping an eye on your situation, and send in help if necessary. It was starting to seem necessary.

Maria was kicking at one of the windows in the living room, but it was screwed shut, and the glass wasn’t cracking. “So they spend the money on bulletproof glass, but nothing else?” She complained, pushing her hair out of her face once more. If it wasn’t such a dangerous situation, it would be hot. But pay attention to the task. The door was a pillar of fire, going up to the ceiling. It was starting to spread up there, with it warping. Smoke was coming out in plumes. If you didn’t do something soon, you were going to die in here. You sent out the SOS.

Maria came to your side, and crouched down where the air wasn’t as smoke filled, and you joined her. It was then that you looked up and heard the cracking of the ceiling. That was when you used your bare hands to push Maria out of the way. She sprawled on the ground, looked at you in surprise, then got up, slowly.

“Thanks,” She said, then started to cough as the smoke affected her. “We’re going to have to try to go through the doorway, there’s no other way.”

You nodded, knowing that she was right, as scary as it was. And you knew that there was only going to be one way that you were both going to get out of here alive. So you started to do it without thinking or worrying about how Maria was going to react.

Bare hands were the only option that you had. You grabbed onto her wrist, pulled her against your chest, and made yourself as big as you possibly could be by spreading out your arms. By doing this, and pushing her forward with your body, you went through the flaming doorway and out into the fresh air, taking all of the damage from the fire around you. It burnt through your clothes, and affected your skin, though you couldn’t feel it much. You still had the potential of infections though, and it was a huge risk.

You rolled onto the ground after getting out, doing the old ‘stop, drop, and roll’ technique that you learned in elementary school. Maria was beside you, slapping out some of the leftover flames. Now that - that, you could feel.

Something flew over head, spilling gallons of water over the fire that you had started. The fire that put you and more importantly, Maria in danger. You sat up after being sure that you were no longer on fire, with tears in your eyes. You fucked this up completely. The killer was who-knows-where and you had no clues. You hadn’t even been able to see a face. If you had aimed properly, if you had gone for your gun instead of a fireball, you might have caught him. You pulled your knees up against your chest and rested your head on them in a fetal position, trying not to fully cry out of frustration.

“It’s okay,” Maria said in a voice that she very rarely used. One of comfort. One of compassion. You looked at her out of the corner of your eye and saw that she was holding a hand over her arm. Right where you had pushed her to get her out of the way of the falling ceiling.

“Did I hurt you?” You asked, feeling the guilt shower over you once more. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you marked her like this.

“It’s nothing. I’m more worried about you,” She said, circling around you to take in the extent of the damage. “It’s not so bad. You won’t need skin grafts.”

“Thank Thor for that, I don’t want to go through that again,” You mumbled. “I showed you mine, now show me yours.”

Maria stared at you, hard enough for you to feel like she was cutting through you like a damn boulder. She clearly didn’t want to move her hand away, but she did slowly. You could see the imprint of your hand seared against her skin. “Oh shit. Oh fuck, Maria, I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t apologize,” She said, sharply. “You saved my life in there. This is just a scar that proves your love to me.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You knew that she knew about your feelings, and that you would do anything to save  her, hence why Fury often put you on missions together. “It sounds abusive when you put it that way.”

“It’s not.” Maria said. The heavy noise of a rotating propeller took over the calm landscape, as a helicopter hovered nearby, touching down to send out the medics and other officers. You didn’t have a chance to talk to Maria alone, since you were both rushed in and had to sit down to let the doctors take a look at your burns. You couldn’t stop watching her as she revealed the burn not only on her upper arm where you had pushed her, but on her wrist where you had grabbed her. Two perfect hand-shaped burns, on her forever.

She didn’t avoid looking at you. As soon as you were both cleared for flight to be taken back to SHIELD headquarters for further assessment, she sat beside you, strapped in tight to the seat. “Do not feel guilty,” She ordered.

“That’s not something you can just command someone to do,” You retorted back, hiding your hands in the pocket of your sweater. Somehow, it had retained enough fabric to stay on, though most of the back was destroyed. It was a shame, this was a nice sweater, bought for you by the much-loved Coulson.

“Well, I’m commanding it anyway. As your superior officer, I am ordering you to not feel guilty, because by doing this small amount of damage, you saved me. There was no other way. I will be putting that in my report.”

Professional as always. You rolled your eyes, then leaned back against the seat. You were heavily bandaged by the medics so as not to bother the burns until they could be looked at in a more sterile environment. “Now do you understand why we can’t be together?” You asked, just loud enough for Maria to hear.

“No,” She said, staring straight ahead. “I can handle a few burns, y/l/n. Can you?”

It was enough to make you think on the ride back to base. You couldn’t handle the thought of hurting her, you were barely coping with the reality of it all. But Maria remained as cool and as calm as ever.

You were having second thoughts about denying her now; perhaps her strength was beginning to rub off on you.

[beckzorz]

A Hands-On Exercise

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader Word count: 5631 Summary: You hate your job, your life, and the cracks in your bedroom ceiling. Fortunately, you’ve got the chance of a lifetime after hacking—ethically hacking, that is—into Tony Stark’s systems. Unfortunately, your interview ends with you inadvertently pissing off the Winter Soldier. Will he forgive you for hacking into his arm? Warnings: mild swearing, mild sensuality, mildly unethical behavior A/N: Some of you may recognize this as my entry from @themaskedwriter​! Thanks for reading—let me know what you think! xoxo

Your index finger hovers over the enter key.

“Should I do it?” you ask.

“No.” Kim’s voice brokers no argument, even with the slight lisp due to the highlighter in her teeth. She turns another page in her book.

“Hmph.”

You’re lying on the floor in Kim’s room, your legs stretched up the wall and your laptop digging into your stomach. It’s uncomfortable, but you’re trying to make the biggest decision of your life. Moving would be suboptimal.

The program you’re maybe about to run is one you’ve been working on for years. One that might land you the job of a lifetime. A teenage dream, and now a potential reality.

If.

If, if, if.

“So as far as I see it,” you start, sitting up, “there’s three ways this could go.”

Kim groans and tosses her book and highlighter aside.

“First,” you continue, holding up a finger, “this program doesn’t actually work and nothing happens.”

“That would be ideal,” Kim drawls.

“Second.” Another finger. “The program does work, but either not well enough or he’s not impressed, and I get arrested or something. Third—” you stick up a third and final finger— “it works and he’s so impressed he hires me.”

“I don’t see how any of those options are good,” Kim mutters. “You’re a failure, you get another mark on your criminal record, or you have to move.”

“For this, I’d move without complaining.”

Kim snorts. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

You prop yourself up on your knees and lean over the edge of Kim’s bed. You bat your eyelashes at her. “So you do want to see what happens.”

“Uh, no.” Kim drops her hand on your head. Her gaze is serious. “I’d be a terrible friend if I actually encouraged you in this. It’s illegal.”

“Well…”

“You have a steady job,” Kim continues.

“With a below-market salary,” you retort. You shake her hand off your head and frown up at her. “Besides, it’s boring. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life making sure social media conglomerates can steal our private information in peace.”

Kim rolls her eyes. “I don’t know if you’re using the word ‘boring’ correctly.”

“Well, whatever. I’m doing it.”

You grab your laptop off the floor and hit enter. The program starts to run.

“Oh my god, it’s working!” You jump to your feet and bounce around the room, squealing with delight. “It worked!”

The program finishes with a happy beep, and you collapse next to Kim.

The two of you wait with bated breath, staring at the screen. Minutes pass.

Nothing happens.

You glance at Kim. Her eyes are as big as saucers.

“Nothing happened,” Kim whispers.

“I realized that,” you snap. You slam your computer shut and ball your hands into fists. All that, for nothing?

God damn it.

—

“Tony?”

“Hey Bruce, c’mon in. Check it out.” Tony wheels his stool back and holds up his latest project.

Bruce Banner shuffles into the lab, a tablet under his arm and a pinched look on his face.

“What’s with the long face?” Tony asks.

“You have a message.” Bruce untucks the tablet from his arm and holds it screen side up. A holographic message appears in the air, rotating slowly.

Tony blinks as he waits for it to turn enough for him to read it. “‘Hacker for hire?’ What the heck is this?” He grabs the tablet; his free hand moves in a dizzying blur over the white code, scrolling through it at lightning speed. “Bruce, what the heck—”

“I dunno, Tony! It just showed up.” Bruce shifts his weight and crosses his arms tight across his chest.

Tony sits back in his chair and goes through the code slower. Bruce hovers at his side, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

After a minute, Tony Stark begins to laugh.

—

Three hours have passed, and still nothing. You cried on Kim’s bed, on Kim’s shoulder, and now you’re recovering from crying into your own pillow. The pillowcase is damp with your tears, but you can’t bring yourself to flip the damn thing.

You spent years working on that program, and nothing had come of it. Of all people, you thought Tony Stark would work fast. If he hasn’t reacted by now, he doesn’t care.

Or it failed, and you just don’t realize it, chimes a nasty voice in your head.

You flip onto your back and glare up at the ceiling, eyes still smarting. There’s just enough ambient light for you to make out the cobweb cracks emanating from the ceiling lamp, the yellow stain over the door, the peeling paint in the corners of the room. All the trappings of being stuck.

God, you hate this life.

You huff and curl up in a fetal position, arms tight across your chest. Luxury is absurd to imagine, but solid comfort? Something lasting, something beyond okay?

You’d almost kill for that. Hell, you’d spend years working on a project to infiltrate Stark Industries. And you hadn’t done anything really wrong. You’d just… left a message. Exposed some hairline fractures in their security.

If it had even worked.

It’s the not knowing that’s the worst of it. At this point, even the police barging in would be a welcome distraction. Then at least you’d know.

But no. You have to continue with your bland, boring, banal life.

And you have work in the morning. Your alarm is set to go off at six—public transit takes forever—and now it’s closer to one than twelve. You close your eyes and try to force yourself into serenity.

Just as you’re finally drifting off, your phone starts to ring. You jerk awake with a gasp. You snag your phone from the windowsill next to your bed—it’s an unknown number calling, one that has somehow bypassed your do-not-disturb mode. You answer it with trembling hands.

“Hello?”

“Pack a bag,” Tony Stark’s voice says. “You’ve got an interview at nine am.”

Click.

You sit up slowly. Blood rushes in your ears. It’s so loud—did you imagine the whole thing? No, the number is still there in your call history, and an email pops up—flight information for a private flight to New York.

Well then.

Maybe you don’t have work in the morning.

—

The entire travel experience is beyond bizarre. Someone—you assume it wasn’t Tony Stark himself—arranged for a taxi to pick you up at four am, and someone met you right at the airport’s entrance to take your bag. You didn’t have to lift a finger, at home or in New York.

It felt wrong. But not so wrong that you didn’t sleep on the plane, or in the car to the compound. You dread to think what you’re going to look like at nine.

By the time the sleek black car pulls up to the gates of the Avengers compound around eight thirty, you’ve straightened yourself out. From what you can see in the dark mirrored glass separating you from the driver,  you look… presentable. Not your best, perhaps, but as good as could be expected on three hours’ sleep. Your clothes aren’t wrinkled, at least. Thank god you’ve kept your interview outfit hung up.

The gates open, and you stare around in wonder. You don’t know enough about architecture to name the style of the buildings, but they definitely cost a fortune to heat. Not today, though. Today it’s unseasonably warm, and the sprawling lawns are dotted with people exercising. Yoga, sparring…

You press your nose against the window, heart racing. The two men sparring not fifty feet away are Avengers! Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Your mouth goes dry at the sight—both of them are in sweatpants and short sleeves, and they are ripped. In the few seconds they’re in view, you can see clearly that the Winter Soldier’s mismatched arms are equally buff.

Now there’s a feat of engineering.

You sit back and fan your face, a private grin growing on your face. If you can keep Tony Stark’s attention, those guys are going to be your coworkers.

Nice.

From there, it’s a blur to the conference room where Tony will be meeting you in—you check your phone—twenty-two minutes. There’s a tablet waiting for you there.

“See what you can make of that before Mr. Stark arrives,” your chauffeur-cum-tour guide says as he leaves. The door shuts behind him with a click, but you’re already buried in code.

—

“Your credentials certainly are impressive.”

“Thank you,” you say.

Tony Stark tosses the clipboard with your resume on it back onto the table. He leans back in his chair and knits his fingers together in his lap. He’s dressed casually, with a band shirt under his sports jacket. “So why’d you hack into our systems?”

“I want to work with you.” You sit up even straighter and tighten your lips in determination. “The work you do is incredible. It’s as advanced as anything outside Wakanda.” Tony screws up his mouth; you suppress a smirk at his display of ego. “I’ve always wanted to be surrounded by innovation.”

“Well, your application was certainly innovative. Full of, what’s the word, gumption.”

You grin and press your hands tighter together between your legs. “I’ve got that too.”

Tony holds up the clipboard again, covering half his face. He looks between it and you, a teasing look in his eyes. You bite your tongue and wait.

Through all those years that you were working and dreaming, you’d never really thought about the interview. Somehow, you’d skipped entirely over it. Impress Tony Stark, get hired. But there’s a middle step in there. And here you are, in an interview, trying not to mess everything up.

“So what did you think of that little project I set up for you?” Tony asks, nodding to the tablet in front of you.

You flinch. You hadn’t had that long to investigate. What you had figured out seems too bizarre to be serious, but it’s all you have. And you certainly aren’t going to bullshit your way through this one.

“It’s like an artificial nervous system,” you tell him. “Or part of one. From the shape of things, I’d say it was an arm, bu—”

“Yes!” Tony jumps up from his chair, clipboard abandoned, and hurries out of the room. You stand slowly, heart pounding. Tony sticks his head back inside, a wicked grin on his face. “Bring the tablet, and come with me.”

—

There’s an arm in a box.

A metal arm in a black box on a table in a lab in the Avengers compound.

What even is your life right now?

“So here’s your hands-on practical,” Tony says gleefully. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, one hand on your shoulder, as you both peer into the shallow box on the lab table. “Get it? Hands-on?”

“Hilarious. I’m dying,” you deadpan.

“Don’t hurt yourself. Your assignment is to hack into this arm and give me a thumbs up.”

“Is that all?” you blurt.

Tony stills, eyebrows inching towards his hairline. “You say that in a very unconcerned tone of voice. That makes me concerned.” He steps back and crosses his arms. “Alright then. Your assignment is to hack into this arm and give me a thumbs up. In under thirty minutes.”

“You got it.”

You hop onto the edge of the table and cross your dangling feet. Piece of cake.

—

You stare at the arm in the box, your heart in your throat. It’s been twenty-seven minutes, and you’ve just run a program that should have reshaped the dormant arm in front of you.

But nothing happened.

Tony Stark is standing at the window overlooking the main lawn. He’s gone back to his bouncing—is something happening out there? You turn away, eyes stinging, and clear the program.

“No, no, do it again,” Tony exclaims.

You blink. You run the program again, and Tony laughs loud and bright.

“Amazing!” He shakes his head, still chuckling. You look down at the arm in the box. It hasn’t moved.

“Wha—”

There’s a slew of shouting from outside that’s muffled by the windows, but you can very clearly make out some derogatory remarks directed at—Tony?

Oh no.

“Damn,” Tony says. He pats the window and meanders towards the door, counting quietly to himself as he does.

You back away from the arm in the box, hands and tablet frozen in front of you. The arm in the box hadn’t moved.

The arm in the box wasn’t supposed to move.

That could only mean…

“Three, two, one.” Tony’s murmured countdown comes to an end.

The doors burst open, slamming against the wall and shaking the whole room. The Winter Soldier barrels inside, the muscles of his right arm in sculpted definition thanks to his tight fist. His metal arm, on the other hand, is stiff and awkward.

Stiff, awkward, and with a thumbs up.

He stalks towards Tony, who backs away quickly, his eyes snapping to you. You steady yourself on a stool and surreptitiously cancel the program.

Bucky Barnes stops in his tracks halfway to Tony and stares down at his left hand. He wiggles his fingers, bends his elbow, and makes a fist.

“What the hell did you do?” he growls at Tony.

“You think that was me?” Tony asks, hand over his heart. “Bless. It was her.” He tilts his head in your direction.

“What? No!” you gasp.

Bucky takes a single menacing step towards you before stopping in his tracks. He wrinkles his nose in surprise as he looks you up and down. When he meets your eyes again, his eyes are dark with what you assume is rage.

You’re frozen in place, too shocked to move or even speak. You’ve been obsessed with Tony Stark for years. Bucky Barnes? Not so much.

What had past you been thinking? Bucky looks ready to murder you, but he’s the sexiest person you’ve ever seen. The distant view on the drive over hadn’t done him any justice. The arms, the abs, the face, those piercing blue eyes… You can’t fight the heat rising to your cheeks. You can’t look away.

Bucky’s gaze lands on the tablet in your hand. He glances at the arm on the table between you with sudden realization. When his steely eyes dart back to yours, you suddenly realize you’re staring. You look away, cheeks hotter than ever.

“I didn’t know—” you start.

“Obviously not,” Bucky snaps. “Who even are you?”

“She’s my new hacker,” Tony says before you can answer. “So be nice, or she’ll do the same thing again.”

“I will not,” you retort. “I’m an ethical hacker, Mr. Stark.”

Tony raises his eyebrows at you. “You will not hack into Manchurian Candidate’s arm, or will not take the job?”

You blink. Oh my god. You got the job? You got the job!

“I’ll take the job!” you say quickly. Relief rushes through you; you feel like you’ve just gained ten years of your life back. You take a steadying breath and jab a finger towards Tony. “But I don’t usurp bodily autonomy for fun. Or revenge.”

“What do you usurp bodily autonomy for?” Tony asks curiously.

“Now there’s a loaded question,” you quip.

Bucky huffs and storms out of the room. You stare after him, your sudden good mood evaporating, but Tony laughs and takes the tablet out of your slack hands.

“Touché. Let’s get out of here and hook you up with the paper shufflers over in human resources.”

You follow Tony out of the lab, but your stomach sinks as you give one last look to the immobile arm in the box.

You’ve got the job. You’ve got the respect of acclaimed genius Tony Stark, your lifelong idol.

So why are you so damn upset?

—

Three weeks later is your official start date. Not enough time to find a subletter for your room in Kim’s apartment, but the salary is good enough to cover your rent for a couple months while you wait for Craigslist to work its magic.

Your new dress code is even more lax than your old job, but you still take care on day one. Everyone will be there, apparently. It’s your chance to meet the other programmers and—more excitingly—to meet the Avengers.

It’s your chance to start fresh with Bucky Barnes.

Thoughts of Bucky had plagued you from the moment he’d clapped eyes on you. If at first you’d been stunned speechless by his looks, by the time you get back to the compound on your first day you’ve been consumed by more than just his face, or his body.

You’re caught in an endless loop of admiration, shame, and desire. Admiration for his body, shame for what you’d done, and desire for forgiveness—and, if you’re honest, desire for him. You’d noticed his first surprised stare, one tinged with awareness, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he’d thought of you before that scowl overcame his perfect features. You’d read about him, too; you’d known some of his story, but the entirety of it was overwhelming. He’d survived the worst, and come out still a hero.

Thinking back on your own story, you wince. How often had you whined to Kim about your less-than-ideal circumstances? You can only dream of Bucky’s strength.

When Tony’s assistant shows you into the lounge, you hover awkward and unnoticed in the doorway. Most of them are sitting around a coffee table on low couches and chairs, all very upscale and very clean. You spot Tony, of course, but your eyes are drawn to Bucky. He’s at the end of one of the couches, scrolling through his phone, his metal hand toying with his hair. Even at this distance, you can see the way his eyelashes brush against his cheek. The sight of him there, so calm and—dare you say—vulnerable makes your stomach flip.

Was he still angry at you? You’d give anything to see his smile…

Tony finally notices you.

“You made it!” he calls.

Bucky whips his head up and meets your eyes. For a brief moment, his face is clear, his lips barely parted as he looks at you. Then his face darkens and he looks away. His mouth is pressed into such a thin line that his usually full lips have all but vanished. Your hopeful smile falls, your heart falling with it.

Still angry, yeah.

“Chill, man,” Tony says to Bucky. He ambles over and slings an arm around your shoulder. “You know Barnes, of course. Did you know he killed my parents?”

Bucky stalks away without another word. You shrug Tony’s arm off. Ice settles in your veins.

You do know who killed Tony’s parents.

And it wasn’t Bucky Barnes.

“Tony—can I call you Tony?”

“Absolutely.” He beckons over the others, who approach slowly. You recognize Falcon, Scarlet Witch, the Black Widow. There are others too, but you pull your focus back to Tony. You set your jaw and steel your nerves.

“If you use me as an accessory to pull any more bullshit on Mr. Barnes over there, you will not like the results.”

Tony raises his eyebrows and whistles low. “Alright, alright. Just having a little fun.”

“I guess we have different ideas of fun,” you say stiffly, arms crossed.

“Tony grows on you,” the Black Widow says. “But she’s right, Tony. Anyway, she’s new. Don’t drag her into the drama on day one.”

“Wait until day two, at least.” Falcon—Sam Wilson—elbows Tony aside and grins at you. “If you aren’t going to introduce us, Tony, get out of the way, will you?” His smile is contagious; there’s a gap between his teeth that only makes him look more charming. “I’m Sam. Nice to meet you. A real pleasure.”

You beam up at him. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

You shake hands with the rest of the team—Wanda, Natasha, Scott, James, and Vision—while Bucky ignores the proceedings in favor of burying himself in his phone once again, this time at the other end of the room.

By the time Tony escorts you out ten minutes later, you’re already struck by the familiarity they all have together. There’s a camaraderie you’ve never had with a group of friends, much less at work. Latent tensions are there too—Tony or Bucky seem to be the center of most of them—but they aren’t enough to split the group.

It’s like they’re a family.

Your heart clenches at the thought. A family. Not a perfect one, but a real one. Maybe one day you’ll be part of it.

One day.

For now, you trail after Tony as he leads you back to the same lab you’d been in when you met Bucky Barnes. Tony’s talking about the launch of his last project; you’re too distracted to pay proper attention.

You hadn’t anticipated how much things would change. None of your other job changes were this hard—but none of your other jobs had ever been anything as insane as this. You’ll get used to it, in time.

You hope.

“You know,” Tony says out of nowhere, “you have got gumption. I like you, kid.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Barnes and I don’t get on great. For obvious reasons. And he’s a real easy target—he goes right off. Guy has no chill.”

You bite your lip. If Bucky has no chill, maybe Tony shouldn’t push at him. But you’re not sure you want to say that out loud. You’ve served enough gumption for one day.

God forbid you ruin everything.

But Tony glances at you and grins. “I can tell what you’re thinking. Pepper says the same thing, really. Sorry I dragged you into it, but I hadn’t managed to crack the safety features on his arm, and I’ve been dying to do it since he got here. Thought it’d be pretty harmless, all things considered.”

He pushed the doors to the lab open. If you weren’t so damn distracted, you’d be giddy with delight. This is where you work now. Holy shit.

Still, you can’t get to business while you’re still so distracted with thoughts of Bucky Barnes and his scowl.

“Well,” you say hesitantly, “after decades of having no autonomy, I can see why he was so upset. And I don’t really want him to hate me. I have to work with him, after all.”

“Eh, he’ll get over it.” Tony settles in his wheeling stool. From a workstation, he makes a hand gesture and—holy shit, blue holographic images blow up into life-size. And thank god, it’s not Bucky’s arm.

It’s the Iron Man suit.

Half of you is screaming internally. The Iron! Man! Suit! This is real! It is real! You let out a slow breath as you approach.

Meanwhile, your other half wants to strangle Tony for his callousness. And of the two halves, you’d rather talk about Bucky than let Tony Stark know how impressed you are. Even if it means that Tony gets an inkling of how much Bucky is consuming your thoughts.

“He seemed pretty pissed at me,” you say. You reach up and play around with a holographic cube that Tony sends your way.

“There is that.” Tony strokes his goatee as he runs through the schematic. He highlights a few areas—knees, blasters, visor—and then says, “How about I let you get away with one—just one—little bit of revenge?”

You blink. “Revenge?”

“Yeah.” Tony keeps up with his work even as his words come fast and easy. “You can make peace with Barnes by hacking into something of mine. Just once, mind, and nothing dangerous.” He slants a grin your way. “You’re ethical, right?”

“It’s in the job description,” you answer automatically. You sit against a lab table, bemused. Tony Stark is weird. Who volunteers to get hacked? By their employee, no less.

But you’re intrigued. Working with Bucky, redeeming yourself in his eyes by playing a harmless prank? He seems serious, but maybe this will be the thing to mellow him out. Maybe this will be the thing that makes him smile.

All you have to do is get him to listen to you, and you can do it.

“Alright,” you say. “You’re on.”

—

Of course, getting Bucky to listen to you involves actually getting within speaking distance. It takes two and a half weeks. You get to know everyone else—Sam, Natasha, Wanda, even Pepper to a degree—but Bucky avoids you like the plague. Every time you catch sight of him, you only just manage to catch his attention before he flees. Sometimes he blanches, sometimes he flushes, but regardless of his expression he’s gone before you can corner him.

If you didn’t have a mission, you would have given up on day two. But you have a plan, and you’re too set on it to focus on the pain in your chest every time his eyes widen and look pointedly away.

Finally, you catch him. You’re heading down the stairs in the atrium, humming gone off-key with the bounce in your step, when Bucky starts up. He’s buried in his smartphone—typical, you think—and you stop short in surprise. He’s in exercise clothes again, a tight t-shirt and low-slung sweats that make your mouth water and your thighs clench. You’ve been surrounded by superheroes for weeks, but the sight of this one is still enough to bring fire to your cheeks.

Bucky only looks up when he’s five steps below you, and he freezes like a deer in headlights. His blue eyes are wide as dinner plates. He backs down a step.

“Wait,” you blurt. You take a step after him and hold out a hand. “Please don’t run away again.”

Bucky glances around. There are people in the atrium. No one is looking at him, not yet, but you can guess what he’s thinking the second he turns back to you with his jaw set. If he runs off, someone’s bound to notice.

“What do you want?” he says curtly.

It’s the first word he’s said to you since your interview. You swallow.

“I wanted to apologize,” you tell him. His eyebrows go up, and you surge ahead. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. I thought I was working on the arm in the box. If I’d known, I never would have—”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “I know.”

What? What the fuck!

You gape. “If you know that, why are you still angry at me?”

He blinks. “I’m not—” He runs a hand through his hair, looks aside, shifts his weight. “I’m not angry at you.”

You cross your arms and raise your eyebrows in disbelief. Is he for real? “You literally run out of the room every time I come in.”

He draws his lower lip into his mouth, then lets it out with a pop. Your eyes drop to his perfect mouth, even as you scold yourself for staring so blatantly. But when you finally meet his eyes again, he still looks nervous.

“It’s not ‘cause I’m angry,” he mumbles, dropping his eyes. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. You take the opportunity to drag your eyes down his body, but you catch yourself before you stare too long.

“Well, then what is it?”

How did this go from you apologizing to you grilling him?

“It’s ‘cause you’re cute and I yelled at you,” he blurts.

Oh.

Well.

That changes things. You lick your lips, heart beating as fast as rainpatter. “But… you didn’t yell at me.”

Bucky shuffles his feet. His shyness is the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen. With his cheeks tinged pink and his eyes low, he’s every inch the bashful daydream.

“Maybe not,” he says, “but I wasn’t nice. I’m sorry, okay?”

“Okay.” You step down a step, then another. Bucky’s head inches up until he meets your eyes. You smile down at him, too happy to care if he thinks you’re odd. “You know, while we’re on the subject, you’re cute too.”

Bucky’s breathless laugh is full of relief. He pulls his hands out of his pockets and steps closer to you, his blue eyes bright. The little crinkles on his nose and around his eyes are to die for. “Doesn’t it bother you that I was a jerk?”

You shrug. “You apologized. Tony was more of a jerk than you, frankly.” You glance back upstairs towards the lab with a frown. “I do not get how a guy that smart didn’t realize how awful that prank was.”

“I survived.” Bucky’s lips curve into a smirk. “So did he, thanks to you.”

He comes another step up, and you’re suddenly all too aware of how close you’re standing. You catch your breath, eyes flitting from his eyes to his mouth and—

Bucky stiffens and steps back, cheeks pink again, as someone goes down the stairs, passing you without any acknowledgement. A stranger, one of many you’ve yet to meet. You watch them until they’re out of earshot, then smile hopefully at Bucky.

“So,” you drawl, “how do you feel about some revenge pranking?”

—

“These vents are too small even if I lose the arm,” Bucky complains. He screws the grate back over the vent in your room with a sigh.

You snort.

“It’s almost like they were designed with you in mind,” you tease.

Bucky sticks his tongue out and throws the screwdriver at you; you duck. It bounces harmlessly on the mattress by your outstretched legs. He laughs when you sit back up and make a face.

“Wasn’t gonna hit you,” he tells you, leaning over to retrieve it.

Your heartbeat ramps up; he’s close again, dangerously close. When he grins up at you, you clench your hands into fists to keep from pulling him closer.

Bucky goes back to screwing in the grate, and you bury yourself in your computer, cheeks blazing.

—

You’re sitting next to Bucky on his enormous bed, both of you with laptops on your knees. He’s got a video feed of the conference room open; you’re watching over his shoulder. Your computer has a program waiting to be run.

You both watch with bated breath as Tony makes his way into the conference room, flanked by Happy Hogan.

“Okay, now!”

You hit enter. The program runs, code scrolling into life on your laptop before you toss it aside and quickly tug Bucky’s computer midway between you.

The projected backdrop in the conference room goes black; the sound system whirs to life.

“Do you seriously think this is going to go over?” Bucky mutters.

“Shh! Just wait.”

A distinctive dance-pop beat blares out of the speakers. The crowd of journalists and media bloggers is silent for a beat, and then lets out a chorus of groans and laughs. Rick Astley’s voice begins the famous refrain: “Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down…”

You bite your lip to keep your grin from hurting your face. On Bucky’s screen, Tony stares into the camera and mouths, “Very funny.” He rolls his eyes and starts chatting into the microphone. “Sorry, folks,” he says, “we just have to wait it out. But after that, I promise I have something serious to say…”

Bucky sets his computer further down the bed and links his arms behind his head.

“It would have been more fun to watch from a vent,” he muses. “Then again, it would have been more fun if we’d gone with my idea.”

You giggle. “I did promise it’d be harmless.”

“Yeah, yeah, you and your ethics.” Bucky’s voice is teasing, warm. He twists to face you, his eyes bright. “Still, shooting a bunch of paint bullets at him during a press conference would’ve been much more interactive.”

“You’re welcome to do that on your own time,” you tell him. “I’m confident you could manage it without my skills.”

“I probably could,” Bucky agrees. He smiles and inches closer. “But why would I?”

You swallow. Bucky’s hip is touching yours; his hand is propped behind you, boxing you in. Your eyes dart to his mouth as he licks his lips. “For—revenge?”

Bucky slides his free hand—the metal one; oh lord, he can feel with that—up your leg until he’s gripping your thigh. The pressure is delicious, intoxicating; he’s so close—

“Revenge is for suckers,” he murmurs. His dark eyes drink you in, and then your eyes flutter shut as he ducks even closer. “The whole point was you.”

Then he kisses you.

There’s a roaring in your ears; it drowns out everything but the feel of him. His lips feel as perfect as they look—soft, plump, warm, alive—and in seconds you’re a mess. His grip on your thigh tightens, and his arm by your back circles your waist. Your hands find their way into his hair, and when you tug, he turns to putty in your eager hands.

By the time he pulls back, you’re out of breath. His lips are fuller than ever, swollen and pink and perfect. You stroke his hair, then trace his mouth as he watches you, eyes dark.

All in all, a much better hands-on exercise than the one Tony had made you do.

The Rick Astley song finally ends, and Tony’s voice cuts through your and Bucky’s heavy breathing. The two of you make a face, and the mirrored expression prompts a laugh from you both. Bucky reaches over and slams his computer shut.

“Well,” he says, eyes twinkling, “what are the ethics of dating a coworker?”

You suck in a breath. “It depends,” you say. “Will you be good?”

Bucky’s smirk is dark and full of promise. “Depends,” he says huskily. You shiver; his voice goes straight through you. He chuckles and strokes your cheek. “For you, I’ll sure as hell try.”

[themaskedwriter]

A Hands-On Exercise

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader

Word count: 5631

Summary: You hate your job, your life, and the cracks in your bedroom ceiling. Fortunately, you’ve got the chance of a lifetime after hacking—ethically hacking, that is—into Tony Stark’s systems. Unfortunately, your interview ends with you inadvertently pissing off the Winter Soldier. Will he forgive you for hacking into his arm?

Warnings: mild swearing, mild sensuality, mildly unethical behavior 

Clues: This author’s niece is strictly normal, but she loves her anyway. And—what the heck? Is that a five-color palette?

———

Your index finger hovers over the enter key.

“Should I do it?” you ask.

“No.” Kim’s voice brokers no argument, even with the slight lisp due to the highlighter in her teeth. She turns another page in her book.

“Hmph.”

You’re lying on the floor in Kim’s room, your legs stretched up the wall and your laptop digging into your stomach. It’s uncomfortable, but you’re trying to make the biggest decision of your life. Moving would be sub-optimal.

The program you’re maybe about to run is one you’ve been working on for years. One that might land you the job of a lifetime. A teenage dream, and now a potential reality.

If.

If, if, if.

“So as far as I see it,” you start, sitting up, “there’s three ways this could go.”

Kim groans and tosses her book and highlighter aside.

“First,” you continue, holding up a finger, “this program doesn’t actually work and nothing happens.”

“That would be ideal,” Kim drawls.

“Second.” Another finger. “The program does work, but either not well enough or he’s not impressed, and I get arrested or something. Third—” you stick up a third and final finger— “it works and he’s so impressed he hires me.”

“I don’t see how any of those options are good,” Kim mutters. “You’re a failure, you get another mark on your criminal record, or you have to move.”

“For this, I’d move without complaining.”

Kim snorts. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

You prop yourself up on your knees and lean over the edge of Kim’s bed. You bat your eyelashes at her. “So you do want to see what happens.”

“Uh, no.” Kim drops her hand on your head. Her gaze is serious. “I’d be a terrible friend if I actually encouraged you in this. It’s illegal.”

“Well…”

“You have a steady job,” Kim continues.

“With a below-market salary,” you retort. You shake her hand off your head and frown up at her. “Besides, it’s boring. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life making sure social media conglomerates can steal our private information in peace.”

Kim rolls her eyes. “I don’t know if you’re using the word ‘boring’ correctly.”

“Well, whatever. I’m doing it.”

You grab your laptop off the floor and hit enter. The program starts to run.

“Oh my god, it’s working!” You jump to your feet and bounce around the room, squealing with delight. “It worked!”

The program finishes with a happy beep, and you collapse next to Kim.

The two of you wait with bated breath, staring at the screen. Minutes pass.

Nothing happens.

You glance at Kim. Her eyes are as big as saucers.

“Nothing happened,” Kim whispers.

“I realized that,” you snap. You slam your computer shut and ball your hands into fists. All that, for nothing?

God damn it.

—

“Tony?”

“Hey Bruce, c’mon in. Check it out.” Tony wheels his stool back and holds up his latest project.

Bruce Banner shuffles into the lab, a tablet under his arm and a pinched look on his face.

“What’s with the long face?” Tony asks.

“You have a message.” Bruce untucks the tablet from his arm and holds it screen side up. A holographic message appears in the air, rotating slowly.

Tony blinks as he waits for it to turn enough for him to read it. “‘Hacker for hire?’ What the heck is this?” He grabs the tablet; his free hand moves in a dizzying blur over the white code, scrolling through it at lightning speed. “Bruce, what the heck—”

“I dunno, Tony! It just showed up.” Bruce shifts his weight and crosses his arms tight across his chest.

Tony sits back in his chair and goes through the code slower. Bruce hovers at his side, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

After a minute, Tony Stark begins to laugh.

—

Three hours have passed, and still nothing. You cried on Kim’s bed, on Kim’s shoulder, and now you’re recovering from crying into your own pillow. The pillowcase is damp with your tears, but you can’t bring yourself to flip the damn thing.

You spent years working on that program, and nothing had come of it. Of all people, you thought Tony Stark would work fast. If he hasn’t reacted by now, he doesn’t care.

Or it failed, and you just don’t realize it, chimes a nasty voice in your head.

You flip onto your back and glare up at the ceiling, eyes still smarting. There’s just enough ambient light for you to make out the cobweb cracks emanating from the ceiling lamp, the yellow stain over the door, the peeling paint in the corners of the room. All the trappings of being stuck.

God, you hate this life.

You huff and curl up in a fetal position, arms tight across your chest. Luxury is absurd to imagine, but solid comfort? Something lasting, something beyond okay?

You’d almost kill for that. Hell, you’d spend years working on a project to infiltrate Stark Industries. And you hadn’t done anything really wrong. You’d just… left a message. Exposed some hairline fractures in their security.

If it had even worked.

It’s the not knowing that’s the worst of it. At this point, even the police barging in would be a welcome distraction. Then at least you’d know.

But no. You have to continue with your bland, boring, banal life.

And you have work in the morning. Your alarm is set to go off at six—public transit takes forever—and now it’s closer to one than twelve. You close your eyes and try to force yourself into serenity.

Just as you’re finally drifting off, your phone starts to ring. You jerk awake with a gasp. You snag your phone from the windowsill next to your bed—it’s an unknown number calling, one that has somehow bypassed your do-not-disturb mode. You answer it with trembling hands.

“Hello?”

“Pack a bag,” Tony Stark’s voice says. “You’ve got an interview at nine am.”

Click.

You sit up slowly. Blood rushes in your ears. It’s so loud—did you imagine the whole thing? No, the number is still there in your call history, and an email pops up—flight information for a private flight to New York.

Well then.

Maybe you don’t have work in the morning.

—

The entire travel experience is beyond bizarre. Someone—you assume it wasn’t Tony Stark himself—arranged for a taxi to pick you up at four am, and someone met you right at the airport’s entrance to take your bag. You didn’t have to lift a finger, at home or in New York.

It felt wrong. But not so wrong that you didn’t sleep on the plane, or in the car to the compound. You dread to think what you’re going to look like at nine.

By the time the sleek black car pulls up to the gates of the Avengers compound around eight thirty, you’ve straightened yourself out. From what you can see in the dark mirrored glass separating you from the driver,  you look… presentable. Not your best, perhaps, but as good as could be expected on three hours’ sleep. Your clothes aren’t wrinkled, at least. Thank god you’ve kept your interview outfit hung up.

The gates open, and you stare around in wonder. You don’t know enough about architecture to name the style of the buildings, but they definitely cost a fortune to heat. Not today, though. Today it’s unseasonably warm, and the sprawling lawns are dotted with people exercising. Yoga, sparring…

You press your nose against the window, heart racing. The two men sparring not fifty feet away are Avengers! Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Your mouth goes dry at the sight—both of them are in sweatpants and short sleeves, and they are ripped. In the few seconds they’re in view, you can see clearly that the Winter Soldier’s mismatched arms are equally buff.

Now there’s a feat of engineering.

You sit back and fan your face, a private grin growing on your face. If you can keep Tony Stark’s attention, those guys are going to be your coworkers.

Nice.

From there, it’s a blur to the conference room where Tony will be meeting you in—you check your phone—twenty-two minutes. There’s a tablet waiting for you there.

“See what you can make of that before Mr. Stark arrives,” your chauffeur-cum-tour guide says as he leaves. The door shuts behind him with a click, but you’re already buried in code.

—

“Your credentials certainly are impressive.”

“Thank you,” you say.

Tony Stark tosses the clipboard with your resume on it back onto the table. He leans back in his chair and knits his fingers together in his lap. He’s dressed casually, with a band shirt under his sports jacket. “So why’d you hack into our systems?”

“I want to work with you.” You sit up even straighter and tighten your lips in determination. “The work you do is incredible. It’s as advanced as anything outside Wakanda.” Tony screws up his mouth; you suppress a smirk at his display of ego. “I’ve always wanted to be surrounded by innovation.”

“Well, your application was certainly innovative. Full of, what’s the word, gumption.”

You grin and press your hands tighter together between your legs. “I’ve got that too.”

Tony holds up the clipboard again, covering half his face. He looks between it and you, a teasing look in his eyes. You bite your tongue and wait.

Through all those years that you were working and dreaming, you’d never really thought about the interview. Somehow, you’d skipped entirely over it. Impress Tony Stark, get hired. But there’s a middle step in there. And here you are, in an interview, trying not to mess everything up.

“So what did you think of that little project I set up for you?” Tony asks, nodding to the tablet in front of you.

You flinch. You hadn’t had that long to investigate. What you had figured out seems too bizarre to be serious, but it’s all you have. And you certainly aren’t going to bullshit your way through this one.

“It’s like an artificial nervous system,” you tell him. “Or part of one. From the shape of things, I’d say it was an arm, bu—”

“Yes!” Tony jumps up from his chair, clipboard abandoned, and hurries out of the room. You stand slowly, heart pounding. Tony sticks his head back inside, a wicked grin on his face. “Bring the tablet, and come with me.”

—

There’s an arm in a box.

A metal arm in a black box on a table in a lab in the Avengers compound.

What even is your life right now?

“So here’s your hands-on practical,” Tony says gleefully. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, one hand on your shoulder, as you both peer into the shallow box on the lab table. “Get it? Hands-on?”

“Hilarious. I’m dying,” you deadpan.

“Don’t hurt yourself. Your assignment is to hack into this arm and give me a thumbs up.”

“Is that all?” you blurt.

Tony stills, eyebrows inching towards his hairline. “You say that in a very unconcerned tone of voice. That makes me concerned.” He steps back and crosses his arms. “Alright then. Your assignment is to hack into this arm and give me a thumbs up. In under thirty minutes.”

“You got it.”

You hop onto the edge of the table and cross your dangling feet. Piece of cake.

—

You stare at the arm in the box, your heart in your throat. It’s been twenty-seven minutes, and you’ve just run a program that should have reshaped the dormant arm in front of you.

But nothing happened.

Tony Stark is standing at the window overlooking the main lawn. He’s gone back to his bouncing—is something happening out there? You turn away, eyes stinging, and clear the program.

“No, no, do it again,” Tony exclaims.

You blink. You run the program again, and Tony laughs loud and bright.

“Amazing!” He shakes his head, still chuckling. You look down at the arm in the box. It hasn’t moved.

“Wha—”

There’s a slew of shouting from outside that’s muffled by the windows, but you can very clearly make out some derogatory remarks directed at—Tony?

Oh no.

“Damn,” Tony says. He pats the window and meanders towards the door, counting quietly to himself as he does.

You back away from the arm in the box, hands and tablet frozen in front of you. The arm in the box hadn’t moved.

The arm in the box wasn’t supposed to move.

That could only mean…

“Three, two, one.” Tony’s murmured countdown comes to an end.

The doors burst open, slamming against the wall and shaking the whole room. The Winter Soldier barrels inside, the muscles of his right arm in sculpted definition thanks to his tight fist. His metal arm, on the other hand, is stiff and awkward.

Stiff, awkward, and with a thumbs up.

He stalks towards Tony, who backs away quickly, his eyes snapping to you. You steady yourself on a stool and surreptitiously cancel the program.

Bucky Barnes stops in his tracks halfway to Tony and stares down at his left hand. He wiggles his fingers, bends his elbow, and makes a fist.

“What the hell did you do?” he growls at Tony.

“You think that was me?” Tony asks, hand over his heart. “Bless. It was her.” He tilts his head in your direction.

“What? No!” you gasp.

Bucky takes a single menacing step towards you before stopping in his tracks. He wrinkles his nose in surprise as he looks you up and down. When he meets your eyes again, his eyes are dark with what you assume is rage.

You’re frozen in place, too shocked to move or even speak. You’ve been obsessed with Tony Stark for years. Bucky Barnes? Not so much.

What had past you been thinking? Bucky looks ready to murder you, but he’s the sexiest person you’ve ever seen. The distant view on the drive over hadn’t done him any justice. The arms, the abs, the face, those piercing blue eyes… You can’t fight the heat rising to your cheeks. You can’t look away.

Bucky’s gaze lands on the tablet in your hand. He glances at the arm on the table between you with sudden realization. When his steely eyes dart back to yours, you suddenly realize you’re staring. You look away, cheeks hotter than ever.

“I didn’t know—” you start.

“Obviously not,” Bucky snaps. “Who even are you?”

“She’s my new hacker,” Tony says before you can answer. “So be nice, or she’ll do the same thing again.”

“I will not,” you retort. “I’m an ethical hacker, Mr. Stark.”

Tony raises his eyebrows at you. “You will not hack into Manchurian Candidate’s arm, or will not take the job?”

You blink. Oh my god. You got the job? You got the job!

“I’ll take the job!” you say quickly. Relief rushes through you; you feel like you’ve just gained ten years of your life back. You take a steadying breath and jab a finger towards Tony. “But I don’t usurp bodily autonomy for fun. Or revenge.”

“What do you usurp bodily autonomy for?” Tony asks curiously.

“Now there’s a loaded question,” you quip.

Bucky huffs and storms out of the room. You stare after him, your sudden good mood evaporating, but Tony laughs and takes the tablet out of your slack hands.

“Touché. Let’s get out of here and hook you up with the paper shufflers over in human resources.”

You follow Tony out of the lab, but your stomach sinks as you give one last look to the immobile arm in the box.

You’ve got the job. You’ve got the respect of acclaimed genius Tony Stark, your lifelong idol.

So why are you so damn upset?

—

Three weeks later is your official start date. Not enough time to find a subletter for your room in Kim’s apartment, but the salary is good enough to cover your rent for a couple months while you wait for Craigslist to work its magic.

Your new dress code is even more lax than your old job, but you still take care on day one. Everyone will be there, apparently. It’s your chance to meet the other programmers and—more excitingly—to meet the Avengers.

It’s your chance to start fresh with Bucky Barnes.

Thoughts of Bucky had plagued you from the moment he’d clapped eyes on you. If at first you’d been stunned speechless by his looks, by the time you get back to the compound on your first day you’ve been consumed by more than just his face, or his body.

You’re caught in an endless loop of admiration, shame, and desire. Admiration for his body, shame for what you’d done, and desire for forgiveness—and, if you’re honest, desire for him. You’d noticed his first surprised stare, one tinged with awareness, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he’d thought of you before that scowl overcame his perfect features. You’d read about him, too; you’d known some of his story, but the entirety of it was overwhelming. He’d survived the worst, and come out still a hero.

Thinking back on your own story, you wince. How often had you whined to Kim about your less-than-ideal circumstances? You can only dream of Bucky’s strength.

When Tony’s assistant shows you into the lounge, you hover awkward and unnoticed in the doorway. Most of them are sitting around a coffee table on low couches and chairs, all very upscale and very clean. You spot Tony, of course, but your eyes are drawn to Bucky. He’s at the end of one of the couches, scrolling through his phone, his metal hand toying with his hair. Even at this distance, you can see the way his eyelashes brush against his cheek. The sight of him there, so calm and—dare you say—vulnerable makes your stomach flip.

Was he still angry at you? You’d give anything to see his smile…

Tony finally notices you.

“You made it!” he calls.

Bucky whips his head up and meets your eyes. For a brief moment, his face is clear, his lips barely parted as he looks at you. Then his face darkens and he looks away. His mouth is pressed into such a thin line that his usually full lips have all but vanished. Your hopeful smile falls, your heart falling with it.

Still angry, yeah.

“Chill, man,” Tony says to Bucky. He ambles over and slings an arm around your shoulder. “You know Barnes, of course. Did you know he killed my parents?”

Bucky stalks away without another word. You shrug Tony’s arm off. Ice settles in your veins.

You do know who killed Tony’s parents.

And it wasn’t Bucky Barnes.

“Tony—can I call you Tony?”

“Absolutely.” He beckons over the others, who approach slowly. You recognize Falcon, Scarlet Witch, the Black Widow. There are others too, but you pull your focus back to Tony. You set your jaw and steel your nerves.

“If you use me as an accessory to pull any more bullshit on Mr. Barnes over there, you will not like the results.”

Tony raises his eyebrows and whistles low. “Alright, alright. Just having a little fun.”

“I guess we have different ideas of fun,” you say stiffly, arms crossed.

“Tony grows on you,” the Black Widow says. “But she’s right, Tony. Anyway, she’s new. Don’t drag her into the drama on day one.”

“Wait until day two, at least.” Falcon—Sam Wilson—elbows Tony aside and grins at you. “If you aren’t going to introduce us, Tony, get out of the way, will you?” His smile is contagious; there’s a gap between his teeth that only makes him look more charming. “I’m Sam. Nice to meet you. A real pleasure.”

You beam up at him. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

You shake hands with the rest of the team—Wanda, Natasha, Scott, James, and Vision—while Bucky ignores the proceedings in favor of burying himself in his phone once again, this time at the other end of the room.

By the time Tony escorts you out ten minutes later, you’re already struck by the familiarity they all have together. There’s a camaraderie you’ve never had with a group of friends, much less at work. Latent tensions are there too—Tony or Bucky seem to be the center of most of them—but they aren’t enough to split the group.

It’s like they’re a family.

Your heart clenches at the thought. A family. Not a perfect one, but a real one. Maybe one day you’ll be part of it.

One day.

For now, you trail after Tony as he leads you back to the same lab you’d been in when you met Bucky Barnes. Tony’s talking about the launch of his last project; you’re too distracted to pay proper attention.

You hadn’t anticipated how much things would change. None of your other job changes were this hard—but none of your other jobs had ever been anything as insane as this. You’ll get used to it, in time.

You hope.

“You know,” Tony says out of nowhere, “you have got gumption. I like you, kid.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Barnes and I don’t get on great. For obvious reasons. And he’s a real easy target—he goes right off. Guy has no chill.”

You bite your lip. If Bucky has no chill, maybe Tony shouldn’t push at him. But you’re not sure you want to say that out loud. You’ve served enough gumption for one day.

God forbid you ruin everything.

But Tony glances at you and grins. “I can tell what you’re thinking. Pepper says the same thing, really. Sorry I dragged you into it, but I hadn’t managed to crack the safety features on his arm, and I’ve been dying to do it since he got here. Thought it’d be pretty harmless, all things considered.”

He pushed the doors to the lab open. If you weren’t so damn distracted, you’d be giddy with delight. This is where you work now. Holy shit.

Still, you can’t get to business while you’re still so distracted with thoughts of Bucky Barnes and his scowl.

“Well,” you say hesitantly, “after decades of having no autonomy, I can see why he was so upset. And I don’t really want him to hate me. I have to work with him, after all.”

“Eh, he’ll get over it.” Tony settles in his wheeling stool. From a workstation, he makes a hand gesture and—holy shit, blue holographic images blow up into life-size. And thank god, it’s not Bucky’s arm.

It’s the Iron Man suit.

Half of you is screaming internally. The Iron! Man! Suit! This is real! It is real! You let out a slow breath as you approach.

Meanwhile, your other half wants to strangle Tony for his callousness. And of the two halves, you’d rather talk about Bucky than let Tony Stark know how impressed you are. Even if it means that Tony gets an inkling of how much Bucky is consuming your thoughts.

“He seemed pretty pissed at me,” you say. You reach up and play around with a holographic cube that Tony sends your way.

“There is that.” Tony strokes his goatee as he runs through the schematic. He highlights a few areas—knees, blasters, visor—and then says, “How about I let you get away with one—just one—little bit of revenge?”

You blink. “Revenge?”

“Yeah.” Tony keeps up with his work even as his words come fast and easy. “You can make peace with Barnes by hacking into something of mine. Just once, mind, and nothing dangerous.” He slants a grin your way. “You’re ethical, right?”

“It’s in the job description,” you answer automatically. You sit against a lab table, bemused. Tony Stark is weird. Who volunteers to get hacked? By their employee, no less.

But you’re intrigued. Working with Bucky, redeeming yourself in his eyes by playing a harmless prank? He seems serious, but maybe this will be the thing to mellow him out. Maybe this will be the thing that makes him smile.

All you have to do is get him to listen to you, and you can do it.

“Alright,” you say. “You’re on.”

—

Of course, getting Bucky to listen to you involves actually getting within speaking distance. It takes two and a half weeks. You get to know everyone else—Sam, Natasha, Wanda, even Pepper to a degree—but Bucky avoids you like the plague. Every time you catch sight of him, you only just manage to catch his attention before he flees. Sometimes he blanches, sometimes he flushes, but regardless of his expression he’s gone before you can corner him.

If you didn’t have a mission, you would have given up on day two. But you have a plan, and you’re too set on it to focus on the pain in your chest every time his eyes widen and look pointedly away.

Finally, you catch him. You’re heading down the stairs in the atrium, humming gone off-key with the bounce in your step, when Bucky starts up. He’s buried in his smartphone—typical, you think—and you stop short in surprise. He’s in exercise clothes again, a tight t-shirt and low-slung sweats that make your mouth water and your thighs clench. You’ve been surrounded by superheroes for weeks, but the sight of this one is still enough to bring fire to your cheeks.

Bucky only looks up when he’s five steps below you, and he freezes like a deer in headlights. His blue eyes are wide as dinner plates. He backs down a step.

“Wait,” you blurt. You take a step after him and hold out a hand. “Please don’t run away again.”

Bucky glances around. There are people in the atrium. No one is looking at him, not yet, but you can guess what he’s thinking the second he turns back to you with his jaw set. If he runs off, someone’s bound to notice.

“What do you want?” he says curtly.

It’s the first word he’s said to you since your interview. You swallow.

“I wanted to apologize,” you tell him. His eyebrows go up, and you surge ahead. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. I thought I was working on the arm in the box. If I’d known, I never would have—”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “I know.”

What? What the fuck!

You gape. “If you know that, why are you still angry at me?”

He blinks. “I’m not—” He runs a hand through his hair, looks aside, shifts his weight. “I’m not angry at you.”

You cross your arms and raise your eyebrows in disbelief. Is he for real? “You literally run out of the room every time I come in.”

He draws his lower lip into his mouth, then lets it out with a pop. Your eyes drop to his perfect mouth, even as you scold yourself for staring so blatantly. But when you finally meet his eyes again, he still looks nervous.

“It’s not ‘cause I’m angry,” he mumbles, dropping his eyes. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. You take the opportunity to drag your eyes down his body, but you catch yourself before you stare too long.

“Well, then what is it?”

How did this go from you apologizing to you grilling him?

“It’s ‘cause you’re cute and I yelled at you,” he blurts.

Oh.

Well.

That changes things. You lick your lips, heart beating as fast as rainpatter. “But… you didn’t yell at me.”

Bucky shuffles his feet. His shyness is the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen. With his cheeks tinged pink and his eyes low, he’s every inch the bashful daydream.

“Maybe not,” he says, “but I wasn’t nice. I’m sorry, okay?”

“Okay.” You step down a step, then another. Bucky’s head inches up until he meets your eyes. You smile down at him, too happy to care if he thinks you’re odd. “You know, while we’re on the subject, you’re cute too.”

Bucky’s breathless laugh is full of relief. He pulls his hands out of his pockets and steps closer to you, his blue eyes bright. The little crinkles on his nose and around his eyes are to die for. “Doesn’t it bother you that I was a jerk?”

You shrug. “You apologized. Tony was more of a jerk than you, frankly.” You glance back upstairs towards the lab with a frown. “I do not get how a guy that smart didn’t realize how awful that prank was.”

“I survived.” Bucky’s lips curve into a smirk. “So did he, thanks to you.”

He comes another step up, and you’re suddenly all too aware of how close you’re standing. You catch your breath, eyes flitting from his eyes to his mouth and—

Bucky stiffens and steps back, cheeks pink again, as someone goes down the stairs, passing you without any acknowledgement. A stranger, one of many you’ve yet to meet. You watch them until they’re out of earshot, then smile hopefully at Bucky.

“So,” you drawl, “how do you feel about some revenge pranking?”

—

“These vents are too small even if I lose the arm,” Bucky complains. He screws the grate back over the vent in your room with a sigh.

You snort.

“It’s almost like they were designed with you in mind,” you tease.

Bucky sticks his tongue out and throws the screwdriver at you; you duck. It bounces harmlessly on the mattress by your outstretched legs.

“Wasn’t gonna hit you,” he tells you, leaning over to retrieve it.

Your heartbeat ramps up; he’s close again, dangerously close. When he grins up at you, you clench your hands into fists to keep from pulling him closer.

Bucky goes back to screwing in the grate, and you bury yourself in your computer, cheeks blazing.

—

You’re sitting next to Bucky on his enormous bed, both of you with laptops on your knees. He’s got a video feed of the conference room open; you’re watching over his shoulder. Your computer has a program waiting to be run.

You both watch with bated breath as Tony makes his way into the conference room, flanked by Happy Hogan.

“Okay, now!”

You hit enter. The program runs, code scrolling into life on your laptop before you toss it aside and quickly tug Bucky’s computer midway between you.

The projected backdrop in the conference room goes black; the sound system whirs to life.

“Do you seriously think this is going to go over?” Bucky mutters.

“Shh! Just wait.”

A distinctive dance-pop beat blares out of the speakers. The crowd of eager journalists and media bloggers is silent for a beat, and then lets out a chorus of groans and laughs. Rick Astley’s voice begins the famous refrain: “Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down…”

You bite your lip to keep your grin from hurting your face. On Bucky’s screen, Tony stares into the camera and mouths, “Very funny.” He rolls his eyes and starts chatting into the microphone. “Sorry, folks,” he says, “we just have to wait it out. But after that, I promise I have something serious to say…”

Bucky sets his computer further down the bed and links his arms behind his head.

“It would have been more fun to watch from a vent,” he muses. “Then again, it would have been more fun if we’d gone with my idea.”

You giggle. “I did promise it’d be harmless.”

“Yeah, yeah, you and your ethics.” Bucky’s voice is teasing, warm. He twists to face you, his eyes bright. “Still, shooting a bunch of paint bullets at him during a press conference would’ve been much more interactive.”

“You’re welcome to do that on your own time,” you tell him. “I’m confident you could manage it without my skills.”

“I probably could,” Bucky agrees. He smiles and inches closer. “But why would I?”

You swallow. Bucky’s hip is touching yours; his hand is propped behind you, boxing you in. Your eyes dart to his mouth as he licks his lips. “For—revenge?”

Bucky slides his free hand—the metal one; oh lord, he can feel with that—up your leg until he’s gripping your thigh. The pressure is delicious, intoxicating; he’s so close—

“Revenge is for suckers,” he murmurs. His dark eyes drink you in, and then your eyes flutter shut as he ducks even closer. “The whole point was you.”

Then he kisses you.

His lips feel as perfect as they look—soft, plump, warm, alive—and in seconds you’re a mess. His grip on your thigh tightens, and his arm by your back circles your waist. Your hands find their way into his hair, and when you tug, he turns to putty in your hands, deep moans catching in his throat.

By the time he pulls back, you’re out of breath. His lips are fuller than ever, swollen and pink and perfect. You stroke his hair, then trace his mouth as he watches you, eyes dark.

All in all, a much better hands-on exercise than the one Tony had made you do.

The Rick Astley song finally ends, and Tony’s voice cuts through your and Bucky’s heavy breathing. The two of you make a face, and the mirrored expression prompts a laugh from you both. Bucky reaches over and slams his computer shut.

“Well,” he says, eyes twinkling, “what are the ethics of dating a coworker?”

You suck in a breath, heart full. “It depends,” you say. “Will you be good?”

Bucky’s smirk is dark and full of promise. “Depends,” he says huskily. You shiver; his voice goes straight through you. He chuckles and strokes your cheek. “For you, I’ll sure as hell try.“

[guccifloralsuits]

how is buttigieg's "medical for all who want it" policy different from how health insurance is being run today? sure, he wants to give people the option of public insurance, but allowing privatized insurance companies to still be running directly harms people, especially those who are uneducated on the topic. it seems like medicare lite tm, as do his environmental policies in comparison to the green new deal. don't get me wrong, bernie's policies aren't flawless, but imo +

Anon Asked: + 

buttigieg’s policies leave little to be desired, with concepts that aren’t refreshing or innovative, but rather seem like he’s trying to “deviate” from the norm, in this example the norm being bernie’s policies. i also read that he’s lost an immense number of black voters fairly recently. he just comes off as disingenuous. i wish i could like him, i mean i’m gay & having a gay prez would be great, but that doesn’t excuse his blandness. also, he’s blatantly lied about taking corporate donations

also i forgot to add but i totally understand supporting buttigieg, he seems like a decent guy overall, i just would like to seem something more refreshing or original from him regarding his policies. i think bernie has been really innovative and sometimes i get skeptical when democractic politicians come out with policy proposals that are so incredibly similar to bernie’s with *marginal* differences, you know? but bernie definitely isn’t immune to criticism, either

I disagree with your statement on policies specifically because another key problem I have with Bernie is that his policies read like a youtube thumbnail - which is to say they look good on the surface but don’t correctly incentivize priorities and effect the targeted populations in the ways they plan to. 

On medicare for all (and bear with me we’re about to get a lil into health econ): 

in current market conditions, the largest problem in USA Healthcare cost (HC) is the principal of adverse selection. Adverse selection pretty much goes like this: a healthy person feels no need to buy healthcare because they are; a sick person will buy healthcare when they are, well…sick. Sick people drive up the cost the and then the healthy people aren’t in the market to help bear the burden of the cost, which is why we end up with huggggeeeeee medical bills. 

Pete’s Public-option helps get around these costs because the government can eliminate intermediary costs (which are like 2Billion (i think I havent checked the #s in a while), and it allows those who like their plan to avoid the taxable income issue (if an employer includes insurance benefit as part of a work-hire-package, the cost of that insurance plan isn’t taxed by the government. if they mandate a new Bernie plan, some of the income might be saved in net, but the rest is now taxable, and this tax once added to the additional necessary tax increase to impliment is the problem. Plus it creates tax bracket movements which can substantially increase tax rates compared to before. I know this sounds I’m by no means a teacher, so it’s a lil hard to explain but might be making some videos on it for our econ department and if they get posted I’ll share the link if you’re interested. 

On black voters: 

An anon pointed out that some of the claims in this part were just...based in ignorance and actually I agree. I’m going to look into this more & update my knowledge on the subject.

On the Green New Deal: strong disagree, the green new deal is SO inefficient, too vague in definition, and lays out a set of goals but with no clearly written, step-by-step plan to get there. The entire ‘how to’ is missing. It’s not cost effective. It’s not issue-specific so much as a re-structrue of the government which is just…..not feasible? A theory is great, but I’m more interested in actions that can actually be passed into law so they can have a real effect, instead of just being some ‘what-if’ scenario which won’t likely ever play out. 

On donations: he’s the least wealthy candidate by like 400% OC he’d take donations I personally don’t give a shit about campaign donations, because if we try to expose the shady shit every candidate has done with regards to it we’d be here until the general election (Warren I’m looking at you)

My problem with Bernie is that he forgoes taking actions that can easily get accomplished in favor of his perfect ‘what-if’ scenario, and that ends up with nothing being actually passed. Like, I’d rather have a watered down version passed into law than his idealistic policy which remains nothing more than a fantasy. Think of it this way: i want guns banned, but that isn’t going to happen in the forseeable future. I have two options: I can change track and argue for universal background checks, or I can scream until my head hurts that we should ban guns. If I scream, nothing is going to change republican positioning. But if I go the magazine path, I might be able to get some on board with the idea and sure we still have a long way to go, but at least a some of the legislation enacts help and now we have a point to build off of. That’s better than sicking to the full “no guns” and thenh having nothing get done. 

also i have personal grudge because his staff holds some of the literal worst people I’ve ever had to work with, and I have met people from Ted Cruise’s office….on the hill it’s pretty much understood that staff is a mirror reflection of how congressmen run their office which…YIKES. saying they are horrible is an understatement oh my god

[elizabethrobertajones]

14x05 watching notes

filed under: episodes that demand a written apology from the writer

Morning, I opened the episode to check it worked and the first thing on screen was dead Maggie, so I guess skip the preamble, let's get rid of that D:

Meredith is going to look after Maggie. Who so far this season has just been the human representation of the :o emoji

-

Er, she's not going to look after us, after the THEN card we abruptly drop into Dean having his beach retirement chat with Sam

A lingering reminder of how Jack would help - if he had his powers - but Sam asks "then what would we do" and cut to Dean being Michaeled. At this point I can't tell if we need to remember 13x23 for Reasons or if they just don't trust us to remember the recent history of the show at all and are catching up people who might have dropped by to see how their favourite guest star, Maggie, is doing.

-

I mean I love her but she isn't the headliner normally :P

-

OH GOODNESS SHE'S THE COLD OPEN GIRL. Maggieee no. She looks so scared. Why are they sending her hunting on her own??? She is a smol scared bean who was not prepared for the apocalypse and surely must be able to find other off-the-radar jobs for a person from another universe in this world that don't involve throwing herself at monsters!

-

She's wearing pink trousers for a stealth mission at night. She makes Sam's orange jacket look like camo

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Also she's recording herself... Maggie... What are you doing........ hon......................

-

I have adopted her, but it turns out I have another stupid child among my many, many stupid children and just once I wish they didn't turn out like this :P

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So she's like, attached a go pro to herself to record her hunt for... training purposes? reporting back to Chief? because she's become an adrenaline junkie after all the time she was nearly eaten by supervampires?

-

MAGGIE

Gad dangit

He was slow moving and you heard him behind you. Swing first, ask questions later, when it's a growling noise in a dark crypt.

-

Has anyone been counting the apocalypse world peeps because I'm pretty sure they're relying on us not to recognise them because they're a crowd. At this point we almost certainly have like 50+ distinct individuals instead of the 25 they purportedly rescued.

I say this because I feel like some of the white guys from the original batch appear to have metamorphosed into a more diverse group

-

Sammy setting homework.

Sorry, not Sammy. The Boss.

Dean comes in to observe class.

Sam immediately sheds all his confidence and goes back to being Sammy. He does seem to have a slight layer of scruff more, or maybe it was just that he was looking particularly clean-shaven last episode out of shock

Dean offers to get him a camp counsellor whistle, and Sam gets even more awkward about hunter check ins. I can see this feeding itself here, with Sam blustering and getting weird about his position of authority in front of Dean, and Dean who is both latching on in a brotherly way, and lashing out in a recently emotionally maimed Dean way, but can't yell at the apocalypse peeps they rescued and graciously allowed to stay because, you know, Michael destroyed their world, so taking it all out on Sam... Unfortunately, Dean being the wounded, irrational party, it's down to him to realise he's being a lil too harsh on Sam OR Sam to stop rising to the bait.

In this case, I would say the ball is firmly in Sam's court, not because he's at any particular fault for instinctively reacting like the needled little brother when big bro wanders in snarking at his attempts to do his job, but because he is the one behaving like the adult already in this scenario when he's facing the AU peeps and being The Chief in a natural way where he's thriving in the environment, and crumpling immediately in the face of this one random element is a clear part of his growth and maturity arc. As it is he's feeding Dean's reaction a LOT by getting embarrassed and changing his behaviour and not standing his ground and continuing to act like a mature adult, and giving Dean the little brother teasing opening he feeds off in the dynamic.

In other scenarios this could flip with Sam doing his best and Dean being a dick who's seeking an opening and trying to get Sam to crack and in that case it would be all on him to correct his behaviour, but in this case, I'm leaning Sam being the problem despite the appearance, because he crumpled just to hear Dean coming up the steps, never mind how it went from there. He's acting ashamed of being the leader, because he knows it's emotionally infringing on Dean territory, as he sees Dean as a natural and more rightful leader, and doesn't recognise his own strengths and skills being applied in spades here; his self-confidence immediately is put under the microscope when he knows Dean is there, and it topples his precarious house of cards of self confidence.

He has also put himself in a position of managing Dean, coming in last episode all, alright champ how's it going? and had a success by a country mile with getting Dean to leave his room, open up, and have some fun, and that's not even comparing it to the same time last season when in 13x05 he completely failed at the same task. He has been working gently on Dean to help him, but he can't when it comes to getting Dean used to having the AU peeps around and accepting Sam's new job there, if Sam acts like it's something to be ashamed of and is too horrified by usurping Dean to focus on letting his instincts talk and continuing to blatantly be a wonderful leader.

-

These AU peeps are also seeing their venerated war hero general just crumple into an insecure mess as soon as his brother walks into the room >.>

-

Sam gets coffee, turns into coffee!Sam (Lizbob's on the record favourite character in the entire show), finally snaps back at Dean about how many hunters he's keeping track of right now when Dean stops needling in a funny way and asks about Sam's health - of course, now it's all built up into Dean bothering Sam so instead of being a nice request, Sam snaps.

It's possible that while Sam now runs the hunters, delegating to Mary and AUBobby and even Dean if he'll accept it, to help keep track etc, will really benefit in the long run.

-

Slick way to work where Cas and Jack are into the same breath as where Mary and Bobby are - rugarou, which is code for off screen case - and throw it all out there as plot and ongoing character work AND the requisite where is Cas comment to keep fandom happy.

-

God, I haven't even gotten around to what I meant to say immediately that Sam dropped down into his codependency seat at the table and Dean is unintentionally mirroring 9x13's final scene of all the many times they've been around this block - off the top of my head but as someone who has been keeping a very close eye for a very long time, I can't think of another significant instance where Sam was sitting and Dean was standing while it got heated.

Of course 9x13 was working very hard to show their divisions, while of course here Sam is just sitting in his Dean Is Upsetting Me chair and Dean's not sitting at the table which just means not engaging with Sam on his level in a very literal as well as metaphorical way - in character, that's a body language dissonance as well as making Sam look up at him. In staging terms, it carries the weight of years of directorial and acting decisions about how to portray the brothers in crisis that I've been noting in case of a pattern.

-

"Yeah, but a war isn't hunting" good grief Sam is making their entire lives sound even worse than ever given they grew up in this and now he's listing off all the stuff they need from the perspective of being the Bobby. I mean, when they say they were raised like soldiers, they're adding in the fact they do zillions of almost completely unsupported 2 man raids into hostile territory with limited gear or recon. The recap at the start, showing them going in to fight the werewolves with an angel and a nephilim on their side, was an easy hunt for a reason and not just because there were 4 of them :P Without that, no matter how many hunters they accumulate, it's always looked like a losing battle because many of these things you'd want to call the national guard on if civilians could be alerted to the danger.

-

See, Dean is acting needle-y but as soon as Sam gets an unnerving alert on his phone he's concerned and asks who it is - remember last episode where he was like don't know don't care about the guy Sam was Bobbying from the car? - and when he says "maggie" ... well, they're all clearly protective of her in particular D:

-

Oh good, the body cams thing was a Sam innovation and therefore a good idea and we can pat his head for it

-

Bobby never had that and I bet he'd have LOVED to keep track of his peeps that way.

-

The other hunters meet up on the last thursday of the month to watch the highlight reel from Garth Cam, BYOB, popcorn provided

-

Nyooom

This shot should win awards for the fuckin horrifying perspective that I, as a non-mountain-dweller, can barely comprehend that it looks like the sky but then you keep on looking up and there's trees in there. Is this something people in big countries are used to? I mean I've seen my share of mountains in Scotland and they're way too cramped to fake you out like that.

You have to understand that in my town, wedged between two cliffy cliffs, the entire old town is like 500ft wide at best before more cliff. There's only 2 directions - up and towards the sea :P  You don't need fancy camera tricks to contain everything... I'm getting agoraphobia just looking at this. I mean I don't think it's intended to cause existential horror but mission accomplished.

-

Dean getting morbid talking about how having a private cemetery would be nice. I mean, they practically need one behind the Bunker after all this time, wherever the final resting place is of at least Kevin and Charlie's bodies as well as anyone else who died in and around there who wasn't dumped in the sewer like Ketch was :')

During day this place isn't half bad, with its whimsical overgrown look, the slanting fence of the bridge to cross to get there, the jungle closing in around the little plot...

But remember, Dean. Beach holiday. Eyes on the prize, man. You and the rest don't get to hang out behind the Bunker for eternity at least until you're all old and earned it.

-

Dean defends knowing what a walker from the Walking Dean is... in 12x15 he was playing with a Negan bat which I assume he still has somewhere, washed off and placed in the armoury :P Sam is at least being a bit more authoritative here in the sense of reeling off info as the Chief in charge of Maggie's fate and knowing her mission etc...

Honestly this makes me feel like the dynamic of Dean drives, Sam rides shotgun can mature too, in the sense that Dean is no longer taking control from Sam - back in season 10 that was very heavily used as part of their toxic dynamic and there's definitely shades of season 10 dynamics on the chopping block around these parts - because Sam needs all the extra time to manage his army from the road, with his hands free to check the phone and read up on everything, while Dean is free to drive and be Dean.

-

Sam being all I FAILED SHE IS DEAD at every turn and Dean being all "hey check it out, drag marks! :D" "but no blood!!! :D :D :D"

-

As a student of analaysisisign things I have no idea what was just implied by Sam and Dean being called back to the surface followed by the sound effect of spooky cold breath, a wonky focus on a statue of a bearded dude and smol cherub, and then being interrupted by a 1900s gardener.

Apron plus hat seems like Michael coding but god knows what it means.

I bet they're actually talking to a ghost but he's so busy just defending the ancestral land that he's passing as a real alive person and it's one of those completely harmless cases where the ghost just lurks around protecting the land, doesn't go vengeful, and wards off people who hang out there... Not that he had much luck with the drunk teens.

-

1900s gardener stands outside, unable to go into the house, surveying it with a weary eye.

The garden is completely and utterly overgrown, almost like no one has gardened it for 100 years, even though there appears to be a gardener on the property.

*rubs chin*

-

1900s gardener gives them one last suspicious look before wandering back to work, significantly enough that we see it with a whole separate shot

what is his deal

why is he dressed like that

-

Does Meredith feel guilty for MURDERING JOSHUA and side note, can we really trust that it was him who got murdered. Maybe he's in retirement dressed in an olde timey shirt and waving antique gardening implements at Sam and Dean for kicks.

-

Considering they improv'd the line about the HPS it's very lucky that Mobby came up with that line - I guess showing how they think alike and all

-

"Just wish you'd checked in with the main office," Sam bobs his head, like, "ME", "before you came out here..."

Yeah, here's the Sam and AUBobby leadership conflict I was hoping for :P

-

Mary asks for a mo and shepherds Sam out in particular, leaving AUBobby and Dean to handle the architect digest subscriber. She's all momsy with her handling of him, and Dean and AUBobby are left to do the awkward small talk - we know AUBobby really doesn't have it as his strong suite, even though it was Bobby's, like in 6x21 where he was the only one to ever say sorry about your mom to the guy. It also means they have to do the blathering while trying to work out any supernatural history on the property in character, while Mary and Sam are designating themselves the ones who can get to the heart of the problem and handle it like the profession adults. I like the implicit trust/respect bond that gives here.

I mean she has it with Dean too I would think but she's spent more time with Sam lately and it's important now to show she's grown such a bond with Sam, as it's been 2 whole years of her being back before they could begin to properly bond due to various issues.

-

"It was her first solo hunt and she was nervous" listen Sam and Dean are like 1000 pounds of muscle and "fuck you apocalypse" experience and they hunt together. Maggie was smol and wore pink trousers.

-

Is. Is smol.

God. I'm turning into Sam.

-

Lol conspicuous blood transfusion bags. Nice gig, to drain peeps and get a nurse to apply the blood directly to you. Is he a vampire with an olde timey set up?

-

Maggiieeee

stealing her boots is just mean.

Does she have pink plaid as well as pink trousers?

My god how did they let her out of the house? She's too cute and innocent for this world.

Or her previous world.

Can we shunt her along one more world to one which doesn't have this much monster trouble even, as she's clearly still not found the AU which suits her best.

-

Heee Dean knocking the mantelpiece and saying the house has "good bones" like he's an expert on houses

The question is, has he watched a lot of junk reality TV about house refurbishment, or is he just faking on the fly

I have not watched enough aforementioned junk TV to call this one

-

Oh, nope, the daughter validates it by saying her grandpa used to say it. Dean has watched enough TV to pass

-

Ooooh AUBobby having a go at Sam for his shoddy leadership of letting Maggie come here when she had no idea what was up.

I'm guessing the help over text messaging may have been a bit more backseat hunting from AUBobby, but he didn't try to STOP Maggie, or tell her to wait while he and Mary dashed up here.

In any case, here's the conflict of leadership I've been waiting for since before the season began :') Unfortunately, Sam shaved off his beard before going toe to toe with AUBobby, so he takes the first round by default of bristliness, as Sam ceded some portion of control back to Dean on Dean's return and this has made him weird and jumpy about acting like the chief in front of his peeps, and now AUBobby's taking the opening.

-

He has such a power stance that Bobby never had

Shoulders back, beard out

-

Dean defends Sam like when is anyone ready to hunt, because from their perspective of course they were as smol-seeming as Maggie and CONSIDERABLY younger when they were plunged into hunting. She's a grown adult! She can handle it! (she may or may not be a mirror to Jack, who is consumptive, and therefore betraying some sort of inherent unreadiness to hunt and a requirement that the smols among you be protected rather than forced to grow up too young and go hunting as a rite of passage, just as Sam and Dean were given their first beers barely in single digits by gnarly hunters)

"A real leader would have seen that a mile away" Yeah AUBobby is too used to leading his peeps - perhaps he liked a semi retirement where Sam was the leader and the world seemed safer and they could hunt like the old days...

-

Mary mediates, splitting up the team in the only way that makes sense, hoping that Dean can defend Sam in absentia (and thus be forced to confront that Sam IS a good and thoughtful leader and to stop mocking him and start defending him) and she can comfort Sam and build him back up as the Chief.

-

Dean goes on such a face journey about this whole thing, from feeling weird about AUBobby to bad about what's going on with Sam to just worried about Maggie and very much taking on that blame for sending a smol out into the field, especially as he has recused himself from responsibility to these people - while fairly taking a mental health break from the frontline as well as competing with how Sam already got there... Anyway that was like 18 distinct facial expressions each with a story and it's too early in the morning... I JUST got my cup of tea and it's still too hot to drink so Jensen's defeated me this round

-

Sam gets comforted by another trenchcoated figure

"Don't listen to Bobby" "maybe he's right" shush.

"THIS IS WHAT HE WAS BORN TO DO"

ILY Mary. She's coming in fresh on adult!Sam, she doesn't even have the feelings about him as she does to smol scared 4 year old boy Dean, especially if we account for postpartum depression making it hard for her to bond with him as per the entire metaphorical structure of the show from episode one to present. Now she's getting to spend time with him - and especially as her only significant time with him BEFORE this was 12x14 aka Bobo's ode to Sam's leadership round 1... Yeah, she sees Sam as this giant gangly admirable leader guy she happens to have birthed.

-

"Bobby can't see that... not the only thing he's been missing lately."

Good grief, Mary in the trenchcoat has been making the eyes at AUBobby all Michael-hatted up and being ignored and rebuffed from her sparkling heart eyes. I wonder what this is a metaphor for, Ms Meredith Mixtape "know who you love" Glynn.

-

Also, Mary feeling comfortable to innuendo her crush on AUBobby to Sam - it really is an adult relationship and respect and emotional trust that I feel never in a million years could just pop up between her and Dean.

Oh boy, this scene is still going.

*Hides behind the secondhand embarrassment cushion* Sam goes there, like, not going to mention it but you - he sounds less bumbling than he has at other points... Sam's awkwardness factor can shoot through the roof to the point where in 3x04 where he attacks those guys and then is like "have a nice day" when they're not demons? I kinda want to reach through the screen and strangle him with my bare hands before he does it just to spare myself seeing it. Also the gifset of that has been on my dash all week, and it predisposes me to loathe Sam's awkwardness. Please god let us get through this in one piece.

Mary is too busy being wistful to realise her son is an awkward bumbling moose who is all misplaced stammering words and wonky legs spinning for traction when he's out of his depth.

-

Aww now Mary is getting to talk about her deal... She thought she had something good going with AUBobby but since they've been back he's been "hunting all the time and won't take a break not even for a second" - the ole bury yourself in hunting to avoid facing trauma or feelings thing. Of course AUBobby may be struggling with the weight of the world he left behind, the people who he couldn't save there and not knowing what has happened to them. There's a lot to unpack with him that hasn't been explored on screen and a lot of it is casting him as behaving in a Dean-like way, while Mary is the "I'll just wait here then" to his coping mechanisms.

-

"There's something on his mind, and he doesn't want to talk about it"

Aforementioned trauma, OR a pun about him being possessed by Michael

yeah I'm harping on it as a half-joke half-kinda want to have it on the record in case I'm right :P

-

"Bobby's not open like your dad"

Mary, you do realise how that sounds to literally everyone else, right? We KNOW you're practically from a 3rd AU aka the past where John was practically the mirror AU to his future self

Unfortunately, Mary is the only person in the room who ever has that particular story, which sucks for her

-

Anyway Meredith has reached some sort of characterising level with these people that I am just in pure awe of

-

"Not like your dad when I knew him"

"Bobby's got walls. Big ones"

I do think it's funny that Mary has essentially ended up crushing on a man who is a John-like parallel to the anti-John mirror that Bobby was, who of course had his own Karen who he was a different person with, who was a Mary mirror, and .... yeah

it's an interdimensional timetravelling wife swap

-

It makes Destiel look straightforward

-

Part of Meredith's skill here is not just accounting for every angle, but also juggling this nonsense

-

Anyway Mary doubting she can get through AUBobby's walls and be the person who has to do the emotional labour to get the guy she wants - if she's ready to put herself out there again

this is NOT a conversation to have with Dean in a million years. Even Sam takes a mo

"I shouldn't be talking to you about this!" she giggles and she and Sam smile and set off again, all touchy feely.

Sweet.

-

Anyway there's another dynamic in these woods.

"You think I was too hard on your brother back there." "He's doing his best. He's doing better than his best." Funny way to phrase it but yeah, Dean can see Sam's levelled up and his new best is this new levels of responsibility and good leadership overall.

-

LOL at how terse that conversation was. Dean points out that Sam could do with a hand running things, makes fun of the beard, no offence, and cut back to Sam and Mary

-

Sam explains Karen to Mary, to give her an idea of what might be AUBobby's backstory too.

"he never had any children?" "no"

Scuse me, that's the line that makes me BAWL every time I watch it. HE DID SO, YOU FOOL. IT WAS YOU AND YOUR UNGRATEFUL BROTHER

I am writing a letter of complaint to the management

-

"Whatever your Bobby" - oh dear, AUBobby is now "your" Bobby, like, they found him first but he's now Mary's :p

Sam is now full on giving Mary relationship advice about how it's worth it to move past those walls and give him a go if she really cares about him.

-

Has he ever had this chat with Cas, or is this just practice

-

"Cas, wait, I really appreciate you came to me with this but I am getting killer deja vu for a second here..."

-

Mary finds a disturbing firepit, Dean finds a creepy hunting cabin. This is about to be a barrel of fun

-

AUBobby... Don't just run off. Poke Dean and POINT AT THE THING YOU'RE FOLLOWING

... Dean, also, have some awareness in your peripheral that AUBobby just legged it

-

Again, way more athletic than our Bobby was

-

That's a human hand

-

Are those real IDs or hunter IDs

-

Oh it all came from one wallet, with the same pic on them all, so yes.

-

"Not one of ours" but part of the wider network/family nonetheless. His bearded look recalls Asa Fox, and there's the unspoken discussion again about sharing resources, if ALL hunters shouldn't be pulled into their network and the word spread that the Bunker is at least a resource, that Sam is there to be the hub even if they aren't all part of the centralised AU hunter squad, and Sam starts Bobbying in earnest for this world as a whole.

Of course they'd never have sent Maggie somewhere that a seasoned hunter had already disappeared.

-

Dean finally realises AUBobby is gone, and immediately gets jumped, with rather less warning than Maggie had.

I like how the man has had time to dress up in a suit from his sick bed, if indeed that is the case

monsters in suits

-

Well that's new

-

Well in 13x14 Meredith wrote Gog n Magog who were a fake out full of sand... Now this monster is a fake out full of ash?

-

Cut to: Old man still in his hospital bed, definitely not attacking people in the flesh

-

Oh dear, his daughter hearing something in the house while earnestly getting on with dealing with his estate makes me pretty sure she's not in on anything and she shouted them out of the house in genuine grief-stress, which I already wasn't particularly doubting.

-

The ole dragging chains upstairs ghost trick, which I honestly wish I could say I have never heard for myself but the ghost next door is not my problem, Victorian walls keep them contained, and honestly if you've been following the saga on random incidental comments on my blog I'm really only inclined to believe in ghosts for the humorous fake hysteria of a moment's entertainment but the odd noises next door late at night really have been going on long enough and yesterday some folk moved in so, you know, first act of a horror movie setting up mere feet away from me, the disinterested neighbour scowling at all the evil poured into the walls of that house by careless landlords and human suffering I witnessed firsthand caused by it >.> Anyway. Unlike this woman I stayed right in this spot instead of wandering around trying to work out where that noise was coming from, because I'm in the house with the wacky backstory where weed dealers sawed through the support beam in the roof and the front of my room collapsed shortly after we moved in :P

-

I'm sorry, but if a ghost opens a door for you ahead of you in the hall, my advice is not to immediately go up to the door and go in

-

SUPERVAMP IN THE ATTIC

-

She does an admirable duck and cover maneouver, only to realise he hasn't chased her. Huh.

Michael's super vamps are super weird.

-

"You're not crazy" Neil the nurse immediately straightens up and eyeballs Sam a lil harder.

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.

PS where is the ghostly gardener in all this because he wasn't the supervamp so

-

this is like a murder mystery puzzle but all the bits are so utterly wild... Dead hunter, Maggie being drained for the "stroke" victim who is also attacking people in a suit while made of ash... supervamp in the attic who won't follow her out of the room she found him in

I mean in all this has no one gone back up to the attic where a supervamp is apparently just LIVING?

He's currently just chilling there while they have this conversation

he's just, like... waiting for them????

-

Dean walks in mid-crisis "You hunt monsters?!" "oh good you told them" He does like when things are all quick and easy and right to the point.

Last episode he cheerfully told Dirk that hatchetman Jordan was coming for them, while Sam blustered over telling Sam even when the EMF was SCREAMING that there was a ghost right in the room with them and the display cases were freezing over.

With Mary's influence at least, Sam is happy to get into telling the full story

-

"Wait time out, there's a dead body on our property?"

THERE IS A SUPERVAMPIRE IN YOUR ATTIC

BIGGER PROBLEMS

-

Dean is entirely brushed down... Like... He must have been brushing ghost ash off of himself all the way back to the house.

-

Sam invokes 8x08 right after I was talking about Fred. Dangit, Glynn.

I feel like Sam is sort of making a jump here, but on the other hand the house isn't under ghostly or vampiric shutdown. The father is here, unconscious, so perhaps projecting and I guess if Sam is wondering how he could be doing it, then astral projections may make sense to some degree... Working out how it all ties together is going to be another huge step though. I know the sell for this episode was partially nightmares and dreams, and we have Maggie in a djinn-like trap and the old man both a sleeping Bobby from 3x10 and also a possible Fred Jones projecting it... The supervamps are something that Dean would have brought here, and "walkers" from the Walking Dead is something the boys could have brought. Which means the other hunter could have been murdered by his own trauma... idk. Why am I trying to piece it together now?

watch the episode, lizzy

-

LOL the daughter just reeling off her dad's "workaholic with textbook narcissistic tendencies" while also herself clearly being the offspring of such a person (is the manifestation of her dad her own trauma?) and hey no doubt that description of the father might come to bear on some of the father/power figures in the episode. Definitely not what Sam is though he's among the mix - perhaps a dark warning of a guy who works himself to death like this and becomes entirely self-absorbed in the process, but Sam just took a minute to advise his mom's love life so he's hanging in there with his sense of self for now. In the sense that a dark arc doesn't seem to be looming for him in such a way as red flags literally followed pre-Mark Dean around.

-

Okay took a LOT of me yelling at the screen but they FINALLY realised there's an unresolved vampire in the attic situation and Sam's going up to check

-

Meanwhile Mary has been separated out in this cursed property to have her own side-adventure with AUBobby

-

Lol the daughter downs some anti-anxiety medication with whisky while Dean sits behind her tuning his knife in a rather grim melody. What a scene.

-

He also has his foot on an armchair like the total troll he was raised as

-

She goes off on one and Dean immediately likes her

"Thanks dad" "no love lost between you two, huh?"

T stands for terrible father

-

"I get it" "not here for a heart to heart" *pause* *launches into a John Winchester Metaphor Of The Hour rant

"But my MOM" *Dean looks up, eyes all vulnerable* "Depression runs in our family" oh booooy

So she found her mom and Dean saw his mom consumed by fire in a way that is still scarring him TO THIS DAY (re: 13x01 nightmare) and this is our first Mary parallel of even a dead mom but one with a personality, and her own problems... Not the temporary insanity of drowning her children like Constance Welch in 1x01, but a woman who had depression and a husband who wasn't there for her... In 14x01 Mary and Sam's discussion revealed how much she was doggy paddling on the surface of all the awful that's happened to her, but this is our real notable parallel to discuss a family history of depression running through Mary's side of the family, which goes not just for Dean (who, like, really has anxiety himself) but also all of Mary's issues, including in 12x21, begging Ketch to kill her at a lowest point before they got her to entirely retreat into herself.

-

Glynn still out for Dean's blood: "the most ridiculous thing is... I worshipped him when I was a kid" Dean is feeling like she took that machete and shoved it in his stomach, as she sits there swigging whiskey and telling him how he feels. "Didn't know any better. He's the only family I have left."

-

"Can I give you a little advice?......... let it go." Oh Dean :')

Emerging from his cocoon, still mostly trapped in there but I think that's a bit of a wing poking through.

"The past is -" *forcefully stops himself from saying "in the past"*

He talks about it as baggage and how every single day he tries to let it go and leave the baggage behind. God he's strong and amazing and working so hard to be the best version of himself.

-

Oh my god who builds the hall up to the attic as part of the crawlspace? This is horrifying on an unnecessary level and I'm writing into that architecture magazine to complain

-

This is the creepiest attic. Who KEEPS these horrifying mementos. Give them to a thrift shop for a hipster to buff up and turn into a conversation piece in their living room.

-

Okay, blood bags and a girl in chains (explains the clinking) are a bit weirder than average.

-

"Sam... it's here" "What?" "It's heeeere" Sam how long have you BEEN in this business?

File this under your panicky first aid to Stuart last episode

-

Sam got ashed just like Dean did. Hm.

It also looked like one of the crazed hunger vamps from apocalypse world more than one of michael's supervamps maybe? It's really hard to keep track of all these :P

-

Oh my god AUBobby has a son, who was murdered by angels. This is terrible D:

Something about the immediate moment of him wandering in... When Bobby went off earlier I was thinking of 7x11 where he saw his younger self. This approach seems almost more like 6x04 and Crowley seeing Gavin for the first time.

Anyway this is of course another way to twist AUBobby around on himself - he managed to get a son, maybe Karen wasn't murdered by a demon, maybe he had a different wife. Whatever it is, it gives us a version of Bobby totally different from ours and also in how he will relate to Sam and Dean - not as the sons he never had, but if he's thinking of young men in the fight...

-

Oh no AUBobby just got stabbed... Er... is this a nightmare or is he just dead?

-

Is AUBobby really going to -

OW

That's more impressive than breaking a crypt scene mental wall to save your loved one. Then again, original flavour Bobby once stabbed himself in the gut to save Dean so I guess he takes a lot of pain for his loved ones, and honestly gathering the strength to pull a knife out... Maaaybe nicer than putting it in???

The fact this is all going down with angel blades as well.

-

I swear to god... Meredith, don't make me watch AUBobby stab a vision of his own son to complete the loop with our Bobby stabbing Karen.

-

"I'm sorry"

*WhOMph grey ash everywhere*

Kinda takes the pure angst out of it at least :P

-

Dean gets a better look. "You're giving him a transfusion?"

Yeah, there's some fuckery at work here, sir. The nurse seems a lot less flustered answering this one which is almost as suspicious as someone who has been non-flustered suddenly getting flustered

-

Dean regrets saying "make me a sandwich before he is done asking. Which is the only reason I forgive that request :P Remember in 1x06 where he was bossing Sam's friend around to get them a beer and a sandwich so they could talk in peace about shifters? God. She KNOWS about monsters it's just that he wants to ask a sensitive question here.

Or punch the nurse in the face over the comatose form of her father.

A nod to her that it's a ruse gets her in on it, though. Female!Dean who is a different mirror than Dirk (though still messed up by a father) gets on his wavelength.

-

AAH He remembered the djinn thing!!! Dean's memory is so good and I love him and he's the best and also Meredith is riffing off 2x20 which is actually illegal, I literally have that written down here in the rules and regulations. Although it does give me my opportunity to remind us all of Dean's long speech about why does he have to be the one to save all these people to John's grave when he was thinking he had to go unwish stuff.

-

Sadly he didn't show up with a knife tipped in lamb's blood so let's see how this goes.

-

Oh my god the djinn's literally thought Dean was Michael the whole time. I have to rewatch now >.>

Well, not now, but.

-

He thought Michael was testing him, and would be back to give him an upgrade, and now he's waxing poetic about the untapped potential of djinn. We're back at season 6, with the hunter compound vs a monster army, except this time the monsters aren't a reaction to the nonsense of angels, they're the direct work of the angel stepping into the place of Eve as the experimenter, his grace vs her black goo. I suppose the weirdness out here is the djinn flexing its muscles with projecting hallucinations.

And I guess that means it hasn't affected Dean except the generic ghost of Mr Comatose over there (apologies to Cas) which I'd assume is part of the generic set up for killing hunters as it was what got Maggie too.

-

The question is, is that Maggie in the attic, or a nightmare for Sam. Wouldn't she be djinned too?

-

"Because of him - because of YOU - I can bring those nightmares into the world" well that's a weighted line >.> Dean's guilt for saying yes,  for these things done with his face. Literally bringing nightmares into the world.

Which does at least confirm that the nightmares so far have been external and we're not IN a dream which has been worrying me.

On the other hand that means AUBobby really did get stabbed that badly.

-

"I highly doubt you have a knife dipped in lamb's blood" I TOLD him.

-

you can't just kneecap the djinn

-

"I am curious, what are YOUR nightmares"

Literally pausing it because Meredith is absolutely horrible and I hate her and she keeps being mean to my boy Dean and I can't handle this and I don't want to know

(I am curious. What ARE his nightmares?)

-

Er excuse me did he just prod his way into finding Michael still in there

Because the other option is that Dean's mind is so utterly scared and scary with all he's been through he literally just out-nightmared a nightmare machine by force of personality.

-

"You don't know my family"

Keep the one liners coming

I'm easily placated by them

-

Cut to: the next morning. He offers his double a chance to get her apology from her father, and books it.

-

Nyoooom back along a CONSIDERABLY less horrifying shot of the same sort of landscape

-

Maggie's back! Everyone loves Maggie. She is the adorable mascot of these people.

Keep the cute pink bunny back at home maybe

Dean gives Sam some affirmation about being the leader of his people.

Now Sam needs to not fold immediately the next time he sees Dean seeing him do something leadery. Deal?

-

Mobby H/C

You know he's vulnerable not because he has his shirt off, but because he has his hat off.

-

These "angel wars" in the AU sound pretty formal.

You know, it would probably be PRETTY HARD to get the average American to fight a war against angels until it's way way waaay too late.

I mean, case in point: we call where they come from, "apocalypse world"

-

"Hunting" "it ends the same." "No." Mary F Winchester puts her foot down. No it ends bloody speeches on her watch! All she has is her optimism but damned if she won't use it!

"I don't know any other way to live" "Then we'll find one"

You are doing a good job and you can save all these dumb guys from themselves.

-

DEAN TALKED TO MAGGIE. HE'S HELPING. HE WENT AND LEADERED HER FOR SAM.

Now have a beer, bro

"She learned from the best, huh? :)"

":)"

-

Awww Mary comes up with AUBobby and they're taking a vacation. Let AUBobby go fishing or something. Good lil Cas parallel Mary fixing her broken warrior with a Donna cabin adventure.

...

Do you not worry a lil about what is out there? Donna comes prepared with a flamethrower.

""relaxing"" """vacation"""

-

Anyway best reason ever given on the entire show for a set of characters not to be in the next couple of episodes, second to "Cas is taking his son out to teach him to hunt some more"

-

Bobby has a clean new formal black mourning cap to deal with fresh memories of Daniel

-

Sam getting the leadership baton from a representative of Bobby who he may see more as Bobby than perhaps he ought. AUBobby says he's not sure he ever had it in him to be a leader, while our Bobby was the undisputed best at what he did and as much as he may have complained, his competency is what Sam is now emulating.

-

Mary being "allowed" to go by Dean. "if you need anything... ANYTHING..." *grabs his shoulder and shakes him* You're starting to turn into the mom in a movie who leaves the kids behind and without supervision they throw a wild party to rebel against you stifling them. SO not the dynamic, but that's the licking a thumb and pressing down a stray bit of hair type momming she's doing all of a sudden.

"Go. Be happy." :')

HUGS FOR THE BOY. That's 2 whole onscreen dean hugs this season.

-

Aww Dean talking to Garth :')

Sam and Dean in synchronicity, talking to ALL their hunter network, not just Jody plus the AU peeps

-

Though. Sam has implemented a buddy system.

Dorky camp counsellor that he is.

-

Dean should get him a ceremonial whistle for Christmas.

-

"Move on from what I - from what we - from what he did"... Dean. Buddy.

Go lie down.

That's some of the most intense blurring of self ever, between Dean's guilt, whatever made the djinn scream in horror to delve his head, and his symbolic blending with Michael as the Michaelsword...

-

"Starting to feel like myself again... almost..." shakes his head and starts heading out to go watch more movies, sad that halloween is passed so no more slashers on every channel

-

"We'll work harder" "how, you sleep 3 hours at night" "then I'll sleep 2" *Dean gives him the NO look*

Well there's a great representation of how their issues mess themselves up and they carve away their sense of self and their health for each other.

-

Seriously. What did the djinn SEE. What nightmares are in my boy's head? Oh god I'm stressed.

-

What happened to the 1900s groundskeeper, Don?

[thatthingcalledfate-phff]

Chapter 16

Lanterns and Diamonds

“I know, Harry. I understand. Dear God-“ Genevieve Williamson breathed out exasperated on her phone while on a call with Prince Harry. “-if you tell me one more time, I am not doing it.”

 “Just making sure.”

 “Bye.”

 And Ginny hung up making Prince Harry shake his head whilst he looked at his phone. He licked his bottom lip before placing his phone back in his coat and looking back at Prince William at Princess Catherine. “Well, Ginny is surely coming and doing it.” He said.

“Well, that’s good news.” Catherine said smiling happily, her hands clapping in front of her. “Now the only question is if she’ll keep quiet about this.”

 “I trust her.” Harry answered looking at Catherine. “I just hope her parents won’t blurt anything out to her.”

 They were stopped by a knock on the door and the three royals looked towards it to see Fred, one of William’s butlers, come in. “Mr. Goetz is here.” He said referring to the goldsmith William had contacted before going out of the room and letting the man in.

 “Your Royal Highnesses.” The man, possibly in his 60’s, said politely as he bowed his head.

 “Mr. Goetz, we thank you very much for coming.” William greeted with a huge smile as he came forward and shook hands with the goldsmith; Harry and Catherine followed the gesture like how most royal would. “I assume you have what I asked for?”

 Mr. Goetz, a bit star-struck by the three, nodded. “I can make a perfect ring. Anything you ask within the week.”

 All kinds of gems, pearls, and diamonds lay on top of the table for the royals to inspect. “I want something rare yet beautiful.” Harry spoke as he picked one fancy red diamond. “This. This is perfect.” He breathed staring at the diamond.

 “Ah. An Argyle diamond, 5 carrats.” Mr Goetz spoke walking towards the prince. “An expensive taste.”

 They stayed for a while more, deciding the best design for an engagement ring. Catherine sighed, “No, I think Isabella is a simple woman.. She’d want something.. classic.” She said looking at the sketch Mr. Goetz had just finished. Harry peeked on the drawing before taking a glance at Catherine who had a very determined look on her face. “The diamond is perfect as it is, we don’t need to alter its shape.”

 And Mr. Goetz started sketching another ring.

 “She’s taking this seriously, is she?” Harry whispered towards William.

 William leaned towards Harry before whispering, “She had been waiting too long a time for a sister in law.”

 “I think the band should be covered with diamonds as well.. Yes, that.” Catherine said from the background. “Harry, look!” she called the ginger who made his way towards them with a smile on his face.

 His smile quickly turned to a grin and he said, “This is perfect.”

 Isabella Clarke had just gotten home from yet another toxic shift on the hospital. Feeling exhausted, she dropped on her couch ready to doze off. As her eyes started to flutter close, she is suddenly pulled out of her state by the loud ringing of her phone. “Bullocks!” she shrieked falling off the couch with a groan.

 However, checking her phone, she saw Ginny’s name flash in it- she looked at her phone for a few seconds confused before finally answering with a very curious, “Hello?”

 “You sound like you have a lot of energy, little bitch.” Ginny laughed from the other line.

 Bella stifled a yawn before apologizing and saying, “It was a rough day at work.”

 “Oh good!” Ginny said as if it was a good thing. “You sound like you need me.”

 “I don’t think getting drunk right now is what I need, Gin.”

 “Ugh. Fine.” Ginny said and Bella can already see the ginger rolling her eyes. “Your mom, surprisingly, invited me for your dad’s sixtieth next week.”

 Bella laughed, seeing the surprise it might have given Ginny to have Bella’s mom actually invite her. “Please tell me you didn’t say anything that can change her mind.” She said knowing the love-hate relationship between Georgia and Ginny. “You say things that scar her.”

 “I’m quite sure she and your dad had done a lot of things that would scar me.”

 “Ginny, please.”

 “They’re a good-looking couple, you know.” Ginny defended and Bella just rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I don’t know if your mom sent invites to Abi and Henry.”

 And with that, Bella bit her lip and thinking about Abi. “How is she, by the way?” she asked.

 “No idea. Last thing I heard from her mom was that she’s currently in France.” Ginny answered. “She’ll come around.”

 “Hopefully.”

 “Anyway, I just called to inform you that I am coming to the party next weekend and to tell you to ask Georgia that I want tequila and vodka.”

 Bella laughed, “I know she won’t comply but I’ll tell her.”

 That week though, Isabella Clarke kept noticing changes. “Mom.” She said exasperatedly one morning as her mother unceremoniously woke her up and practically dragged her to the kitchen. “It’s too early.. and on my day off.” She moaned leaning her head on the marble top island in the middle of her kitchen.

 “I’m just trying to have my baby girl for some bonding.” Georgia Clarke said simply as she took eggs and veggies off of Bella’s fridge. “I noticed that you had been growing too quick.”

 “Mom.” Bella said pushing her head off the counter and looking at her mom. “You’re acting really weird.”

 “Coffee?” Georgia Clarke asked absolutely ignoring Bella’s comment. “I brewed a fresh one.”

 Slowly, Bella nodded but the look of curiosity never left her eyes. Throughout her entire life, Georgia Clarke had never had the time to cook and eat breakfast with Isabella Clarke. It’s either the maids or the nannies handled the doctor which is why Bella developed a sense of independence quite early. However, Bella accepted the breakfast gratefully, not wanting to upset her mother.

 “So, how’s Harry?” Georgia Clarke asked as the two women ate breakfast in front of each other and Bella shrugged. “Did he.. tell you anything?”

 “Uhh. No.” Bella answered looking at her mother curiously. “Is there something I needed to know?”

 However excited Georgia Clarke is for the engagement of the prince and her daughter, she knew that one wrong word to her daughter will ruin the surprise. “About your father’s party..” Georgia trailed off seeming unsure thus making Bella look at her intently. “I mean, is he coming or not?”

 “I think he’s coming..” Bella answered unsure, clearly suspecting something but dropped it- much to the relief of Georgia Clarke. “I haven’t talked to him properly for three days almost. I got a loaded week at work.”

 “So I heard. The November month does that.”

 As her father’s birthday drew closer, Bella felt more and more unsettled by her parent’s actions. And no matter how hard she tries to shrug it off, she could not avoid the thought that her parents are hiding something from her. And so, during her father’s birthday, she is quite relieved that Harry went along with her for she hadn’t talked to the prince properly for almost a week.

 “I swear, they’re acting really weird.” Bella said anxiously while Harry drove towards Georgia and Gerard’s house. “I think they’re fighting or splitting up.”

 Harry, being thankful that Bella is nowhere near suspecting what he’s about to do that night, furrowed his eyebrows pretending to be in thought. “I think they’re not.” He said trying to comfort the extremely anxious doctor. “I think your dad loves your mom too much.”

 Smiling, Bella nodded in agreement. “True.” She said sending a glance at Harry. “It’s just that they keep on hugging me and insisting on family dinners this week. It’s extremely weird.”

 “Maybe they’re just missing you.”

 “I see them everyday in the hospital.” Bella chuckled shaking her head. “There’s no way they’re missing me.”

 Stopping behind a long line of parked cars, Harry turned off the ignition and gave Bella a smile. “Well, I always miss you.” He said and he saw the light pink that flawlessly spread across Bella’s face. “I love you.” He breathed out still getting breathless with the small things.

 And she smiled, “I love you too.”

 The birthday party of Gerard Clarke is extremely private. There are only a few people around- most are prominent doctors that the family had worked and partnered with. Doctor Arthur West happily greeted Bella and Harry like old friends and was talking to them about the new innovations in the medical field. They were joined by Genevieve Williamson, much to the surprise of Isabella.

 “I think that’s amazing. The amount of people it can help and the practicality of it.” Bella responded about a heart pacer Doctor West is talking about.

 And Ginny butted in, “Is it affordable, though?”

 And they continued talking for the rest of the night, sometimes even debating about certain medical diagnosis and practice. However, as the night progressed and people slowly started going home, Harry felt more and more nervous. He can feel the small box in his coat getting heavier and heavier.

 “Just breathe, old chap.” Gerard whispered sensing the distress the prince is feeling as both watched Ginny and Bella laugh just a few steps before them. “I’m sure it’ll be great.” He smiled reassuringly at the prince who nodded back in return.

 “I wanted to do something.” Ginny suddenly said at Isabella before dragging the doctor out of the house and towards the pond- but not before giving the prince a meaningful smile.

 “Wait.” Bella laughed tripping on a rock but quickly catching herself as she followed Ginny. “What do you want to do?” she asked jokingly. “You’re not going to kiss me, are you?”

 Ginny scoffed, clearly amused. “No. Absolutely not.” She said giving out a small laugh as they stood on the dock just by the pond. “Oh, wait. We need the Brady bunch and I have to get something from my car.” She said and Bella just arched an eyebrow. “Just stay here. Don’t move.” The ginger continued before running off.

 Isabella watched as the ginger disappeared back inside the house before turning and staring at the pond before her. She smiled, remembering how she went skinny dipping with Prince Harry on their first dinner. Oh how things have changed. She thought realizing how much had changed and how much they had went through since then.

 Her thoughts was cut off by the sound of feet walking towards her and she looked around to see her parents, Ginny, and Harry walking towards her with what seemed to be unlit lanterns in their hands. “Lanterns?” she smiled as Harry got close to her and handed her a lantern.

“We make a wish, sweetheart.” Gerard said kissing the top of her daughter’s head before handing a lighter towards Harry. “I’ll assist the two women.” He sighed and a hint of sadness is in his voice before turning around but not before giving Harry an encouraging smile.

 “Here, let me.” Harry said softly taking the lantern from Bella and assisting her. “You go first.”

 Bella watched and help Harry light up her lantern before softly taking it from him with a smile. She looked at the lantern curiously and happily while she waited for Harry to light up his own lantern. “Ok.” She heard him breathe out and she glanced at him with a smile. “Now, we make a wish.” He said.

 Isabella Clarke closed her eyes and thought of her greatest wish before softly letting the lantern go with a sigh. She opened her eyes and watched as her lantern slowly rise up to the starry sky. She smiled. “What did you wish for?” she asked as she saw Harry’s lantern catch up with hers. But, Harry remained quiet and so she turned to see him already looking at her.

 He took her soft hands into his slightly calloused ones making the doctor smile. “I know we had gone through a lot.” He started looking straight into her eyes, the brown orbs drowning his blue ones. It felt right. “We’ve hurt each other, I had hurt you, I had made you cry-“

 “-Harry-“

 “-but one day I woke up wanting to be the best man who will protect you, love you, cherish you, and just celebrate every part of you. We may make more mistakes as we move on but I promise that I will hold your hand and I will never let you go.” He cut her off and he can see the tears welling in her eyes. “I cannot be apart from you anymore. I love you very much.”

 Slowly, he let go of her hand and kneeled on one knee on the wooden dock; taking from his coat a black velvet box. “My wish is a lifetime with you.” He said opening the box and Bella softly gasped and tears now freely flowed from her eyes.

 “Isabella Margaret Clarke, will you marry me?”

 And a huge smile on her face appeared as she nodded and answered, “Yes. Yes, I will.”

 They didn’t hear the applause from Ginny and Bella’s parents as the world suddenly seems to only just have them. Harry slipped the engagement ring gently on Bella’s finger before he stood and kissed her lovingly on the lips- his own tears of happiness mixing with hers.

 “I love you. I love you so much.” He whispered over and over hugging the doctor as close to him as possible. “I am so beyond happy!” he laughed before finally pulling her off the ground and twirling her around while she laughed.

 “Soon to be, Mrs. Mountbatten-Windsor.”

The RIng:

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Flood my Mornings: Ian

Notes from Mod Bonnie

This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

See all past installments via Bonnie’s Master List

Previous installment:  Climbing (Bree is a wee terror. And, oh yeah, Claire goes into labor)

July 21, 1951

He was driving too fast, still, and he didn’t care. 

The entire body of the Car had screamed as the tip of the bumper scraped a post box a mile back. Just a scratch—not to say repairing the damage wouldn’t be expensive—but no harm done to the box itself, so he had kept going. 

On a day with clear roads, it would have been nearly three quarters of an hour’s drive from Fernace to the new hospital where Claire had planned to deliver; but the route on this particular Saturday was as plagued as Odysseus’, it seemed. Knowing precisely how precious time and haste were, this day, all of Boston was foiling and delaying him at every turn out of apparent spite. 

“She says to tell you she’s fine,” Marian had said as they very quickly made for the parking lot. “She said her water broke unexpectedly, and that she was getting into the ambulance right that moment, and she’ll meet you at the hospital. And then she said to come as soon as you could but to, um….” and Marian had laughed nervously, attempting the unfamiliar words, “din-na-fash?”

But he did fash, immediately, fully, and at length. It was the Ambulance that had frightened him the most. Surely she would have called Mrs Byrd or even a Taxi if the need were less urgent? 

The thoughts whirled around in his head, diving and pecking like carrion birds as he wove through the streets.

A week and a half early….Was that premature enough to be concerning? Surely not terribly so. No, certainly it was nothing to worry over. 

….Lord but didn’t bairns usually lay quiet for days leading up to the waters coming? Ian had been wriggling and moving about like mad all the night.

Would he—

Would that somehow have made—?

…..Claire WOULDN’T have called the Ambulance, not unless there were something wrong; not unless she were in pain or the babe were in distress….

Jesus.

“I’m coming, mo nighean donn,” he muttered aloud, as though gritting his teeth harder would make it so. 

A Traffic light changed to red and he slammed his foot down on the brake pedal just in time, getting a sounding horn from the vehicle behind him. “DEVIL OF THE SEVEN FUCKING MIDDENS TAKE YE, ” he bellowed back in Gaelic. 

He slammed his palm on the steering wheel for the futility of it. God, if he could only hear her voice, only let her know he was on his way. “Why the hell can they not put Phones in Automobiles?!” he demanded of this bloody great world and century that could find a way to let men FLY and yet not manage the most obvious of useful innovations. 

But by the time the light turned green once more, he wasn’t angry. He was only making vows like never before in his life. 

If she was hurting

If he missed the birth

If something were to happen to either of them

Both of them

Jamie sped faster. Let the law try and give him one of their blasted Tickets. He would not let Claire be alone, this time. 

With a shock, Jamie realized that the woman behind the so-called Welcome Desk was the same that had refused him entry a year ago. He remembered that bell-shaped gleam of jet-black hair. He’d been dirty and near-starving, and she’d had him escorted forcibly out on sight before he could get any word on whether or not Claire worked there. Thank goodness there wasn’t time to waste on renewing old acquaintance. 

 “I’m looking—” he panted, all but slamming into the high wall of the station, “Wife—Giving—birth—Fraser? Claire Fr—Christ—Fraser?”

“Awww, how wonderful!” the woman beamed up at him in genuine, startling warmth. “The fathers’ lounge is on the fourth floor, sir. Elevators are just that way!”

“But where do I find my wife?”

The woman gave a knowing smile that she likely meant to be reassuring. “Just go up the fourth floor, Mr. Father-to-be, and the nurses will get you to the right place, okay? Congratulations in advance!!”

As he skidded in the direction the fickle ninny pointed, Jamie saw a crush of people already waiting to board the Elevator. Casting about wildly, he ran instead for the door to the stairs and bolted up them three at a time, spilling out into the fourth-floor corridor and nearly colliding with passersby as he swayed, trying to get his bearings. He practically lunged toward the nurses’ station when he finally caught sight of it. “My wife—(Pardon, Good day to ye, Mistr—er, Ma’am)—Claire Fraser? They said ye could take me to—?” 

“Follow me,” the nurse behind the desk said shortly, grabbing a stack of papers and leading him down the corridor. She was very handsome-looking, of about Claire’s age, but where Claire exemplified kind, professional efficiency when on duty, this woman exuded nothing but irritation. On another day, he might have pitied her, wondered what it was troubling her or even asked in hopes of being of some assistance, but as it was, all he could think of was BY GOD and all the saints, this woman could hardly walk any slower if she TRIED. 

“Here,” she said tersely at last, opening a door and ushering him inside. He blinked, for it looked astonishingly like his own sitting room at home, save for it was filled with half a dozen men in suits, all smoking or reading newspapers or both. Lounge. 

“I do beg your pardon, Ma’am,” he said, with an attempt at cordiality, “In my haste, I wasna at all clear, my fault entirely. I need only to be directed to the room where my wife is delivering. Claire Fraser? She was rushed here in an Amb—” 

“Fathers aren’t allowed in the delivery suites, sir,” the woman said with an immediate frosty condescension that make him bristle. “I might be able to get you an update on how she is,” she said, clearly implying that it would be the last of her many important tasks, “but you’ll have to stay here.” 

“For how long?” he asked, but he already knew the answer. 

All the men in the room were staring scornfully at him. The woman gave him an equally-withering glare. “Until your wife is finished delivering.”

His fists were clenched. “My name is James Fraser,” he said carefully, quietly, giving her exactly one more chance to help him, “and you’ll tell me at once where I may find my wife.”

The woman recoiled as though he’d struck her. “Did you not hear me? Fathers are not allowed in the delivery suites. It is unsanitary and unseemly and—SIR!! You come right back—MR—Forr—?—FRASER! You stop right this moment! Security? SECURITY!”

He scanned the signs and arrows wildly. He bore left and ran as fast as he could toward Labor and Delivery until a man of nearly his own height caught him round the middle and smashed him against the wall. He swore profusely in Gaelic, getting only an elbow in the ribs for his trouble. Jamie could have taken the man down in a moment, but hurting someone on hospital premises would certainly not help him get to Claire’s side, let alone remain there for the course of the birth. 

“I must see my wife,” he implored the small crowd of nurses and patients who had gathered, the sour, beautiful nurse looking smugly triumphant at the head.“Ye dinna understand, she CANNA be alone. I must be with her—I MU—”

“And as I explained to you, SIR,” the woman said, “it is simply NOT ALLOWED. Hospital policy dictates—”

“MY WIFE—” he snarled, his temper mere inches away from unleashing completely, “—is not a matter of policy, nor is my child, so you’ll take me to them peaceably, or GOD HELP ME, I shall—”

“Mr. Fraser!”

Jamie whipped his head around and—God and Mary and all the saints be praised—saw an archangel in form of Dr. Vernon Reynolds striding down the hall for him. 

“Officer?” the good doctor said politely enough as he drew up level, casting around a glance that sent the onlookers scurrying. “Why are you restraining this man?”

“This—this—IRISHMAN refuses to stay in the father’s lounge, doctor!” It was the wretched nurse who answered. “He just charged down here, shouting in tongues, insisting —”

“I left explicit instructions that a special exception was to be made for the Frasers,” Dr. Reynolds said crisply, managing to convey absolute authority only by looking politely bemused. “Did you not see the note at the nurses’ station?”

The nurse gave a shocked gurgle of displeasure. Dr. Reynolds smiled cooly at her. “Why don’t you go check in on the gentlemen in the lounge, Nurse Kline, and see Officer Gable back to his station while you’re at it. I’ll personally escort Mr. Fraser to his wife’s room.” And before either could object, Dr. Reynolds had put a light hand on Jamie’s arm and turned them smartly down the hall. 

Jamie released a sigh of deep relief, thick and painful from the sudden lump in his throat. “Doctor, Jesus, I canna thank ye en—” 

“Your Claire is doing just fine,” the always-intuitive doctor was already saying, setting them a brisk pace. “The baby has decided to start the process a tad early, but not so early as to be worrying or dangerous, if all else goes well. Heartbeat is strong, the head is in the right direction. Mrs. Fraser is about 60% dilated and coming along steadily. Experiencing a great deal of discomfort, but nothing I wouldn’t expect to see in a woman delivering full-term, vaginally, and un-sedated for the first time. They’re both alright,” the man summarized for good measure, stopping at a juncture and clapping Jamie on the shoulder. “Suite 4B-44, down that corridor and then take a right. I’ll be checking in on you both shortly.”

“I thank ye,” Jamie gasped as he shook the doctor’s hand with both his own and then and began sprinting. “Truly, God bless ye!”

True, it had taken no little fortitude and restraint to reconcile all those months ago with the notion that Claire was to have a MALE doctor seeing to her care—seeing to her most intimate care. But the man had slowly gained Jamie’s trust after that first tense visit (he had delivered Brianna, after all); and in that particular moment, (even despite the barbarous instinct that had momentarily bade him tear the man’s throat out for that casual ‘vaginally’), Jamie could have KISSED Dr. Vernon Reynolds with only good will in his heart. In fact, wheeling around the bend, Jamie found himself making a mental note to send the man some monstrously extravagant gift, after all was said and done. 

4B-40…

4B-41…

4B-42…

4B-43…

He burst through the door of 4B-44 and—

“—JAMIE!” 

He flung himself toward the bed and got his arms around her. “I’m here,” he gasped out, kissing her cheeks and mouth, “Lord, I’m so sorry—I’m here, Sassenach.”

She was fitted out in a cloth smock, her face red and slick with sweat and absolutely broken with emotion as she touched his face and grasped at him, gulping air. “I thought—you would—miss—”

“Not for the world or anything in it,” he promised, leaning his head against hers and running his thumb over her clammy cheek.  “Though with the traffic and all, I feared—Och, now, breathe slow wi’ me, Sassenach, aye?” She was having trouble catching her breath amid the agitation, and that scared him enough to force his own faculties into submission. “….Aye, just like that.….Good, lass….You’re alright, mo chridhe,” he murmured, “…We’re alright….” 

Eyes closed, held close, they breathed, long and slow, and they settled into peace, or as much as could be managed with the machines chirruping the nurses coming and going.

“Bree?” Claire suddenly demanded, looking wildly around. 

“Wi’ the Harpers, for now, and Marian promised to call Penelope and arrange things. But Sassenach, will ye tell me, how did it happen? When Marian said ye’d called for an Ambulance—” 

“My water broke while I was asleep,” she said shakily, squeezing his hand. “I woke up right as the surge came and with it these—” she shuddered, “—HUGE full-force contractions and it scared me so badly, and… When I got myself up there was blood on the mattress.” 

She closed her eyes and clutched him fiercely, and he knew exactly why that sight should have led her to call the Ambulance at once.  “Ye did exactly right.” He kissed her temple before drawing back and looking her in the eye. “But the only thing that matters is ye got here, and Dr. Reynolds says the babe is just fine. All is well.”

“Yes,” she repeated as though to convince herself, “all isJEEESUS-H-ROOS—AGHHH—” 

“CLAIRE?!?!” 

Her entire body had thrown itself into a seizing, contorting spasm in the space of a single moment. She was crying out in great pain, her grip on his hand now tripled and getting stronger. He gripped back, completely undone with panic and not having a single clue what to do. “What can—Call for the doctor!” he demanded of the nurse at the other side of the room.

“No need, she’s alright,” the woman said reassuringly. “Just a little contraction, is all, nothing to worry about.” 

“Why don’t YOU come bloody try it, if it’s so LITTLE?” Claire suddenly snarled, glaring at the woman through the pain like a beast straight from the gates of hell.

“Oh, I’ve had three of my own and that’s plenty,” the woman said cheerily with a grin at Jamie, completely nonplussed. “But I’ll go give Dr. Reynolds an update all the same and be back in just a few minutes.”

Claire growled something shocking after her as the door closed, and despite the fear and the absolute shock of witnessing what just one ‘little’ Contraction was doing to her, Jamie burst out laughing and even Claire grinned, though all mirth vanished almost at once as Claire’s back arched and she hissed, groaning and squeezing her face tight in pain. 

Then, just as suddenly as the attack had come, it abated, and Claire fell back fully on the pillow, gasping and spent. 

“Dear Holy God,” Jamie swore, laying gentle fingertips on her brow and her shoulder. “That was—God, Claire…” 

“I’m alright.” HE wasn’t. He was absolutely terrified, but she squeezed his hand with a weak smile. “Remind me again why it is I wanted to do this without sedation?” 

“Damned if I ken,” he said sincerely. 

In the serene green-painted walls of Dr. Reynolds’ office months before, it had seemed patently and abundantly obvious that of course, Claire should not be placed into a death-like state, now or ever, but certainly not with the bairn inside her. Now, anything that could spare her that kind of pain seemed absolutely and imminently necessary.

“Too late to do anything about it now,” she said, anticipating his next line of thought. She winced sharply and Jamie jumped. “No, it’s not another one. Ian’s just kicking a lass while she’s down,” she groaned with a weak smile, rubbing her belly. “Get on those ‘how to be a gentleman’ lessons pronto when he gets here, alright?” 

Ian. Lord, in all the worry over Claire in her pain, it had been easy to overlook the reason for it all, the worry for him, too.  Lord, that he might be safe. 

But he managed to rasp out a bark of a laugh, keeping up the buoyant hope and gripping her hand overtop the same spot. “Straightaway.”

He had once told Claire that he was glad that they mightn’t ever have children, for he wouldn’t wish her to be subjected to such pain and danger.

 I can bear pain myself, he had said, holding her close at Lallybroch, his heart secretly breaking despite his noble (and no less honest) declaration, but I couldna bear yours. That would take more strength than I have.

It did take more strength than he had. Far, far more. 

He knew it was a hard birth even without having personally witnessed one before. The Contractions were absolutely nothing compared with what ripped through Claire once Dr. Reynolds had her pushing in good earnest. To see her thus subjected, to see her in such excruciating pain… 

Jamie coaxed and soothed and begged her to breathe, but God, there wasn’t a damned thing he could truly do other than bear witness to her agony. A fitting atonement, in the end, he reflected. 

Jesus, how he scorned those men sitting drinking coffees in the lounge. How could any man sit within a stone’s throw of his woman going through such anguish and CHOOSE to lay about and smoke rather than be by her side? ….True, even in his own time, it was rare for a man to be present during the birth, but even so! It made his blood boil for the cowardice of men to always be hiding from their wives’ pain.

No, as much as it tore his heart out to hear her screams and to feel each wave of pain that coursed through her, it was his duty and honor and privilege to hold her, speak what words he could to her, pray what prayers he could utter, all at her side. 

Hours passed, HOURS of this torture in Claire’s body, and he truly didn’t know how she could withstand it. She was strong and fit, and made of tougher fiber than any other woman he’d encountered, but Jamie didn’t know if even he could have borne the like for so long a period of time. The babe seemed to be tearing her apart from the inside, and his fear for the both of them was so acute as to drive him mad as the evening darkened. 

Oh, but at last, Claire’s cries and the doctor’s directions rose up together in a massive crescendo of sound, her body seeming to ripple as though ready to shatter. 

“One more push, Claire,” the doctor shouted with the kind of command that won battles, “NOW— hard as you can—” 

That final scream was the sound of hell itself. 

Then, the world shifted, and those next seconds were perfect and eternal. 

A whoosh of breath and liquid and a great, grating gasp and Claire’s entire body seemed to collapse. 

Sounds of excited triumph; the doctor moving quickly to the table at the end of the room. 

A little boy! someone proclaimed.

Claire was prostrate with the sudden relief of deliverance, her head lolling on his shoulder, back heaving against his chest. She was beaming, though, faint laughter pouring from her throat even as she struggled to keep her eyes open. “Jamie….” 

“Oh lass,” Jamie cupped her cheek and held her close against him, his incredible, strong wife. “He’s arrived,” he gasped, “Ian’s—”

An uncanny dread struck them both and they straightened to look where the doctor and nurses were huddled. Their murmurs crossed the room and struck like bullets though all their backs were turned, hunched over the babe.

“What’s amiss?” Jamie demanded at once, leaping to his feet. “Is he alright?” 

“—cyanosis soon—” 

“—Call NICU—”

“He can’t breathe?” Claire’s voice was a shrill scream and Jamie’s chest seemed to cave in. “He can’t—?” 

“CALL NICU, NOW!” Reynolds bellowed again, oblivious to anything else, and his team went running. 

“No—no, no, no—” Claire was utterly dissolving. He fell toward her, words completely failing him. He covered and wrapped her in his arms, that he might shield her. “Jamie,” she pleaded in a cracked, sobbing whisper, her fingers shaking uncontrollably on his neck. “Jamie….Please….” 

I canna, he tried to say, but he couldn’t even do that. He couldn’t save his child. He could do nothing except hold her as she began to wail, a sound the like of which he’d never heard before, that cut him open to the marrow. 

He would bear this for the both of them. He would wrap his body around this pain and HE would carry it. 

Please, God, 

Do anything you wish to me. Send me to the war, take my sight, take ME, NOW, but don’t take him.

Spare our son.

And then Ian Henry Fergus Beauchamp Fraser let forth a cry to wake the spirits.

The group was still huddled together, but their voices were soft and easy with laughter and calm over the heart-rending cries of the babe. 

“He’s alright,” said one of the nurses, running over with eyes intensely earnest and putting a hand on Claire’s shoulder. “Screaming is good—VERY good! He’s okay.” 

Claire closed her eyes and covered her face, her entire body shaking with silent sobs of devastating relief. Jamie kept his hands on her, but his eyes fixed on the group seeing to the child, his pounding heart still refusing to believe.

Reynolds suddenly boomed a great, muffled laugh. “I just remembered your big sister’s birth day, little guy! Scaring the living daylights out of people from day one must run in the family!” A murmur of low words to a nurse, then he spoke again in a soothing baritone, carefully pitched loud enough for all to hear, “Yeah, you’re alright, buddy….Got your breath now, and everything else is looking good. Just give us another minute to get you cleaned up and we’ll get you right over to Mom and Dad, okay?” 

Jamie all but collapsed into Claire, then, surrendering to weep with her, just for a time. Neither of them spoke. The relief and the joy was too great, but they each knew what their Heart was thinking, was feeling. He kissed her lips. She touched his cheek. 

“Mr. Fraser?” Reynolds said suddenly, his voice no longer muffled. 

Jamie jumped to his feet, staggering a bit and running a sleeve across his eyes. The good doctor still had his mask on, but his eyes were smiling as he held out the blanket-wrapped bundle. “Would you like the honor of introducing this little guy to your wife?”

Honor. The good doctor had not the faintest idea of just how great was the honor, the joy, the exquisite gift of reaching down and lifting his newborn child into his arms. 

“Ian…” Jamie wept, gasping in great heaving breaths as he pressed his cheek to his son’s forehead, as he kissed him. “Tha gaol agam ort, Iain, a bhailaich.” 

The tiny lad was red all over and screaming inconsolably, his arms windmilling about, untucking the blanket in which he’d been wrapped.  Jamie felt the blades cleave his heart to see those bitty wee fists shaking in terrified abandon, to hear his son's cries, so utterly desolate and lost, with no hope–

“Dinna fash, a chuisle,” Jamie begged as he turned toward the bed, staring rapt into the boy’s face, sheltering him from the harsh Electric lights with his hand. “It’s alright, aye? Everything’s alright, now. You’re going to meet your Mam, and—” He could barely speak, but he managed to smile, his heart broken with loving them. “—and she’s going to make your life—absolutely wonderful, I promise.” 

And if picking Ian up in his own arms had been a gift beyond imagining, laying him down into Claire’s and hearing that exquisite sound of love escape her as she cradled him was—everything.

“Hello, little darling….” Claire choked out in barely a whisper. She curled her body over her son. “I’m so glad to meet you.” She brought him up close to her face and kissed him again and again as he cried, letting her own tears bless him. “I love you, Ian,” she breathed, “….Oh, sweetheart…. Mummy loves you so much….”

Without taking her eyes away, she pulled down the neck of her gown to give the child her breast, guiding him with an expert hand. The babe’s cries silenced at once as he latched on, and her sharp gasp of surprise and delight echoed in the sudden silence. Her soft, tearful laughter as she beamed down at him, nourishing him, speaking love over him —

“Jamie? Jamie?” Claire was saying, touching his arm urgently. “Are you alright, love?”

He had gone to his knees beside the bed, weeping so brokenly it was physical pain to keep any sound from escaping and disturbing this peace. 

Something had healed within him, to see a child at her breast, something so deeply broken and scarred in his heart that he’d thought it a permanent part of him. The gnarled edges had blazed with light, leaving scarcely a trace behind.

Without a word, she took his hand and pulled him up beside her onto the bed. He tried to say her name—to ask? to tell? He didn’t know for sure, but it didn’t matter. Claire’s kiss on his mouth. Claire’s soft syllables, crooning to him, and his cheek cradled against her shoulder. Her hand reaching for his, the one she’d healed, bringing it to cup Ian’s head against her breast.  Those things were sure. Those things he would remember until the day he died. 

[sapphicscholar]

hey so i have a stupid funny prompt that popped into my head, could you write sanvers watching taxi brooklyn together, cue alex not seeing the uncanny resemblance between her and cat, maggie continually telling her, and maggie criticizing everyone lol

Here you go! It’s also posted on AO3 if anyone would prefer to read there (or if other folks have watched Taxi Brooklyn and want to commiserate there in the comments). Fair warning for spoilers for the show and pure crack ahead.

It had all started with Maggie coming home from work excitedly declaring that she had found a new show for them to watch. “Babe! I found your TV twin!” she had insisted, holding out her phone to a skeptical Alex, who had refused to admit any resemblance. “When you see her in action, you’ll see it,” Maggie maintained.

Which is how they found themselves curled up on their couch one rainy Saturday morning, intent on binging several episodes. During the first episode, Maggie insisted, time and again, that the resemblance was truly uncanny. Refusing to budge on her position, Alex shook her head. “Absolutely not! Look at how short her hair is!”

“Babe,” Maggie whined, “you’d look like her with short hair.”

“I don’t wear that much plaid.”

“But how great would it be if you did? Also, maybe you should give that open-flannel over sexy ribbed tank top thing a shot…just saying, it’d be hot.”

“It’s hot on her. On me…no, I’d look funny.”

“That’s so not true. Also, I’m totally shipping your character with the ME. I think they’d make an excellent couple.”

“You’ll ship any two pretty women who talk to each other,” Alex retorted, feeling more than a little proud of herself for having remembered the definition of shipping after learning all about fandom from Maggie. “Plus, she’s not my character!”

Maggie just sighed loudly and rolled her eyes; she’d get Alex to see it eventually. As she focused more on the plot, though, Maggie grew increasingly frustrated with their depictions of police work. “You can’t just commandeer a taxi!” Then, a few minutes later: “You don’t just go with your gut! God, Alex, your character is a terrible detective!”

“She’s not me!” Alex shot back.

By the time they got to the third episode and Annabella was introduced, Maggie cackled, “Oh my god! Cat even has her own Vicky Donahue!”

“What do you mean? They’re just friends, Maggie.”

“Yeah…just like you and I are gal pals that share a bed and casually fuck but just like BFFs do, right?”

“Not the same.”

“They’re talking about practicing kissing, for god’s sake!” Maggie yelled, nearly upending the popcorn in her excitement to make her point.

Alex paused, rewinding to hear that scene again. “No!” she countered. “They were practicing kissing the same neighbor boy! That’s totally different.”

“You know it’s just one stop short of turning to each other and cutting out the middle man. Literally.”

“Speaking from experience?” Alex asked, arching an eyebrow as she paused the show and turned to regard Maggie more closely.

“What? No…”

“That’s a big yes.”

“It’s a no…just, well, a nuanced no? There are a lot of straight girls in college who really want to know what it’s like to kiss a girl and all.”

“And you were only too happy to satisfy their curiosity?”

“I satisfied something.” Maggie preened as Alex scowled. “C’mon, you love me.”

“You’re okay.”

“It’ll do. Now hit play! I need to find out what happens.”

By the sixth episode, both Maggie and Alex had grown quite vocal in their commentary. It helped that they had begun drinking after lunch—just beer, but enough to loosen their tongues.

“You can’t just take your friend to interview a serial killer! No captain would allow that!” Maggie yelled at the screen, tossing a handful of popcorn, even though she knew she’d be the one to vacuum it up later.

“It’s a show,” Alex whispered, pressing kisses to Maggie’s temple and stroking a hand through her hair.

And to her credit, Maggie did let that particular point go in favor of complaining as soon as she first suspected that the new serial killer might be a woman. “Statistically that is so unlikely. And are they really going to make the killer a queer woman? That’s so rude. I mean, yeah, I’d be in love with Cat too.” In response to Alex’s glare, she added, “Because she looks so much like you, duh. But we’re not all villains! When is television going to do right by us?”

“I thought the biggest problem was all of the shows that kill us off.” Alex tilted her head to the side, trying to remember the list of dead lesbian characters Maggie had once rattled off to her—Dana, Tara, Lexa, probably more names ending with ‘a’s too.

“Well, that’s its own separate issue. But also TV shows somehow think it’s gonna be a big plot twist to have some crazy jealous, possessive lesbian who goes crazy and murders her ex or some girl she’s in love with even though they’ve barely met or something. It’s rude. I hate it.”

“Do you hate it more than the bury your gays trope, though?”

Considering it for a moment, Maggie shook her head. “No. If they’d get a little more innovative with it, I wouldn’t mind the gay villains. Very campy. Lots of history there. But stop having us do the same damn thing over and over again. We literally fill the halls of English Departments and MFA programs and art schools! We’re more creative than they give us credit for,” she huffed.

Once Maggie was vindicated in her suspicions about the show, they took a break to get themselves another round of beers and make out for a while to “make up for the lack of overt queerness on the show,” Maggie had insisted, though as they let the seventh episode play, she went back to insisting that Cat was quite clearly a lesbian.

Alex laughed it off, until the show cut to a scene of Cat making out with Rhys and looking terribly uncomfortable as she pulled away, finding that she just couldn’t do it. “Well…that is a bit familiar,” she chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly.

“Danvers, she is literally you – those are your mannerisms!”

Alex shook her head at Maggie and looked back at the screen just in time to see Cat transition seamlessly from aggressively making out with Rhys to pinning him on his stomach. “What the fuck?” Alex laughed.

“Oh my god…was she trying to peg him?” Maggie cackled. “If this isn’t proof that Cat is as gay as you are, I don’t know what is.”

“I think she was trying to arrest him?”

“That’s not fun. Unless it’s role play,” Maggie added with a wink.

“But they wouldn’t really imply that she was trying to, you know…would they?”

“It’s based on a French film,” Maggie shrugged. “Plus, I bet Gregg was into it.”

“Ew, he’s so gross.”

“True. But also you and your doppelganger are also both so gay.”

“We don’t look alike,” Alex huffed. “Seriously, she’s got more freckles than I do. And her hair is lighter. And shorter. Also, I feel like we’re built differently.”

“Freckles can be covered with makeup. Hair can be cut and dyed different colors. And as the person who is perhaps most intimately familiar with your body and your build, I’m telling you, you’re totally twins. Also, you act similarly.”

“You were just calling her a bad cop!”

“Okay, not like that. I mean, she’s not following procedures, but I’m talking about your temperaments. You’re both a little…angry?”

“You’re not helping your case.”

“I meant to say passionate!”

—

As the credits for the twelfth episode rolled, Alex clicked play to go on to the next episode, only to find that an entirely new show began. Grumbling, she clicked back to the main menu to get back to their show, only to find that episode 12 was apparently the last episode of the season. “Mags!” she yelled to Maggie, who had gotten up to find some dessert. There was nothing like staying on the couch all day to tire them out.

“What?” Maggie yelled back, making her way into the living room balancing a box of cookies and a carton of vegan ice cream.

“Where can we stream season two?”

“There isn’t a season two.”

“Excuse me?”

“It got cancelled.”

“So you’re telling me that we’re never going to know what happens? Will Gregg get arrested? Will Cat get arrested? Is Leo’s roommate okay? Is his family okay? Is Cat’s mom alive? Was she on the boat? Is Annabella going to jail? Oh my god, there are so many fucking questions! Why would you let us watch a show that got cancelled?”

“You said you didn’t even like the show that much,” Maggie tried by way of a defense, though she had to admit, she’d expected a more satisfying ending too.

“Just because it’s not my favorite doesn’t mean I don’t want to know how it ends!”

Maggie’s face suddenly lit up and she nearly threw the desserts in her excitement as she began gesticulating wildly—one of the surest signs that she had crossed the line from tipsy to drunk. “Oh my gosh! Wait! You already look like Cat, then we can get J’onn to shapeshift into Leo and find people who look enough like the other characters—no! Wait! J’onn can play them all! Except Cat, because you already look like her. And we’ll create our own finale to answer all the questions!”

Alex burst out laughing only to find that Maggie had dropped off the desserts and already had a pen and notepad in hand. “Okay, first question,” Maggie began. “How long into this finale do we have to wait for you to come out?”

[messymagician]

The Devil’s due

Sarah (Arcana OC) X Julian (Arcana) Follows the main plot story, with changes. 2.5k words. ________________________________________________________________

Chapter 3 : Theatrics.

It's barely any time at all before their meandering stroll leads the troublesome duo to their destination. A small spark lights in Julian's eyes; a beaten up and scruffy looking shop sitting quietly beside the street. It feels old and weather-worn, the windowless walls already carry a small air is mysterious security. Sarah mused quietly to herself, intrigued by why a 'teahouse' would be so closed up. Though she had suspicions that this wasn't really the type of place Julian's prior description would actually be.

What once might have been a gorgeous display of fresco style art was now worn and dilapidated. The paint strokes having cracks following thin lines and heavy discoloration of their 'romantic' scenery. "So it is still standing." He barks almost triumphantly, making Sarah giggle silently in her head. "I used to come here all the time, back in the day. It was an irresistible spot." His looming figure leaning just a little closer over her hadn't gone unnoticed. "High ceilings, great ambience… little booths, tucked away~" The innovation to his words made her shrink; desperately resisting the urge to turn beetroot red by staring ahead at the building in fascination. "And underground. You could lounge around for hours, just talking. And we, ahh, I've been meaning to say, we do… we do need to talk"

Do they really? Haven't they been trying to talk all morning? Not that Sarah has had much of a say the entire day so far, including this morning when they had left the house. And 'Just talking.' Why did she doubt that? An enclosed space likely containing some form of purchasable liquor was bound to rile some folks up and attract the secretive sort. Though, just thinking about it, that does sound awfully Julian… a renewed sense of danger tingled across her shoulders but it wasn't a frightening flight or fight response. Eagerness, perhaps? A willingness to adventure let's say.

He pushes lightly on the wall and it creaks angrily open. Not sounding rusted or underused despite the aged appearance it held, no dust flying from its hinges. Julian ducked under a low wooden beam while Sarah merely needed to briefly raise a hand to make sure she didn't catch her hair on any rough edges. She squints in the dark staircase, eyeing Julian's gloves as he tries to pry open a stubborn-looking iron door. Eventually managing to get it to budge aside before putting a palm on Sarah's shoulder and leading her in. "After you, my dear."

The atmosphere is immediate and undeniable. While it's very dim it isn't badly lit. Lanterns hang from old ropes here and there while all around them drape loose moth bitten cloths. Alongside them, the ceiling sports long dropping fabrics of bold complicated patterning and design. There's a heavy air fighting between smelling comforting and smelling boozy. The actual walk space is narrow, Sarah's hands instinctively appearing up at her chest in anxious support. All around them sit strange and unique looking artifacts and random piles of what might seem like junk to someone who didn't know better.

Julian, pushing her ahead slowly, regularly stops her in her tracks to check around an upcoming corner. Each time he leans over her head She catches herself looking up at his chin, trying to figure out what in particular he's looking for… 

It eventually hits, lighting a little bulb in her head. There are voices in here… as much as she tries to see the confined spaces and thin walkway make it impossible to tell where anyone is; though she's absolutely certain the place has other people in it. Julian's eye wanders from searching, down to Sarah's sweet if a little aimless look of confusion. "Well… this is all very unlike the way I remember it-" he assures quietly, not that she quite believes him. This place has his name all over it, from the awkward spacing to the dark but cozy atmosphere. "The place must have gone under… that's a shame." He sighs, heavily, a nostalgic look in his single lantern-lit eye. "They used to serve this smoky tea that I haven't been able to find since."

He sounds disappointed… yet keeps leading them further into the fray. More interesting items passing by as she finally takes note of a few to try and identify their use or origins. A big metal moon, clearly hammered together roughly, with a wise and timeless smile. Large swaths of fabrics laid haphazardly over a very high-backed chair. Many weapons, mostly a cluster of shiny tipped spears and a few open chests of assorted trinkets like messy feathers and old worn brass bells. "It seems to be some kind of… oddities… antiques… artefacts? Emporium." He drones out before she could say the same. "How embarrassing… it's still cozy though."

A hand had drifted idly down to her hip, which she hadn't noticed until he pulled just a little, tugging her closer. The raised brow and wide smarmy grin he wore made her snort; quickly covering her mouth from the awful noise and pushing him back away with faked anger. He goes to do it again when something catches his eye, causing it to widen. "Now what have we here…" Sarah, tracking his line of sight, looks over to a large mirror. The glass old and dusty, it's surface speckled with mold. And perched atop it… is a doctor's mask. Much like the one she'd watched him relinquish the night before.

He snatches it from its place, almost as if to hide it, while her perceptiveness catches sight of boots coming from behind the mirror. They too vaguely resemble the high leathery boots Julian has on, causing her brow to furrow. "What's this? It's not really a medical mask, is it?" He fumbles curiously to himself while examining the long bird-like apparel. Tapping its beak, peering intrigued into its glassy eyes, before flipping it over to look inside. "We used to stuff the beak with-" 

"Herbs!" She finishes quickly, a sudden jolt wrestling with her shoulders. "R...roses and camphor…." Her voice is barely over a whisper but the initial outburst must have been of quite a surprise as Julian stares at her with a wide eye. "It's… not a real mask. The lining is too thin, and it wouldn't cover the face properly... Those eye holes are too ornamentally shaped-" her hands reach over to point out the flaws, leaving him speechless in their wake. Just staring at her for a moment before all the colour goes to her cheeks and snaps him out of it.

"Er- yes- you're quite right I… didn't expect you to know quite that much about…" He frowns down at the fake mask. Looking into its sightless gaze in silent contemplation before Sarah swiftly changes the subject, feeling her ears burn red.

"Can you hear that?" There's a brief pause, both straining to catch what she meant. "Voices…" Another silence...And then it finally catches up. She wasn't lying, there are for sure sounds coming from nearby. The previous conversation seemed to have derailed Julian's cautiousness; which was now back in full force. His whole body beneath the angular clothes that widen his frame goes unmistakably stiff. She was sure should his gloves have been off she'd see his knuckles grow white from the pressure they were gripping the mask with.

"Yes." He hissed back, a notch quieter than her inquiry, nodding just past a long drawn curtain. "Coming from…. Over there?"

The soft background buzz of idly chatter quickly cascades into a mournful wail. It gives both of them quite the start, but… something about it puts its sincerity to question. It was warbling and almost tuneful. Comically fake sounding and very over the top. "Sounds like somebody's faking it." He huffed, halfway between relieved and unnerved. Fixing the false mask securely over his face much to Sarah's surprise. As if out of habit, almost, completely auto-piloted. 

Curling a free hand around hers he slowly holds the other up to the beak of the mask as if gently shushing her. Pulling her along towards the sound of the cries taking care to not knock over empty bottles that littered the floor. Towards a distant heavy-looking pair of curtains. They were drawn tightly, only a small gap, widening from top to bottom. Dust particles danced excitedly at the sharp beam of light coming through from the other side. Peering through, the source of the hysterical wails, from beside a heavily torn cradle on the other side, was… an actor.

Sarah's shoulders dropped at once, a heavy but silenced exhale of relief parting her lips. Taking a second to collect herself before peeking back through. The man too wore a mask, though very different from Julian's. Porcelain and only half-covering with exaggerated streaks of mascara that were smudged from 'anguish.'

"Wait up in my room? On my birthday?!" He mourned, loudly, "What do you expect me to do all night in here? Clomp around in my hooves? Beg the busboy for table scraps?! If I can't disgust anyone doing it, what's the point?"

"Oh my god." Breathes Julian, trying to hide his sneering expression with an even bigger grin. "That's fantastic, it sounds just like him." Him? She looked again out at the 'distressed' man, pouring his heart into the role of an angry, vengeful, and pompous bastard. Was that supposed to be...

"Count Lucio?" She whispered, still unsure of that answer, as Julian leant a little further toward the curtain. This must be a theatre! She didn't even know Vesuvia had a theatre. Even without word of it around town, the seats appeared to be absolutely packed with an audience. Laughing along to the cheeky dramatization of their former count. It seems to be quite a popular thing in this part of town.

"Well I'm glad to see the arts are flourishing. A renaissance may have begun while I was away." He cheered before looking suddenly quite stricken. "But… if this is about Lucio on his birthday then…. You don't suppose this is a show about the murde-"

Much like the rest of today Julian's thoughts never come to completion as everything goes wrong at once. The audience's roaring laughter is just barely outshined by a heavy sandbag that lands with a THUD between them, the curtains starting to close. During that same second the speeding rope quickly catches around Julian's ankle, hoisting him effortlessly high into the air like a deer caught in a trap. Sarah's eyes squeeze shut at all the sudden movement but when she dares open them again quite the sight is ahead of her.

Julian. Suspended upside down on stage in front of a silent crowd absolutely frozen for at least a heartbeat. She can see the split second it takes for him to plan his next move before he thrashes wildly. Wriggling like a snake caught by a bird; something small and shiny flying from his boot. Something he just barely has time to catch, a knife. With a hard grunt of effort he swings up to fold in half, only just managing to grab the rope at his ankle and swipe wildly, severing it- Falling clean out of the sky with a hard 'whump'. Not onto the stage. But rather Count Lucio's lap, the both of them looking mighty caught out.

"....Doctor Devorak! Here to cure my boredom!" The actor for Lucio cheers after a tense pause, rolling with the occasion despite its unusual nature. The crowd adores it, exploding into shrieks of laughter and applause, while Julian appears visibly nervous. Sarah can see his throat bob uncomfortably with a hard swallow.

Unable to watch, knowing he'll be more than embarrassed, Sarah backtracks immediately. Only getting a turn away before pacing densely back and forth without thinking. Oh my god what the hell just happened. Oh no he's going to die of anxiety-she should have done something about it! What would she even do?! Feeling jittery and suddenly confined she flees for the exit. Retracing their steps mindlessly in a speedy trot. Managing to get free of the building and immediately press herself against the stone cold mural of the wall.

Why would there be a play about the murder!?

That's awful. A real murder not even a made up one… and worst of all nobody has a clear memory or story of the event! She begins to pace immediately once again. Debating whether to run further away with a growing bubbling guilt. Luckily only a few steps into the pacing… 

"Sarah, there you are. What a trip, I'm still one foot in the meta realm." Comes Julian's usual comedic attitude as he fumbles noisily out of the door. Clearly just a little disturbed by what happened. "Well… the good news is nobody seemed to think it was really me." He huffed, sliding some messy locks of hair out of his working eye. "Was the neighbourhood always this sceptical? Probably…"

Realising that even here, where he is comfortable enough to walk the streets, Julian is a wanted criminal Sarah's face goes pale and shaken. The sight makes his smile drop a little. "So that wasn't what I had in mind…. Let me try again." An exasperated sigh escapes her tired mouth before both of Julian's gloves take her hands and hold them steady. Looking forlornly down into her eye, obviously asking for yet another chance to go somewhere.

Her feet hurt and heart was still hammering unhappily, but she took a deep breath and squeezed his hands softly. "I'd like to head to the raven for a bite… If you'd be so forgiving as to join me?" Owwhhhh, her weakness. Being polite. She puts on a clear pout to let him know she's unhappy, one he responds to by looking fairly embarrassed. But…. She doesn't say no, instead rolling her eyes. "My treat, of course. And… after that-" His thumb brushed over the top of her knuckles, almost forcing her to melt on the spot. "A… nice walk down to the docks. How does that sound?"

"It sounds like you're buttering me up." She grumbles, though not aggressively, avoiding eye contact for a good minute. Perhaps it would be a good idea. a free dinner and…

The idea of heading home felt like something to avoid. The thought twisted her stomach. She'd only been around him a day and a half but already his chaotic aura had pulled her into so much… mischief. Besides the past few days nothing much had been quite as fun as today, even with the interruptions seeming annoying at the time on reflection they were enjoyable. "Alright… but I'm paying next time."

[offansandflames]

My favorite time of year. Employee reviews. My company, Konoha Corp, approaches the higher levels of management first and then goes downward. This is my round. I’ve been stuck in this stale room for 45 minutes.

“Sasuke, sometimes you can come off as…”

Kakashi trailed off. That only annoyed me.

“As what?”

“As challenging. Demanding.”

Of course I know how I come off. And it works.

“I get results, don’t I?”

It annoys me that he has the nerve to confront me about this. Every single product release under my management has gone off without complications. In terms of revenue and increasing market share, I’ve outperformed every single one of my contemporaries by a landslide. I’ve held this role for three years as of June and have moved mountains.

“Your results are stellar. Sasuke, you are a very brilliant scientist and a shrewd businessman. But you’re breeding a workplace culture that is afraid to fail. They’re afraid to show creativity.”

“Afraid to fail.”

That phrase just sticks between my ears and goads me, because right now I’m so clearly remembering Itachi yelling at me over huge stacks of messy papers when I showed him my plans for the AI components of one of our new virtual executive assistants December of last year.

“This has all been done before. It’s good work, but it’s by the books. Why are you so afraid to fail? You’ll never make a difference that way!”

He died three months ago. Whenever I remember him, I get upset. If I’m around people, that automatically manifests as me being pissed off.

“Can we afford to fail with our brand’s reputation and the market share at stake? Why are you complaining?”

I know I’m being difficult and missing the point. I continue regardless.

“Sasuke, people respect you, but they also fear you.”

“Yes. That’s a management style.”

Kakashi sighs, clearly frustrated. I couldn’t care less, because I’m frustrated too.

Steve Jobs pulled it off. So can I.

“You need to show them a softer, more caring side. These are brilliant people.”

Most of them are bright. I have my doubts about a few, one person in particular on my mind. But I didn’t hire him, so I consider myself absolved. Itachi must’ve been smoking crack.

“They need a supportive environment to innovate. We’re a consumer technology company, Sasuke. We need to be on the edge, or we’re obsolete by definition.”

At this point, I could go on about all of the successful product launches and ballooning profits. There’s just one inconvenient aspect of the situation: he’s right. And I know damned well that people are afraid to think outside of the box because they’re afraid of what I might do if they fail.

He’s asking me to do something I don’t know how to do, but I won’t admit to it. I’m silent, which he takes as a cue.

“It doesn’t have to be anything dramatic or unnatural. Just try to be more understanding if an employee makes a mistake. If they were using their best judgment and were being diligent, then it’s enough that they tried.”

What if they have their head in the clouds and spend all day wondering, “Wouldn’t it be cool if…?” What if they squander their potential by sitting on their ass and playing class clown with coworkers? Like a certain vapid blue-eyed employee I have. Eye color generally means nothing to me, but it’s difficult not to remember such a brilliant blue.

“I agree with you that as long as something was done responsibly and with due diligence, the employee shouldn’t be reproached. What I object to is anything less than diligence.”

Kakashi looks down at my desk, and he looks back up at me with his eyes half lidded. He looks tired.

“Look. Not everyone is going to have your work ethic, Sasuke. And sometimes people do get distracted. As their manager, you use the ruler first, not the sledgehammer.”

A pause.

“You have to show you care.”

Right. The only issue is that I don’t.

I frown. Inhale. Exhale. I remind myself of what Itachi said, which is almost entirely the reason why I speak my next sentence.

“Okay, I’ll try a softer hand.”

Kakashi smiles, because he knows how big of an accomplishment it was to get me to say that. I will let him believe it’s his victory. I don’t give a damn.

“But I’m warning you in advance that we may experience some hiccups.”

I issue that disclaimer because this means relinquishing some of my control in the interest of fostering innovation. I don’t know what will happen. My team might fail. I don’t want that to be interpreted as a failure on my part.

“We’ll consider them learning experiences.”

-   -   -

He code named it CMI. Caring Manager Initiative. Apparently, even this requires an acronym. It’s like a bad joke.

This is, without a doubt, my least favorite project that I have ever been on. Ever.

I will have to update Kakashi on my progress next quarter. He’d outlined three action items for me to fulfill by the next quarter:

1.       Conducting Employee Reviews

2.       Showing Interest in Employee Activities

3.       Acknowledging Employee Achievements

I will record everything and act diligently and rationally at every step. If there is a failure, it will not be because I failed.

 Phase I - Caring Manager Initiative Conducting Employee Reviews

I can’t even express how much I hate conducting employee reviews.

I go over every detail of the person’s value to the company. I fixate on their accomplishments for about 70% of the review. They plead their case. They almost always want more money, and I can only acquiesce about half of the time. I listen to their hackneyed excuses with a seemingly empathetic nod, which Itachi once told me was actually pretty convincing.

With practiced ease, like a surgeon, I speak about “opportunities to improve,” because no one wants to be criticized. And this go around, it seems like I have to put the kiddie gloves on. God forbid I hurt anyone’s feelings.

So it’s with mixed relief and dread that I view Naruto’s name on my calendar as my next appointment.

Naruto comes into my office with a big grin.

“Alright, Bossman. Let’s get this show on the road!”

I have told him to stop calling me Bossman so many times that I’ve lost count.

“Sit down.”

Now he has to obey me. He does so without complaint, not realizing that this was a power play on my part. With employees like Naruto, establishing boundaries is key.

As annoyed as I am with him, I know that for once today, I can be honest. I never hold back with Naruto. He takes everything I could ever dish out…and throws it back in my face.

I can’t believe I haven’t fired him yet.

“Okay, Naruto. You know that your designs have, in theory, been…interesting.”

Naruto puffs up like a toad at the compliment and stares at me like he’d just triumphed over me. It makes me regret saying it.

“But when it comes to creating the prototypes and testing them, everything falls to shit. You don’t see your ideas through. That’s fatal. If a product doesn’t work, it’s useless.”

“So you’re calling my work useless?” Naruto bristles.

It is true that he hasn’t gotten a single product off the ground. He’s a dreamer.

“I’m saying that the devil’s in the detail.”

At this point, if it were anyone else, I’d be reassuring them of how valuable they are to the company and how integral they are to the team. I’d smile and talk to them about promotions and ask them to fill out company templates with their goals for the next year. But that would sound forced, because that’s not how Naruto and I talk.

Naruto puffs out his cheeks and pouts, and I feel like I’m talking to a teenager. People have probably told him he needs to be more detail-orientated, because God knows it’s true.

“There’s that, and the fact that you keep checking your cell phone during working hours and socializing with coworkers too often.”

Naruto smiles and gives an impish laugh.

“This is not funny.”

“So… I guess I’m not getting a raise, huh?” he asks sheepishly, still trying to lighten the situation.

“Now that was funny.”

“Oh, you are such a prick,” Naruto answers, amused by my attitude. He should be used to it at this point.

“Is that really what you want to say to your boss?”

“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

I dislike the fact that I have to bring this issue to his attention for him to resolve it. It demonstrates a lack of proactivity. In fact, in all aspects of the guy’s life… He’s so laid back and easygoing. Everything is always fine and well with him, and who cares what reality actually is. Such disregard for life’s priorities. I don’t get him, nor do I want to.

“You’ve been warned,” I answer. “I’m documenting it. Fix it, and we’ll have no problems.”

Naruto sighs, and again I feel like a parent. Naruto looks down and bites his lip, and I start thinking that maybe he’s more frustrated with himself than he is with me.

“Okay.”

We continue the conversation. He didn’t call me Bossman again the entire meeting.

Stage II - Caring Manager Initiative Showing Interest in Employee Activities

Konoha Corp has a club for public speaking, held every Wednesday at lunch time. As both a scientist and a businessman, I realize that scientists are not known for mixing well with the business world. Itachi always told me never to let one of my scientists talk to one of my investors.

Our employees come here for that extra polish. The moderator, Shizune, explained that today’s workshop would all be impromptu, two-minute speeches. She put everyone’s names in a bowl, and she’d draw each speaker out until the bowl emptied. Each person would have their own topic. Meanwhile, she’d videotape them on their phone.

Public speaking is one of my strengths, not that I particularly enjoy talking. I practiced for years and fancy myself an actor now.

And of course, Naruto is here. Of all the faces in the room, his was the one I expected to see the most. He thrives off of being the center of attention. Shizune now pulls a slip out of the bowl, and everyone is sweating around me. Naruto’s name is the first she pulls.

I can’t imagine how pleased he must be by this as he walks toward the lectern.

“And the topic is…”

A pause. Naruto is standing behind the lectern now.

“Your favorite food.”

No one’s looking at me, so I roll my eyes.

Clearly, he’s doing this to show off. He’s a bubbling extrovert. He’s going to crack a few jokes. People will laugh, because he’s damn good at making people laugh. I have no interest whatsoever in watching him puff up and prattle on for whatever acknowledgement his secretly insecure soul craves.

But then he starts speaking. My mind goes blank. I’m taken off guard. Shocked.

Shocked by how horrible he is at this.

“I…”

He looks down at his feet, then paces a few steps.

“Um…”

He’s choking. I did not see this coming.

“Wow, uh…”

His body is very obviously shaking. I doubt anyone could miss it.

“Um… Give me a minute. I’m…” he stammers. “I’m off to some start, huh?”

The room gives a forced and sympathetic laugh that makes me want to cringe.

He’s a wreck.

But he’s trying. I have to say that for him. He’s earnest, and raw, and vulnerable, and… In a nutshell, everything that I’m not.

His face is bright red. I don’t know why, but my chest feels tight. This is painful to watch, yet I can’t take my eyes off of him. I find myself wishing that I could plant words on his tongue, which is ironic given that he generally never shuts the hell up.

“So, ramen…” he starts, gesturing with his arms. “It’s… It’s a hot food and… So, you know…”

Everyone is looking at him. I can’t explain it, but if anyone so much as snickers at his awkwardness, I would fire them on the spot.

If I were that shitty at public speaking, you couldn’t pay me to go up there and fumble, turn five different shades of red, and shake like a leaf. But he did, because he wants to improve. He took initiative. Still, it’s certainly not like I’m impressed by his pathetic attempt at a speech.

Well… Maybe just a little bit impressed.

He’s brave.

Braver than I gave him credit for.

I again remember Itachi telling me, “You’re afraid to fail.” It burns, and I swallow tight. It’s bad enough that he was right. Even worse that he’s dead, and now I’m thinking about it. I was not prepared to feel today. I clear my mind.

“You um… I like ramen because it’s easy to make and…”

“The time is up,” Shizune informed him with a smile.

He smiles, but his shoulders slump. I can’t blame him.

“And Mr. Uchiha, it’s so wonderful to have you join us today!”

Naruto looks at me, and his eyes widen to the size of golf balls. He is a stubborn thorn in my side, and I want to deck him every time he calls me “Bossman” in that same nauseatingly upbeat tone. Usually I’d jump at the chance to one up him, but this is very different. I hold eye contact with him for just an instant before addressing Shizune again.

“Yes, thank you, everyone. Nice work.”

Without a word, Naruto runs right out of the room, abandoning any attempt at composure and leaving his phone behind with Shizune. This isn’t like him. Was he going to… Unravel? Cry or something? Just because he now realizes I was watching?

I’ve been thinking about it for a while, trying to figure it out. This banter dialogue we’ve had going… He seems like he fixates on me. He’s…

Shit. I really hope this isn’t what I think it is.

All of this churns through my head as my face betrays nothing. I think that the power to pull an impeccable stone cold poker face in light of any situation runs in my family. Or maybe it’s learned. Whatever the case, it’s a valuable gift.

Meanwhile, people start murmuring and chatting about Naruto’s rushed exit.

“Shut up,” I say to everyone, firmly and just a little more loudly than I would in normal conversation.

In a heartbeat, the room goes so quiet you could hear a piece of paper hit the ground.

Refreshing.

The meeting continues with my go ahead. I begrudgingly sit there and pretend to be interested. I pretend like I don’t want to leave that meeting right now and find Naruto. If I found him, what would I do? I don’t know. So why bother?

I see the meeting through to its dazzling completion and have accomplished my mission as Caring Manager for the day, though I admit that telling everyone to shut up was counterproductive. I should have known better, but it was worth it.

Stage III Acknowledging Employee Achievements

I didn’t see Naruto again that day until the late hours of the evening. It’s ten, at which time the office is generally a ghost town. I could hear someone typing from the opposite side of the floor. We both had our respective deadlines to meet for the next morning, though me pulling all-nighters was nothing out of the norm.

I’m trying to eat my turkey sandwich and mark up my prototypes at the same time. I hear footsteps outside of my office and look to see Naruto trying to sneak past my door. He’s all too conspicuous in his attempts to avoid eye contact with me.

“Good job,” I say loudly enough for him to hear.

I thought he deserved it.

“Very funny, jackass.”

He knows what I’m referring to, naturally. He’s stopped outside of my office now.

“I’m not joking,” I answer.

He looks up at me, and there’s indecision in his eyes. He’s trying to read me, which he’s always been horrible at.

“Is that…an actual compliment?”

Naruto grins. It looks like gloating.

“It was pity.”

“What?”

I have no idea why I just said that; it was a knee jerk reaction. I feel like I kicked a puppy in the face.

“No… It wasn’t pity.”

I’m frustrated with myself, because I can’t seem to pull this off without ruining it somehow.

“Look… If you haven’t noticed, sincerely complimenting people is not my strong suit. I thought I’d take your example and try something I suck at today.”

That was downright painful.

“You’ve got guts, Uzumaki.”

Naruto lights up like the sun and smiles at me, and if I’m going to follow that analogy, I feel like the rays have warmed me.

“Well…” Naruto pauses and then looks into my eyes again. “Good job, Bossman.”

He continues to smile at me, and the atmosphere grows stale. There’s an adage: always leave them wanting more.

“Have a good one. See you tomorrow.”

I give him a nod, and he issues that dramatic, almost frantic wave that he’s known for with a beaming grin. As he leaves my office and approaches the exit, I hear him hum under his breath. Why am I sad to hear him go?

I sigh and resist the temptation to insult him. CMI will be difficult; there’s no denying that. And of all of CMI’s challenges, Naruto will likely be the greatest. At the very least, today Naruto gave me a crash course on how to fail. As sick as it makes me to admit this, I should be learning from him.

[holbyconfessional]

Holby City S19 E54-E60

As with the Casualty catch up - since this is SO historical now, I’m going to put the whole lot under a cut, save dashboards!!! Episodes covered are:

S19 E54 - Thicker Than Water

S19 E55 - Things Left Unsaid

S19 E56 - Know Yourself, Know Your Enemy  

S19 E57 - Kingdom Come

S19 E58 - It Has To Be Now

S19 E59 - Hungry Heart 

S19 E60 - Hiding Places

Holby City S19 E54 - Thicker Than Water

So we have more Guiseppe this week.  Yay.  Not.  A Small bowel volvulus couldn't happen to a nicer guy.  Sorry, Raf.

More nefarious Fredrick, shipping in a Swedish patient, then pretending he didn't know her so he could fake diagnose her Pancreatic Pseudocyst and wow everyone with his swift and decisive diagnosis skills.  Not to mention try and make another play to push a clinical trial for his drug.  So glad that Hanssen twigged and called him out on it.  Odious individual.

Ollie and Matteo's competition to be the most interesting was dull, although it did afford Jac a wonderful opportunity to show off her feistiness with her epic line (about Ollie's dullness) 'I'm as shocked as you are!'

In other and most heartbreaking news, Lofty transferred to AAU, and worst of all, Raf proposed to Essie.  I mentally threw things at my TV.

Holby City S19 E55 - Things Left Unsaid

Well, Morven was rather uncharacteristically unkind to Lofty, wasn't she?!  I mean, he may be one of the dullest humans in existence, and aggravatingly cheerful and fair, but still!  Of course, he was going to make a brilliant diagnosis with the hypochondriac patient, thereby showing Morven his worth.  Actually, I'm pretty glad it was something minor, and Morven still got to 'win' too, about the woman being a bit of a time waster.  It may not have avoided the cliche, but it did slightly mitigate it!

Evil Fredrick strikes again with his tenuous grasp on truthfulness and medical ethics, by covering up a psychological issue with a father/son transplant.  HOW is Nina the Snake letting these things happen, how is he getting away with it, with the barest of slapped wrists?  Better not be because of his father, because I'm pretty sure said father wouldn't be putting up with such shenanigans!

So, Nina the Snake is pregnant, and trying to talk to a seemingly uninterested Matteo.  I was pretty uninterested too.

And finally, it's Roxanna's first day.  Somewhat less angst between her and Ollie than expected.  There has been some speculation that she's an early insert, with an ultimate potential goal of being a love interest for Serena somewhen upon her return.  I'm saying now, please god don't let this be true. It's almost impossible now, watching some of the insane pairings they've got going on, or building up.  But that?  I just couldn't.

Holby City S19 E56 - Know Yourself, Know Your Enemy

AKA the day of Ric's inquest at the Coroners Court, into the death of Elaine Warren - where, surprise surprise, it's found that there's a case to answer.  As with any long running show, some story lines are more gripping than others.  I have to say, for the most part, I'm finding this more of a slog than a thrill, but I will say that I really would like to know what happened with the anti-coagulants!  Was it Ric's error?  Did Donna screw up?  Dear lord, I hope it's the latter.  Really not a Donna fan.

So, Amira's back on Darwin.  Why?  Is she considered an interesting character?  I suspect it's more in an attempt to expose some hole in Jac's psyche, since we're clearly being shown that she's struggling with something - hopefully setting us up for a lovely, meaty storyline, and not just the impending romance with Fletch (vomit).

Dom and Fredrick.  I find it interesting and mildly alarming how jealous Fredrick is of Dom.  Of course, he wants to be the most important in his fathers eyes, and he's already been shown to be extremely ruthless and manipulative in order to try and get his own way and climb to the top.   So it's ironic that his behaviour traits and attempts at professional shortcuts should be exactly what set him back in his incredibly rational and fair father's eyes, against Dom's honesty and genuine attempts to be the best he can be, and the best for his patients.  I enjoyed his detective work this episode, diagnosing the Wegener's Granulomatosis (GPA), and I liked his decision to pull it as the case study for his Junior Doctors Award project, in favour of something far more prosaic.   To my mind, it's a nice demonstration of exactly how much Dom has grown as a person and a doctor, and was the perfect offset for Fredrick's showboating.

Holby City S19 E57 - Kingdom Come

Highly stressful, edge of your seat stuff tonight.  Will Holby be closed, in favour of St Francis?  Will all our beloved characters lose their jobs? Maybe not quite as stressful as the producers would like, as I think we can all pretty much assume that somehow, Holby will endure.  But, the episode did afford some good moments for Hanssen - most noteably 1) the opening scene on the roof, 2) a great camera shot of Hanssen standing on Keller as the camera panned along the ward toward him, and 3) Hanssen sitting in his office, with his glasses off.  (I'm not sure why the last one pleases me so, but it does, so there you go!).

I'm always very pro Hanssen heavy storylines, I think he's an exceptional character.  With this one, I was also pretty delighted that in some part, it was the underrated Sacha who saved the day, with his innovative idea of implementing SAINT (post-surgical accelerated independence using novel technology).  Loved the final scene with Hanssen acknowledging Sacha's importance to him and the hospital, over a drink.

Jeremy Warren is back, wanting his mothers notes from Donna.  HOW is Donna so stupid as to keep entertaining him?  Surely she realises at this stage that she's putting herself, the hospital, the case itself in danger by continuing to keep in contact with him?!

Also the return of one of my favourite patients, Mr James.  He has the best lines, and excellent delivery.  His speech about Matteo's hair was just classic, I bet he's a dream to write for.

Other moments included Ollie's wedding ring, lots of posturing by evil Fredrick, but special acting credit MUST go to Matteo's red trainers, which stole every scene they were in!

Holby City S19 E58 - It Has To Be Now

Oh, what fun.  We were forced to rewatch Raf's proposal to Essie in the pre credits. Ouch. Followed by a post credit dramatic running scene which is supposed to remain us we love Ollie (although I'm sorry to say, black hoodie aside, he definitely lost cool points IMO).  Which was then supposed to help us remember that we hate Roxanna, because not only did she kill Ollie's wife, but she's also trying to steal his project funding.  Oh, but whoops.  Her project is on Alzheimers, and hey, her super talented surgeon husband has Alzheimers, so all of a sudden, she's not The Bad Guy, and we (and Ollie) want her to get the funding, because she and her husband deserve it...

And here's where I stop being sarcastic and flippant, because as hackneyed as the storyline is, I don't consider dementia of any form to be a laughing matter, having personally seen what it can do to a loved one.   And I can begin in the smallest way to imagine the pain of what she and her husband must be feeling.  But, it doesn't change the fact that for me, this entire story was so heavily signposted that it kind of lost impact.

Oh, holy shitbags.  Not only did Raf and Essie get engaged, but now they blinking well got married.  On the one hand, I thank goodness that it was off screen and I didn't have to watch it, but on the other, EW!   Couldn't they have had their 2 episodes of happiness, then suffered a monumental breakup, or the death of a close family member which would leave one of them angry, depressed, drinking too much and lashing out at colleagues, before buggering off to a vineyard in France, whilst the other went to do humanitarian work with the army?  Oh, whoops, wrong pairing...  But poor, poor Sacha.

Ooh, Morven and her mother.  Not a shining example of maternal glory to my mind.  Personally, I'm thinking Morven is SO much better off without her.

Holby City S19 E59 - Hungry Heart

Ooh, lashings of evil Fredrick.  Undermining Dom to Henrik, Sacha to the pathologically honest patient's girlfriend, then finally 'accidentally' telling Matteo about Nina the Snake's pregnancy.  Such an unbelievably unlikeable character.  There was a little celebration in my soul when Henrik told him that there was a recruitment freeze, which would prevent him from applying for a registrar's post.  Karma?!  So, Hanssen thinks Fredrick should go back to Sweden (well, don't we all?  Except perhaps his poor wife, who I, for one, seem to have horridly misunderstood!)

So, we got one teeny tiny scene where Lofty visited Dom, and gave him a super squishy hug of congratulations.  Gotta keep the memory of that not-quite relationship lurking somewhere in the viewers mind, so it's ripe for revisiting.  Right?

Lots of Ric drama.  I have to say, I loved Morven's supportiveness, inviting him for coffee.  Such a nice change from Donna's hounding.  Ric may have been a mentor and friend to her, but last I checked, that doesn't automatically mean she has the right to invade every corner of his life, and to know every move he makes.  I felt really angry when she was hounding him about where he was when Jeremy's mother died.  She wants to know why he won't tell her?  Well, perhaps it's because it's none of her ****ing business!!!

COTWs, WAG with appendicitis, and the slightly more interesting kid with a funky neck, who passed out every time he looked to the side too quickly.

Holby City S19 E60 - Hiding Places

I'm afraid I found this episode rather dull.  More of the Ric/Donna/Jeremy debacle, and I find myself no clearer as to why Donna persists in hanging around with Jeremy in the face of his allegations.  Ric is supposedly her friend.  I get that she doesn't know what actually happened, so she doesn't know for sure that he is completely innocent, and I get that she feels some level of empathy toward Jeremy for his loss - BUT, Ric is supposed to be her friend, and she truly believes he is an excellent doctor and surgeon, and she also believes in human error, so why is she not supporting Ric more?  (I'd just like to qualify at this point that I don't mean by lying for him).  And even more to the point, surely her continuing interaction with Jeremy is actually detrimental to the court case?  At least Jac stood up for Ric, even if it was in an inappropriate way.  And ooh, look, seems like Jeremy is going to try and squeeze a second court case out of it!  

On the one hand, I believe in justice.  But on the other, I think this litiginous society in which we live is insane.

So, Fredrick is indeed gone.  But is it for good?  (Please be yes, please be yes....)

Nina and Matteo and the baby.  I shall sum up my thoughts into a single word.  YAWN.

So, this episode had a patient naming dogs after staff based on their personality traits.  Oh, how I chortled and slapped my thigh.

Mildly interesting thread - the unravelling of Jac.  Awesome, awesome character.