#[Rich white men stop ruining everything challenge]

[vicsmusehub]

[ Re-made my art blog since Elon Musk is a bitch ass mother fucker... XXX ]

#Vic speak his mind #outofmagic #[Rich white men stop ruining everything challenge]

[avintagekiss24]

day with destiny | b. barnes

→ pairing: aristocrat!bucky barnes x aristocrat!black!reader

→ word count: 3000

→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, sex, biting kink

→ challenge: @cockslut-padalecki​ not my ninth

trope: aristocratic society

song prompt: crush by jennifer paige

→ square filled: @star-spangled-bingo​ 2021

g5: clothed sex

→ author note: i was finally able to reign myself in with these word counts, lol. i saw this gif of baby faced sebastian and couldn’t help myself. he looks like a little shit, but look at those pink lips… anyway, these are modern!aristocrats. lyrics to crush aren’t obvious (except for one line at the very end), but worked into the dialogue. i have no idea who made the gif, i got it from google. i also have no idea who made this divider, as i also got it from the google.

Blue eyes peer over at you from across the table, the gaze searing into the side of your face. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, but you don’t dare cut your eyes— this game is entirely too fun to give in now. Instead, you take a deep breath, pushing your chest out— your tits— shifting roughly in your seat just to make your flesh jiggle, before you release the air slowly.

Cabinet meetings are never fun. Rich, old white men going on and on about their views for the country— your family of course bringing the only sense of color into the society. Some old man yammers on at the front of the room behind the podium. Heads nod, claps ring out at random intervals, loud here here’s filling your ears as you roll your eyes. You don’t have the least bit of interest in any of it as it stands today, but your blue blood, and rank in the family— poised to take over for your dear old daddy in the coming years— requires your presence.

Bucky Barnes is quite the same. Young, bored, and too damn pretty for his own fucking good. You squeeze your legs together abruptly, the images of the last cabinet meeting playing back in your mind. Hot, sticky breath. Reddened, swollen lips— against your ear, sucking on your skin. The salt that exploded on your tongue as he shoved his thumb into your mouth.

You stand quick, clearing your throat— sending a silent message to the youngest Barnes at the long table. A hand grabs your wrist, stopping you as you start to move towards the back of the room, “Mother?”

“This is important, daughter,” she whispers harsh— a warning.

“And so is my bladder, mother.”

She sighs heavily, but releases the grip around your wrist, “Yours and the Barnes boy, apparently.”

Flicking your eyes quickly, you smirk as he pushes his chair underneath the table and starts towards the large doors at the back of the room, rubbing at his chin with his hand, the sunlight glinting off of the rings adorning his long fingers. You watch him as he moves— so easy, so confident— as he runs his hand through his dark, perfectly clipped hair, the Loubotins on his feet clicking softly.

You only drop your eyes when he slips through the door and out of view, “Ten minutes, mother.”

She knows. She knows that you know she knows, but she just sighs again and lets you saunter off without a second glance. Dress dragging behind you, bottom lip sucked between your teeth, heart and blood starting to race as each step draws you closer to your silver tongued foe, lying in wait for you in a random, deserted hallway.

He’s leaned against the wall, gazing out over the city beneath, hands drawn into his pockets. He’s a sight, but he always is, each little brown hair in place, chin and cheeks so clean shaven that a hair wouldn’t even dare sprout. Body lean in that black military jacket, gold medals and hand stitched ribbons hanging from the pockets.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” you smile soft, crossing your arms over your chest, leaning against the very same wall.

Bucky glances over his shoulder, that shit grin he’s such a proud owner of spreading on his face, “Then stop propositioning me.”

You laugh— it’s gentle and soft, the dissonance of your long relationship easily melting away. He finally turns and takes a few steps towards you, extending his hand, tenderly taking your fingers. Those deep, emotional eyes stay on yours as he lifts your hand, lips brushing— glancing ever so lightly over the backs of your delicate, manicured digits. Then he smiles, slow, sweet, teeth sinking into his blushed bottom lip as he blinks just as slow.

He’s a sight, this Bucky Barnes.

Keenly aware of his family’s teetering reputation, hanging on by a mere thread as of late due to his fathers extra curricular proclivities, you can’t help but take a swipe, “I’m surprised you’re family’s allowed back in the building. It got a little tense last time you all were here.”

“It did, didn’t it?” he answers quickly, placing your hand on his shoulder before he pulls you in close— a long arm wrapping your waist, pinning you to him, “I don’t remember much though, as my face was buried in your cunt for most of the meeting.”

Shivers race the length of your spine. He feels it— revels in it— savors it.

Lively brown eyes bounce back and forth between heavy, brewing blues, “You aren’t afraid that the rest of them will move to vote your family out, Lord Barnes?”

“Not in the slightest,” you’re met with a defiant shrug, “I hate this shit.”

“Oh, how original! An aristocrat that hates the god given privilege bestowed upon him.” You sigh, tilting your head towards the ceiling as he nuzzles into your neck, your hands sliding up and over his shoulders, “You’re predictable, Barnes.”

“You’re one to talk about privilege, My Lady.”

“Am I?” You retort quick, quirking an eyebrow.

A brilliant smile is cast upon you, blue irises like gems, sparkling under the light, “Your blood is the richest in the room— the bluest of blue— and you speak with such animosity of mine as if you haven’t prevailed your entire life because of it.”

“Bested by the color of our skin, which has precluded my lineage of its rightful place for years,” you scoff, leaning into him, “It was not privilege that got us here, Lord Barnes,” you whisper, “It was persistence.”

He chuckles against your skin, the vibrations rattling through your body, right to your bones. Hot velvet slips along the curve of the junction between your shoulder and neck before teeth scrape and then sink— tenderly— right into the meat, making you gasp. Hands grip, fingers dig into his opposite shoulder as he nips and nibbles.

“You’ll lose everything,” you breathe, heavy, languid as his mouth, his tongue, his lips move to your jaw, your chin, “Your family will be ruined.”

“I’ll be okay,” Bucky hums low, a smile on his face, dark eyelashes splashed over his pink tinged cheeks. His long fingers play with your lips, prodding gently as he rests his forehead to yours, “With a face like mine baby,” he whispers, that devilish smile painting his red tinted lips, “I was born to marry rich.”

He pushes his leg between yours, spreading them, pushing the meat of his thigh right against your sex— the thin silk of your panties sticking to the balmy, wet flesh. The tips of his fingers flirting with the inside of your calf before pushing up over your knee, skirting up your own ticklish thigh.

Bucky takes pleasure in the honeyed giggle that bubbles in your chest and slips out of your mouth, knowing not just anyone can coax such a genuine reaction from you. Metal fingers push higher— sweeping softly, back and forth, over the powder pink silk panties, discovering the warm wet spot, a white hot fire filling his eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

You grunt some, leaning in, putting full lips right against his ear, “Absolutely not,” the words whispered.

“You sure?” he squints, drawing your face back in front of his, thumbing at your bottom lip, pulling it open, “There’s something in those eyes.”

“Let’s not over analyze, Lord Barnes,” you tisk, slipping a hand between your bodies, cupping his cock— squeezing his heat— with care of course, “Don’t go too deep with it. It’s just—”

“What?” brisk, curt— the words cut off by a feverish, deep kiss. Tongue licking into your mouth, sweeping against the roof— heavy, hot, rushed, desperate for you as he groans, “What is it?”

You pull at his belt, at the button and zipper, hand and fingers sinking into his open pants, pushing through a rough, dark, tuft of wiry hair. He whirrs, strained and broken, body clenching up as your warm palm wraps around him. Long, slow strokes pull more tiny sounds from him— a skilled muscle memory, what he likes, what he doesn’t, what he needs— taking over.

A sweet kiss, soft and quick, is pressed against his cheek, your lips against his ear once more, “It’s just a little crush, Bucky. Just some little thing that raises my adrenaline when I need a shot.” His cock jumps in your hand, a quick hiss and stunted grunt filling your ears as you lick your lips, “Don’t make too much of it.”

Bucky grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks hard, puckering your lips before he kisses you feverishly again. The cool metal digits grab your neck, a soft pressure constricting the muscles as he pushes you back, back against the window— using his body to crush you to it.

The smack of his lips disconnecting from yours ricochets off the walls, filling the small hallway. He licks your lips, dragging his tongue from your chin right to the tip of your nose as he anchors your leg on his hip. Hot flesh fingers slip up your thigh, pulling your panties to the side, the cool air sending a shock to the wet, delicate flesh of you. He sucks that bottom lip back between his perfect teeth, tilting his head back slightly to peer at you through those long, dark eyelashes.

You mimic him. Tilt your head back on the glass, sink your teeth into your swollen lip, hand still stroking him slow, wetting the pads of your fingers with his silk. His hips rock soft into your palm as you sweep your fingers over his tip before dragging back down his length, gripping him firm. With a quick blink, you’re staring at him— angry, thick, throbbing in your hand. A bead bubbles out, spills right over, a long string hanging from his reddened tip before his cock twitches again— leaving you breathless. Knees almost buckling. Mouth going dry as your lungs struggle to fill.

“Come on, baby,” Bucky purrs, goading you as you push his cock through your folds, rolling your hips, teasing your waiting slit with his tip.

Surprise sweeps through you when frankly, it shouldn’t as you sink down on him. The muscle memory of your hands don’t translate to the muscles of your cunt— his size, how much you have to spread to accommodate him, like a revelation each and every time. Bucky almost never rushes it, and neither do you, like it’s something new every time.

But it isn’t, no no, it’s ancient for the two of you. Connecting like this in long, skinny hallways, cramped closets, old hotel rooms under the mask of darkness. The muffled sounds of your sex as you try and ultimately fail to keep quiet, filling the abandoned spaces— bringing life to them again.

Loneliness often fills your chest if you go too long without it.

Bucky is buried to the hilt in you now— rooted deep in the tightest, hottest space of your body. He takes a minute, pushing his hips, wiggling— adjusting— before he pulls out slow. All the way, cock bouncing as soon as it breaks the threshold. He doesn’t wait long though. Nope. He’s back inside of you within seconds with a slam of his hips, pushing you up the window. Pulling a squeak and a rush of air from you.

Those red lips of his part, his heavy tongue pushing out to slip along his bottom lip as his eyelids drop, covering the blue you’ve come to enjoy. You can’t help but reach out, place your warm palms and fingers on his blushed cheeks, tracing his nose before they prod at his bottom lip, the tips just sinking into that wet mouth. He draws long breaths, exhales them all over your face as he starts to move.

You let the rhythm carry you away. Up into the clouds as your head rolls to the side, hands fall to his chest and around his neck. Tits bounce with each shove, starting to spill over and fall out of the square shaped neckline of your intricate dress. Hair starts to fall out of place, heat rises in your cheeks, desperate little wet noises beseeching him.

Bucky’s a good fuck. Ever the playboy, never thinking twice of an encounter until— well, you, as he so softly put it one night in one of those dark, old hotel rooms while you both dressed. There’s a filth to it. The way he toys with you. Speeding up suddenly— skin slapping, echoing down the hall— and then, without warning or hesitation, slows down. Down to nothing almost. Soft pulses of his hips, just enough to drive you mad. To make you beg him for more.

To make you weak. To keep you coming back.

That’s how he is now. Barely moving, wanting you to squirm. Two big eyes, pupils blown stare up at you. Mouth agape, the smallest little curve on them. He wants you to beg. To tell him just how much— “Bucky,”

“Yes?” he shoves hard, pushing deep, “My Lady?”

“Please,” there it is, the beg— the want, “Please, Bucky.”

So, the filth is back. Yeah, it’s a little dirty how he grips your thigh, hard, nails digging and scratching into the meat of it. How he licks into your mouth and bites your lips before shoving that metal hand into your neckline, palming the delicate mound of flesh beneath. A brown nipple is soon exposed, tight and hard, after a quick tug of his hand yanks your dress down. It disappears again within a flash, right into his mouth, tongue circling.

An arch curves your spine when he sucks, a deep, low, stressed grunt sounding from somewhere deep in your chest. Your lips pucker, forming an o as you breathe heavy, then gasp quick before digging your teeth into your bottom lip and inhaling sharp. An already tight grip on his bicep and left shoulder constricts even more as he really picks up the pace, desperate and feverish his hips, tongue slipping into your cleavage.

There’s nothing but sounds and sensations— the squelch and squeak of his cock stuffing you, your stiletto slipping off the foot that’s hooked around his waist and thudding against the floor. The gold medals pinned to his military jacket bouncing soft against the thick material. His metal fingers tapping against the windows as he holds his weight.

Flashes of heat ripple through your body— muscles tensing and straining, cunt clenching, clamping. Fists balling. Stomach and head twirling as he gives you his best. And God, do you appreciate his effort.

The fuse proves to be short on this crisp winter day. A coil that had no chance of staying intact snaps earlier than you expect, body tightening hard, nearly freezing you in place the second before you start to come. Crying out— no shame, no sense of care if anyone hears— you just let it take over. Let him drive it home, hips snapping against yours, jutting, thrusting, pushing and pulling, sending you higher and higher.

Goosebumps on your skin. Heartbeat in your ears. A white hot flash, nearly blinding— it’s just that good. Metal fingers sink between your legs, playing with your clit, enticing it further as it spasms— wanting to feel every last bit of what your body has to offer.

Bucky hammers away, until he can’t. You’re just too sweet— too warm and wet and inviting. He’s painting your insides white within minutes, hot, quick shots of silk, filling you up, and then spilling back out. His head falls heavy to your chest as the last digs of his hips work themselves out, lips sticking to your damp, exposed skin.

You wrap him up, hands and fingers splaying out on his back, holding him tight and close as he empties and stills. Then, the two of you just breathe. Let the day, the room full of people, your families, your duties, just fade away. It’s just you and Bucky and that cool window against your overly warm skin.

It breaks— the moment. Just as it always does. Your body becomes empty as he tucks back into his pants. No longer pinned to the window, you bend to replace your shoe, pull at your dress. Bucky runs his thick fingers through his dark hair, you picking and smoothing at your own.

Stepping off after a few sobering moments without so much as a look or a smile, you're caught, a tight hand around your wrist, pulling you back. You crash into his chest, crash against his lips in one last, deep, sweeping kiss. One that once he pulls away, your eyes stay closed, lips stay puckered.

“You sure you won’t marry me?”

You know that if he asks one more time, your resolve will fizzle— and you will, “Very sure.”

A lopsided grin covers his mouth as he tilts his head, “Just a pesky little crush, huh?”

“There’s no vision of you and me quite yet, Lord Barnes,” you sigh, turning away and stepping  down the hall, “You just pray that I don’t decide to join the rest of the party and vote you out.”

“Make sure you keep a copy of your vote for me. I’ll want to frame it.”

You throw him a quick glance, “And why would you do something like that?”

“So I can show our children just how mean mommy was to daddy before we got married,” he starts, buttoning up his jacket. He kisses the pads of his fingers and blows on them lightly, sending you a kiss, “I have white picket fences in my eyes.”

Without another word, he spins on his heel and takes off in the opposite direction. A hum vibrates in your throat. The sounds of your heels and his shoes slap against the walls as the two of you walk away from each other.

It doesn’t take a scientist to understand what’s going on, baby.

#notmyninth #ssb2021 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fandom #bucky barnes x you #reader x bucky barnes #you x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x black reader #you x bucky #bucky x you #bucky reader #reader x bucky #avintagekiss24

[youryanderedaddy]

Hello, do you accept order? If yes, you could make a single one shot of Yandere! Brat Spoiled, please...

What would it be like if Yandere were the son of wealthy parents who always have everything they want, when they don't always get what they like, always act like a spoiled brat (and also his parents are afraid of their son, as they have already seen what he is capable of when he gets angry)... that's where the reader comes in. She is a new student at school, a nice and kind person, so the yandere knows her and falls in love so strongly that she never felt that way in life, but the reader is always rejecting her advances for being a spoiled brat and the way he treats the people around you.

What happens next?

Title: Eat the poor

Tw: non - consensual touching, obsessive/possessive behavior, violence, low-key bullying, blackmail / coercion, reader is in university

Part 2

It had started during your very first year of college, back when you still felt motivated to go to school and meet new people. You had heard the rumors about him before ever meeting his gaze and oh, did they disappoint.

You met Gabrielle for the first time when the snowdrops bloomed and the birds returned home – in the early autumn, at night, in a small crowded room reeking of alcohol, sweat and cheap cologne which you quickly realized wasn’t his. The man smelt like the cigarettes he never got bored of and sweet caramel. He was wearing a big leather jacket and a pair of dark jeans, yet the simplicity of the outfit seemed to suit the expensive brands displayed on the clothing. In a way the student represented the typical youthful boyish beauty with his golden locks, eyes the color of the sky and frame tall and well – built. Yet his face remained motionless the whole night and his body stayed still despite the mass of bodies dancing around in rhythm. But then some poor unfortunate fool managed to bump into the male, spilling his drink all over him, and his pretty face quickly twisted into a mask of disgust and anger.

“You stupid piece of shit!” The male yelled shortly after as his fist connected with the stuttering boy’s stomach. His clear eyes were now two wild thunderstorms pouring rain and lightning over the tipsy guy who was nervously apologizing and promising to pay for the damages done. “Do you know how much this costs?” Gabrielle spat with venom and pushed the other onto the floor, bringing his black sneakers to that white shirt until there was a mark of dirt formed on the otherwise clean fabric. Everyone else in the room had stopped drinking now and all the eyes were pinned onto the two men yet no one had the courage to do anything. Your own heart was beating hard in your chest at the sudden display of unnecessary violence but you had always been a calm kid, a kind soul too scared of its own shadow to learn how to fight properly. So you had no idea what to do.

“My father can have you expelled, you know.” The blond man suddenly spoke out in a quiet eerie voice as he pressed his foot harder into the shorter boy’s stomach causing him to whimper and squirm. “Unless you are willing to beg for my forgiveness, that is.” The bully proposed with a sly smirk on his pink lips as he glared at the victim underneath. The student on the ground was clenching his eyes tight so no one could see the tears in them when he shook his head no. You finally decided you couldn’t let this inhumane scene go any further.

“Stop this madness right now!” You shouted manically, drawing all the attention to yourself as you made your way between the two men. Gabrielle immediately pinned his burning gaze on you in unhidden intrigue. “This is too cruel. He didn’t mean to bump into you. Please, leave him alone.” As much as you had wanted to curse at the spoiled rich boy there was this suffocating feeling in your lungs telling you to be careful and play the mediator. The others quickly started gasping and some were already gossiping at your reaction proving your point that the guy was indeed dangerous.

Then he looked you straight in the eyes with his deep blue ones. He chuckled softly before smacking his lips in an unpleasant way, his “tsk” sending shivers down your spine. You had fucked up. “Well, well, well… Looks like the new girl wants to play hero. How cliché.” The bully grinned as he let his gaze roam up and down your body, your cheeks turning red in return when having realized he was handsome even while doing something so vulgar. “But if you do want to help him so badly…” The golden – haired man paused for a moment pretending to be deep in thought. “Maybe we could have a little deal, bunny.” He moved his leg away from the sobbing boy and stepped in front of you. From this close you could feel the warmth of his skin and the sweet aroma of burnt sugar it radiated. Gabrielle tilted your chin up almost gently and whispered in your ear “Kiss me.”

You tried to break free from the uncomfortable pose but the student simply squeezed your jaw line harder, his eyes cold and calculating, following your every move. You mind went blank and foggy at the forced intimacy and you couldn’t think straight with his breath on your neck. It felt like the time had slowed down just so the sadistic snob could mess with you a little longer. You opened your mouth to voice your protests but fortunately you didn’t have to say anything because at the very same time the host of the party appeared, ready to stop the fight.

“Gabrielle, I’d have to ask you to leave.” The dark – haired junior growled enraged as he pushed the taller male away from you. You couldn’t help but smile at him in appreciation. He was the only one brave enough to help you after all. “You are ruining the party for everyone. ” The stranger continued. The blonde seemed irritated at the sudden interruptance yet it was obvious he was powerless against the owner of the house. Still he grit his teeth and signed in annoyance as he turned to face the host. “Fuck you, Jackson!” The man cursed but eventually moved towards the door, red with anger. “My father will hear about this.” He looked at you as he reached for the golden doorknob, his features softened. “See you around, bunny.”

This was the first time you met Gabrielle. You already wished it was the last.

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

After the incident the snob seemed interested in you, blatantly so. He would eye you up in the halls like you were a shiny new toy in a claw machine and try to strike a conversation no matter how much you ignored him. The man never once apologized for what happened at the party but at least he didn’t bring it up so you counted it as a small victory. You gradually understood just how much power and money the heir had. His father owned casinos, hotels, banks and apparently even the university you two were studying in received major monthly donations by the big businessman. This explained why everyone was so scared of the blonde, especially when he did nothing but flaunt his status at the slightest inconvenience. And now he wanted you.

In your eyes the boy was just an annoying brat who lived off daddy’s hard work, there really wasn’t much to him that intrigued you. The male was handsome, pretty even, but his grades were terrible and his interests were bland and shallow, mostly involving expensive brands and grand parties. But the worst thing about him was his personality. The snob treated his friends like servants and his enemies like dirt, but you he rather saw as a challenge. Gabrielle would ask you out every time you were unlucky enough to run into him. The first time the man gave you so many roses you couldn’t even count them, the second he demanded your affection with a silver necklace in hand ready to cover your neck in his mark of ownerships. You couldn’t recall all the other gifts the blonde used to try and court you with but you remembered refusing each and every one.

“Why can’t you just give me a chance?” He exclaimed one day after you had just returned the expensive bracelet you had found in your locker. It was a dark winter night and the heir seemed irritated with you for the first time, his eyes a deep electric blue just like the sky. The man had you cornered against the wall but you were used to his pathetic attempts at intimidation. Yet today there was something different in the air around him, some small voice at the back of your head wondered whether this time he wasn’t just joking around. “Are you still angry about that little wimp I expelled, bunny?” Gabrielle asked contemptuously yet his pupils remained cold and distant. Once again he was too close for your liking, too close for you to function properly, but that was probably exactly what he wanted. You to be compliant and obedient like all the others who crawled and kneeled at the very sight of him. “Or are you sulking because I beat up Jones after he asked you out, hmm?” What? The blonde man was the one who gave Tony the black eye? But he had told you it was just a street fight… Why had your friend covered for the bully you both hated?

“Why would you do that to him?” You whispered, staring at the twisted boy in front of you. Your heart was beating fast and your blood was boiling hot in your veins but you couldn’t let him win by showing him how much his actions affected you. Gabrielle reached out and cupped your cheek gently before smirking mischievously. “He was trying to take something that belonged to me.” The heir said casually as if he was talking about the weather. His fingers were cold against your warm skin and you fought the urge to vomit right then and there. “I am not yours.” You spat out with poison and pushed his hand away from your face. Next thing you know his knee was separating your thighs, lifting your short black skirt up, his breath lingering on your neck. “S-stop.” You stuttered and tried to squirm out of his hold but the man easily caught your wrists and brought them above your head, pinning you further into the wall. He was stronger than he looked and you felt so small and helpless in that moment you could have cried if your stubbornness hadn’t prevailed.

“What don’t you like about me?” The blonde suddenly spoke out, his voice unnaturally broken and needy, bordering on a whine, crying out in desperation. You weren’t sure whether he was trying to manipulate you now or if he actually wanted you to answer so you decided to be honest anyways. “I hate the way you treat other people. I could never love someone as cruel as you.” You inhaled deeply, ready to voice all the painful thoughts you had kept inside since the beginning of the semester. “You are spoilt rotten. Metaphorically and literally.” The man was breathing sharply like a wounded animal after hearing your words and as much as you wanted to sympathize with him, you couldn’t bring yourself to after everything he had done to you and your friends. He was irredeemable. “Let me go.” You finally demanded, hoping to use him weakened emotional state to your advantage.

Instead Gabrielle clenched his teeth and squeezed down harder on your already bruised wrists causing you to whimper in dull pain. His eyes were wet but the tears had finally stopped just like his willingness to show you his vulnerable side. The man had tried being nice and sweet to you, patient, then mean and patronizing, and neither worked. So obviously it was time to become the terrifying bratty monster everyone was so keen on believed he was.

“Have you noticed how many people seem to go missing after talking to you just once?” The heir whispered in your ear as his free hand traveled down to your waist, drawing you into his hard chest. You groaned at the sudden realization that the snob was actually right, less and less guys seemed to show up to your shared lectures in the last few months, but you had always assumed they just needed a break from school. University was stressful after all. “Did you…” You started off but couldn’t find the right words. Did you force your father to expel them? Did you harm them? Maybe a part of you didn’t want to know the answer. “I did.” Gabrielle responded before you could even finish the sentence. The sly smirk you knew way too well adorned his lips and it wasn’t hard to see he had already won. “And I will keep doing it until you agree to be mine and mine alone.” The man stated confidently as he sucked the sensitive skin of your neck until you arched your back in shock, your eyes rolling up to the ceiling. “N-nhgg.” You whimpered as you felt his teeth dig into your warm flesh leaving a scarlet mark for all to see. “Come on, baby, we both know you are too good to let them suffer because of your own selfishness.” He taunted you as he left a line of small wet kisses along your exposed collarbone. You wanted to argue, to yell at him how you weren’t the crazy, selfish one, but deep down you knew it was pointless. Gabrielle had power and you had nothing to bargain with. He could have anyone yet he wanted to torment you. “Give into me. I promise I can make you happy if you let me.” The blonde uttered softly as his lips brushed against yours, almost touching them, following your reaction with his clear eyes. Your own were puffy and red from the tears but he didn’t seem to care much about your misery and discomfort. The man wished to own, not to please, but you couldn’t do anything. And of course you wouldn’t let him ruin the lives of the innocent. Of course your stupid heart was too good and human for your own good. So you closed your eyes and slowly connected your lips with him even though they tasted almost metallic, like blood and defeat.

“I knew you would come around, bunny.”

#yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere male x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere male #yancore #yandere oneshot #yandere oc #male yandere #yandere concepts

[dreamwritesimagines]

Untouchable 5- Flawed and Free [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your feedback my loves, please keep it coming! <3

The previous chapters are on my masterlist<3

Summary: War doesn’t allow happy endings.

Characters: Reader x Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Word Count: 2811

Warnings: Mentions of sex work, explicit language, 1940s.

You had always liked daydreaming. Ever since you were a child, it was your favorite way of escaping the reality, as well as the cheapest, just closing your eyes and losing yourself in your mind.

You kept your palms over your eyes, your breathing stable and even if you tried your hardest not to, your mind wandered off to Sergeant Barnes. You did wonder how it would feel to be able to spend time with him, walking around without fearing who would see you, or holding hands, or-

“Y/N?” you heard the door open and you lowered your hands to your lap, straightening your back, “What are you doing?”

“Um- nothing.”

Shirley tilted her head, leaning back to the doorframe, “Do you have a headache?”

“No,” you shook your head, “I was just thinking about something.”

“About what?”

Bucky’s face flashed before your eyes and you shook your head again,

“Nothing important,” you said, “What happened?”

“Linda wants to see you.”

You pulled your brows together, “Why?”

“She didn’t say.”

You heaved a sigh, and got up from the bed, then made you way downstairs. Linda was behind her desk, smoking and you closed the door behind you before sitting down across from her.

“You asked for me?” you smiled at her, and she nodded, offering you a cigarette. You took it and let her light it.

“General just called,” she nodded at the phone on her desk, “I know I said you didn’t have any clients for today, but he’s visiting you tonight.”

You swallowed thickly, “Oh,” you managed to say, ignoring the way your stomach flipped and exhaled the smoke, “Alright. What time?”

“Around 8.”

“Okay.” You nodded, taking a drag off the cigarette, and she tilted her head to the right.

“You don’t seem very happy about that.”

“Oh no, I just….” You licked your lips, “I thought he was still busy, that’s all. It surprised me.”

“He will probably bring you many gifts.”

You rolled the cigarette between your fingers absentmindedly, “Yes.”

“I heard you were giving some of your jewelry to the girls.”

“They liked them.”

“You didn’t?”

“I’m not much of a jewelry person,” you lied through your teeth, “Never was, really.”

“You should still keep them.”

“Why?”

“You’re making a small fortune, Y/N.” Linda told you, “You never know when you will need money.”

You raised your brows, then nodded,

“Right,” you rasped out, “Right. I didn’t… Yeah, you’re right.”

“Speaking of money,” she said, “There is something I would like to speak with you.” She sat up straighter, “Do you know Janet? From Betsy’s House of Pleasures?”

That had to be the most stupid title for a brothel.

“Yes, she looks lovely.”

“She just signed a contract, with one of the richest men in Brooklyn,”

You exhaled the smoke, “A contract,” you muttered, “Let me guess. He will be her only client, and she will get money. A mistress, basically.”

“I was thinking the same deal would be good for you,” she said, “General is a rich man, he is very interested in you-“ she was cut off when you shook your head fervently.

“No no, I don’t want that.”

“You don’t want that.” Linda repeated and you cleared your throat,

“The General is…” you thought for a moment, “Not the type of a man who’d like that. I’d- I’d lose his interest if that happened.”

“How do you know?”

“I know him,”

“You should still talk to him about it,” Linda said, “You would have only one regular, and you would be making even more money than now. Wait for a time he’s in a good mood and ask him.”

I’d rather be cut into pieces.

“Alright,” you said, then stubbed the cigarette on the crystal ashtray, “Is that all?”

“I don’t think you realize how lucky you are,” Linda said, “General can be your golden ticket, Y/N. Make sure you don’t waste his interest.”

Lucky.

Right.

“I know,” you tried to smile, “Thank you. I will make sure not to do that.”

She nodded at you and motioned at you to leave, and you left her office before grabbing your coat and making your way out of the house. You hastily put it on, grabbing your cigarette case and your lighter and lit another cigarette, leaning back to the wall. Your heart was pacing in your chest and you closed your eyes, exhaling the smoke through your nose.

It didn’t have to mean you had to do it.

Besides, you were sure Linda would forget about it soon. You just had to make sure you didn’t say anything about it.

Someone cleared their throat and you opened your eyes, but what you saw made your heart beat even faster, only in a pleasant way.

“Don’t you have a house, Sarge?” you asked, smiling at him mischievously, and he had the audacity to look innocent.

“I was around.”

You narrowed your eyes, tilting your head,

“I have been around for the last two hours,” he admitted, after seeing the look on your face, “Respectfully.”

“There we go.”

“Are you alright?” he asked you, “You look….sad.”

I pulled your brows together, then scoffed, “I never look sad.”

“No, you do sometimes,” he said, and you stared at him for a moment, then shook your head slightly, trying to focus.

“Come with me,” you said, then turned around and started walking, with him following you suit.

                                           ***

“I’m one hundred sure this is not safe,” Bucky said, “Not that I’m complaining, but…. You don’t look like a girl who spends time in ruins.”

“It’s not that dangerous,” you defended yourself as you sat down and dangled your legs over the gap that was supposed to be a window. In all honesty, the half-finished construction did not look safe at all, but you had stopped caring about it years and years ago. Bucky sat beside you and you unwrapped the chocolate you had bought from the street just now, and handed him a piece.

“Thanks,” he said and you nodded, then broke the chocolate again to put a piece of it on your tongue, keeping your eyes on the horizon. He chewed on the chocolate silently, not pushing you to speak and that was actually what made you speak.

“Nobody has enough money to rebuild this place, or destroy it,” you said, “It’s been like this for years. Since I was a child.”

Bucky frowned slightly, and you pointed at a street that could be seen from where you were sitting.

“I grew up there.”

A look of realization crossed his eyes, “That’s how you know here.”

You nodded, then put another piece of chocolate into your mouth.

“I like ruins,” you said slowly, “Not everything has to look pretty.”

He tilted his head, eyes locked into yours and he nodded,

“No,” he said, “No it doesn’t.”

You bit inside your cheek, then cleared your throat,

“How’s your arm?” you asked and he looked down at the white plaster before shrugging with one shoulder.

“It’s getting there,” he smiled softly, “Thanks to your broth.”

You could feel your stomach doing a flip, “Do you-“ you nibbled on your lip, “Will they send you back after it’s healed?”

A shadow crossed his blue gaze before he tried to smile and nodded, “Yeah.”

“You don’t have a say in the matter?”

“I don’t.” Bucky said slowly, “Even if I did…. I want to help. I can’t stay while everyone is out there, fighting.”

A shiver ran down your spine, making you cross your arms over your stomach, but you kept your gaze on the horizon.

“Don’t you wish we could control something, at least?” you asked, “For the world to actually care what we want or not?”

Bucky swallowed thickly, “I don’t think we’ll have that,” he said, “Maybe the next generation. Not us. Not yet at least.”

You could feel the burning in your eyes but you blinked fast, “I sometimes think we were born in the worst time possible,” you admitted and Bucky shook his head,

“War will end someday,” he murmured, “And- I heard Howard Stark is building a flying car.”

You made a face, a bitter chuckle escaping from your lips, “Cars can’t fly.”

“The papers say they can. So maybe future isn’t that bad,” he smiled at you boyishly, as if trying to make you laugh, “No war, flying cars…”

That drew a small smile from your lips, and you bit inside your cheek again to control your expression, averting your glances before you shifted slightly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly and you shrugged.

“I’m-” you cleared your throat, “I want something I shouldn’t want.”

His eyes searched yours, “What do you want?”

“Happiness,” you dragged your fingernails over the thick fabric of your coat, and Bucky frowned,

“Why shouldn’t you want that?” his voice was gentle, as if he was afraid of scaring you off and you pinched your lip between two fingers.

“That might be one of the very rare things our occupations have in common, Sarge,” you said, “Happiness is the one thing you shouldn’t want.”

He heaved a sigh, then shook his head, “I don’t think that’s true,” he said, “I wouldn’t be out there fighting if I didn’t believe this had a happy ending.”

“Because it has to?”

“Exactly.” He said, “Because it has to.”

You lowered your glances, then pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, “I’m not sure if I believe that.”

“You should,” he trailed off, “I can prove it to you,”

You arched a brow, “How?” you challenged him, shooting him a daring look and he smiled softly, then his gaze lingered on your lips for a moment.

“Can I kiss you?”

You could swear he could hear your heartbeat and you stared at him for a moment, no one had ever bothered to ask you before. Each and every client of yours, or even before you ended up in a brothel, no one had asked for your permission to kiss you, didn’t even think about it.

And that felt so sweet and so new that you forgot you were supposed to say no.

“Once,” you said silently, “You can kiss me once, Sergeant Barnes.”

Liar liar, a small voice in your mind sang but you ignored it, as Bucky leaned in and your eyes fluttered close, your body being pulled to him almost instinctively. His hand cupped your cheek as he rested his forehead against yours, almost teasing you with his slowness.

“Just once?” his breath was warm on your lips and you nodded.

“Just once.” You whispered, and his thumb traced your cheekbone before you felt his lips on yours.

So far, it had been very different. You half expected him to grip your hair, or your neck, or bite your lip until it hurt, just something similar to what you had experienced until now, but everything about this just screamed gentleness. It had the same softness of a flower on your lips, the same sweetness of chocolate melting in your mouth, the same warmth of a pleasant summer day, making every memory of cold disappear.

Until he pulled back, making you crave him and you stayed like that for a moment, eyes closed, feeling his breathing lacing with yours.

You weren’t supposed to feel this.

You opened your eyes to see his gaze on you, almost in awe, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on gleaming in his eyes, but not the usual predatory look you got from your clients. Instead it made you feel-

Loved.

“I should go,” you swallowed thickly, as your brain forced you to comprehend what was happening, along with your heart slamming against your ribcage.

This was new, and you were not supposed to feel this.

“Y/N-“ he said, and you licked your lips, as if trying to taste him once more, and pulled back.

“Did I-”

“No,” you shook your head, “No, I… We can’t. We shouldn’t, it’s-” you blinked back the tears, “I don’t have the luxury to feel this, neither do you. You should save that feeling for someone right, or one of us will get hurt.”

With that, you rushed out of there, not looking back until you were sure you were out of his sight. You wiped your eyes with the back of your hands, shaking your head to pull yourself together as you made your way to the street where the brothel was in, your thoughts spiraling in your head.

No way. You couldn’t have that.

You couldn’t have that feeling and you couldn’t have him, and you had to deal with that fact before you got too attached. Before it broke your heart, before it broke his heart, before it changed either of you.

Staying away was safer. You couldn’t afford that glimmer of hope, especially now, in war time.

War didn’t allow any happy endings.

You knew how not to cry, at least. That was one of the first things your job had taught you, you were more than capable to raise your chin up and make your way through the crowd as if you weren’t hurting.

Finally, you reached the brothel and knocked on the door. Thomas opened it after a couple of seconds, then frowned.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” you shook your head and sniffled, then stepped inside, “I just want to go upstairs and have a bath, if Linda asks where I am, please tell her-“

“Birdie!”

His voice was more than enough to wake goosebumps on your skin and you turned your head to see General Richards, leaning against the stairs as if he also had just walked in. His grayish hair was a little messy as he gave his hat to Shirley who shot you an apologetic look, then put it over the dresser.

Oh.

Right. He was back.

“General,” you said, then forced yourself to smile.

You know what to do. You know how to pretend..

“Missed me sweetheart?”

It was almost mechanical for your expression and body at this point. It was like even if your heart was broken, your mind already knew what to do.

“Of course,” you walked to him and let him kiss you, “Beyond words. I was worried you forgot about me!”

“Impossible,” he grinned at you, and squeezed your hip, “Come on, upstairs. I brought you so many gifts.”

“You shouldn’t have.” You said slowly, but he waved a hand in the air.

“The most gorgeous minx in Brooklyn deserves such things,” he said as he made his way upstairs to your room and you were just about to walk past Shirley but she stopped you.

“What?”

“Look up,” she said, then wiped the remains of mascara, which was surely caused by your tears, off your lower lid.

“There,” she said, “Now you do look like the most gorgeous minx in Brooklyn, as he put it.”

You swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the lump in your throat which seemed to grow bigger and bigger until you couldn’t breathe.

“Birdie!”

“I’m coming,” you said, and rushed upstairs, your heart feeling way too heavy for your chest. You took a deep breath, biting your tongue to focus and stepped into the room to see him turning a velvet box in his hands.

“There you go,” he opened it and let you see what was inside the velvet. A diamond bracelet was wrapped around the tiny puffy pillow, and you reached out to touch the smooth surface of the diamonds, letting your fingertips rest over the shiny rocks for a moment before you forced yourself to smile.

“It’s very beautiful, General,” you managed to say, still biting inside your cheek to keep yourself from crying, and took the box from him to put it on your table, “Thank you. You’re so kind.”

“I figured since I neglected you for a while, it called for some drastic measures,” he said, “Linda talked to me, by the way. We should talk about that contract, don’t you think?”

You could swear that the ground shook under your feet, but you dug your fingernails into your palms.

“Oh?”

“Of course, that should be after we….catch up.” He approached you from behind and kissed your neck, making you feel sick to your stomach, “Put the bracelet on, by the way. I want to see it on you.”

Your hands were shaking way too badly for you to put it on, but before you could even say anything, he grabbed the bracelet and clasped it around your wrist.

It felt like shackles.

“You’re so lucky, do you know that?” he said, as he leaned in to unzip your dress and you took a deep breath, closing your eyes.

You’re not here, and none of this is real.

“Yes,” you managed to murmur, “I know. I am so lucky.”

                                                           *

 @rhabakoli​​​​​ @rmwest94​​​​​ @finnickfoxes​​​​​  @theskytraveler​​​ @asongofmarvelanddc​​​​​ @thorohdamnson​​​​​  @fictionwillneverdie​​​​​   @lostkizzy​​​   @superwolfchild-fan​​​​​  @marauderskeeper​​​​ @propertyofpoeandbucky​​​ @alwaysadreamingoptimist​​​​ @lettersofwrittencollective​​​​ @i-am-always-famished​​​​  @small-round-and-angry​​​​ @captstefanbrandt​​​​ @flowers-in-your-hayr​​​ @writeyourmindaway​​​​ @geekandbooknerd​​​​ @mamaraptor​​​​  @j-finco​​​​ @the-omni-princess​​​​ @supercarricat​​​​ @anxietysucks​​​​ @fortisfiliae​​​ @stopitchris​​​ @nea90sweetie​​​​ @inforapound​​​​ @theladybiers​​​ @aikeji​​​​ @nishanki1​​ @neerness @littledarlinhavefaithinme​​ @marvelgirl7​ @to-the-road @starkrobb​

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #winter soldier #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier imagines #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #1940s!bucky #1940s bucky barnes #imagine #imagines

[anika-ann]

Hands Too Cold, but Heart of Gold - Pt.8 (M.M.)

The Date

Pairing: Matt Murdock x reader,  onde-sided Steve Rogers x reader

Word count: 3850

Summary: Avenger!reader AU, love triangle. You go out with Matt Murdock and to your own surprise, it doesn’t end up a disaster. Quite the opposite.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst

Story Mastelist

────── ·❆· ──────

“I honestly don’t know why I’m freaking out about my outfit. He won’t even be able to see it! Why am I freaking out, Tasha?” you asked her on a verge of desperation, smoothening your dress for the millionth time.

As you got to the hem of the dress, all you wanted to do was to pull it over your head and change. Again. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, honestly considering it.

Natasha, standing behind you, put her hands on your shoulders to keep you in place and raised her eyebrow.

“Hey. You have every right to be nervous. How long has it been since your last date?” she asked gently, surprisingly so for a super-spy.

You bit your lip guiltily – of course, she found the root of the trouble. It had been too freaking long. The fact you were going out with Matt – an amazing human being – was not helping to sooth your nerves either.

“Almost two years.”

“Well. I think you’re entitled. But you’re gonna be fine,” she reassured you and you caught her honest gaze in the mirror. She squeezed your shoulders. “That guy? He fell hard – I hope you figured that out already. Just be yourself and you’ll be fine.”

You took a deep breath. “Thanks, Tasha. I really should go or I’ll be late. The taxi might even be here already.”

You picked up your coat, leaving the dresses you didn’t even want to count – Natasha had supplied you with too many of hers and still, you took the only dress you owned yourself – and grabbed your purse on the way.

You were insanely grateful to Natasha for her help – yet, your heart was fluttering nervously and ached a little. You wished Steve was here too, but you understood this was more of a ladies thing. You were sure he wished you the best for your date even if you hadn’t heard him say it.

You opened the door only to meet with Steve’s surprised face. His eyes measured you from head to toe and you fought the urge to hide – god knew why. That was until his gaze returned to your face and a smile appeared on his lips.

“You look beautiful, Snowflake,” he whispered, checking you out shamelessly once more. “He’s a lucky guy.”

You bit your lip, feeling the rush of heat colouring your cheeks. You lowered your gaze, examining your shoes; they had heels, you were about to kill yourself in them, why were you wearing them again…?

Steve chuckled at your reaction. You couldn’t help but feel like there was something foreign in that supposedly happy sound, something you couldn’t decode.

A hand appeared under your chin, fingers tucking a strand of your hair that fell in your face behind your ear. He kissed your forehead lovingly and you inhaled deeply, trying to calm down your rapidly beating heart. You knew he was trying to help, but it didn’t really work.

“Hey, Snowflake. Hold your head high, you look wonderful. It’s gonna be fine. If he upsets you, you not only can let him go, but you have five– no, six pissed off friends actually, I’m sure Thor would stop by for that – to punch Matt in his face. Understood?”

That finally made you relax and the tension in your shoulders eased with a huffed laughter. Steve’s eyes twinkled for a moment and you couldn’t but laugh again.

“Did you just say ‘pissed off’?” you asked incredulously and Steve shrugged it off – except a hint of a blush appeared in his cheeks too and hell, you could not miss that. You feasted your eyes on his embarrassment and only then gave Captain Language a proper hug, which was reciprocated tightly.

“I guess I’m nervous for you that much,” he murmured over your shoulder and the statement melted your heart.

“Thank you, Steve.”

He squeezed your waist once more, caressed your back and released you from his embrace, uneasy smile on his lips.

“Go. We wouldn’t want you to be late.”

You just nodded and made your way to the elevator. You sparred one more glance at Natasha, who joined Steve in the hallway, couple of dressed folded over her forearm. She grinned at you.

“Not to make you nervous, Frosty, but just because he won’t be able to see you with his eyes, it doesn’t mean he won’t appreciate your appearance! And other stuff! Considering all of his senses are heightened!” she called after you and you felt you face turning into a mask of horror.

All of his senses. Shit. What perfume did you use? How much could he— would he be able to tell you hugged-- did Steve just hug you to make Matt jealous and possibly make him think you were wanted, so he would value the fact you were going out with him more?

No, wait, you were the one who hugged Steve, which--- this was so going to be a disaster. You whined and slid into your coat, hoping it would make you invisible. And undetectable in any other way. This evening started swimmingly…

With you going down in the elevator, Natasha and Steve were left alone.

“Smooth, Rogers. Very subtle,” the spy exclaimed, patting his arm patronizingly. Steve shot her an unreadable glare.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“About the fact Mr. Hot and Devilish wouldn’t even have to make her unhappy. It’s him making her happy that you want to punch him in the face for.”

Steve grinded his teeth, his look turning murderous. “That’s not true. I want them to get together.”

“Sure,” she agreed, shrugging. “That’s why you marked your territory like a goddamned dog.”

The rush of irritation and shame at being caught hit him stronger than excepted. Natasha knew exactly how to push his buttons and it drove him crazy.

“I didn’t-“ he protested lamely, only to realize he indeed hadn’t. “She was the one who hugged me.”

“Yeah. Keep yourself telling that. She did hug you, but what happened before that, that was on you. I’m surprised you didn’t kiss her on her mouth. I don’t understand how one can be so blind— eh, sorry-”

Steve’s hands curled into fists and he paced to his room to change into something more suitable for workout. He needed to punch something and as much as he was pissed at Natasha for mocking him, he liked her too much to hurt her – the punching bags would have to suffice. Bags, definitely plural, because he would tear some today, no doubt.

“Have a good workout, big guy!” she shouted after him almost cheerily and he slammed the door with such force that dust of plastering snowed down around the doorway.

Snowed down. Fuck. That would be more than one ruined bag today.

────── ·❆· ──────  

Entering the restaurant was one of the scariest things you had ever done. But the friendly space welcomed you, soft lights illuminating the room, white clothing on the tables, each with a candle on it, several people talking rather lowly. You gulped looking around – probably forgetting everything Natasha had taught you about subtle observation, because the hostess spotted you immediately and walked to you, assuming you were completely lost.

“Good evening. Do you have a reservation, madam? Are you meeting anyone here? Or I am going to look for a table for one?” she asked politely, professionalism never leaving her face.

You gulped. “Uhm… meeting someone actually. There should be a reservation for seven o’clock under the name Murdock?”

“Of course. Mr. Murdock is waiting for you. Follow me.”

‘Waiting for you?’ You were five minutes early! You were kinda hoping you would have time to calm your nerves-

Matt probably knew about you the second you entered the restaurant – still, it surprised you when he rose as you approached the table and pulled out your chair for you to sit down before helping you from your coat.

“Hi, Matt,” you greeted him unsurely, obediently sitting down. “Thank you.”

If he wouldn’t have stood up, you wouldn’t have recognized him – or at least it would take you a while. He wore a nice-fitting black suit with white shirt and crimson tie – not something you were used to; the only outfit you had seen him in was either his armour or the shirt he wore in the hospital, where you hadn’t really paid attention.

His face was partly hidden behind a pair of round red-toned glasses, making you feel like you were meeting a completely different person. You had already met Daredevil, you had met Matt, you supposed, and now you were meeting Mr. Murdock. Though the colour of his tie and glasses was a hint, sending a vibe of familiarity towards you.

“Your waitress will be here shortly,” the hostess announced, barely noticed.

Matt smiled at you. “Hi. Glad you could make it.”

You inhaled sharply. Was your nervousness that evident?

“Yeah. Yeah, me too. It… it was… okay, uhm, I guess you can tell I got hugged profusely. By Steve. And Nat. I was… nervous. Sorry,” you mumbled, watching the flame of the candle flicker as you exhaled. “It’s been a while since I was… out.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his tone surprisingly soothing. It worked for you, okay. “It’s been a while for me too.”

That made you snap your head up.

“Really?” you blurted out. “I mean… you just seem like a guy who…”

He tilted his head, his eyebrow rising in challenge. “…yes?”

“Oh god, no I didn’t mean like…” You whined silently. Now it sounded as if you were saying he was a manwhore.

“I’m waiting for you to finish that sentence. Are you suggesting something?” he teased you and it ignited the flame of banter-queen that had revealed herself while on the mission with the Devil.

“I’m suggesting that you seem like a guy who can’t complain about the lack of attention from women – possibly men. I don’t know where your train of thought headed…”

He grinned, impressed and possibly satisfied with himself; he had every right. You found the uneasy sensation in your stomach resolve as you stepped into a more familiar territory of teasing. And with him grinning, damn, he was a handsome little shit.

“Thanks. I do have a rich nightlife, but…”

“Right. I can understand that there are different kinds of nightlife.”

“Exactly. Sneaking from bed every night doesn’t work well. And loading every potential partner with why I do it… it’s not that easy.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered and Matt just shook his head.

“It’s my choice. I’m glad you’re here and we have this part out of our way.”

You bit your lip as he gave you yet another smile, this time softer. “I’m glad too. But are you suggesting there’s more?”

He chuckled dryly. “Well. Of course there is, but we can work with that later. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has some things that are important, yet not the best thing to discuss on the first date.”

The flutter of your heart caused by the mention of heavy baggage on your side turned into an excited one as you were reminded this was your first date – with a great man, who was as badass and cocky as he seemed understanding, sweet and gallant.

“Yeah. You think wine would help?”

“Absolutely.”

────── ·❆· ──────  

The wine did help. You two made it through why you hadn’t been on a date for a while, which featured your struggle with the disease and you ‘dying’ and joining the Avengers. To balance the heaviness, you mentioned few stunts your friends in the Tower had pulled so far.

Matt told you about his best friend finding about his nightlife, but also about the work they did in their little firm with big ambitions, throwing in stories from college.  

You laughed, your cheeks hurt and your belly too, your body was pleasantly buzzing and you hadn’t even noticed the restaurant was almost empty until Matt took off his glasses, toying with the earpiece of them.

“I like it better this way,” you noted deliberately and his fingers froze. “Uh-uh, no, leave them off, please. I really do like it better, if that’s okay with you.”

He sort-of looked at you shyly and you were welcomed by the warm of his brown irises, twinkling in the soft light of the candle.

“You sure?” he pried hesitantly and you nodded, hoping he could perceive that.

He resembled a lost but hopeful puppy and it was such a surreal look on his face – through the night, you had had an opportunity to know him a bit more, but this was… new. No matter what you had been discussing, there always had been confidence in him – more or less. You didn’t think he would be self-continuous about his eyes of all things, but it made sense. Your heart swelled.

“Yeah, Matt. I really am.”

Time flied and before you knew it, the waitress politely pointed out they were about to close the restaurant.

“Oh,” you let out intelligently, honestly taken aback. This time wary of being subtle, you checked the space – it was empty. Everyone was out. Oh.

“Of course. Bring me the check, please,” Matt asked, apparently unfazed. You could only wonder if he had been aware of their situation; given his abilities, he probably had. Huh. Guess he didn’t want to leave either – the thought warmed you heart.

He paid for you both, helping you with your coat again. Once you were outside, pleasantly cool air brushing your cheeks, he turned to you sheepishly.

“May I walk you home? Or do you prefer a cab?”

Your heels were killing you already; yet, the choice was clear, because you didn’t want the night to end.

“Walk?”

Your reward was his wide smile and silent request for your elbow. Damn the heels, this was worth it.

“Lead the way?” he asked as he folded his cane, his hand sliding under your arm.

You would be hesitant about the direction, but the Avengers tower was too much of a highlight to miss it. Still, you couldn’t help but tease him.

“Do you trust a woman with directions?”

He chuckled. “Well, I am blind, so I’m trusting anyone who can actually see where we’re going. Perhaps not any woman. I think we established a while ago that I trust you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at that, making Matt’s smile grow. Well, that wasn’t embarrassing at all, that he could read literally every reaction your body had. Not awkward at all.

“Thanks.”

You weren’t stupid enough to walk to the Tower. For all you knew, Tony had his eyes on everything within a half-mile radius at least and you didn’t want him to spy on you two. That man had no sense of privacy whatsoever.

“Well, I guess this is me,” you murmured, stopping in your tracks. Matt frowned and you cleared your throat. “Uhm… eyes and ears everywhere. I don’t want to…”

A flash of understanding appeared on his face and he laughed silently as he turned his whole body to you. He was close. Very close.

“That makes sense. Too bad it means we have to say goodbye now.”

“Technically, we don’t have to. Say it, that is,” you added at his confused expression. One corner of his lips rose higher, his free hand finding yours and running up your arm.

“Very true, Gerda.”

Your breath hitched as he used your nickname for the first time that night. His hands weren’t helping you to control your breathing either.

“We can always go with a goodnight.”

“Is a goodnight kiss too bold?” he whispered, leaning in just slightly, giving you a room to escape if you wanted to. You didn’t think you wanted to escape.

“Very bold…” His face fell, silent ‘oh’ escaping him. “But I’m okay with bold.”

“Mean woman,” he murmured, erasing the distance and meeting your lips.  

Your heart positively stopped the moment it happened and it felt like eternity before it kicked back in.

His lips were warm against yours, gentle and hesitant at first. Your own hand deliberately shot up to his face as you realized a response would be appropriate, but dammit it had been a while and his mouth on yours felt so fucking good. Your fingers found his nape, pulling him just a little closer as heat coiled in your abdomen, welcoming the butterflies fluttering their wings in your stomach. You felt the grip on your elbow tightening and Matt took your lower lip between his, fondling with more boldness indeed.

You sighed in appreciation, your heart hammering in your ribcage that suddenly felt too small, even for your breathing. You retreated just slightly, needing some air, but aching at the thought of creating a distance between you and him. He inhaled deeply too, his hand on your jaw, his thumb caressing your cheek.

“Goodnight?” he tried out silently and you couldn’t help but chuckle, enjoying the tickle of his breath as he did the same.

“Fight me, but that didn’t feel like a goodnight kiss.” You shortly met his lips again, unable to resist – but aiming for only a peck that wouldn’t leave your fingertips tingling like the previous kiss. “Goodnight?”

“Goodnight indeed.”

He kissed the corner of your mouth before letting go of you and you pretended you didn’t feel cold all of sudden. At least his warm eyes were still watching your chin.

“Stay safe,” you whispered and Matt gave you one more gorgeous smile.

“I’ll try. Take care.”

You nodded and forced your body to spin on your heels to go, because if you wouldn’t do it now, you might as well end up going home with him or taking him to the Tower, which something you weren’t really ready for.

You started walking, snuggling into your coat, crossing your arms on your chest to keep yourself warmer. You spared one more glance at Matt, who was still standing where you had left him, raising his hand in tiny wave as you looked over your shoulder. Your cheeks burned as you got caught; then again, he hadn’t move from his position, watching you as well, so you had no reason to be truly embarrassed.

Or you thought so, until you realized the air actually was unusually chilly for September and to make it perfect, a snowflake fell on your nose. You looked around, realizing it started snowing.

Snowing. This wasn’t normal. Which meant… did you just…?

“Holy shit,” you muttered under your breath, unsure whether you should be horrified or not as you turned your palm up, catching few more snowflakes. You… you somehow did this. It was as terrifying as awesome.

In the end, you just giggled at what you had caused.

Let it snow.

────── ·❆· ──────  

Natasha was standing in her room, staring out of the window as snowflakes slowly descended. None of them stuck, melting as soon as they collided with the surface, but there was no denying it really was snowing. And given the fact that the temperature needed to drop significantly for this to happen, there was no doubt whose doing was that – deliberate or not.

Your emotions were running high.

“Hey, Steve. What are you still doing awake?” she heard your astonished voice from the hallway and she bit her lip. This was definitely your excited voice; the date went well. The snow was a good sign.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Natasha’s heart ached for her friend, simultaneously wondering if you could hear the subtle hint of pain in his voice. She suddenly felt guilty for helping you to get ready for the date – but it felt like the right thing to do.

“So you went to a gym? It’s after midnight. You’re making us all look like couch potatoes.”

Natasha could easily imagine that the soldier ‘casually’ shrugged.  

“Felt like working out,” he explained easily. No shit. How many punching bags did he destroy this time?

“Is everything okay? I know it’s not the first time. Something troubling you? Talk to me, Steve,” you pleaded softly.

Natasha sighed. That would be your placing your hand on his forearm in comforting gesture, your eyes screaming ‘you can trust me’. You always did that, because it was the thing you two did and you two were so utterly hopeless it hurt.

“It’s nothing, Snowflake. Nothing you need to worry about. You look happy. I take it the date went well?”

His voice was strained and the spy had no doubt you could tell. Yet, you answered him, tiny chuckle bubbling in your throat. “Yeah. It did.”

“One more reason for you not to worry about me,” Steve offered kindly and Natasha just gritted her teeth. Rogers was such an ass. Noble, maybe, but bozhe, such an ass. “I’m happy for you, Snowflake.”

“Thank you. But we’re talking about you, soon. I need you to be happy too, Steve. You’re too important to me and too good not to be.”

Natasha agreed wholeheartedly, glancing at the flash drive on her nightstand. She had downloaded the conversation she had with Steve, him confessing his feelings for you, but now, it seemed worthless.

While she wished for you to be happy, she was hoping you could do that with the supersoldier who was head over heels for you. She had been sure you felt the same, but now she had doubts. You could easily fall in love with Daredevil, he was charming enough, and she had no right to interfere with your love-life.

“Okay. I promise I’ll tell you later.”

Natasha scoffed. Yeah, sure. On your deathbed, maybe.

“ ‘kay. Love you, Steve. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Snowflake.”

Natasha heard your footsteps trailing off and slowly went to open her door for a slit.

“Don’t say a word,” Steve warned her icily, a heart-breaking crack in his voice.

“I was gonna offer you a drink, an ‘I’m sorry’ and a hug.”

She heard him inhale and exhale shakily and she stepped out to find him resting his forehead against the nearest wall. His eyes were squeezed shut and she would swear it wasn’t sweat what gleamed on his cheeks. She pressed her lips together, hesitantly bringing her palm to his arm. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“I’m really sorry, Steve,” she whispered tentatively, surprised when he bounced off the wall, looking her straight in the eye. His own were indeed glassy, but he wasn’t crying.

“You don’t have to be. She deserves the win, I’m happy for her.”

He said it with such conviction that if she hadn’t known him well enough, she wouldn’t notice how fragile the façade he had hastily built up was.

“Good. But you should know you don’t have to be, macho man. It’s okay to be angry, not just with yourself, but also with her and especially with him. You can be sad and you can be hurt. I know I’m not exactly the most open person when it comes to emotions, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel. And you can feel too.”

Steve escaped her gaze, but she could see his tiny nod. She took it as a victory and encouraged, she took his huge arm.

“Come on, Cap, let’s find out where Thor stocked the good booze.”

────── ·❆· ──────

Tags:  @mermaidxatxheart​, @murdermornings​, @elisaa-shelby​ @ask-hellbent-tweek

────── ·❆· ──────

Thank you for reading! If you read for Matt x reader, this is it for ya, sorry ;) You can always check out Steve x reader ending or my other Matt Murdock fics :-*

#marvel #fanfiction #matt murdock reader #matt murdock imagine #daredevil x reader #daredevil imagine #mcu #avengers #avenger reader #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock #marvel fanfiction #love triangle #hands too cold but heart of gold #anika ann

[thepilgrimofwar]

Regret

Unpublished Follow up to Homefront & to Emmissary of the Fallen

Snow had begun to fall, coating all the courtyard in white except for Sederis’ altar which stayed under the protection of a spell. Zarannis had no such protection and kept her vigil even as the snow melted into her hair. It did not bother her in the slightest that Quel’thalas had lost her eternal spring, after all, winter was the Kestrel’s element and her people lived and died by it in the Cloudrend Glades. She stared at the corpse of the man she had once brought into those mountains in search of Zin’jang, crossing into valleys that did not exist on any map, and tried to remember her last words to him.

“Genocide?” She had shot him a dark look. “If the Shadow Eaters didn’t want to be wiped out, they wouldn’t have kept collecting skulls. Our skulls, or the skulls of our children.”

“They wouldn’t have collected skulls if they weren’t desperate to drive us out.” Sederis replied her look with one of his own. “Remember. We landed on these shores and murdered them until there were no more trolls to kill. Men, women and children- We’ve be wiping them out since the day we came here.”

“That’s ancient history! Were you alive then? Were these traitors alive? No! Why keep bringing up what our ancestors did?” Zarannis spat, clenching her hands into fists and marching right up to the noble brat.

He stood his ground. “Because that’s who we are! We live with what our ancestors did, whether you like it or not!”

“So how long then?” Her voice died down to a poisonous whisper. “How long must we pay for their sins? The rest of our lives? The lives of our children? Eternity? If you want to wallow in your forefather’s guilt, be my guest but don’t you dare try and drag me with you.” She looked him in the eyes. Uncompromising. Unflinching. “I’ve seen the aftermath of a troll raid on a logger’s cabin. I’ve cleaned up the pieces of that family. I’ve buried what remained of the children that lived there. Sure, my people have done the same or worse than their tribesmen, but that family? They did nothing except try to settle the frontier.”

“Their lands, their law.” Sederis stated, just as she had when they had first crossed into troll territory.

“When the law dictates the slaughter of innocents, then the law is wrong.”

That had been it. After that, they had returned to the Wintergale manor and went their separate ways. Those were her last words to him. Words of defiance. A challenging of the natural order of things, and the defense of age old hatred.

“Thank you for coming,” came a voice from behind her. But Zarrannis did not turn. She was fixated on the corpse of the man she had once known. Sederis Emberheart, laid out to rest. Dame Everleigh had returned him, probably half-expected that her worthy adversary would be resurrected. But try as they might, Sederis had refused to return. “It means the world that you braved the perilous journey here, behind enemy lines.”

“If you think I came here to pay my respects, I’m afraid you are sorely mistaken,” Zarannis stated coldly. She didn’t particularly dislike the man, though they had a difference in opinion about many things. But she didn’t believe in mourning.

“Yet you stare at him, unmoving,” she knew it was Solendis Emberheart. She could tell he was circling her. “I’d wager that you were.”

“At his body. Not him. This was his prison, of responsibilities he was forced to carry, and of promises he could not keep. Respect has nothing to do with it.” Zarannis turned at last to the Steward of the Emberglades. “At his body,” she repeated. “And Zin’jang.”

“Our family’s weapon.”

“His weapon. Your family took it in as a trophy- a symbol of the blood it took you to win these lands off the Amani. Sederis took it back to bridge the gap between divided traditions. He reforged it into his own,” Zarannis turned back to the spear, and the body that clutched it tight to his chest.

“What will be done with it?” She asked.

“He will hold it until this war is over. Once it is, we will bury it with him in the family mausoleum. There it will stay until Stenden is old enough to claim his birthright.”

“If he becomes old enough to claim his birthright,” Zarannis corrected. “You know full well, with the soldiers of the Heartlands obliterated, and the loyalists of the Broken Bulwark destroyed. No one will come to your aid. Lord Ilithia and the whole of Westheath will be at your throat the moment this war is over.”

“We still have House Goodember and Wintergale.”

“Neilio Goodember will support the highest bidder. How much gold will you have left in your coffers after this war is over?” Zarannis began pacing, orbiting Solendis now. “And House Wintergale? My father has wanted independence for generations. This would be the best opportunity to achieve it.”

Solendis swallowed hard. “Arenias will come for you after he’s done with us. There is merit in supporting your Lord.”

Zarannis laughed, deep and rich as if there was true humor to be found. “Tell that to my father. You forget I’ve been disowned.”

“Why is it do you think I’ve called you here,” Solendis shot her a look that stopped the Far Strider in her tracks. “The Emberglades needs a Warden, Zarannis.”

“And I’m your third candidate?”

“First.” “Times must be truly desperate indeed,” Zarannis smirked. “For you to think that a member of disgraced nobility is a worthy fit.”

“Dorrence Tar’saren was lowborn soldier-turned-Lord of the Broken Bulwark. Sederis was a runaway mercenary captain-turned-Lord of the Emberglades. Worthy fits are few and far between in these lands,” Solendis stepped towards her. “You are distinguished Far Strider of Lodge Kestrel. You have protected Quel’thalas for centuries. You have kept the Cloudrend Glades safe-”

“Secure,” she corrected. “I hope this war has taught you that no one is truly ever safe.”

“It has, which is why we need a Warden.”

“A Warden of a sinking ship.”

“A Warden, of Stenden Emberheart, Lord of the Emberglades. The recognized ruler by the Crown.”

“Until Arenias takes that title for himself,” Zarannis quipped. “And you assume that there’ll even be a crown after this.”

“A Warden of the Emberglades, Lady of the Broken Bulwark, and bearer of Zin’jang,” Solendis raised his voice, stating all that he had on the table. All she needed to do was collect. “Keep your family name, make a new one, that is your prerogative. But you will be given everything we have lost and more.”

“And swear my life away- Throw my life away in a future war for a pile of ruins and a stolen relic? You offer things you have no ownership over.”

“What would you have me do then!? Let my family die?” Solendis yelled, a phenomenon that has been witnessed before or since that moment. “When Arenias comes for us, we’re going to be strung up on the walls of this very courtyard and I won’t have it! But I’m not a great warrior or a charismatic general. I’m a man with a mouth and a birthright, nothing more. I can’t save my family. I was hoping- no- I am begging that you do.”

His outburst caught her off guard. She had known him as the ever calculating, ever scheming spymaster of his brother’s regime. This was probably part of his game- but not under the pretense of some scheme. This game he played was closer to home, with personal stakes that were closer to him than the man was comfortable with.

“Begging does not suit you,” she said, walking up to the embalmed body in the center of the courtyard. She thought of Illsei, her sister, next in line of House Wintergale. She thought of Rendra the brat of a brother, and of Ameli, who still refused to wear dresses. Zarannis loved them all. Fiercely. She’d do anything for them. Kill for them. Die for them. She felt for the man.

Zarannis shook her head. “I appreciate the offer. But I have got a war to win.”

Solendis hadn’t the strength to save his family. But neither did she. Already upon her shoulders were the lives of the surviving Kestrels. The Tal’dorei who exiled themselves for her. Waywatchers from Emberlight. Oathsworn of the Sunguard.

She would not bear anymore. Not if she could help it.

-

Just a girl.

I am just a girl.

Not a Farstrider, not a General, and not a pawn of Solendis’ schemes. Just a girl.

Zarannis stared at the corpse of the man she had once known. At last beginning to understand the weight that he had carried upon his shoulders. How a thousand lives could be only a word away from death.

She thought of the war. She thought of her mistakes. Of Honor. Of Naivety. Of promises that she could not keep and people she could not save. But what she regretted most of all, wasn’t the things she had done.

It was the things she hadn’t.

--

Art by Harris Clook

@retributionpriest @stormandozone @thanidiel @curiouslich @esheyn​ @cynfuldax​ @thenaaru​ @forever-afk​ @felthier​ @azriah​ @sonofkhaz​ @korkrunchcereal​

#Epilogue #Funerals #Zarannis #Sederis

[dopescotlandwarrior]

A Hero Among Us-Chapter 14

Previous Chapters on AO3      A special thanks to @statell​ for all your help

Chapter Fourteen

Notes:

Wikipedia has the following dollar equivalents from 1882 to 2018 $400,000.00 = 9.8 Million $  50,000.00 = 1.2 Million $  20,000.00 = $492,000.00 $    3,000.00 = $  73,854.00 $    2,000.00 = $  49,000.00

Chapter Text

Ben’s face was a stone mask as he watched Jacob Beringer play with a grape from the cluster he was given. He had yet to test the sugars. Smell it, or pop it in his mouth. Why was he stalling and where was Frederick on such an important day? Ben was through wasting his time.

“You boys let me know if you want any of the whites. I’ll check back sometime tomorrow.”

Jacob looked terribly conflicted, and with good reason, Ben decided. They would pay so much for the grapes this year it would be a struggle to keep the doors open, don’t buy the grapes and there was no reason to keep the doors open.

“If you’re feeling all hope is lost, it isn’t, you have me, and I have grapes. You and your brother are master vintners and you make the best table wine in America. That gift will roll fortunes out of this place year after year for generations.” Ben pointed at the cluster. “This grower has done everything right and he has over 300 acres of vines that are immune to the blight. He knows the cash value of his crop so when you go around me and offer twenty percent over last year he will respectfully decline and I will have sold everything to Mondavi, including first right of refusal on the Zin and deep reds. Anyway, I’ll stop by in a day or two. Have a good day Jacob.”

Ben left the befuddled vintner behind and claimed his horse from the stable hand. His feet were not even in stirrups before Jacob ran up to him and committed to purchasing the crop, the entire 300 acres of grapes. He wrote a hasty promissory note and handed it to Ben.

Ben wrote in the price per ton for each variety and an estimate of the number of tons. His heart rammed so hard in his chest he thought he would fall off his horse from a heart attack. He prayed it would wait until he had Jamie’s money secured.

“You can take possession of the whites when the money is transferred in the morning. See ya, Jacob.”

Ben hardly gave his horse time to warm up before he spurred him to the vineyard. He knew the Beringer family back in Germany had the resources to help the brothers financially so he pressed for the highest price and had the upper hand throughout. Jamie’s yield was down thirty percent he estimated, maybe more, so Ben set the price high and the Frasers were now very rich. Ben turned off the road and headed for the vineyard, the location for which was still unknown to the other growers and wineries. The irregular terrain was a pain to ride and he wondered about building a road, it would make life easier for them.

Jamie and Claire sat opposite Ben on the porch and tried to be calm waiting for Ben to share his news. Ben looked closely at the couple, thinking they looked better than he could ever remember seeing them. Farming must agree with them, he thought.

“Jamie, this is just an estimate but it looks like the yield is down about thirty percent, due to shock after the transplanting no doubt. That is unfortunate for a miracle year like this, the miracle being you are one of the few growers with grapes. So I pushed the Beringers for the highest price and they gave it. They bought it all.” Ben was smiling and could not understand the silence of the couple staring back at him. “Oh! Sorry. They paid four-hundred for the three hundred acres.” Silence. “Four-hundred thousand dollars.”

The blood drained out of Jamie’s face, “good Lord,” he mumbled, standing up and looking out at the vineyard. He sat down and leaned toward Ben. “Four-hundred thousand dollars Ben?” Jamie shot to his feet like there was a wasp under his butt. He took a step toward the vines and sat down again. “We havna picked them all yet.”

Ben went from smiling to laughing at the expression on Jamie’s face as he tried to wrap his brain around the fortune they just made. “Well, the Beringer brother’s just bought every grape on your vines so baring a tornado that uproots them all, or you oversleeping when the sugars rise, you are a very rich man, son.” Ben laughed and looked at Claire who was watching two butterflies and smiling. She was obviously not plugged into the conversation. “Claire, do you have any questions?” She turned her bright smiling face to Ben and shook her head no.

Claire’s mind was busy making tiny clothes and booties, painting the nursery and replacing the furniture, having dresses made for her expanding waistline. When Ben called her attention back to the meeting she felt she missed something important. Looking at Jamie it was confirmed, something big just happened and she could not tell if it was good or bad based on her husband’s weird face. She would find out when they were alone and went back to looking at the butterflies.

“Looks like your crew has things well in hand. I want to talk to you about getting a personal banker. Someone discreet that can handle your money transfers and help you invest. Have you seen that new bank in town? I think they are open, maybe we should take a ride over there and meet with the manager.”

Jamie stood up shaking his head yes and walked off the porch leaving Ben with the distracted Claire. A minute later Jamie ran back and pulled Claire to her feet asking Ben to give him a minute as he walked her inside. What Jamie needed was a quiet room in which to yell like a banshee and jump on furniture until he calmed down. Instead, he appealed to his wife to rest.

“Sassenach, I have to ask ye somethin…” he licked his lips nervously and looked at the floor. “I didna know ye were pregnant last night and I’m sorry for that. Did it hurt the baby, what I did to ye?”

Focusing on his tortured face she touched his cheek, “of course not Jamie. Please don’t worry about me or the baby. There will come a time when we will be…less energetic, but that is sometime in the future.” She kissed him.

“Please rest Sassenach, or I’ll get Fergus to watch ye and ye’ll force sleep so ye dinna have to listen to him anymore.” He wrapped her in his arms and hugged her. “I’ll be with Ben in town, tryin to find a bank big enough to hold all our money.” He chuckled and let his wife go.

As the door closed behind him Claire turned and asked, “what money?”

Lester Fordham sat behind his desk in the empty bank that he managed. He was the seventh male son to be born to Wilma and Charles Fordham and life had been challenging for the youngest son of six successful older brothers. His own mother would sometimes stare at him a full minute before remembering his name. Lester sailed for America to start a life without the shadow of his brothers and was hired by the bank because of his gift with numbers. When they gave him the new bank of St. Helena, they had not considered his absolute lack of personality or charm that would be required to entice new accounts. Try as he might, his nervous disposition and stuttering under pressure kept his bank empty. His stomach was in knots, and his nights were tortured with dreams of returning to England a failure. He saw men approaching the bank and took a deep breath.

“Welcome to Bank of St. Helena, gentlemen. How may I be of service today?”

The two men were conversing quietly and looked up as if startled they were being addressed. One man held a hand out to Lester and introduced them both.

“Good day to ye, sir. I am James Fraser and this is Ben Yountz. We are here to discuss moving my account.”

The men looked around at the empty bank thinking they would be first customers and accepted the seats that were offered. The pleasantries being rather stilted, Jamie explained the size of wire transfer that was coming the next day and asked Lester what ideas he had for investing.

“F…Fff…ffour…well now, that is a lot of money. The pitch of Lester’s voice climbed as he talked about the account types they offered and the benefits of each and he was clearly struggling through the conversation. Once he pulled out his personal notes on the different investments he followed his tone came down, his confidence soared, and he dazzled the men with his knowledge of the stock market, bonds, land investments, and industry. He talked and the men listened thinking they had judged the man harshly at first. The arrangements were made to pull Jamie’s accounts to the new bank and accept the transfer of four hundred thousand dollars in the morning. The men stood and shook hands. Lester walked around his desk and was jerked back when his suit coat pocket got caught on the handle of his desk drawer. He pushed his glasses back up on his nose and decided not to speak and ruin the momentum he had gained. His smile showed the large gap in his front teeth but he stuck out his hand and the men shook it.

Later, when Lester stopped shaking, he brought back the meeting with the men and ran through the empty lobby then clicked his heels. He just made his deposit quota for the next two years and Mister Fraser wanted investment ideas. Lester ran to his desk and turned his lamp up where he would bend over his figures until dawn.

Not far away, on a private vineyard, Jamie also burned the midnight oil bent over his figures. He had a good feel for numbers and appreciated their straight forward answers. He had always used them for budgeting, to save what little money he had. This experience was the opposite as he decided how much he wanted to give away. In his steady hand, he listed all the names of people he wanted to pay. Ned, Ben, Cho, Rupert and Angus and each of the Highlanders. He sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long and physical day bringing the white grapes in and he was exhausted. He looked once more at his list; 43 Highlanders $2,000.00 Rupert $3,000.00 Angus $3,000.00 Cho $3,000.00 Ben $20,000.00 Ned $20,000.00 Fergus $1,000.00 trust, $.25 weekly Jenny-? Lamb-?

The pay would have to wait for another month to ensure the reds were brought in as promised but he felt good about how the money was divided. He heard Claire moving around in the next room and wanted to hold her more than take his next breath. He washed quietly and laid down, pulling her to him. She pressed her face into his neck and sighed contently making his heart hurt with all the love he had for her and his growing child.

Claire yawned and stretched like a contented cat and listened to the voices outside. Pulling her robe on she walked to Jamie’s desk where she heard him working late into the night. She looked at his list and smiled drawing a line through Lamb’s name and writing $50,000.00 next to Jenny’s. “That should do nicely,” she murmured before returning to her warm bed and husband.

Jamie was a nervous wreck waiting for Ben to bring his wagon and trusted team of horses. Moving large loads of grapes is what he did for many years and he put all his faith in his grape-horses. They were strong, and the rough terrain between the vineyard and the road would not be a problem. An empty wagon makes quite a racket so Jamie heard them coming and finally exhaled. The men made short work of transferring the grapes to the wagon and every eye watched the sky above for the signal. Jamie started pacing again while Ben laughed at him. Fergus sat on a barrel and stared at the sky in the direction of the bank.

“Milord, milord! Look! Fergus was ready to implode with excitement when he saw the colorful explosion above the bank. The signal the money was there. It drifted in the sky for almost a minute and the Highlanders threw a cheer in the air. Ben smiled knowingly at Jamie and nodded.

“Looks like it’s time to go fellas!” Ben urged the team forward and the horses pressed into the yokes with haunches bulging with muscle. “Put your backs into it boys!” Ben looked back at the wagon surrounded by Jamie’s men. They would help push when a wheel got stuck or the horses could not pull the wagon over the hills. It took Ben twenty minutes to drive the wagon into the vineyard and two hours to drive it out. They could see the road ahead and the men waiting for them. Six of the Highlanders were armed with pistols at their hip and they climbed aboard the wagon to ride the fruit to the Beringer winery. Jacobs men were also armed and rode alongside the fruit. Halfway there Ben laughed at nine armed men guarding a bunch of grapes. My how times have changed, he thought.

Misses Crook had a pig roasting over a fire along with a turkey and three pheasants. Fergus squatted next to them and licked his lips for the entire afternoon. Jamie pulled his sweet wife to their bed where she read for ten minutes before Jamie exclaimed the new book was fascinating and tossed it to the floor pulling his Sassenach into a cuddle position. She could not find comfort with her corset on and finally sat up causing Jamie’s eyes to slam open in a panic.

“Jamie, it’s not fair that you can sleep without a corset but I have to. It’s not possible!”

Jamie, trying not to smile, offered to assist the Sassenach and told her the story of Little Red Riding Hood as he unbuttoned her jacket and sleeves pulling it off of her. When he started on the laces the story was getting dark and creepy and his voice sent shivers up Claire’s spine. When the wolf was in the bed ready to eat the little girl he pulled the last of the laces slowly before letting the hateful garment fall to the ground. He pulled Claire back into the cuddle position and kissed her naked shoulder running his hand down her arm. He felt magic in the air as he touched her nipple with growing urgency in his groin.

“Well, how did she escape?”

“She didna, the wolf ate her.”

“Ah! That is a terrible story!”

Magic gone. Lesson learned.

It would be two more weeks for the Zinfandel grapes to ripen and a second perilous journey with the grape horses. Three times, the men had to push the wagon over the hills and Jamie was exhausted walking back to the vineyard. Ben had tried to convince him to build a road many times but Jamie placed too much value in their hidden location to risk it. Today, he overturned his decision and hoped something could be done before they had to move the reds, their biggest crop.

It was clear after a five-minute meeting, that between Jamie and the Highlanders not a soul knew anything about building a road. Fergus knew how to do it but no one would listen to him so he dragged the pitchfork out to the field and stabbed the ground repeatedly for as long as he could with the sun beating down on him. He laid in the tall, cool grass, and wiped the sweat from his face before an afternoon nap overcame him.

When Fergus next opened his eyes it was pitch dark and a cold breeze brought him fully awake. He shivered and tried to remember where he was and how to get back in the blackness of the moonless night. He started walking and the night grew colder. After an hour of stumbling around, he stopped and felt his tears falling. He spent many nights alone in the barn but always felt safe with the door bolted. Now he was out in the open and cried in earnest. He started walking again and thought he saw a light, far in the distance. It was swinging so someone was holding it. He shouted out and started running, tripping on the uneven terrain and panting for breath. He kept shouting but the light turned away from him and he felt his heart drop into his stomach. He ran in the direction of the light, as fast as he could.

Jamie stood still and looked into the ink-black night. “Where are ye Fergus?” He turned around to go back and check-in with the men. He had been walking with the lamp for hours and saying every prayer he knew but the kid was just gone. He racked his brain trying to think what might have happened and the image of the lake made him shiver with dread. Hours earlier he found the raft still tied to the shore and wondered if Fergus was playing on them and fell into the water. Thinking about him on the bottom of that cold lake filled him with such sorrow he yelled the boy's name into the night and started walking again. He turned toward home and into the lit sphere of his lamp ran Fergus, right into his legs where he now had a death grip. The boy was speaking French and crying and it broke Jamie’s heart to see him so scared. He picked him up with one arm and walked him back to the house.

“Yer alright mac gradhach, I’ve got ye.”

Claire heard the back door open and ran to Jamie pulling Fergus into her arms. She fussed over him and told him they were so worried. Misses Crook laid cold meat and bread on a plate and warmed the rest of their milk. Jamie fired a shot into the air outside to let those that were still searching know to come in. Fergus spoke rapid French about building his road and the hot sun making him sleepy. Jamie translated as best he could, wanting to pull the kid into his arms and hold him until he stopped shaking. He couldn’t do that, to himself, or Fergus, it wasn’t done and Fergus would have to rally his own strength to stop shaking.

Fergus consumed as much food as a full-grown Highlander and Misses Crook laughed when he wanted more. He watched Jamie with round pale blue eyes that were fearful of reprimand. Claire washed his face and hands but Fergus’s gaze was stuck on Jamie and he still could not speak English. Jamie sat down next to the boy and measured his words carefully.

“So, ye decided to build my road did ye? A very big job it is and I’m grateful ye tried. How much did ye get done then?”

The rapid French explanation made it clear the ground was too hard and he failed.

“Yer heart was in the right place Fergus and I canna fault ye for bein overcome by the heat. I appreciate what ye tried to do for me and I’m happy yer safe and back home. If ye promise to let me know when yer leavin in the future, I’ll be happy.”

Fergus gave his promise and hugged Jamie’s arm fiercely. Misses Crook led the boy to his room for a good night’s sleep. Jamie hugged his wife with a look of wonder on his face. Somehow that little thief had wormed his way deep into his heart and his affection for him made him feel like a father. He walked a bit taller as he climbed the stairs to bed.

Fergus took a fair amount of Highlander ‘welcome home’ the next morning. He ate three bowls of porridge and nodded at the jeering. When he could break away he spent time in his room, making his bed and straightening the curtains as Misses Crook did. His few possessions were put away into drawers and he sat on his bed, not wanting to leave the comfort of his room. The time spent with Jamie and Claire had erased his nightmares about France and trying to survive, but last night brought it all back and he felt afraid.

Jamie noticed his pint-sized assistant was absent this morning when he took the Brix ratings. He went on with his day pulling the dead white grapevines from the earth with the help of the Highlanders. It was a part of life, he told himself, the weak succumb and the strong survive. It still bothered him that once healthy plants were ripped out of the earth because a millionaire from London decided to take even more from other people. That thought led to Frank Randall, another taker, and soon Jamie had a good head of steam built up and needed to hit something. Once the vines had been inspected he decided a break was in order and found Rupert and Angus to row over to the other shore to inspect what was left after Randall senior vacated.

Jamie asked Misses Crook where Fergus was and she pointed up indicating his room. Jamie wasn’t expecting that and he kissed his lovely wife on his way upstairs. He knocked on the door and Fergus pulled it open looking up with a bright face.

“We’re goin to the other shore to check the property, c’mon.”

“I will wait here milord, in case I am needed.”

“The Highlanders are here and I’m takin only a few men, what happens if we need something on the other side?”

Fergus looked in his room, conflicted with a fun ride on the raft versus staying to protect his room. Jamie started to understand what was eating at the boy and searched his mind for a solution.

“Would ye come if I put her name on the door? I’ll be right back.” Jamie used a bit of putty to stick a note on the door that said “Fergus’s Room.” Shoes were grabbed and the door slammed behind him as Fergus ran to take his place on the raft.

Jamie walked through the old property a bundle of emotions and memories. Seeing it again made him feel lonely for some reason. He recalled standing outside, starved half to death and Claire coaxing him into the house to eat. It seemed like another lifetime. The loneliness just got worse when he walked through the house. Looking at their bedroom he remembered the night they wed. This house needed a family he decided and the vineyard needed healthy plants to support that family. That was the problem. The entire place seemed dead and that filled him with sadness.

“Milord! You must come and see I found all the chickens!” Jamie joined Fergus downstairs and was led to a side yard where Angus was trying to catch the chickens and drop them into a moving sack. They caught five more and left for the rafts. Fergus ran up behind them holding a large sack of chicken food.

“Ye have a good heart, Fergus.” Jamie took the sack from the boy and smiled at him.

Jamie spent thirty minutes telling Claire about the road and complaining there wasn’t a man among them with any knowledge on the subject. He worried they would not get the reds to the road without physically carrying them on their backs.

“Jamie darling, isn’t there someone who does that around here?”

Jamie stopped pacing and looked at the one he loved with confusion. “What?”

“Someone in these parts must do that kind of thing when people need to clear land, right?” She yawned deeply fighting her fatigue to discuss the matter with him. Jamie ran to her and apologized for keeping her up. He pulled her down on the bed and spooned her. “I forgot for a moment that ye were so smart. Thank ye Sassenach.”

Jamie found a man in the area that had an ox and would level his road right away. Luckily, the need for leveling land dropped off sharply after the growing season so they had all of his attention right away. Fergus would sit and watch the huge ox drag the ploughshare and harrow back and forth while the man walked behind holding the sharp blade straight as it cut into the earth. After twelve days there was a smooth and level surface from the vineyard to the road.

As the last of the harvest approached, Jamie was tortured by fear of missing the Brix number for any number of reasons that might lay waste to the grapes and his promise to the brothers. He slept less and less making Claire worry for him. She tried seduction, late-night snacks, and rubbing his feet, but nothing worked. He would close his eyes for an hour or so, then he was up for the night. He became short-tempered and uncharacteristically emotional when she talked about the baby. Fergus was the only one brave enough to jump into it with Jamie, whatever “it” was. On every trip to town, for supplies, banking, or the post, Jamie would purchase another hydrometer, just in case. Fergus would take it to the supply barn and add it to the growing collection.

Fergus got behind Jamie and pushed him toward the hills at daybreak to test the red grapes, earning himself a growl and a stern look. Undaunted he continued to poke Jamie to keep him awake. Finally, Jamie gave a shout and dropped the hydrometer smashing it to pieces. “Christ! Fergus run back and get another, hurry!” Another hydrometer was pressed into Jamie’s hand. “I have two pockets, milord.” They ran through the hills testing grapes until Jamie was sure.

“Go lad, ring the bell with all yer might. Tell the men to start in the front and work back. Go Fergus!”

Jamie tried to think of what was next. His mind was so befuddled with fatigue he couldn’t remember. He saw the men running toward him with their hook tools and was overcome with a need to find Claire. He walked out of the vineyard like a sleepwalker, into the house, and laid down, holding his wife. Claire felt Jaime around her and heard the yelling outside. She had been so worried about Jamie who was now sleeping soundly behind her. She pushed the quilt away and got up quietly, pulling her riding clothes on and slipping out the door. She walked outside just as men were running back to dump their bags. They bunched up looking for Jamie to bring the containers and Claire knew precious time was wasting. She ordered the men to dump their grapes on the ground, in a common pile and sent them back. She held her position and watched the pile grow and another start next to it. She knew only that Jamie had to stay asleep and the men had to dump their bags and get right back to the vines.

Ben rode in and put his horse up quickly, he followed Fergus to the equipment barn to start grabbing containers. Fergus ran into the vineyard with empty containers and they were filled immediately. He ran back for another, and another, and another, all day long.

Misses Crook let Claire know she did not approve of her working the harvest like a man and with her nose in the air reminded her charge she was a lady who should get out of the sun. Claire barely heard her but answered she would take shelter when the work was done. It was very hot and the men were dripping wet when they came to dump their bags. Claire pumped water into buckets and kept them full, encouraging the men to drink. When Misses Crook rang the bell for the mid-day meal the men came running, exhausted, starving, and thirsty.

Fergus held the doorknob to milord’s room willing himself to knock loud enough to wake him. He had been there thirty minutes, at war with his instincts to wake him and milady telling him not to. He started kicking the door, hard enough to be heard on the inside. After five kicks he ran for the banister and slid down it to safety just as the door was opening. Fergus ran as fast as he could, deep into the vineyard and crouched under a vine with his hook. He watched the house for milord to exit and was happy to see him walking toward milady.

Jamie shook the cobwebs from his brain and walked quickly toward Claire. In the distance, he could see the bottleneck starting from full containers blocking passage for the empty ones and realized it would all come to a halt soon. He started running for them and Fergus exhaled in relief.

Jamie pulled four men from the vines and together they pulled the loaded containers to the front to be loaded onto Ben’s wagon. It was a hot day and the work had all the man covered in sweat. When the cool winds blew through the vineyard, they all felt it and looked up at the gathering black clouds in the distance. Jamie looked around for Ben and ran to him asking about what the rain would do to their efforts.

“Well, if no one minds getting wet, it will be a blessing. Take the sun away and the plants take a rest, stabilize the Brix. It’s a good thing.” he said laughing.

Jamie was happy to hear the Brix would rest but his concern was for the road and getting their heavy load safely away. Jamie told the men to double their speed and pulled two more men to help clear the full containers. With full belly’s and the cool breeze, the men had to dig down for the reserve energy to give Jamie what he called for. The dark clouds hung low with their load of rain and Jamie prayed it would hold off just a little longer.

Ben and his men loaded the wagon and hitched the grape horses to it. Jamie told him to go and ordered the six men with pistols to go with him. The road was a pleasure, mostly to the horses who easily pulled the wagon to the road and then to the winery.

Claire felt the tension in the men and saw Jamie’s frenetic pace. She felt as able as anyone to help and pushed her sleeves up. When Jamie saw her lifting cluster bundles into the empty wagon he almost fainted. “Jesus, Sassenach, no.”

He ran for her, twenty acres away his legs burned and he kept running, bursting out of the vineyard right in front of her. He was panting for breath when he took the load from her and walked her to the house.

“Jamie, I can help. It seems the rain is threatening and I will do my part,” she walked off the porch and felt her feet leave the earth when Jamie pulled her inside and up the stairs.

“Sassenach, I nearly had a heart attack seeing you lift the berries into the wagon. If yer intention is to kill the husband who loves ye dearly then by all means, keep doin it.” He was pacing in front of her running a hand through his hair.

Claire stopped his pacing and smiled up at him. “I understand, and I love you more for wanting to protect me. Even though I am strong enough to help, I promise not to lift another thing. I hear men whistling frantically. I gave you my promise, now go, they need you.”

Jamie ran out of the house and stopped dead when he felt the rain. It was coming down like a spring shower so he could still see the vineyard. Like in slow motion he watched the ten containers being dragged in, filled with grapes. Ben was at the wagon heaving massive piles of grapes from the incoming containers. Grapes were transferred and the rain continued. Jamie jumped into the box seat with Ben and the Highlanders walked with the wagon. The rain decided to show the power of mother nature and shook the earth with powerful thunder and lightning. Ben encouraged the horses to walk faster, watching the sides of the new road fall away into puddles below.

The Highlanders gathered behind the wagon and pushed, lending support to the horses. The rain was too heavy to see very far ahead and Jamie prayed they were close. It was another thirty minutes of holding his breath and praying before Ben shouted the road was ahead. The six pistol bearing Highlanders jumped into the wagon and Jamie shook his head no at Ben, he wasn’t getting off. Ben snapped his whip in the air and the exhausted grape horses pushed into their yokes.

When the wagon pulled into the winery Jamie was completely done in. Ben pulled him into the winery where he was immediately brought back by the smell. Tangy, sweet, a delight to his nose. His eyes opened and he looked around at the facility in awe. Jacob looked at him and decided a tip of Merlot is what he needed. Jacob poured and instructed Jamie on the correct hand placement around the glass, swirl the wine with a bit of energy so it would splash against the glass, “only with the reds because the wine needs oxygen”, Jamie rolled the wine in his mouth as instructed, and swallowed. When he opened his eyes, he was a changed man. He ran to the grapes being carried in and put one in his mouth. He was astonished the grape he ate would make the wine he just drank.

Ben looked at Jamie’s face, “uh oh, I need to get this man back to his farm before he begs ya to move in.”

Jacob was very pleased in the farmer’s reaction and bid them farewell. If he was going to lose his fortune to a grower, he was happy it was him.

Jamie insisted Ben keep going to his own home when the road turned into the vineyard. The Highlanders jumped out and started walking back. Jamie was happy for the rain in that moment because he could not stop the tears of relief and gratitude when he shook Ben’s hand and waved. It was over. They did it. As the rain came down in sheets and lightning crackled above him, he endeavored to put one foot in front of the other. He felt his energy drain from him and his muscles shook with effort. The weeks of sleepless nights and the physical brutality of the day was winning. Jamie wanted to feel Claire’s touch so badly but his feet would not move, he was stuck heaving for air. A small hand grabbed his and started pulling. Jamie pulled his hand away at the intrusion of his nap and the thing got behind him and pushed.

Fergus alternated between pulling and pushing while he dodged Jamie’s attempts to swat him away. All the way home Fergus drove his hero forward until they could hear Claire’s voice calling to Jamie.

“Go milord!”

Jamie looked up and saw the house, heard her voice, and felt so happy inside. He walked faster until he stumbled onto the porch and into her arms.

Jamie was washed and put to bed with a clean shirt. Misses Crook brought trays with soup and meat on the regular for the two days that Jamie slept and recuperated. Claire was his nurse and guard when the whistles came from outside. She dispatched the Highlanders to fix the problem like a general and not one man questioned her authority.

When Jamie emerged, he was fed and rested. Mostly he was happy deep down in his soul. Today was payday and time to say thank you to the crew of Highlanders who stayed with him this entire year, and two harvests. He could not wait. He rode into town and collected the forty-eight envelopes from Lester, giving him a heads up there may be a line of Scot’s to open new accounts later today.

The men lined up and Jamie passed out the envelopes saying thank you, my brothers, thank you. Eyes went wide as the bank draft was read and men threw their cheers into the soggy air. One man told Jamie he would return to his family in Scotland. His wife and three bairns were without a da for two years. Jamie handed the man cash for his passage and wished him well. It was a time of celebration and Jamie was never so happy as he was that day.

Jamie requested Angus and Rupert to hang back for their pay. He found them arguing at the lake trying to catch crayfish.

“Gentlemen, yer pay, and I hope ye put it in the bank before some pretty saloon lass talks ye out of it. And I hope ye’ll be staying on here for another year. We lost eleven men today, goin home to be with their families again. I need ye Highlanders.” He left them alone to see the bank drafts and realize with certainty how important they were to him. Jamie removed his boots outside and was intercepted by Claire before he made it to the kitchen.

“Oh no you don’t, you will not sneak up to our room to pass out. I have a special treat for you, Jamie.”

Claire pulled him into the bathroom off the kitchen where a tub was filled with hot water, his soap and cloth were perched on the side. He looked at her like he wasn’t sure what to do.

“Remove your clothes and get into the water while it’s hot. Don’t look at me that way. People do it every day and it won’t hurt, I promise.”

She pulled his clothes off and pressed him into the tub with shockingly hot water. She pushed him down into the water and used the rag to wet his back and shoulders, neck and face. She went over the areas again when the cloth was full of soap. She pulled one arm out for washing and then the other. Pushing him back into the bath she almost laughed at the look on his face.

“Not since I was a weean in a bucket have I taken a bath Sassenach. He looked at her sitting near the tub. “It would be far better if ye took her jacket off.”

Claire looked down and released the buttons on her sleeves and front, pulling the jacket off. Her breasts sat up on the top of her corset hidden by her sheer shift.

Jamie smiled and let his body sink underwater. Claire came to the tub and soaped his hair while his hands were reaching behind her for the laces.

Through giggles, “Jamie, stop that and rinse your hair.” The corset had fallen to the floor before she pushed him underwater. He came up and latched onto her nipple causing more giggles and a stern admonishment. His deft hands pulled her skirt ties and she felt the heavy skirts moving away from her body. He was completely through with asking permission and pulled his wife into the bath pulling her sopping shift over her head and holding her close.

“This is the best surprise ever mo chridhe,” he whispered into her shivering neck. Several deep kisses and Jamie encouraging her heat and the bath was suddenly quite serious as they chased and drifted and kissed. When the water was getting cold Jamie bravely jumped out and wrapped a towel around his waist and came back with many towels and Claire’s special robe. In their room, he pulled the pins from her hair and told her a Scottish tale about a maiden’s love for an ogre in the woods who turned into a handsome prince when she kissed him. His hands through her hair and the shedding of her robe had pulled her into a love coma and they slept in their embrace.

Jamie woke in the early evening and slipped from their bed, dressing quickly. He had someone important to pay and thank. He searched the house for Fergus and found him at the lake with a pole in the water. The boy’s face beamed when he saw Jamie.

“I have somethin to say Fergus, about your behavior today.” Jamie waited to choose his words carefully. “I must thank ye for kickin my door this morning and gettin me up. He grabbed the boy before he could bolt. “I said thank ye. I know it was you and what ye did might have saved the harvest. Yes, it’s true. We just barely got the grapes out before the road fell apart. Ye saved at least an hour gettin me up when ye did. I canna hail ye a hero because the lady was in control at the time, I hope ye understand that. Second, pullin me home when I wanted to stay in the rain and sleep. It took courage to do what ye did and I’m grateful to ye.” He took an envelope from his pocket and gave it to the boy. “I will put this money in a trust account for ye every year ye work the harvest. I will also give ye twenty-five cents a week to spend in town however ye want.”

Jamie dropped the coins into Fergus’s hand and laughed at the expression on his face. The coins meaning so much more than the draft for one thousand dollars. I’m goin to town tomorrow so ye come with me and buy what ye want. There should be a book to read among yer treasures to make the lady happy. When Fergus ran to his room Jamie picked up the envelope that had been left where he sat.

Cho was found digging trenches in his growing garden to release the pooling water. He looked at the bank draft and bowed his thanks. Misses Crook looked at hers for one thousand dollars and nearly swooned. Each of the men received two thousand dollars for a year of hard work and loyalty. Angus and Rupert each received three thousand. Jamie would arrange to transfer twenty thousand to Ned and fifty thousand for Jenny. Jamie smiled at his thoughts of adding some splash to her receiving the news.

One month later, Jenny pushed the hair out of her face and went back to her canning. She saw some color out the corner of her eye and looked up at a line of people filing into her front yard. She wiped her hands and ran to the door. Outside, a new wagon, loaded with feed and lumbar was being pulled into the yard. A cow was tied to a post and thirty chickens were set loose. Two goats on leashes were tied up and more people came with gifts for her and the family, like a box full of wool socks for small feet with scarves and mittens for all. Jenny saw Ned and ran to him protesting this invasion.

Ned felt like the most fortunate man alive as he handed Jenny a picture of her brother, healthy and happy with his bride. Jenny’s knees buckled so she sat on the ground and stared at Jamie’s face. Ned helped her up as more people were coming in with gifts and whisky. Two men asked when they could come and build her new barn and she gaped at them like they were from Mars. Ned told them as soon as possible because Jamie supplied everything with Ned’s help.

Ian came running from the fields as did the housemaid and three barns that held onto their mother’s legs as they shook. Ned had been busy purchasing the animals and chickens from neighboring farms and the best was yet to come. When the family was seated around the dining room table Ned handed Jenny one hundred dollars in cash and saw her tears gush with relief. When he thought she could stand more good news he told her she had fifty thousand dollars in the Edinburgh bank whenever she needed more.

“A gift from the greatest man alive, your brother.” Ned struggled with his emotions remembering the night he said goodbye to Jamie. He looked around the room and saw Jamie as a boy always tagging after him and Brian.

Jenny clung to Ned and thanked him for letting her know he was alive. Ned thought with all the treasures she now owned the most important thing was that Jamie was alive. He would ride to Edinburgh and check on the twenty thousand dollars Jamie sent him. He shook his head and smiled.

#outlander fanfiction outlander fanfic jamie and claire

[wordywarriorwrites]

Chapter 6: Set

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn A03 Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration & Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge. Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities. 

Life was all about choices and consequences. Every action or inaction inevitably resulted in an outcome that could be either favorable or disastrous, yet, even with ample preparation, mistakes could be made, and unforeseen pitfalls and blind spots were often the undoing of many well-planned things.

The Families usually got what they wanted because they tended to be prepared for every eventuality, but nobody, least of all Steve, could’ve foreseen how easily something as commonplace as violence and heartbreak could unravel it all. Bucky had been the hazard right outside his peripheral, but by the time it had been acknowledged, it had been too little, too late.

Even though Bucky had made himself perfectly clear – said he didn’t care, wouldn’t leave, and didn’t want him -- Steve had been unwilling to accept it. He tried again because he’d thought if anyone on the whole fucking planet was worth the risk, it was Bucky. Steve had gone to his apartment; climbed twelve flights of stairs; used the key he’d been always been welcome to utilize before.

The grunts and moans should’ve been enough of a warning.

There had been no commitment between them, and yet, seeing Bucky with another man hadn’t just hurt him – it had decimated and eviscerated him. It had been an incomparable, unbearable agony, and at that moment, Steve lost both the will to fight for the man he loved, and the patience to deal with the Family and business he’d been embroiled and embedded in for his entire life.

He’d left the United States. Traded concrete and smog for tropical islands resorts and hot sand. For about a year, he bounced around between Seychelles, Maldives, Ko Lipe, Bali, Fiji, and Tahiti. In the depths of the ocean, in the bottoms of bottles, and in the beds of other men – that was how he’d nursed his broken heart and it had been liberating.

Even when the money ran out, Steve still considered himself rather fortunate, because he’d wound up in Bermuda – home to banks, tax-avoiding businesses, and the obscenely rich. The islands were the ultimate luxury destination for the affluent, and they were always coming and going without caution or care. Amongst the pink beaches, coral reefs, and pastel-colored mansions was where he sharpened his skills and discovered being a thief was very lucrative. From St. George Town in the east to Somerset Village in the west, along the the coastline, and on secluded beaches – he survived and thrived on the absent-mindedness and vices of others, but as with all good things, that, too, eventually came to an end.

Steve had always gotten away clean with trinkets and cash, but his luck ran out when a man named Nick Fury, who he would later learn was the head of his own crime syndicate in the West Indies, had caught him red-handed. Death seemed a likely outcome given what Steve had taken and who he’d taken it from, but Fury had surprised him. The man somehow knew exactly who he was, and instead of being gutted on the spot, Nick asked if he wanted to stop being a petty pickpocket and earn some real money.

Fury was an infamous man and his stock and trade was the exchange, purchase, and sale of information. He had the power to ruin lives for generations, which was why people simultaneously respected him and were terrified of him. On the off chance someone stepped out of line or tried to cross him, they weren’t given a second chance – they were made to disappear and never mentioned again.

The world of espionage hadn’t been wholly unfamiliar to him, but with Fury’s crew, it hadn’t taken Steve long to realize he wasn’t as well-versed in the art as he’d originally thought. They were superiorly cultured, uncompromisingly loyal, and possessed a combination of qualities and skills that allowed them to easily maneuver their way in and out of damn near everything. While Steve was no slouch and nobody could ever accuse the Families of being ill-educated or under-funded, the circles they ran in, the jobs they did, the information they got their hands on, the amount of money they played around with…

It made the Families look like a bunch of amateurs.

Trade secrets, favors, bribes, real estate, yachts, money, jewels, art, stocks – white-collar payments for white-collar crime. For four years, Steve earned both his way and his keep, and had gotten a taste of an entirely different way of living. They were bad people who did bad things, and he enjoyed it because it was familiar, and for once, the playing field was even. Equal contribution meant an equal split of the take -- there was no cause for anyone to feel slighted and nobody got greedy.

Steve hadn’t left everything he’d ever known with the intention of falling into a different life of crime, but he had, and it was probably the best thing that had ever happened to him. Fury taught him what it meant to be a true tactician, politician, enforcer, and diplomat. He learned just how powerful of a weapon his mind could be; had been whipped into the best shape of his life, both mentally and physically; was pushed to be who he was, not what anyone thought he should be; and though he’d been a stranger, Fury and his crew had taken him in, dusted him off, and shook the cobwebs out of his head. In a strange, fucked up way, they’d made him stronger and more confident.

When the job in Brooklyn had been presented to him, Steve had been more than a little taken aback. Fury had quietly expanded into the United States, but the senator he had on the hook was also in bed with the Families, which meant the man was serving and benefitting from two masters, and that couldn’t be tolerated.

Both the senator and his wife were to attend an important fundraising event, where all the city’s heaviest hitters would be gathered in one room, and the plan was to use that connection to get intel. Everything hinged on the couple being in attendance, which would allow for one of their team to easily get inside and put them down afterward, but the senator’s untimely death and the wife’s subsequent blabbing to the police had brought everything to a grinding halt.

Everyone knew about Steve’s past connections, which should have been more than enough reason not to put him in, but they were confident he could see it the rest of the way through. Steve had cautioned them; told them they’d have a fight on their hands; that the Families were not easily deterred or distracted. He’d warned them it would be bloody and messy, but in the end, they’d voted to move forward.

He’d never planned to return to Brooklyn, and every decision he’d made since the day he left was designed to take him farther and farther away from it. Yet, somehow, Steve had been brought right back to the start, and the only thing he could focus on was the finish line. The job needed to get done – no matter the cost. They were in the home stretch and the details had been finalized. The hired hands had been paid and all loose ends had been tied up.

Before readying himself for the final stage, Steve retrieved his cellphone, and made a call.

“How are things progressing?” Nick answered.

“As well as can be expected.”

“And the other matter?”

“Taken care of,” Steve replied succinctly. “She wasn’t useful.”

“Don’t get yourself into a situation you can’t walk away from,” Fury insisted. “Get the job done and get your ass back here where you belong – understood?”  

“Understood.”

After agreeing to get in touch after he cleared customs, Fury signed off, and Steve headed to the hotel spa. The barber properly shortened his hair and trimmed his beard, but the man in the mirror reminded him too much of who he used to be, and while he didn’t much care for it, it was all part of the game.

Back up in his room, he showered, and continued to get ready. The evening’s battle dress consisted of a Burberry suit, highly-polished shoes, a vest, Glocks, a karambit, and a Ka-Bar. A notification from his phone indicated the car service he’d arranged was five minutes away, and once Steve ensured he had everything he needed for a quick getaway, he headed out.

The drive to Manhattan was a pain in the ass, not only because of traffic, but also because of the fundraiser. When Steve finally arrived at Tribeca 360, he was more than fashionably late, but still had time to get things done before his flight. The guard he’d paid off beforehand met him at the back entrance, which allowed him to bypass the metal detectors.

Glass of champagne in hand, he smoothed down his tie, and casually strolled along the outskirts of the carefully arranged tables. With a 360-degree view of the room, he was able to see downtown, historic Tribeca, and the Hudson River. Steve surveyed the auction display, where the master of ceremonies described the items up for bid, and observed most in attendance had their faces buried in their smartphones. While the bidding was being driven up, he maneuvered his way closer to the employee entrance on the north side. Another payoff, another easy entry, and he was in.

With the building’s floorplans memorized, Steve easily navigated his way through the maze of hallways until he reached the server room, and the tech who manned the area was absent as pre-arranged. After he double-checked the schematics on his phone, it was a small matter of a microchip and an activation code, and within seconds, security camera footage was erased and information was being siphoned.

Most people’s lives revolved around their phones, and now, every, single person connected to the network was feeding their personal data directly to Fury’s servers. When Steve received confirmation that the data was being transmitted, the countdown was on; the emergency exit door should’ve been propped open and the alarm deactivated, but when he reached it, it was shut, and the alarm was active. The microchip only allotted for five minutes of downtime on the cameras before they would automatically be turned back on, and he needed to get the hell out, or else risk being seen by security.

There were four other emergency exits, but he didn’t have time to check them, and that meant Steve was faced with two options: either go forward or retrace his steps. Both choices were less than desirable, but he knew if he triggered the alarm, the police would be called, and the surrounding area would most likely be shut down. Unwilling to risk being caught or hauled in for questioning, Steve made his way back, and managed to get out just before the timer on his phone indicated the cameras had gone live again.

Nearly everyone was on their feet, either drinking, dancing, or talking, which made it easier to blend in. Steve kept his head down and pretended to be focused on his phone as he weaved his way to the back entrance. Along the way, he pilfered a security badge, and used it to get through the side exit. He’d gotten a few steps away from the building and was headed toward his pick up vehicle when Bucky suddenly stepped out of an alleyway and right into his path.

Steve hesitated to reach for a weapon and was made to regret it.

A crackle and a buzz, followed by a paralyzing electric current that drove him to his knees. A sharp pinch, and then, the sting and side effects of a sedative as it was injected into his neck. He was dragged some distance before he was tossed into the trunk of an SUV, and the last thing Steve heard before he blacked out was a command that chilled him to the bone.

“Do what you want, but keep him alive,” Bucky instructed. “I want to take care of him myself.”

Chapter 7: Match

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

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

#stucky fanfic #stucky drabble #stucky fanfiction #stucky oneshot #stucky imagine #stucky smut #mob boss au james barnes #mob boss au bucky barnes #steve rogers x bucky barnes fanfic #steve rogers x bucky barnes fanfiction #steve x bucky fanfic #steve x bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #the boss of brooklyn #wordywarriorwrites

[mostlysignssomeportents]

#3yrsago Weapons of Math Destruction: invisible, ubiquitous algorithms are ruining millions of lives

I've been writing about the work of Cathy "Mathbabe" O'Neil for years: she's a radical data-scientist with a Harvard PhD in mathematics, who coined the term "Weapons of Math Destruction" to describe the ways that sloppy statistical modeling is punishing millions of people every day, and in more and more cases, destroying lives. Today, O'Neil brings her argument to print, with a fantastic, plainspoken, call to arms called (what else?)  Weapons of Math Destruction.

Discussions about big data's role in our society tends to focus on algorithms, but the algorithms for handling giant data sets are all well understood and work well. The real issue isn't algorithms, it's models. Models are what you get when you feed data to an algorithm and ask it to make predictions. As O'Neil puts it, "Models are opinions embedded in mathematics."

Other critical data scientists, like Patrick Ball from the Human Rights Data Analysis Group have located their critique in the same place. As Patrick once explained to me, you can train an algorithm to predict someone's height from their weight, but if your whole training set comes from a grade three class, and anyone who's self-conscious about their weight is allowed to skip the exercise, your model will predict that most people are about four feet tall. The problem isn't the algorithm, it's the training data and the lack of correction when the model produces erroneous conclusions.

Like Ball, O'Neil is enthusiastic about the power of data-driven modelling to be a force for good in the world, and like Ball, she despairs at the way that sloppy statistical work can produce gigantic profits for a few companies at the expense of millions of people -- all with the veneer of mathematical objectivity.

O'Neil calls these harmful models "Weapons of Math Destruction," and not all fault models qualify. For a model to be a WMD, it must be opaque to its subjects, harmful to their interests, and grow exponentially to run at huge scale.

These WMDs are now everywhere. The sleazy for-profit educational system has figured out how to use models to identify desperate people and sucker them into signing up for expensive, useless "educations" that are paid for with punitive student loans, backed by the federal government. That's how the University of Phoenix can be so profitable, even after spending upwards of $1B/year on marketing. They've built a WMD that brings students in at a steady clip despite the fact that they spend $2,225/student in marketing and only $892/student on instruction. Meanwhile, the high-efficacy, low-cost community colleges are all but invisible in the glare and roar of the University of Phoenix's marketing blitzkreig.

One highly visible characteristic of WMDs is their lack of feedback and tuning. In sports, teams use detailed statistical models to predict which athletes they should bid on, and to deploy those athletes when squaring off against opposing teams. But after the predicted event has occurred, the teams update their models to account for their failings. If you pass on a basketball player who goes to glory for a rival team, you update your model to help you do better in the next draft.

Compare this with the WMDs used against us in everyday life. The largest employers in America use commercial services to run their incoming resumes against a model of a "successful" worker. These models hold your employment future in their hands. If one rejects you and you go on to do brilliant work somewhere else, that fact is never used to refine the model. Everyone loses: job-seekers are arbitrarily excluded from employment, and employers miss out on great hires. Only the WMD merchants in the middle make out like bandits.

It's worth asking how we got here. Many forms of WMD were deployed as an answer to institutional bias -- in criminal sentencing, in school grading, in university admissions, in hiring and lending. The models are supposed to be race- and gender-blind, blind to privilege and connections.

But all too often, the models are trained with the biased data. The picture of a future successful Ivy League student or loan repayer is painted using data-points from the admittedly biased history of the institutions. All the Harvard grads or dutiful mortgage payers are fed to the algorithm, which dutifully predicts that tomorrow's Harvard alums and prime loan recipients will look just like yesterday's -- but now the bias gets the credibility of seeming objectivity.

This training problem is well known in stats, but largely ignored by WMD dealers. Companies that run their own Big Data initiatives, by contrast, are much more careful about refining their models. Amazon carefully tracks those customers who abandon their shopping carts, or who stop shopping after a couple of purchases. Their interested in knowing everything they can about "recidivism" among shoppers, and they combine statistical modelling with anthropology -- seeking out and talking to their subjects -- to improve their system.

The contrast with automated sentencing software -- now widely used in the US judicial system, and spreading rapidly around the world -- could not be more stark. Like Amazon's data scientists, the companies that sell sentencing apps are trying to predict recidivism, and their predictions can send one person to prison for decades and let another go free.

These brokers are training their model on the corrupted data of the past. They look at the racialized sentencing outcomes of the past -- the outcomes that sent young black men to prison for years for minor crack possession, while letting rich white men walk away from cocaine possession charges -- and conclude that people from poor neighborhoods, whose family members and friends have had run-ins with the law, and "predict" that this person will reoffend, and recommend long sentences to keep them away from society.

Unlike Amazon, these companies aren't looking to see whether longer sentences cause recidivism (by causing emotional damage and social isolation) and how prison beatings, solitary confinement and prison rape are related to the phenomenon. If the prison system was run like Amazon -- that is, with a commitment to reducing reoffending, rather than enriching justice-system contractors and satisfying revenge-hungry bigots in the electorate -- it would probably look like a Nordic prison: humane, sparsely populated, and oriented toward rehabilitation, addiction treatment, job training, and psychological counselling.

WMDs have transformed education for teachers and students. In the 1980s, the Reagan administration seized on a report called A Nation at Risk, which claimed that the US was on the verge of collapse due to its falling SAT scores. This was the starter-pistol for an all-out assault on teachers and public education, which continues to this day.

The most visible expression of this is the "value added" assessment of teachers, which uses a battery of standardized tests to assess teachers' performance from year to year. The statistical basis for these assessments is laughable (statistics work on big numbers, not classes of 25 kids -- assessments can swing 90% from one year to the next, making them no better than random number generators). Teachers -- good teachers, committed teachers -- lose their jobs over these tests.

Students, meanwhile, are taken away from real learning in order to take more and more tests, and those tests -- which are supposed to measure "aptitude" and thus shouldn't be amenable to expensive preparatory services -- determine their whole futures.

The Nation at Risk report that started it all turned out to be bullshit, by the way -- grounded in another laughable statistical error. Sandia Labs later audited the findings from the report and found that the researchers had failed to account for the ballooning number of students who were taking the SATs, bringing down the average score.

In other words: SATs were falling because more American kids were confident enough to try to go to college: the educational system was working so well that young people who would never have taken an SAT were taking it, and the larger pool of test-takers was bringing the average score down.

WMDs turn the whole of human life into a game of Search Engine Optimization. With SEO, merchants hire companies who claim to have reverse-engineered Google's opaque model and whose advice will move your URL further  up in its ranking.

When you pay someone thousands of dollars to prep your kid for the SATs, or to improve your ranking with the "e-score" providers that determine your creditworthiness, jobworthiness, or mortgageworthiness, you're recreating SEO, but for everything. It's a grim picture of the future: WMD makers and SEO experts locked in an endless arms-race to tweak their models to game one another, and all the rest of us being subjected to automated caprice or paying ransom to escape it (for now). In that future, we're all the product, not the customer (much less the citizen).

O'Neil's work is so important because she believes in data science. Algorithms can and will be used to locate people in difficulty: teachers with hard challenges, people in financial distress, people who are struggling in their jobs, students who need educational attention. It's up to us whether we use that information to exclude and further victimize those people, or help them with additional resources

Credit bureaux, e-scorers, and other entities that model us create externalities in the form of false positives -- from no-fly lists to credit-score errors to job score errors that cost us our careers. These errors cost them nothing to make, and something to fix -- and they're incredibly expensive to us. Like all negative externalities, the cost of cleaning them up (rehabilitating your job, finding a new home, serving a longer prison sentence, etc) is much higher than the savings to the firms, but we bear the costs and they reap the savings.

It's E Pluribus Unum reversed: models make many out of one, pigeonholing each of us as members of groups about whom generalizations -- often punitive ones (such as variable pricing) can be made.

Modelling won't go away: as a tool for guiding caring and helpful remedial systems, models are amazing. As a tool for punishing and disenfranchising, they are a nightmare. The choice is ours to make. O'Neil's book is a vital crash-course in the specialized kind of statistical knowledge we all need to interrogate the systems around us and demand better.

 Weapons of Math Destruction [Cathy O'Neil/Crown]

https://boingboing.net/2016/09/06/weapons-of-math-destruction-i.html

[cchmissions]

Passages Israel Trip 1/2/20

Today was not what I expected, We went to Masada, and I knew nothing about this site before going here. At last night’s debrief, I learned a little how a mass suicide unfolded there, but when we got to Masada it was unlike anything i have ever seen before  On the way to Masada we traveled through scenery that was astoundingly beautiful, It was the desert. The sides of the road was beautiful white sand and we got to see shepherds and really see what it would have been like for Abraham and issac. We stopped at En Gedi, which was on the side of a beautiful mountain and you could see the spot where a fresh water waterfall used to be. There were many trails that we unfortunately did not have time for, but to just stop was amazing. Masada is on top of a mountain, so when we pulled up I could not see exactly where we were going. There was a sort of snake path which people were taking up to the top. Our group took a cable car and went up about 500 feet in elevation. 

The view from Masada was incredible. The only thing that could come to mind to describe it is to compare it to the likeness of Arches National Park, but that is not even close. Vast expanses of beautiful light orange rock on one side, on the other side was the conjunction point of the north and south sides of the Dead Sea and further on the horizon, the beautiful mountains of Jordan. We got to hike around all of these great ruins at Masada left from a palace that King Herod the Great had built. It was overtaken by Romans and then by radical Jewish Zealots. When they heard that Jerusalem had surrendered, it was only evident that they would be next and sold into slavery and a terrible life. There were 960 people living at Masada, including women and children. Now, what happens next is speculated because the only record of what happened was written by somebody who was not there. It is said to be that all of the men took their wives and children lives and then met and chose ten men to remain. The ten that remained chose one man, and that chosen man killed the rest of them and then only him committed suicide. Now suicide is very heavily against Judaism, but I see it that they valued their faith so much and that the life that they were going to live would not have been to the glory of God, but only one person died without the hand of God involved in it. It is very hard to write about this place, not only because of what happened but to describe the beauty and rich history of it is next to impossible.

After Masada we went to the Dead Sea and the entire drive we got to see it and it is beautiful. Getting into the Dead Sea was actually quite challenging as the mud at the bottom was very slick. It was imperative that your face not get in the water as the water has about 30-35% salt. To compare, the ocean and other salt waters have about only 3% content. The Dead Sea is also 430 feet BELOW sea level. Coming from Colorado at an elevation of around 6,000 feet this blew my mind. While in the Dead Sea, people covered themselves with mud from the bottom, and it makes skin so soft. One of the things that completely astounded me was that when you got to a place where you could not touch the bottom and simply put your feet down, instead of treading, you floated. The water held you so that your arms could be out of the water and you were still supported. Because of the high concentration of salt it can solidify on the bottom, which in turn can be ripped off and left with giant pieces of crystallized salt. While on the drive to and from, all i could think about was that everything thin somehow looked exactly as I imagined it, yet not like it at all, but it fit perfectly. I hope that if you ever get the chance, these places should be on your list. 

-Samantha Hole

[themurphyzone]

Oneshot: Truth in Television Soaps

So, my mom watched a lot of dramas back when we used to have her Filipino channels (she has switched to streaming on the Ipad thank goodness). For my readers who have never seen a Filipino soap opera, just know there’s a lot of screaming, crying, and catfighting. The majority of dramatic moments are so overacted that it becomes hilarious. 

“So, what did you think?” Heinz asked as Perry put the borrowed boxset of El Matador de Amor on the shelf. “Selena deserved so much better than Jose. He completely shirked his duties as royalty just to go bullfighting! She deserves a guy who’s actually ready for a commitment.” 

Perry nodded, though privately he felt that the plot with Selena and Fernando should’ve taken a backseat to the intrigue of Esmerelda falling in love with the corrupt police chief’s son, Juan, who used the nickname El Matador when in the bullfighting ring to avoid being caught by his father. 

“So then I was thinking, if this is how engaging a Spanish drama is, there’s gotta be some gold from other countries,” Heinz continued, handing Perry a brightly colored DVD case. The title was in a foreign language. There were two women, one in a wedding dress, tugging a man between them with angry looks on their faces. “I was thinking of going for Italy next, but Philippines works too. One of my neighbors ordered it, but it got delivered to my door by mistake. But hey, I’m not turning down a free opportunity to watch something I’ve never heard of before.” 

Perry folded his arms. 

“Sheesh, you good guys have to be so uppity about this whole stealing is wrong thing,” Heinz complained. “I’ll give it back after I watch it.” 

Shaking his head, Perry grabbed the delivery information off the table and shoved it into Heinz’s hand. Then he forcefully pushed him out the door. 

“Alright, I’m returning it! I’m returning it, hold your horses. Or tail. I don’t know why we even say that when there aren’t any horses around here. At least let me check the door number first,” Heinz said. “And quit shoving. That’s just rude.” 

He stopped pushing, figuring that he’d better start setting a precedent for being the good guy. 

Heinz checked the paper, then pointed down the hall. “Oh, it’s just two doors down. At least we don’t need the elevator. That thing is slow even on the best days.” 

He knocked on the door, tapping his foot as he waited. Perry could see him mouthing numbers as an excuse to dash away if no one answered in the short timeframe Heinz was giving them. 

Finally, a man in a white undershirt opened the door slightly. He didn’t bother unlatching the chain. “Oh, it’s you. The crazy neighbor,” he mumbled. “Whaddya want?” 

Heinz made an indignant noise at being called a ‘crazy neighbor’, so Perry gave him a nudge to remind him of why they were there. Better to just get this done and over with. 

“A DVD was delivered to my door by mistake. Something from the Philippines,” Heinz said. “I was gonna keep it for myself, but my former nemesis is now forcing me to return it cause that’s in the good guy manual. Apparently.” 

“Tom? Who’s that?” a woman called from inside the apartment. 

Tom paled, quickly checking over his shoulder. Then he dropped a ten dollar bill through the crack. “That money is for keeping quiet. My mother ordered that DVD, but I don’t want any of that trash anywhere near me,” he shuddered. “Take those and leave. Now.” 

“Is that my DVD?” the woman asked. “I’ve been looking forward to watching it....” 

“Just a salesman! It’s nothing!” Tom called to her. Then he shook his head, glaring at Heinz and Perry. “Well, get out!” 

The door slammed shut. 

Heinz grinned, scooping up the ten bucks triumphantly. “Wow, I guess this good guy stuff pays off. Literally! Can I get a rimshot?” he asked. “C’mon, I deserve a rimshot for that pun!”  

Perry didn’t mention that the money was only a bribe. But it was definitely one of the strangest bribes he’d ever seen. While Heinz gloated over his victory as they headed back to his living room, Perry couldn’t help but wonder if the show was as bad as Tom claimed it would be. 

Three hours later, they were sobbing into tissues while Angela claimed she didn’t really love Manuel, and that he was an emotional crutch while her poor family tried to scrape up enough funds to send her ailing father to the United States for a life-saving heart transplant. 

“How could she say that?” Heinz cried, blowing his nose loudly. “He was loving and supportive! If she doesn’t stay him, he’ll have to go back to his arranged marriage with Emilia!”

Perry wiped away a stray tear. Sure, there was a bit more screaming than necessary, but a good chunk of the dialogue was understandable to him and didn’t require any subtitles. 

Though he found Angela hard to enjoy since she kept wailing like a banshee at the drop of a hat. Her reaction to discovering that her beloved necklace was stolen was so overblown that Perry had to bite back the urge to laugh since Heinz was so invested in the story. 

But Manuel’s actor was decent. 

Heinz didn’t have a scheme lined up on Saturday, since they’d planned to begin the 3-part finale. Brightly colored tissue boxes covered the coffee table. 

Perry figured he’d better start doing some research to find a foreign drama that wouldn’t be an emotional trainwreck. He could handle a few crying spells, but it happened so often here that he just didn’t react to it anymore. 

Besides, he doubted this was healthy for Heinz. 

Heinz popped the DVD into the player. Then he grabbed a tissue box and settled next to Perry on the couch. “I’m really glad Manuel gave Angela the money to cover the cost of the transplant. I mean, he may be a rich pretty boy but he’s got a heart at least. Though the guy needs to grow a spine to Emilia and her domineering mother. It’s kinda obvious they just want his money. You’d think he’d pick up on that.” 

Angela was excited to finally be marrying the love of her life, while Manuel was a bit more pensive as his best friend helped him with his tuxedo. So far, eight minutes without crying and screaming. It was a new record. 

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Manuel Jonah Salonga and Angela Mary Quinto,” the priest announced to the crowd at the church. “If there is anyone who objects to this marriage-” 

“I OBJECT!” a furious woman with her hair spilling out of a messy bun stormed down the aisle, her equally severe mother behind her. They glared furiously at Angela, who quickly grew teary-eyed at having her perfect day ruined by unstoppable envy. 

Heinz gasped, his hands flying to his mouth. “You go away, Emilia!” he shouted. “You always ruin the moment!” 

Perry lightly smacked his leg to keep him quiet so he could hear. 

“Emilia, please-” 

Emilia cut Angela’s choked cry off, her face completely red with rage. “Please?” she scoffed, cruelly mocking her. Her voice rose to a fevered pitch. “Please what? Please don’t ruin my wedding! Please give me my necklace! Please don’t kiss my crush when I haven’t made a single move and have done nothing to claim him! Let’s get one thing straight here, poor, naive, precious Angela.” 

Heinz and Perry were both on the edge of their seats.

Angela trembled from head to toe as Emilia approached her with a malicious smirk. “You are nothing but a lowly maid girl. Manuel only pities you.” 

“That’s not true!” Manuel protested, when the mother suddenly shoved him to the ground. 

“Do you really think you have a choice in the matter?” the mother hissed vehemently. “You are marrying my daughter. It was decided long ago. Boys, surround him. Don’t ruin his face.” 

A group of men surrounded Manuel, completely cutting off his access to Angela. 

“ANGELA! ANGELA! DON”T HURT HER! SHE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING TO YOU!” Manuel screeched. 

“MANUEL!” Angela wailed. 

Honestly, Emilia was standing on the edge of the stairs. Just push her down, Perry thought. She was completely open for an attack. 

Emilia laughed. “You see? And you want to know something else?” She leaned closer to Angela so that her mouth brushed her long, black hair. “I stole the first stack of bills you peasants bent your backs to earn to send your father to the states.”

Heinz gasped. “I knew it was her! I told you so, Perry the Platypus! And you didn’t believe me! See, I can be right sometimes! Take that!” he gloated loudly. Perry threw a pillow at him to shut him up so he could hear. 

Which wasn’t necessary, since Angela was now screaming loud enough to wake the entire Tri-State Area. 

Angela’s face contorted in rage. “YOU ALMOST KILLED MY FATHER! YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A GOLDDIGGER! YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A STUPID, JEALOUS GOLDDIGGER!” 

She slapped Emilia across the face, her head turning from the force of impact. 

Heinz cheered. “Yeah! Let her have it, Angela!” 

Perry threw another pillow. Heinz glared at him for that one, but his attention quickly returned to the TV. 

The congregation was silent. The mother’s eyes bulged out comically. “She...she dared to strike my daughter, a heiress of the Santos resort! Someone call the police!” 

“YOU...YOU WENCH!” Emilia screeched, charging at Angela and knocking her down. “YOU DON’T DESERVE HIM! YOU DON’T DESERVE HIM!” 

Angela and Emilia screamed and fought like wildcats, rolling across the floor as they forgot everything but beating the stuffing out of each other in their blind rage. 

The choreography wasn’t the best, but Perry was more interested in who would come out on top. It had to be Angela. It just had to be. 

Then Heinz blocked his view of the television, and Perry threw the final pillow at him. Heinz scowled, scooping up all the displaced pillows and dropping them on Perry. “I tolerated the first two times, but three is just too much!” he complained. “How do you like it when I turn the tables on you?” 

Perry held two pillows by the corners, narrowing his eyes at the challenge. 

She only wanted a soda. 

Vanessa sighed as she walked past Perry and her dad, fighting in the exact same way as the two women on the television. 

Secret agents were too easily impressionable. 

#perryshmirtz #perry the platypus #heinz doofenshmirtz #phineas and ferb #fanfiction #oneshot

[chimpukampu]

A Dork Named Adrien, Day 4 - Fashion

For @seasonofthegeek Adrien Appreciation Week challenge

AO3 | Fanfiction | Wattpad

Day 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

BTW in France, they call their tuxedos as smoking same with other European countries but I'll stick with the American English term instead to avoid further confusions.

This chapter is about Adrien and his male classmates, 'coz canon failed to focus on their tight friendship. Also, lots of fashion tips for men…and bad puns.

Slight S2 spoilers.

"You need a what?"

"A fashion guru, man. A fashion guru. One who knows about fashion," Nino told him casually "You're a fashion model so you're very much familiar with suits."

"Nino, I do Haute Couture. It's not similar with Prêt-à-Porter."

"Who cares? They're both articles of clothing anyway." Kim interjected but was nudged by Max.

"Prêt-à-Porter is a high quality, factory made fashion that is only available pre-seasonally, catering to climate and economic changes. Haute Couture, on the other hand, is a high-quality custom-fit piece made for a specific client and is regulated by a French law."

Markov settled himself on his bespectacled master's shoulder and added "Haute Couture houses are committed to present collections twice a year of at least thirty-five pieces of – "

"Will you two just stop explaining irrelevant things?" the jock scowled much to their chagrin "It's not helpful."

"Hey!"

"Can we just drop those fancy names and simply call Prêt-à-Porter as 'ready-to-wear' while Haute Couture as 'high-end fashion'?" Nathanael offered, which earned a nod from Ivan.

"I'm a bit confused. I don't understand why you all want my advice," said Adrien who was scratching the side of his chin "Why can't you just approach Marinette? She's an aspiring fashion designer and she knows all about tailored suits."

"No way we will ask Marinette about this," his best friend shook his head with a grimace "Even if Marinette kept this as a secret, Alya will still be able to pull the information out of her mouth. Alya can even interrogate a mute and they will tell her everything. You have no idea how scary she is."

"I'm pretty much aware of her cape-abilities."

"I'm going to let your pun slide, Agreste. Don't make me strangle you."

"Once Alya knows this," Ivan interrupted their banters "No way she will never share it with the girls, especially to Mylene."

"Or to Chloe," Nathanael added.

"Okay, I think I get what you mean," the blond model chuckled "Who doesn't want to dress to impress their girl? Am I right, Nino?"

"Shut up, you filthy rich brat."

"I don't need to dress to impress," Kim patted his chest proudly "Because Ondine is already proud of me – OUCH! Max, what was that for?!"

"Nobody wants to know your icky love story," the bespectacled boy sneered as he unrolled the magazine that he used to hit his friend's head "It's not helpful."

The boys' raucous laughs erupted when Kim's cheeks turned into an overripe tomato.

Mayor Bourgeoise made an announcement that his beloved daughter will be celebrating her birthday party in Le Gran Paris, and since it was a black-tie event, it was expected that there will be some famous celebrities, politicians and the press attendees there.

Despite the glitz and glamour, Chloe extended the invitation to her 'peasant' classmates. And of course, the class wholeheartedly accepted it.

"We better not screw this up," said Nino who was forced to slouch on the car seat as Ivan's large arm occupied almost half of the backrest "Not only for our girlfriends' sanity but also for our dignity. I bet there will be reporters there that could capture our mess and ruin our future."

"C'mon man, live a life! Yolo guys, Yolo!" answered by Kim who was sitting on the opposite side "Nobody cares if we'll do something funny there."

"No Kim, Nino's right," Nathanael defended glumly "Unlike you who has a scholarship grant, us here have to avoid any controversial issues that could reach to our prospect schools and lead them to cancel our application. Universities are quite sensitive to mass media nowadays."

Kim grumbled incoherently then slumped in his seat.

"This is a nice change of pace after our horrendous Bac," Ivan commented as he stared at the windows.

Nino groaned while cradling his head "Please don't remind me about that."

Adrien was supposed to be commuting with his friends, but when they learned about Gorilla's presence, they pleaded him to take them for a ride in his limousine.

He couldn't say no to their loud whines.

Now the six boys and a floating miniature robot – plus an undisclosed kwami in the pocket – were all cramped at the passenger's seat.

The ride to Haussmann-Saint-Lazare-Opéra was quite short. Considered as the commercial heart of Parisian shopping, this urban center is a home to major department stores and cheap deals, especially on men's clothing.

"According to the data that I have gathered last night, Manteau et Cravate sells the cheapest yet high-quality tuxedos in town," Max said as he swiped something on his phone. "They also have tux rentals too."

"I don't think I'll have another chance to wear a tuxedo after Chloe's party," Ivan mumbled, with eyes skimming on the store displays that they've passed. "As this is just a one-time event."

"You can still wear a tux on some formal occasions like weddings or anniversaries," their jock classmate supplied "We never know, Chloe might invite us again next year."

"Hmm, you might be right."

"Maman said that the jacket might not fit me after a year or two." Nathanael told them "So I'll just rent a tuxedo instead."

"So rent we shall do," said Nino, pushing the store's glass door open.

Shopping with male friends is way different than Chloe's, Adrien bemused as he observed the ruckus that was happening inside the shop. For his childhood friend, shopping means hopping from one store to another, multiple dress fittings and carrying several tote bags as they marched to another boutique.

Nino and the gang, however, prefer to stay at one place that could cater all of their needs. No window shoppings, catalog viewings, dress fittings or side trips like cafe and restaurants.

He never realized that hanging out with a group of boys for shopping was pretty straight-forward until now.

It was quite refreshing.

"What the hell is the difference between tuxedos and suits?" Kim complained as he rummaged the jackets that were hung neatly on the display racks "They all look the same!"

"Tuxedos have satins while suits don't," the blond model explained, "There are few exceptions to the rule though, but I think you'll find it sew-fisticated."

He guffawed when someone socked him with a pair of rolled socks. Thankfully, they were unused.

"Hey, Adrien," Nathanael called his attention behind the shelves "Which of these bow ties do you think would match on my dress shirt?"

"Bow ties?!" the jock reacted "Ew, that's for oldies! Why can't we use long neckties?"

"That depends on your jacket and shirt collar, Kim," reasoned Adrien. "Though most tuxes are best suited with bow ties."

"I hope you did not say that to deliver a pun," he deadpanned.

"Hey, all of my puns are intended."

This time, it was Nino who socked him with a belt.

Ivan emerged in front of them, holding two pieces of black garments "Adrien, waistcoat or cummerbund?"

"For you?"

His huge classmate nodded.

When he showed him a double-breasted coat, he answered: "Waistcoat would be tear-riffic on your attire."

Ivan made a non-committal hum as he left for a dress fitting.

"Can I use suspenders?" Max asked, showing him his single-buttoned jacket with silver lapels. "What colors should I use?"

"You can," Adrien answered, "But suspenders should never be visible and must be hidden completely beneath the waist covering and jacket, so it denim matter if it's a black or white."

Kim hastily shoved some lapel accessories on his face "Hey, I want a flower like what I saw on the ads! Can I use a flower on my jacket, Adrien?"

"Y – You mean Boutonnière? Of course," was his cringe reply after removing an artificial petal from his mouth "Just stick to a single flower, preferably red or white."

"Can I use yellow?"

Adrien gave him an impassive look for a moment before he sighed defeatedly. He turned his head around and noticed Nino on the other side of the room with a blanked expression.

"Hey dude, are you okay there?" he asked, tapping his best friend's shoulder lightly.

The DJ groaned inwardly "I'm having troubles on selecting tux here, man. They're all the same shade of black yet I'm not sure if any of these will compliment my skin complexion."

"I know what you mean," said the blond as he began to examine the tuxedo sets on the racks "You can wear a dark jacket and trouser to play safe, but if you're asking for my opinion, I'd prefer if you wear an off-black one. Like this."

Nino eyed the articles that he pulled out from the hanger "Are you sure about this, dude?"

"I'm a fashion guru, remember?" his friend announced proudly then flashed him a lopsided grin "I'm well Versaced in this area."

"I have no idea what Marinette sees in you," he retorted dryly.

The blond crossed his arms as if offended, "There Armani things that Marinette sew in me. And if she knows about this, I bet she would be very Prada me."

"Adrien, no."

Before the boys left the shop, Adrien reminded them of their shoes.

"Does that mean I can't wear my sneakers?!"

"No, Kim. You can't," the blond retorted with a straight face, "That's a fedoral offense."

#Adrien Appreciation Week #We are Miraculous #adrienappreciationweek #adrien agreste #nino lahiffe #le chien kim #max kante #nathanael kurtzberg #markov #ivan bruel #dork adrien #fashion puns #puns #bad puns #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #ml fanfiction #ml fanfic #art of manliness #chimpukampu #my fics

[shantalangel]

Stories written on the wall of one of the rooms in the game Armikrog.

It’s about everything happened before the game, P’s parents life, how they met and how she appeared.

Reading sequence:

The Blank Miner. Part 1

The Blank Miner. Part 2

Tools, Weapons, Food, Plants, Medicine, Magic and Pets

A Meeting in the Woods

Punishment and Crime. Part 1

Punishment and Crime. Part 2

Punishment and Crime. Part 3

Desperation

A Meeting in the Woods

When daylight broke, I could hear the chatter of chipmunks even over my burning leg muscles. My clothes were cut to shreds from walking among the low-hanging tree branches. I decided it would be best to find a hiding place, assisted by the light of day, then rest until nightfall.

I found a large nest of coiled branches just above head-height in a tree. The nest was still warm, as if the occupant just left. There was no chatter of chipmunks in this eerily, silent place. Then I saw several three inch, triangular teeth lying on the floor of the nest. It was the nest of an Ichthusian Saw Worm! I decided to find a new hiding place.

Movement. I saw movement coming from my right periphery. Next there was movement from the left; a white cylindrical shape crawling along the ground. Another link of white cylinder crawled from a log just in front of me and the pieces were drawn to each other. It was the Ichthusian Saw Worm assembling into a whole! I darted before it could come together but I couldn’t make it out of the clearing before the great worm exploded out of the ground in front of me. Its brutal maw was a spinning buzz-saw of triangular teeth! The head split open longwise to make the shape of a bear-trap. The Saw Worm had seen the shape of a bear-trap and it was a master of imitating other shapes because its nerve net-of-a-brain had no creativity of its own.

It lunged at me then tumbled into a coil of white tubes, spitting and frothing it was so hungry and desperate for me. The mouth spun and shot loose teeth at me that hit the tree beside me with a THUNK-THUNK-THUNK! I looked for the best exit and I admit that I was in such a panic that I couldn’t tell where I was or which way to go. But the Saw Worm was back underground.

I took out The Abominate’s finger out of my pocket and was ready for the resurfacing worm when I felt a tap on my shoulder. When I turned around I was in such a shock that I stood in awe. The Ichthusian Saw Worm has reassembled into an image of my own likeness. It clearly was not me, but it was the best image the Saw Worm could pull off. Links of meat put together to build a frame stood there aping my posture. Its eyes stared through me like a dead man. It looked to hold a finger in its hand just like me. Before I could lunge at the creature its mouth ripped open and triangular teeth shot out at me THUNK into the wood beside me, THUNK in my shoulder and WHIFF off into the grass behind me. The Abominate’s finger fell to the ground, I don’t know where.

The beast leapt upon me and I put a hand on the top and bottom of its mouth as the saw blades spun and came down to my face. I reached up and felt the purple fuzz-ball… I turned my head away and everything went into slow motion. I was aware of dirt settling in front of me, my fingers reached out for an acorn and stuck the purple fuzz-ball against it then jammed them both into the Saw Worm’s face. The Saw Worm went limp as its being went into the acorn! I put the fuzz-ball away and held up the acorn in my hand. A chipmunk came out from his hiding spot sniffing the air. I tossed the acorn onto the ground and the chipmunk put it in his teeth, then scurried back into his hole. I picked up The Abominate’s finger.

Having left the Saw Worm clearing, I found a cool stream, and drank deeply from it. The chilling cascade satisfied my dry throat. I washed my face. A baptism.

When I opened my eyes, there was a green, female child standing across the river. I froze. She watched me for a moment with her huge eyes. She took a couple steps back, staring at me the whole time. A smile broke across her face. I realized that she was challenging me to catch her. I had heard enough fairy stories to know that one should not chase little green girls into a forest. It cannot end well.

"I am Tzurk."

I stood up, and she took a few more steps back, still watching me, still smiling. My instincts failed me. The right decision seemed to be the wrong one, and the wrong decision seemed to be the right one.

"Who are you?" I asked.

This time she scowled at me, her eyebrows coming down, her nose wrinkling up in anger. She shook her head and waved her finger at me. The motion of her waving finger produced sparkles that traced her every gesture, and momentarily hung in the air before dissipating.

She took a few more steps back, her smile returning. This time, I took the bait. I chased her. Laughter exploded from her lips, and she ran. Her laughter was so true and free, that my heart was lifted from despair at the sound of it. And for the first time in a long time, I laughed.

She was so quick. My feet struggled to keep up, let alone gain on her. Then my feet found the beat of the forest, like a rhythm in the woods, that my body had to match. And when it did, my feet moved all the more swiftly.

I lost the green girl in a thicket. Unsure which way she went, I stopped to listen for her footfalls. A pinecone hit me right in the forehead and I heard her giggle. I moved toward the sound of her voice. I caught sight of her foot sticking out from behind a fern. The fern was shaking with her laughter. I dove for her foot, grabbing it with both hands. My chest and face slammed into the rich, black soil. She screamed with delight, and the next instant we were both on the ground, rolling and laughing.

I helped her up. She smiled at me.

"I caught you!" She said.

"It is not you who caught me!"

I was surrounded on all sides by green people. They came out of the shadows of the trees and bushes, watching us. The men among them held bows or long spears. A shimmer of sparkles hung in the air around them.

I held my hands up in surrender. There were too many of them. I could not escape, even with the help of The Abominate's finger. The nearest of them motioned for me to lie down on the ground, which I did.

One of the men let out a laugh. I did not think the situation was funny at all. I scowled, which seemed to trigger even more laughter. The little girl got down next to me and imitated my position and scowl. More laughter.

All at once the laughter stopped. Glancing around, I saw that the people had all disappeared. When I turned back to the little girl, she too was gone.

I got up on my knees and called out, "Hello?"

A female voice not far off replied, "Did someone say, 'hello'?"

"It was me!" I answered.

Nearby, bushes were shaking. It sounded like she was having a difficult time making her way through them.

"Well, who is 'me?'" asked the stranger.

"My name is Tzurk! Who are you?" I called back.

Then she stepped out of the bushes and into the clearing. Her long brown hair parted and I saw her face. My heart stopped. It was Meva.

When Worlds Collide

"What are you doing here, Meva?" I asked, trying to mask my excitement.

She seemed puzzled by something. As if I'd just woken her from a dream.

"I was supposed to meet my fiancé, Jockson Reckson, but he had a work emergency in the blank mine and then..." Her voice trailed off.

"Jockson Reckson." I mumbled.

"Yes. Do you know him?"

"I work... I worked in the blank mine. I knew him."

"Do you know what's happening there?"

I nodded, "Yes. I found something in the mine, something they desperately want. I will tell you everything, but we need to leave here before the green people come back."

Meva grabbed my arm, "Did you see a little green girl too?"

"Yes."

She continued, "I was waiting for Jockson Reckson next to the forest when this little green girl appeared. I followed her here."

"Me too! She made me get down on my knees and be quiet or it looked like her fellow green people were going to kill me!"

Meva was putting something together in her mind. "They disappeared, did they not?"

I nodded.

"It's as if they wanted us to find each other." She said.

These words were like fuel on the fire of my heart. Here she was, standing before me and she was perfect. Her face was perfect. It looked like a planet. No, planets are too busy. Her face was more like a moon. Standing out in the darkness, pale and beautiful.

She waved her hand in front of my face. I realized she'd been talking while I was lost in adoration.

"Hello? Tzurk, What do you want to do?"

"Love you." The words flew out of my mouth before I could pull them back in.

I was embarrassed and terrified. My face turned red, and I could not look at her. For a moment, I waited for her to strike me for my impudence. But she didn't. I pulled the slate from my pocket with her face scribed on it, and held it up. This was going to sound crazy no matter how it came out. But I had to say it. She had to know.

"Meva, I saw your image on Jockson Reckson's desk. When I returned to work, this and image self scribed on the cave walls! I know they came from me. My entire crew was in danger because I could not stop it. One the members of my crew died from my passion for you. He gave his life to cover up for my mistakes, and helped me escape. My love for you has sustained me in the darkness."

She hadn't slapped me yet, so I continued.

"I will never be the same. Just seeing your face has wrecked me for life. But my response to being ruined is not sadness, because it is my great joy to be heartbroken by you. Even now, if you want me to die, just give the word and it will be so. Ask me to die, ask me to move a mountain into the sea, ask me anything, just don’t send me away."

I tore the hem of my garment, "Damn! I’m such a fool! I can’t believe I’m saying this to you, but I don’t care! I don’t care what you think or what anyone else thinks. I don’t even care what I think! My soul was lost in the mountain, and my body had no life in it. I could not wake, until I heard your name. Meva. Meva. MEVA! How your name is my favorite song. Let me sing to you, Meva."

I held my arms out wide and sang as loud as I could, not caring who could hear me:

"There is a name that slays me in the name of love.

There is a name that is the weapon of weapons.

It sustained the soul of this man in the underworld

And will sustain me forever in the overworld!"

I did not care if she responded. I was too terrified by the possibilities. But seeing my silence, she reached into the pocket of her skirt, and pulled out a rock.

My heart nearly burst, for there, scribed on her rock’s surface, was my face.

The Courting of Meva

"Where did you get that?" I asked in astonishment.

She explained that when the image of her face appeared all over the blank mines, her father was alerted. They brought him a few pieces of etched stone as evidence. Her father demanded to know who had done it, so this person could be punished. But Meva wanted to know for a different reason. She knew that the tiles could not have emanated from Jockson Reckson, because he did not love her. Marrying Meva would put Jockson Reckson in a better position to manipulate the blank mining operation. That is all he desired, not her.

So Meva took one of the blanks with her face and visited her aunt, who was known as Witchy Lady, though few had courage to call her that to her face. Her aunt's predictions were a mixed bag. Sometimes she was right, but was often wrong. At one time, she had been involved in guiding the mining operation to the richest veins of blank slate, but after a few costly wrong predictions, she was no longer asked.

But Meva was desperate, and had no one else in which to turn. Her aunt flipped the tile over in her hands, running her fingers along the edges. Then she gave Meva a blank tile and told her to keep it close at all times, and an answer would come. This was not the answer Meva had hoped for, but she took the tile home and put it under her pillow. That night she dreamt that she was getting married to someone with no face. And when she awoke, my face was etched into the tile.

When I heard this I was emboldened. I took her hand and asked her to come with me. She nodded.

We didn't know exactly where to go, so we chose a direction that was away from the mine. We stuck close to main roads to avoid the wild animals in the deeper woods, but we didn't walk on the road, for fear of capture. As the days wore on, the sound of hover vehicle engines lessened, then ceased all together.

I remember one day in particular. We were walking over rolling hills that followed a river. I agreed to play a game of sorts. We would take turns asking a question. The other person had to answer with total honesty. She went first.

"Do you believe in love at first sight, Tzurk?"

I said I did not see how it could be true. How could someone love another when they had only seen their face? Love is more than infatuation. Love is more than a feeling. So how could the mere sight of another bring about such depth of commitment, self-sacrifice and revelation?

She reminded me that I was supposed to be answering her question, not asking my own.

So I told her, in earnest, that I had seen many pretty females before I had seen her face etched into that blank, and it had always been infatuation. But when I saw her face, it was different; Maybe not love, but not infatuation. I knew she was someone I needed to love.

My turn.

"Do you love Jockson Reckson?" I asked.

She did not. But the marriage was something she agreed to because there was no alternative. Her family wanted it. His family wanted it. What point was there in resisting? But now things were different, with the dream and my face etched onto the blank in her pocket.

"How did you come to be a miner?" She asked.

I feared her reaction to this question. But I told her anyway. I told her how my two brothers and I were sold into servitude when I was very young. I told her how we ended up in mining, though my older brothers were near to being sent into the military. I told her about the day I got word that they had both died when a mineshaft collapsed on them. And so, not knowing anything about my parents, I was alone in the world.

"Do you love me?" I asked.

She took some time to think about her response. Then she said that she wasn't sure. She needed to know me better.

So it went between us all that day, and as the day wore on, I realized that what I had felt at the sight of her face, back in Jockson Reckson's office, was changing, blossoming like a flower. If I had been back in that mine shaft with my hand on the wall, I would not have etched her face into the blanks, I would have etched her very soul.

#armikrog #armikrog game #armikrog stories #armikrog lore #armikrog story #neverhood #the neverhood #neverhood 2

[antoine-roquentin]

The superficial “downtrodden Trump voter” story has indeed become an unproductive cliché. And upheavals in industries with larger, more diverse workforces than coal, such as retail, deserve close attention as well.

But our decades-long fixation with Appalachia is still justified. For starters, the political transformation of the region is genuinely stunning. West Virginia was one of just six states that voted for Jimmy Carter in 1980; last year, it gave Trump his second-largest margin of victory, forty-two points.

More importantly, the region’s afflictions cannot simply be cordoned off and left to burn out. The opioid epidemic that now grips whole swaths of the Northeast and Midwest got its start around the turn of the century in central Appalachia, with the shameless targeting of a vulnerable customer base by pharmaceutical companies hawking their potent painkillers. The epidemic spread outward from there, sure as an inkblot on a map. People like Frank Rich may be callous enough to want to consign Appalachians to their “poisons,” but the quarantine is not that easy.

We should be thankful, then, for what Steven Stoll, a historian at Fordham University, has delivered in Ramp Hollow: not just another account of Appalachia’s current plight, but a journey deeper in time to help us understand how the region came to be the way it is. For while much has been written about the region of late, the historical roots of its troubles have received relatively little recent scrutiny. Hillbilly Elegy, J. D. Vance’s best-selling memoir of growing up in an Appalachian family transplanted from eastern Kentucky to the flatlands of southwestern Ohio, cast his people’s afflictions largely as a matter of a culture gone awry, of ornery self-reliance turned to resentful self-destruction. In White Trash, the historian Nancy Isenberg traced the history of the country’s white underclass to the nation’s earliest days, but she focused more on how that underclass was depicted and scorned than on the material particulars of its existence.

Stoll offers the ideal complement. He has set out to tell the story of how the people of a sprawling region of our country—one of its most physically captivating and ecologically bountiful—went from enjoying a modest but self-sufficient existence as small-scale agrarians for much of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries to a dreary dependency on the indulgence of coal barons or the alms of the government.

Stoll refuses to accept that there is something intrinsically lacking in Appalachians—people who, after all, managed to carve out a life on such challenging, mountainous terrain. Something was done to them, and he is going to figure out who did it. He links their fate to other threatened agrarian communities, from rice growers in the Philippines to English peasants at the time of the Enclosure Acts. “Whenever we see hunger and deprivation among rural people, we need to ask a simple question: What went on just before the crisis that might have caused it?” he writes. “Seeing the world without the past would be like visiting a city after a devastating hurricane and declaring that the people there have always lived in ruins.”

The missing history is above all a story about land and dispossession. For roughly a century, starting before the country’s founding, the settlers of central Appalachia—defined by Stoll as the southwestern corner of Pennsylvania and most of West Virginia—managed a makeshift life as smallholders. The terms of that “holding” were murky, to say the least: property claims in the region were a tangled patchwork of grants awarded to French and Indian or Revolutionary War generals and other notables, which were commonly diced and sliced among speculators, and the de facto claims made by those actually inhabiting the land. In some cases, those settlers managed to get official deeds by the legal doctrine of “adverse possession”; in many others, they were simply allowed to keep working the land by distant landlords who had never laid eyes on it.

Regardless of the legal letter, the settlers carved out their “homeplace,” as Stoll calls it. He is evocative in describing their existence, but stops short of romanticizing it, and takes pains to note that their presence was itself founded on the dispossession of the natives. They practiced “swidden” agriculture—burning out one clearing for cultivation, then letting it regenerate while rotating to another area—likely introduced by Scandinavians mixed in with the predominant Scots-Irish. Survival depended on shared use of the boundless forest beyond one’s own hollow or ridge—the “commons”—for hunting game, raising livestock, small-scale logging, and foraging bounties such as uganost (wild greens), toothworth, corn salad, and ramps. “People with control over a robust landscape work hard, but they don’t go hungry,” remarks Stoll.

Yet it was the area’s very natural bounty that would ultimately spell the end of this self-sufficiency. The Civil War’s incursions into the Shenandoah Valley and westward exposed the region’s riches in exactly the minerals demanded by a growing industrial economy. (By 1880, there were 56,500 steam engines in the country, all voracious for coal.) “Her hills and valleys are full of wealth which only needs development to attract capitalists like a magnet,” declared one joint-stock company. In swarmed said capitalists, often in cahoots with local power brokers from Charleston and Wheeling.

The confused legal property claims offered the aspiring coal barons a window: they could approach longtime inhabitants and say, essentially, “Look, we all know you don’t have full title to this land, but if you sell us the mineral rights, we’ll let you stay.” With population growth starting to crimp the wide-ranging agrarian existence, some extra cash in hand was hard to reject. Not that it was very much: one farmer turned over his 740 acres for a mere $3.58 per acre—around $80 today. By 1889, a single company, Flat Top Land Trust, had amassed rights to 200,000 acres in McDowell County in southern West Virginia; just thirteen years later, McDowell was producing more than five million tons of coal per year.

The coal industry had a positively soft touch in the early going, though, compared to timber. Stoll describes the arrival of the “steam skidder,” which “looks like a locomotive with a ship’s mast.” It “clanks and spits, chugs steam, and sweats grease from its wheels and pistons” as workers use cables extending from the mast to grab fallen trees, “pulling or skidding the logs hundreds of feet to a railroad flatbed.” The steam skidder crews would cut everything they could, “leaving the slopes barren but for the stumps, branches, and bark that burned whenever a spark from a railroad wheel or glowing ash from a tinderbox fell on the detritus.”

The harvest was staggering: “Of the 10 million acres that had never been cut in 1870, only 1.5 million stood in 1910.” Stoll quotes one witness from the time: “One sees these beautiful hills and valleys stripped of nature’s adornment; the hills denuded of their forests, the valleys lighted by the flames of coke-ovens and smelting furnaces; their vegetation seared and blackened . . . and one could wish that such an Arcadia might have been spared such ravishment. But the needs of the race are insatiable and unceasing.” Indeed, they were. As one northern lumberman put it: “All we want here is to get the most we can out of this country, as quick as we can, and then get out.”

Such rapaciousness did not leave much of the commons that had sustained the makeshift agrarian existence. Of course, there was a new life to replace it: mining coal or logging trees. By 1929, 100,000 men, out of a total state population of only 1.7 million, worked in 830 mines across West Virginia alone. But it is in that very shift that Stoll identifies the region’s turn toward immiseration. With the land spoiled and few non-coal jobs available, workers were at the mercy of whichever coal company dominated their corner of the region. They lived in camps and were paid in scrip usable only at the company store; even the small gardens they were allowed in the camps were geared less toward self-reliance than toward cutting the company’s costs to feed them.

Stoll quotes a professor at Berea College in eastern Kentucky who captured the new reality in a 1924 book: The miner “had not realized that he would have to buy all his food. . . He has to pay even for water to drink.” Having moved their families to a shanty in the camp, miners owed rent even when the mine closed in the industry’s cyclical downturns, which served to “bind them as tenants by compulsion . . . under leases by which they can be turned out with their wives and children on the mountainside in midwinter if they strike.” As Stoll sums it up, “Their dependency on company housing and company money spent for food in company-owned stores amounted to a constant threat of eviction and starvation.” Of course, Merle Travis had this dynamic nailed way back in his 1947 classic, “Sixteen Tons”: “You load sixteen tons, what do you get? / Another day older and deeper in debt. / Saint Peter, don’t you call me, ’cause I can’t go, / I owe my soul to the company store.”

Nor did the industries bring even a modicum of mass prosperity to compensate for this dependency. By 1960, more than half the homes in central Appalachia still lacked central plumbing, helping give rise to all manner of cruel stereotypes and harsh commentary, such as this, from the British historian Arnold Toynbee: “The Appalachians present the melancholy spectacle of a people who have acquired civilization and then lost it.” An extensive 1981 study of eighty Appalachian counties by the Highlander Research and Educational Center in Tennessee confirmed that, in Stoll’s summary, coal company capital had brought “stagnation, not human betterment,” and a “correlation between corporate control and inadequate housing.”

“Banks in coal counties couldn’t invest in home construction or other local improvements because the greater share of their deposits belonged to the companies,” Stoll writes. “No sooner did that capital flow in than it flowed out, depriving banks of funds stable enough for community lending.” Not only had the coal industry, along with timber, supplanted an earlier existence, but it was actively stifling other forms of growth and development.

Stoll recounts a scene from 1988, when a man named Julian Martin got up at a public hearing to oppose a proposed strip-mining project in West Virginia. Martin described the disappearance of Bull Creek along the Coal River, which he had explored as a kid decades earlier. He pointed out that places that had seen the most strip mining had also become the very poorest in the state. “My daddy was a coal miner, and I understand being out of work, okay?” Martin said. “I’ve been down that road myself. And I know you’ve got to provide for your family. But I’m saying they’re only giving us two options. They’re saying, ‘Either starve—or destroy West Virginia.’ And surely to God there must be another option.”

It’s a powerful moment, and it captures the tragic political irony that is one of the most lasting fruits of the region’s dependency: despite all the depredations of resource extraction—all the mine collapses and explosions (twenty-nine killed at Upper Big Branch in 2010) and slurry floods (125 killed in the Buffalo Creek disaster of 1972) and chemical spills (thousands without drinking water after the contamination of the Elk River in 2014)—many inhabitants, and their elected representatives, remain fiercely protective of the responsible industries. Even the empathetic Stoll can’t help let his frustration show, as he urges the “white working class of the southern mountains to stop identifying their interests with those of the rich and powerful, a position that leaves them poorer and more powerless than they have ever been.”

Well, yes, but many a book has been written to explain why exactly the opposite trend has been happening, as Appalachia turns ever redder. It shouldn’t be that hard to make sense of the coal-related part of this political turn, and voters’ rightful assessment that coastal Democrats are hostile to the industry. The region has been dominated by mining for so long that coal has become deeply interwoven with its whole sense of self. Just last month, I was speaking with a couple of retired union miners in Fairmont, West Virginia, who are highly critical of both coal companies and Trump, and suffer the typical physical ailments from decades spent underground. Yet both said without hesitation that they missed the work for the camaraderie and sense of purpose it provided. Their ancestors identified as agrarians; they identified as miners.

Stoll is on more original and compelling ground as he tries to determine what that “other option” might be for the region. He imagines a “Commons Communities Act,” under which land would be set aside for shared use, not unlike the great forests of old—farming, timber harvesting, hunting and gathering, vegetable gardening, cattle grazing—by a specified number of families. Residents would own their own homes and could pursue whatever sort of work they cared to beyond their use of the commons. Social services and education in the communities would be paid for by a surcharge on the top 1 percent of U.S. households and an “industrial abandonment tax” on any corporation that “closed its operations in any city or region of the United States within the last twenty years . . . and moved elsewhere, leaving behind toxic waste and poverty.”

It is an admittedly fantastical vision that will fare better with Wendell Berry than with Congress or the West Virginia legislature. But in one sense, it is not so far-fetched after all. Coal is on the wane in central Appalachia, however much uptick it enjoys in the Trump era. Not only is it being undercut by natural gas, but the easily obtainable reserves are gradually tapping out, at long last. Coal’s decline is having wrenching effects on its dependents, not least the depletion of local government and school coffers. Something will have to replace it, and the odds of Amazon picking Morgantown or Charleston for its second headquarters are slim. West Virginia’s population has fallen by nearly 10 percent from its peak in 1950, a reversal of the crowding that helped bring the agrarian existence to an end more than a century ago. So perhaps it is not so crazy after all to suppose that a region so proud of its heritage could reach back to an earlier, almost-forgotten part of it, before the steam skidder showed up, and lay new claim to its land.

#sometimes i feel like i'm the only one who gets maudlin for dispossessed americana

[barbarasminerva-remade]

dc heroes highschool au

so i was thinking about this and its my new baby but its really long so im putting part of it under a read more

the school is called justice academy and the school colors are blue, white and gold

theres a martial arts class at their school that bruce teaches bc he’s lonely and we all know he doesn’t have a real job

clark is the lunch lady who reminds kids to eat their vegetables

everything made in the caf is grown in the school garden that he has and he shames kids into not picking the unhealthy foods

bruce is smashing the lunch lady aka clark n he thinks no one knows but really the whole school gossips about how rich dude/part time gym teacher bruce wayne is banging sweet lunch lady clark

also clark and lois have an open marriage so they don’t have to hide their relationship but bruce is like........yeah but i don’t want ppl to know i’m dating someone who says y'all'd've'st

Kon HATES it bc he and tim are also dating

diana is the wrestling coach and everyone marvels at how good she is except donna and cassie (bc thats donnas mom and cassie’s aunt and she  loves to embarrass them) n she’s known for having a rivalry with her the arkham academy coach, barbara minerva, aka her ex girlfriend

also diana is an ancient/world history teacher teaching history as it happened

Diana during the first day of class: The common theme in world history is that White Men Ruin Everything 

donna is captain of the wrestling team

she’s really good and everyone on the wrestling team aspires to be her and everyone on the rival school’s (arkham academy) team wants to beat her

kory was an exchange student during her freshman year and eventually decides to stay. she’s cheer captain but also known for arguing for equality and stages like school walkouts and things and no one ever challenges her bc she’s tall and buff and her gf is the captain of the wrestling team

wally runs track and field

wally is iris's nephew and barry and iris met at a track meet when iris came to pick him up and he was like hey wally what's ur aunt's number? and wally was like ‘sorry coach barry my aunt isn’t looking rn’ bc he thought it’d be weird if his coach dated his aunt but barry shoots his shot anyways and now barry and iris are engaged

also wally is a senior n bart is a freshman so when barry makes bart co-captain wally is like what the fuck is the point of you being engaged to my aunt if i dont get nepotism?????? n barry's like wally he's ur cousin and wally's like not if he steals my scholarships and they fight a lot but they l*ve each other 

roy is president of the archery club with his sorta sister artemis crock and jason is a lit nerd who roy flirts with but jason just thinks he wants homework so he ignores him

roy struggles with being a good dad while also fighting his addiction and work part time to try and save up for college after ollie kicked him out all on top of being a senior in high school

artemis is good friends w mia and conner bc first they were in the archery club together and then she joins the family after jade has lian and she’s like i’m sorry jade is vicious and tries to help out with lian as much as possible and mia and conner respect that

artemis is a really good aunt, she loves lian so much and spends all of her pocket money on taking her niece places. she ditches school to get slurpees w her girlfriends zatanna and m’gann. m’gann helps her study for her classes and with her homework. both make sure she stays in school cause artemis almost flunks out at one point bc of family stuff. also artemis is in lit club bc Z is in it and she supports her

jason lives in an apartment and he makes bruce pay for it as reparations for being a bad dad. but he also works bc he’ll be damned if he has to live off of bruce’s money permanently and eventually starts paying for his own bills and stuff

dick is captain of the gymnastics team and he’s really good. he’s the best in the region and has only ever lost a meet once (which was nationals, he came 2nd place)

tiger, dick, and helena went to summer camp together. tiger doesn’t go to their school, he goes to a gotham boarding school and dick sneaks into his room at night to hang out/make out and tiger comes to dick’s meets and helena tags along

also wally has a big crush on dick and he has since they were kids and dick liked him too. but wally thought dick wasn’t interested so he never went for it and then dick being dick just moved on and now wally just pines after him and it’s sad :/

damian is a snot nose 9 year old kid who hangs around the gymnastic team’s practices to hang out with his big bro and he sneers at the team and says he could do it better (which he can)

the summer before jason’s sophomore year he disappears after an incident and no one knows what happened to him but afterwards bruce sends him to boarding school to correct his behavior (which is where he meets amazon artemis and bizarro) until jason says fuck this and comes back junior year and everyone spread rumors that he like died while he was gone bc no one ever saw him so when he returned everyone was like :O and dick is really excited he’s back but jason is pissed at him bc he didn’t like support jason in fighting w bruce to let him stay

jason has bruce’s number blocked for the drama of it and bruce refuses to think his son blocked him so he's like "oh his phone must be off he's so busy love that guy (:" and no one has the heart to tell him. the rare times he does answer the phone when bruce calls, he recites a monologue and hangs up. he’s also president of drama club and also of literature club

jason recites historic and iconic monologues and soliloquies (bc he has them memorized for certain situations) except he just sprinkles curse words in

jason’s english teacher is about to fucking quit their job bc jason always tries to teach the class

cass is the best student in bruce’s class and also his daughter and she’s fairly quiet and hangs out mostly with her brothers. people like don’t really know who she is other than like hey that’s the kick ass dancer on helena’s dance team or oh! that’s the girl who kicked my ass sparring in Mr. Wayne’s class. she meets steph in one of bruce’s classes and she’s like wild and outgoing and funny and cass has a really big crush on her but she doesn’t think steph feels the same way (she does though) also steph can drive and she’s always taking cass on these really fun adventures but bruce doesn’t approve of steph so cass like sneaks out to go hang out with steph but bruce never knows bc he thinks she’s the perfect daughter and like steph brings cass out of her shell. she’s also on the gymnastics team with dick and is the second highest placing athlete on the team.

my boy duke thomas and his parents were good friends of bruce right so when during the summer before his freshman year his parents die in a freak car accident bruce takes him in. he’s a sophomore now and he’s still adjusting to life with bruce and he thinks his new siblings are kinda weird but cool. he’s also really focused on making sure his grades are immaculate so that he can get into his dream school and make his parents proud. he is in the school band and he’s really great and tim is also in band bc bruce made him but he’s not as good as duke 

jason met duke at a family dinner he was forced to go to and thinks he’s cool unlike his other loser brother and makes him join literature club 

tim drake is a freshmen and gets shoved into lockers. his only friends are kon, bart, and cassie. he joined the coding club bc he thinks babs is extra cool and wants to be like her

jason is the one shoving him in the locker and tim’s like what the fuck you’re the nerd here and jason’s like funny isn’t it and then closes the locker

bart hangs out with tim and kon and cassie. except cassie is cool from being on the wrestling team and being donna’s cousin so she’s always really busy but she tries to make time for them. wally shoves him into lockers sometimes and kon has to get them both out.

kon is in his rebellious teen phase where he's like fuck u dad i don’t wanna be a farmer but its justified bc kon is techinically an illegitimate child from a previous relationship and clark is kind of a dick to him bc he treats Jon better than Kon

helena and dinah make out under the school bleachers before helena has dance practice and when helena has to go dinah smacks her ass and says knock em dead babe

helena originally took mr. wayne's martial arts class because she needed PE credit but now she kinda likes it. the whole time she’s there she objects to bruce's passive approach to fighting 

bruce: fight to disarm or incapacitate ur partner helena: thats dumb, fight to kill ur partner 

bruce wayne voice: helena this is a PE class please stop trying to murder your partners

kate kane subs for bruce sometimes but she supports helena's kill ur partner attitude so they don’t hire her very often

helena is captain of the dance team and they perform at all school rallies and football games and shes really hard on her team mates but only bc she wants them to be their best and babs & dinah make her music mixes for performances bc they love her

babs is president of the coding club and even though she’s a nerd everyone respects her. her and dick went on a date once and then when he kissed her good night she realized she was a lesbian. they’re still buddies though. she dated dinah for awhile but they decided they were better as friends. helena and babs became friends in the martial arts class and babs introduced helena and dinah and the three have been bffs ever since.

#this is so long n theres a second post w more stuff hghjkhghfhj #creds to the sapphicdcnet for some of the ideas #esp mason #justice academy au #sapphicdcnet #justice league

[tessatechaitea]

New Super-man #5

MAGA!

Don't worry! Global warming from air pollution isn't a problem! Everything will be okay when seeing a blue sky is a rare occurrence. This was the sky every day in Eastern China and Hong Kong. And this was from 1997.

The comic book shows The Bund at night where you can see stars. When they erupt out of their submarine to discuss books with the people, The People's Book Club of Ultimate Freedom even comment on how "mesmerizing" the stars are. Ha! As if. The People's Book Club of Ultimate Freedom have stolen Starro from the Ministry of Self-Reliance (I know, I know. So ironic that they'd have Starro!) and they're planning on using it against the communist regime who won't let them read The Cave of Time in its original English. All they get is the Chinese Translation with the Government Approved Endings! Kenan has just walked in on his father wearing his Flying Dragon Father costume and now he has questions up the proverbial wazoo. Is the wazoo actually proverbial? Do things have to have been mentioned in The Book of Proverbs to be proverbial? What is a proverb anyway? Like a combination verb and pronoun? Flying Dragon Father tells his origin story to his son because he wants Kenan to fight for the correct side. The correct side is obviously the one against China's governmental interests. Those fucking Communists are evil. Not because they're Communists, of course. Capitalists are fucking evil too! The common factor there is the part where the people who come to power by whatever means one comes to power in whatever economic or political system exists in the country they were raised tend to be ambitious, selfish, greedy assholes. The kind of people who would rule well don't crave the kinds of power, status, and money that comes with ruling. So they never wind up in power. Go figure, right?! Flying Dragon Father met Kenan's mother in the early college incarnation of The People's Book Club of Ultimate Freedom. They have their Harry Met Sally relationship that eventually leads to Kenan.

I wish she'd become the Leather Liberty Goddess.

Flying Dragon Father reveals the big shock twist: the Ministry of Self-Reliance killed Kenan's mother! Okay, so it wasn't as shocking as you might have thought by my calling it a big shock twist and using an exclamation point. But if you're familiar with my blog then you know exclamation points mean nothing! It's like I'm a rich kid just burning money if money were exclamation points and they made people wealthy. Now Kenan has a decision to make. Does he continue to fight for the Ministry of Self-Reliance or become a mole for the People's Book Club of Ultimate Freedom? Or does he go his own way and forge his own path which will probably lead to Laney Lan's bedroom and some kinky ass roleplay. Kenan chooses to go off with his father to help the People's Book Club of Ultimate Freedom. Bat-man and Wonder-Woman also head to The Bund to try to stop the Book Club. Also joining the fray? The Great Ten! You might remember one of them, August General in Iron. If you remember any of the other nine, you get a cookie. But not my cookie.

Even Book Clubs of Ultimate Freedom have to deal with power-mad narcissists who insist on ruining everything by thinking the end justifies the means.

Uncle Human Firecracker actually says, "Whatever it takes for the greater good." See? Total dickmonster. Mmm, dickmonster. Both Kenan and Flying Dragon Father aren't too happy about Uncle Human Firecracker's methods and decide it might be time to stop him. Isn't this always the way with book clubs? They always fall apart due to infighting.

I just realized why I like Kenan so much. He's a total Huck Finn.

I like to assume that I can say something like "he's a total Huck Finn" and people will completely understand what I mean. While I believe the literary canon really needs to be expanded to include more voices of non-white males, I still think it's usefulness in writing shorthand to others is beyond compare. The literary canon should never shrink, it should just grow bigger and bigger. Sure it's more work for those who want to understand everything anybody ever writes. But fuck is it useful. I'm not religious but you'd better believe I've read The Bible because without that foundation, you're not fully accessing a majority of Western Literature. If the Ultimate Literary Canon of Freedom is expanded enough, people will be expected to also know The Koran and the Bhagavad Gita and, um, the other ones that are probably important to people who didn't grow up with a white, Western education. Uncle Human Firecracker somehow does something to remove Kenan's powers. He probably had some of those miniature red suns in his glove. Kenan almost drowns but Flying Dragon Father rescues him and takes him to the Ministry of Self-Reliance to be healed. So people's loyalties are becoming a bit fuzzy due to other loyalties. Meanwhile, Uncle Human Firecracker shoves a bunch of Starro-captured motherfuckers onto a plane. He's going to fly it into Beijing and the seat of Communist power so that he can mind-control them all into becoming a democracy. Sounds about right. But! On the plane is Lixin, the fat kid whose lunch money Kenan used to steal! He's not supposed to be there but his parents own the airline and he's trying to make a Youtube video or something in the cockpit. I guess he's going to have to be the hero on the hijacked plane! Always bet on fat! Super-man doesn't get his powers back even with a blast of yellow sun radiation. It looks like he lost his powers when he felt his dad was disappointed in him. So his powers fluctuate based on his esteem? That's actually a good thing for Kenan! Mostly, he's as cocky and arrogant as I am.

Heh heh. Compliance devices.

Super-man and Flying Dragon Father rush off to stop the plane. I guess Kenan's powers will come back now that he knows his father is proud of him. I hope Lixin becomes his pal! Does Lixin mean "Jimmy Olsen" in Chinese? What Did We Learn? Being confident is where real power comes from! You know that's true because it's what all the Men's Rights Advocates say! I think they're basic rule is to be confident even when you know you're a disgusting piece of shit that no woman in their right mind would ever touch. The worst part about this advice is that it's right. Being confident is attractive! The problem is faking confidence simply to get laid. If you need to get laid and you want confidence, pay a sex worker (preferably in someplace where it's legal because it should all be legal and by participating in places where it isn't legal, you're just encouraging illegal sex work which endangers women). They'll tell you how big your cock is and how good you are at the penetrations! Even if you blow your load too early, they won't act disappointed and upset and become bitter and resentful that you're not seeing to their needs. Although thinking you're good at sex when you're not might be harmful to your relationships in the long run. But at least getting laid might keep you from going on the Internet and getting involved with these MRA jerks. The Ranking! +1! This comic book is the best! Or close to the best! Don't challenge me! What I say here doesn't have to match up with what's over there on the sidebar in the Rankings. Especially if you're reading this on Blogger since I never fucking update the list on that site.

#New Super-man #DC Comics #Gene Luen Yang #Viktor Bogdanovic #Richard Friend #Hi-Fi