#IT'S STILL TECHNICALLY THE FIFTH. SEVEN MINUTES BEFORE ITS NOT

[cursedthing]

Painted a Nine for 17776 release anniversary :D

#17776 #17776 football #17776 nine #ines's scribbles #IT'S STILL TECHNICALLY THE FIFTH. SEVEN MINUTES BEFORE ITS NOT #GOOD NIGHT

[starrybethany]

I’m Sure - Adam Boqvist Imagine Part 5

Word count: 4.0K

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Adam: You followed me

I stare at the three words, blinking with tired eyes. All I want to do is sleep, especially after the day I’ve had with Holden, but the baby decided kicking me was more important. So here I am at four o’clock in the morning checking my social media when I should be getting another three hours of sleep.

I rub my eyes, unsure of how to even respond to the message.

It’s just a statement. I feel flabbergasted by it- really, we haven’t talked in years- well, technically months, but the last time we saw each other we just fucked, and our child went to see him without my knowledge or consent. How the fuck am I supposed to respond to those three words?

Y/N: I think we need to talk.

I sigh, setting my phone down. Might as well get straight to the point. The sooner I tell him about the second baby and ask why he would see Holden without at least running it past me the better. I roll over, pulling the blanket tighter around me. Hopefully I can sleep at least a little bit longer. I’m going to need it to deal with the moody adolescent I’ll be seeing in the morning.

~

“I made some toast and bacon. Just let me just finish cutting up these strawberries and then breakfast will be ready,” I inform Holden as he hops down the stairs.

He picks up the filled plate waiting for him on the table, throwing the food into the trashcan and setting the plate on the counter, giving me an expectant look.

I stare blankly back at him. I know he’s waiting for a reaction. He wants me to blow up so then he feels okay yelling at me instead of starting the confrontation himself. Instead, I just say, “That’s wasteful.”

He rolls his eyes, grabbing his backpack from its usual spot by the door and making his way outside, letting it slam shut behind him. I release the breath that I’ve been holding in, popping a strawberry into my mouth.

I open my Instagram app to catch up on the posts that I’ve missed, freezing when I see that I’ve received a DM. I forgot that I sent a message to Adam last night. Well, technically this morning. After I sent the message, I passed out hard, and I thought the whole thing was a fever dream.

Adam: What about?

Adam: Here’s my number

My fingers tap the screen quietly as I add his phone number into my contacts, saving it and staring at it blankly.

Well. No time like the present.

Before I can even realize what I’m doing, before I can even think things through and decide what to say or whether this is a good idea or not, or hell, even what time it is in Chicago right now, I click on the phone icon.

I curse to myself, raising the phone to my ear. Absentmindedly, my hand raises to my mouth so I can chew on my fingernail. Nail-biting is a nervous habit that I gave up years ago, but I guess old habits die hard.

“Hello?” His groggy voice comes through the phone.

I can’t breathe.

The oxygen gets stuck in my lungs. All I can think about are his hands on my body, sliding down to grip my hips. The twinkle in his eyes as I would pull my shirt over my head.

And not to mention the last time I saw him. His hair is longer than he used to keep it, but it suits him. It looks good on him. And he bulked up since the last time I saw him, too- his abs definitely looked and felt like it, anyways.

“Hello?” He repeats, sounding more awake and borderline annoyed now.

“Adam,” I respond softly, suddenly feeling shy. Come on, where did my confidence go? I’ll need it to get through this conversation.

“Y/N,” he says, all sounds of annoyance out of his voice. “You actually called, I didn’t think that you would-“”Sorry for waking you up,” I blurt out, glancing at the clock and seeing that it’s seven in the morning here. Chicago is an hour behind Philadelphia- it’s what kept me from calling the boys on the team late at night for several years.

“Oh, no, no, don’t you ever worry about that,” he reassures me. It’s quiet. I know he’s waiting for me to speak, to let him know what I want to talk to him about, but I just can’t get the words out. I feel them stuck in my throat, clawing to escape. “So, how’s Holden?”

And there it is.

That question is what spurs me to speak, to dig into the man who hid a huge secret like that from me. But I guess I’m doing the same thing to him now.

“I don’t know, how is he, Adam?” I spit out.

He sighs. He sighs. I want to punch his perfect fucking face.

“If I had realized that you had such a problem with it-“”Such a problem with it?” I repeat, not believing my own ears. Suddenly I’m reminded of why I decided not to tell Adam about this baby and why he wasn’t ready to be in Holden’s life for thirteen years. Hell, it sounds like he’s still not ready.

“My son lied to me about his intentions of going to Chicago, traveled halfway across the country by himself, and saw someone who he’s never met before. Yes, I have a fucking problem with it,” I growl.

“Our son.”

“What?”

“He’s our son. You said my son.”

All I want to do right now is to reach through this tiny screen and hit him upside the head. Really, after I lay out all of my concerns, this is all he has to say to me?

“Whatever. When are you coming to Philadelphia next?” I question. I don’t want to air all of grievances and talk about the new baby over the phone. I’ve had enough communication classes to know that you need to see someone’s nonverbal behaviors instead just hearing what they have to say.

“Why? You want to see me?” Suggestion laces his tone.

No, asshole, you already got me pregnant again.

“Yes. We need to talk about Holden… and some other things,” my voice trails off at the end, not sure how to warn him about such big news.

“Some other things, eh? Well, I’ll be looking forward to that,” he responds, clearly thinking that it’s something regarding us and our relationship, well, our dislike or lust for one another or something, instead of picking up what I’m trying to hint at.

“Cool. So, can you take a trip to Philly sometime soon or are you going to wait until hockey season?” I inquire.

“I can take a trip there, just for you. And Holden, of course.”

I can’t help but let a small smile slip onto my face. That sentence shows me that he’d be a good dad if he just put in the effort. It infuriates me that he’s kept that from Holden for years just because he hasn’t felt like working towards a relationship with his son.

“Good. Let me know when you’re in town so we can meet up.”

“What? You’re not going to invite me to stay with you?”

“Goodbye, Adam.” I hang up before he can respond. All I can imagine the rest of the day is his reaction after that phone call. He would have that small, knowing smile on his face, pulling his phone out of his pocket every five minutes to check and see if he got a new text from me or to send the fifth one in a row to me- one that I still would not respond to.

And my heart skips a beat at the thought of that.

~

It’s been a week since the phone call and since Adam sent me a screenshot of his booked ticket to Philadelphia two weeks from then. For some reason, maybe it’s the stupid, hopeless romantic part in me, I had hoped that he would book his plane ticket and hotel room for that night or even the next day. But he told me he had some ‘lose ends’ to tie up in Chicago before leaving.

And it’s also been a week since Holden has said a word to me. I’ve tried talking to him. I’ve asked him about his day, his friends, cooked him his favorite meals all week, I even offered to take him to Target to get a new video game.

None of that has worked. And it hurts. It hurts knowing that after everything I’ve done for him and everything I’ve sacrificed for him, and how Adam has done none of that, he looks at Adam like a God and me like the scum on the bottom of his shoe.

I know it’s what I’m supposed to do as a mother, care for my son and make sure he’s happy, but it’s just- it’s just- ugh.

I start to feel my blood boil as my mom’s voice echoes in the back of my head. Life’s not fair.

It’s then that I realize that I’ve given him enough space and time to figure out his feelings and how he wants to proceed. I don’t want to give him too much space that he begins to resent me and feel like I don’t care about him.

I know that feeling all too well.

I knock on his bedroom door softly, waiting for him to open it before I just walk in. It creeks open slightly, and just as I expected, eyes matching my mom’s peek out to glare at me.

“Can I talk to you, Holden?”

He doesn’t respond, just stares at me.

“Please, you don’t even have to talk, just listen,” I beg.

Fortunately, he opens the door the rest of the way, watching as I walk into his room and sit gently on the edge of the bed. He sits down on his worn computer chair, laptop open to some video game I don’t recognize on his desk.

“I want to start by apologizing for yelling at you last week,” I begin, taking a deep breath. Apologizing isn’t something that comes easy to me- I grew up in a family where the words ‘I’m sorry’ were unheard of. My parents were always right, and I was always wrong.

“I realize it probably wasn’t easy for you to go to Chicago by yourself to meet your dad. Holden, I just want you to realize that I would do anything to protect you, and I love you with my whole heart so realizing that you were in such an emotionally taxing situation without talking to me about it first-“I pause to sniffle, starting to feel tears well up in my eyes. “I felt helpless. And I couldn’t stop wondering why you didn’t feel like you could share that with me and then I realized that it’s because I don’t share stuff with you either.”

He watches as I lift my sleeve, wiping the tears from under my eyes. His face is still blank, but his eyes look like they’ve softened. He’s understanding my words so far.

“So, yes, this baby is also Adam’s baby. And he did ask about you when I saw him back in February, but I let my pride get the best of me and I told him that he didn’t deserve to see you. I’m sorry for robbing you of meeting your father earlier,” I genuinely apologize, maintaining eye contact with my son.

He shifts in his seat, his hard exterior softening with every word. “Well, I’m sorry for calling you a shitty mother. And saying all of that other stuff. And, if it makes you feel better, I did go to the computer programming camp. I just saw Adam when we had a night off.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He nods.

“What did he tell you? About not being involved in your life?” I ask carefully, curious as to what Adam told Holden to turn him against me like that.

“He just told me that he was working through some stuff,” he shrugs, acting like he doesn’t care but I know my son well enough to tell that he does. “And he wasn’t ready until recently to meet me.”

I bite my tongue to keep it from releasing an insult towards Adam. “And how does that make you feel?”

“Honestly?” I nod, probing him to go on. “Pretty awful. I don’t think I want a relationship with him, mom.”

A mix of emotions run through my body at his word. I feel anxious, because now I have to tell him that Adam’s coming next week and will want to see him, sadness, because my son now recognizes how his father did not want be involved in his life, and anger toward Adam for making him feel like this in the first place.

“Well,” I cough awkwardly. “He’s coming to Philadelphia next week. I’m going to meet him to tell him about the baby. If you don’t want to see him, you don’t have to. It’s all up to you, bud.”

I stand up slowly, rubbing my belly as the baby begins to kick. He always seems to do that whenever I move even just a little bit- he’s an active little guy.

“Oh,” I turn back around just as I’m about to close the door. “How did you even find out who your father is?”

“Please mom, I’m not stupid,” he grins slyly at me, sliding his headphones onto his neck. “You lived in Chicago when you got pregnant with me and worked for the Blackhawks. I figured, since you said you worked a lot, the only guys you really had a chance to be with were on the team. And when I asked you about my dad for that project for school you said he was Swedish, so I just went to the Blackhawks roster in 2020 and found the Swedish players, messaging them some really uncomfortable and intrusive messages on Instagram.”

I chuckle at that, shaking my head. It will never not blow my mind how clever and smart he is. As I close the door to his bedroom, I hear him say, “On the plus side, Alex Nylander is a really nice guy.”

~

The day is finally here. Being eighteen weeks pregnant makes it really hard to hide my baby bump, but I somehow manage to find a baggy sweatshirt that I’ve stolen from one of my ex-boyfriends to cover it up. I don’t want to walk into the restaurant we’re meeting at and have him immediately know.

Somehow my jeans still fit on my legs, but I have a feeling by the end of this lunch they’ll be unbuttoned. It’s just the way it goes sometimes.

I get to the restaurant before Adam, just like how I planned it. I wanted time to scope out my exits in case I need to bail halfway through this meal- knowing Adam, it’s a possibility. I haven’t thought through what I was going to say too much.

I know I need to talk to him about why he would keep Holden going to Chicago to see him a secret from me, and we need to talk about the baby.

But mostly I just want to hear him grovel. The secret, sadistic part of me wants to hear him beg for forgiveness for making me raise my child by myself for the past thirteen years. I want to hear him admit that he fucked up- I’ve never heard Adam Boqvist admit that he fucked up before.

He shows up two minutes late.

I know because my phone is sitting face up on the table and I click on it every five seconds to see what time it is. I tell myself that if it gets ten minutes past noon and he’s still not here, I’m going home and giving up on dealing with Adam ever again.

But then he’s standing in front of me, familiar toothy grin on his face, black beanie on his shaggy hair, and a bouquet of red roses in his hand.

“You’re late,” I state sternly, not letting any sign of emotion onto my face. I need to let him know I mean business. I need to let him know that I’m never getting into bed with him ever again.

“Yeah, sorry, there was a line at the grocery store,” his grin begins to slip, but as he holds the bouquet out towards me, it takes over his face once again. “I got you these.”

“Thanks.”

I don’t make any movement towards them. His smile falls once again and I begin to feel guilty- he did buy these flowers for me, but he also impregnated me and left me twice.

He slides into the chair across the table from me, setting the flowers on the table and coughing awkwardly. “So, have you ordered yet?”

“Just water,” I respond shortly.

“Do you want to split a bottle of wine?”

“I’m not really a day drinker,” I eye him over the top of my menu, then go back to skimming through the items. It’s a charade, though. I already know what I want.

“Are you two ready to order?” The peppy waitress appears at our side, notepad open in her hand.

“I’ll have the chicken alfredo,” I announce, folding my menu.

“I’ll take that too. And a bottle of your sweetest wine, please,” the blonde orders, passing his menu to the waitress. When she leaves, he turns back to me. “I know you like the sweet stuff.”

I take a deep breath, deciding to cut to the chase. I’d rather get through this meal as soon as possible. The sooner we get done talking about this stuff, the sooner I can get out of here.

“Adam, I’m pregnant.”

He chokes on the sip of water he’s just taken from his glass, water dripping down his chin and landing on the table in front of him. I can’t help but watch with a content smile as he coughs, trying to catch his breath.

“Excuse me?” He utters through coughs, wiping his chin with a napkin.

“I’m pregnant,” I repeat. “I’m due in November.”

“Well, uh, congratulations,” he says unsurely.

I roll my eyes, muttering, “You clearly haven’t gotten smarter since last time.”

He seems to catch on to the hidden meaning behind my comment, his eyes widening. “Oh is it- since we-“”It’s your baby,” I conclude bluntly.

A smirk begins to spread across his face. I can’t believe it. He’s smirking just after I told him that he got me pregnant accidentally for the second time.

“Why do you have that look?” I snap.

“My little swimmers work pretty well, don’t they?” He inquires confidently, sipping from his water and succeeding this time.

I lean across the table, turning it on him. “I don’t know, do they? Are there any half-siblings that I need to worry about?”

The smirk is replaced by a look of genuineness now. It startles me, the sudden change of emotions. “No, it’s you, Y/N. It’s always been you.”

I lean back in my seat, the sudden seriousness too much for me to bear. I fiddle with the napkin sitting next to my glass, avoiding eye contact with him. “Yeah, so it’s a boy.”

“Another boy,” he echoes my very thoughts the moment I found out the sex.

I grin at the thought of my second child. When he’s been kicking me at night and keeping me awake, I think about what he’s going to be like. Is he going to cry a lot or is he going to be a quiet baby like Holden was? Will I have to keep an eye on him every minute or will I be able to get some breaks?

And what about when he’s older. Will he like hockey like his dad? Would he like the Flyers because we live in Philadelphia, or would he like the Blackhawks because his dad plays for them?

“Speaking of boys, how is Holden doing? He hasn’t been responding to my texts lately.” Adam means for the question to sound casual, but I can hear the undertone of worry in his voice. Maybe he isn’t as much of a shitty father as I think he is.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” I confess.

He doesn’t bother to hide the hurt on his face. I don’t expect him to. I know how it feels to feel unwanted and unloved by your child- I felt it when Holden told me that I’m a shitty mother. And although Adam deserves the consequences to his actions, I can’t help but feel a small amount of pity for him.

“I deserve that,” he sighs.

“You do,” I agree, knowing that I’m shoving the knife deeper into his heart. “But just give him time to decide what he wants to do. It’s all so fresh to him.”

He gives me a small, vulnerable smile.

“Why didn’t you tell me that he was going to see you while he was in Chicago, Adam?” I ask him the question I’ve been dying to ask ever since I found out about the situation.

He shrugs, not saying a word.

“Yes, you do know,” I persist. “So just fucking tell me. Enough of the bullshit, we’re in our thirties now. It’s time to focus on the children, not your fucking pride.”

He looks baffled by my sudden outburst, but it inspires him to answer. “I was afraid that if you found out, you would stop him. Then I’d never get to meet my son.”

“I would have stopped him,” I agreed, causing him to open his mouth to begin arguing with me. I start to speak again before he can begin. “And reschedule the trip to a time that works better with my work schedule so that I could go with him. Yes, you’re his father, but you’ve never been in his life. You’re essentially a stranger to him.”

He narrows his eyes at me like my words are a challenge. “Not anymore.”

I narrow my eyes at him now. “Really? What’s his middle name? When is his birthday? What’s his favorite color?”

He doesn’t respond and I scoff, taking a sip of my water again. “That’s what I thought.”

We’re quiet as the waitress returns with our meals. I cut my noodles, taking a bite of my food.

“I don’t want it to be that way with this baby,” he says, quickly adding, “And Holden anymore. I want to be there for this baby from the start. Or from now, I guess. And I want to be there for Holden, if he ever wants me.”

Mixed feelings begin to flush through my body. This is what I wanted for my kids from the beginning, an active father figure. And Adam’s offering it now, but why am I still feeling so hesitant?

After years of expecting him to step up as a parent and him never doing it, I have reasonable doubts when it comes to Adam’s parenting ability.

“Well, you know it’s up to Holden. You can’t force him to like you,” I begin slowly, trying to phrase my words in the best way possible. “But with this second baby… we can try it. I have a doctor’s appointment in two days. I’ll text you the address and time.”

“But my flight leaves tomorrow,” he whines. “Can’t you just reschedule for today?”

“You have so much to learn, Adam,” I shake my head. “I just hope you realize that being a parent means that you’re selfless more than selfish. Tell you what, go back to Chicago if you want to. But if you go back to Chicago, the only time you’ll communicate with the boys is when they want to talk to you.”

#Adam Boqvist imagine #NHL imagines #hockey imagines #Adam boqvist #Adam Boqvist x reader #bimsure

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch 13: On Your Left

Summary: Steve and Katie meet a new friend whilst out jogging, and Steve is sent on a mission to rescue a ship- the Lemurian Star…but it fast becomes apparent that not everyone on his team is pulling in the same direction.

Paring: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Language! Smut (NSFW, 18+)

A/N: We jump forward a couple of months here and slip straight into the Winter Soldier storyline. Credit to @angrybirdcr​ for another lovely edit, and this re-post contains additional materiel- I’ve written the mission out instead of merely skipping over it.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 12 Part 2

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

 End of March/Beginning of April 2014

“Turn it off,” Katie’s voice was muffled from the pillow she had buried her face into as the alarm rang around the dark bedroom. Steve moved slightly to turn it off, but he wasn’t fast enough for his Girlfriend’s liking. “Steve!”

With a huff he leaned over and slapped the offending item with his palm, hitting the snooze button.

“Why is it even set?” She grumbled “It’s not like you don’t normally wake up at the crack of dawn anyway…and who uses an alarm clock when they have a phone?”

“You know, no one makes you stay here.” Steve teased, with a chuckle moving so that his front was pressed to her back.

“You’ve been away for five days, I never sleep as well when you’re not here.” She mimicked his line from the night before in a baby voice.

“And that’s why the alarm is set, because I do sleep better with you.” His arms circled her waist and he grinned to himself as despite the fact she was grumpy and tired she melted into his arms as he nuzzled at her neck, revelling in her smell, her warmth.

“Jerk.” She grumbled. “I mean what time is it anyway?” There was a pause as he continued to simply breathe her in and she glanced at her phone giving a scoff as she saw the ridiculous time on the screen “5:30? In the morning. Five. Thirty…”

“You said you wanted to go running.” He murmured, his eyes still closed.

“No, you said you were going running and I said I might tag along because I’ve eaten nothing but shit whilst I’ve been in New York, which, by the way is your fault…”

“My fault?” Steve laughed, cracking an eye open “I wasn’t even there.”

“Exactly” she muttered “No one to stop me.” “I wouldn’t stop you anyway. You’re a big girl, you make your own decisions…” “Big girl? You calling me fat?” she teased as she rolled onto her back and turned her head to face his, just about making out his features in the dark room. He rolled his eyes, God she was a pain in the ass at times.

“Yeah, you’re huge.” he deadpanned, his hand travelling over her flat stomach and coming to rest on her hip. “Enormous.”

“Ok, well now that we’ve established I need to run, you know on account of me being a hippo, that still doesn’t answer the question why we have to go so damned early anyway. It’s not like we have to be anywhere…” “It’s less crowded.” he shrugged.

“Yeah, that’s because it’s a ridiculous time.”

“Stop being a fucking brat!” Steve laughed and she huffed out breath again.

“I’m not being a brat, it’s just a stupid time to be getting up.”

“I love how full of sunshine and happiness you are in the morning.” Steve muttered as he dropped his head so his lips could gently trail a few lazy kisses down her neck before landing at her collarbone and giving a quick nip, his hand tightening on her hip.

She sighed, her body already starting to respond to his touch, the way it always did, betraying her. 

Damned him and his fucking bastard sex appeal.

“Okay, if you want to actually get up now…” She muttered, as his mouth travelled back up and she rolled her head back to give him access to the spot on her neck that drove her wild every time he found it.  “I suggest you stop.” “I hit the snooze button.” he muttered, lips brushing her ear as he spoke. “We got about eight minutes left.”

“Eight minutes? You have a very high opinion of yourself.” Katie replied, tilting her head so she was looking at him, smirking.

Steve said nothing, just cocked a single, mischievous brow at her before his lips met hers, his hand running down from hip to thigh then across, parting her legs slightly. They were still naked from the night before, clothes strewn all over the apartment after he’d been so desperate to get his hands on her.

She moaned gently into his mouth as he slowly sank two fingers into her and her hips instantly bucked upwards, drawing a grin from his mouth. 

“Easy, Baby.” He whispered, his mouth returning to her neck.

Four minutes later she lay beneath him, a quivering wreck and he was right behind her, two shallow thrusts later as he tumbled over that edge with a low groan, eyes fluttering shut as he fell forward onto her. He smirked into her neck when she had finally regained her senses enough to quip that he’d beaten his best time by a full sixty seconds. And sixty seemed to be the flavour of the day as it was almost another sixty minutes before they got to his favoured running spot, the National Mal thanks to the fact it had taken Katie half an hour minutes to locate her running shoes which she’d eventually found in her car.  Steve had seized the opportunity, as always to lament her for the fact she was messy. 

“I’m not messy.” She scoffed indignantly as they walked the seven blocks. “I’m just not as OCD about everything being in its right place, all the time, like a neat-freak Soldier”

The good natured jibing had continued until they reached their destination and walked through the park to the reflecting pool

“How many laps did you do last time?” Katie asked, as Steve stretched his arms upwards, cracking his back.

“Six.” he said.

She looked at him, frowning. “That’s like what? Twenty miles?”

“Nearer twenty-two.” He grinned.  “You want me to keep your pace?”

She laughed “No way, you’ll just bitch at me for being slow.”

“I do not bitch…” “You bitch like a 14 year old girl.” Katie lamented, gently shoving him in his back. “Now go, go on!”

He smiled again, jogging backwards for a second before he set off at a rate of knots. Exercise always made him feel good. Running, boxing, sparring…fucking. Pushing away the dirty thoughts that had arisen to the forefront of his mind, he was quick to find a comfortable pace, his trainer clad feet slapping the concrete.

It didn’t take Katie long to find her rhythm either. Despite not being with SHIELD anymore she had kept her fitness training up, sparring three times a week with either Natasha or Steve in the local gym. She was technically still an Avenger after all, Tony having now fashioned her another Supernova suit which was basically a version of his latest Iron Man suit but in Silver and Blue, the Nova shaped star sported in the chest where the mini arc reactor powered it. She’d given it a trial run whilst she had been back in New York and was just as impressed with it now as she had been with the prototype he had blown up.

Her feet gently slapped the ground as she ran, the sun was rising on the last day of March and it was promising to be a sunny, bright spring morning.

"Hi.” A voice greeted her as another jogger she hadn’t seen before caught up with her and fell into step with her.

“Nice day for it!”  Katie smiled.

“You normally run this early?” He asked “Haven’t seen you around before.”

“That’s because I don’t normally run here!” She smiled “But I just spent 5 days in New York eating crap so…!”

He laughed and held out his hand. “Sam Wilson.”

She took it and gave it a shake. “Katie Stark.”

“Well I’ll be damned!” Sam grinned “I didn’t recognise you. Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

As Steve was about to lap Katie for the first time he noticed she was running with another jogger, a black man wearing a grey sweater with short, cropped hair. At one time this would have sparked the green eyed monster in his chest, but not now. Not only did he know she wouldn’t stand for it, but he knew she was just sociable in general. She would talk to anyone given the chance and moreover, she was his girl, he knew that. As he approached them he breathed out an “On your left.” as a warning as he sped past into his second lap.

Sam frowned, looking round and Katie smirked, trying not to laugh at the look on his face as Steve’s frame whizzed off into the distance.

“I never tire of looking at these.” She commented a short while later as they rounded the monument.

Again the sound of heavy footsteps came. “On your left.”

“On your left.”

“Uh-huh. On my left. I got it.” Sam called after him as he entered his fifth lap.

Katie didn’t even try to stop herself this time and she laughed at the slight look of frustration on Sam’s face.

Not long after they were making a lap around the pool at the base of the memorial. Sam gritted his teeth at the wholly unwelcomed sound of footsteps behind him once again, he looked over his shoulder “Don’t say it. Don’t you say it!”

“On your left.”

“Come on!” Sam shouted and Steve allowed an amused smile to spread across his face.

Sam tried his hardest to pick up his speed to match that of Steve’s but failed miserably after only a few moments, now completely gassed out.

“Are you alright?” Katie asked laughing as she approached his hunched over figure, catching her own breath.

“Oh, here he comes…Superman himself…” Sam said gesturing to where Steve was now walking towards them, hands on his hips. He paused at his girl’s side and looked down at Sam.

“Need a medic?” he teased.

“I need a new set of lungs.” Sam chuckled breathlessly. “Dude, you just ran like thirteen miles in thirty minutes.”

“Guess I got a late start.” He shrugged, shooting Katie a pointed look. She responded with her best innocent stare, batting her eyelids at him. Rolling his eyes, he turned his attention back to the stranger who began to talk again.

“You should be ashamed of yourself. You should take another lap.” He scolded jokingly. “Did you just take it? I assume you just took it.”

Steve smiled, he couldn’t help but like this man. As he looked at him, he noticed the military symbol on his grey sweater.

“What unit were you with?” Steve asked changing the subject and motioning to the man’s shirt.

“Fifty-eighth, Para-rescue. But now I’m working down at the VA. Sam Wilson.” He said motioning for help up.

“Steve Rogers.” Steve held out his hand and pulled Sam to his feet.

“I kind of put that together.” Sam said as he tried to catch his balance. “Must have freaked you out, coming round after the whole defrosting thing.”

“It takes some getting used to. But I’ve had help.” He smiled, looking at Katie who grinned back. “Good to meet you Sam.”

“Yeah, bye Sam!” Katie smiled as Steve gently placed his hand on her lower back to steer her away.

"It’s your bed right?” Sam called out from behind him.

Steve paused and they both turned back around. “What’s that?”

“Your bed, it’s too soft.” Sam went on to explain. “When I was over there, I’d sleep on the ground and use rocks as pillows. Like cavemen. Now I’m back home, in my own bed, feels like-”

Steve cut him off. “Like lying on a marshmallow, feels like I’m gonna sink right to the floor.”

"How long?” He asked Sam

“Two tours.” Sam responded. “You must miss the good old days huh?”

“Well, things aren’t so bad.” He folded his arms, taking a quick glance at Katie who raised her eyebrow at him, teasingly. “Foods a lot better. We used to boil everything. No polio that’s good.” He paused before making a gesture with his hand. “Internet so helpful, I’ve been reading that a lot tryna’ catch up.”

Sam nodded and then moved his right hand from where it had been folder across his chest and held it, fingers extended. “Marvin Gaye, 1972, ‘Troubleman’ soundtrack.” He said, returning his arm to its resting position “Everything you’ve missed jammed into one album.”

“Ohhh man!” Katie groaned “I love that film.”

Steve nodded, smiling and pulled out the notebook she had bought him the previous year, “I’ll put it on the list.”

“We can download it later.” Katie offered. Steve smiled as he closed his book before he reached into his other pocket for his phone which was going off. It was Natasha.

'Mission Alert. Extraction imminent. Meet you at the curb :)’

He showed the message to Katie who read it whilst he looked over at Sam.

“Well Sam, duty calls. Thanks for the run. If that’s what you wanna call running.” He joked extending his hand.

“Oh that’s how it is?” Sam says amused shaking the offered hand.

“That’s how it is.” Steve responded, laughing slightly.

“Okay, anytime you two wanna stop by the VA. Make me look awesome in front of the girl at the front desk, just let me know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Steve said as Natasha pulled up in her black chevvy sports car.

“Hey guys, anyone know where the Smithsonian is? I’m here to pick up a fossil.” She quipped.

“Hey Nat!” Katie waved at her and she nodded whilst Steve simply shook his head.

“That’s hilarious.” He commented dryly as he turned to Katie. “I’ll call you as soon as I can, okay?” She took a deep breath. “Be careful.” She instructed as she leaned up to give him a kiss. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Steve made his way to the car, opened the passenger side of the car and dropped into the seat.

“How you doing?” Sam called with a smile as he squat down to get a better view of both Natasha and the car.

“Hey.” She responded with a small smile.

“Can’t run everywhere.” Steve joked smugly, looking back at the man.

“No you can’t.” Sam chuckled and Steve shot one last look at Katie who waved as Natasha surged the car forward.

Katie watched them go before she turned to Sam.

“Military girlfriend huh?” He teased and she laughed.

“Something like that.” “Fancy a coffee?” Sam nodded to one of the stands parked over on the square and she smiled.

“Sure, why not?”

Sam insisted on paying, despite Katie’s protests and they took their coffees over to a bench, sitting down in the early morning sun. As they talked, Katie fast realised she really liked this man, and he was pretty damned interesting too. He told Katie about his time serving in Afghanistan and how he had chosen, post the loss of his partner, Riley, to leave active service and focus his attention on helping others through work at the VA.

Katie had never really dug into the VA much, but it seemed like it did some pretty good work, helping those Soldiers who needed help adjusting to life post discharges for medical or mental health reasons. Sam confided in her that the DC branch was under threat due to lack of funding, and she made a mental note to speak to Tony about it being something that maybe the Stark Relief fund could look into partnering.

When they both realised they had been sat on the bench chatting for almost an hour and a half the pair of them both, knowing they had other places to be, exchanged numbers and she promised to pass his onto Steve.

The rest of her day went pretty quick, in a flourish of telephone conferences and various other ad-hoc emails to deal with, talking to the editors and Business Development team about potential authors to target. By the time she logged off for the evening it was gone eight. She leaned back in her chair, glancing up at the photos that decorated her office, her eyes being drawn to the one on the shelf of herself and Steve which had been taken at the New Years Eve gala last year. 

Picking up her phone she debated texting him, but she knew better than to bother him. From personal experience, STRIKE missions were heavy going. Instead she decided she was going to break with their usual routine whereby he would come to hers if it wasn’t too late post mission, and she was going to wait for him at his.

******

 “The target is a mobile satellite launch platform: The Lemurian Star.” Rumlow spoke, moving images along a screen as they all stood watching as the jet flew over the Indian ocean. “They were sending up their last payload when pirates took them, ninety-three minutes ago.”

“Any demands?” Steve asked.

“A billion and a half.”

“Why so steep?” Steve asked, frowning. That wasn’t so much steep as fucking vertical.

“Because it SHIELD’s.” Rumlow replied and Steve took a deep breath.

“So it’s not off-course, its trespassing.” He said exasperatedly, turning to his left and looking at Natasha.

“I’m sure they have a good reason.” She met his eyes, her face not faltering for a second.

“You know, I’m getting a little tired of being Fury’s janitor.” Steve raised his eyebrows as she looked back at the screen.

“Relax.” She drawled. “It’s not that complicated”

“How many pirates?” Steve looked back at Rumlow.

“Twenty-five.” he replied, once more swiping at the screen. “Top mercs, led by this guy. Georges Batroc” he pulled up a photo of Batroc on the monitor. “Ex-DGSE, Action Division. He’s at the top of Interpol’s Red Notice. Before the French demobilized him, he had thirty-six kill missions. This guy’s got a rep for maximum casualties.”

“Hostages?” Steve pressed.

“Uh…mostly techs. One officer, Jasper Sitwell.” Rumlow flashed up Sitwell’s photo and Steve shifted slightly “They’re in the galley.”

“What’s Sitwell doing on a launch ship?” He queried, an air of frustration in his tone as he pulled on his gloves before he took a breath and issued his instructions without waiting for an answer. “Alright, I’m gonna sweep the deck and find Batroc. Nat, you’ll kill the engines and wait for instructions. Rumlow, you sweep up after, find the hostages, get them to the life-pods, get ‘em out. Let’s move.”

“STRIKE, you heard the Cap. Gear up.” Rumlow nodded to his team and they all began to bustle around the jet.

Steve moved towards the back, checking his ear piece, raising his wrist communicator to his mouth. “Secure channel seven.”

“Seven secure.” Nat picked up a few more bits of equipment from the shelves, passing a coms device to Evans as Steve walked behind her to the ramp. “Did you do anything fun Saturday night?”

“Well, seeing as all the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead, I had to settle for a movie and pizza with my girl.” He shrugged as he fit his ear piece, a smile tugging at his face. “Yeah, it was fun.”

Natasha grinned and Evans gave a chuckle as the pilot spoke into his ear. “Coming up by the drop zone, Cap.”

Steve punched the button to lower the ramp before he grabbed his helmet.

“You know, I think it’s cute. You’re like a regular, normal couple.”  Evans said, and Steve turned to him as he fastened the straps on his helmet.

“That’s because we are normal.” He replied, a little louder as the noise of the air blowing through the ramp surrounded them. Steve grabbed his shield and swung it onto his back, the irony of his statement making him smile even more as he walked towards the end of the ramp.

“Yeah, because most people do this type of stuff for a living.” Natasha shot after him and he turned to face her, smirking.

“Well, at least it doesn’t get boring.” He grinned, before he threw himself off the jet.

“Was he wearing a parachute?” Rollins turned to Rumlow who gave a huff of a smile.

“No. No, he wasn’t.”

Steve held his arms and hands out to the side of himself as he was free falling through the air, before he shifted, straightening his legs out below him and crossing his arms over his chest. He speared straight into the ice cold water below and, after a moment to adjust, he started swimming toward the ship, using the anchor chain to climb up onto the deck. He dropped silently over the railings and grabbed the guard who had walked past seconds before in a choke hold, rendering him unconscious as noiselessly as he could. Then he set off at a sprint and it wasn’t long before he encountered two more of the pirates. Using his shield he hit the first one and took him down then sent the vibranium weapon flying once more where it ricocheted off the hull of the boat and took down the second. He caught it and continued running around the side of the deck where he encountered another three. The first one he dispatched with a harsh kick, taking the others down with a quick leg swipe and a harsh punch to the face. The next one he saw wasn’t looking so Steve sped up and used his momentum to shoulder barge him over the side of the ship, before he launched at the next one, taking him down with a swinging choke hold. The one after had a knife, which was slightly more inconvenient, but Steve managed to disarm him and used the dagger he now had possession of to pin one of the other guards hands to the wall as he was reaching up to hit the alarm button, before knocking him out with a kick to the head.

That was how it went for the most of it. Steve ran the entire deck, taking everyone down using his shield, arms, legs, body, any means he had before anyone could raise the alarm. And he was almost home and dry, until he dispatched of what he thought was the final merc, until as he caught his shield, he heard the click of a gun right behind his head.

“Bouge pas!” The man spoke and Steve tilted his head slightly to glance at the man in his peripheral, understanding the words to mean don’t move. So he didn’t, especially not as he had just spotted Rumlow drifting down towards the deck. The STRIKE leader shot at the pirate, taking him down and landed a few feet away.

“Thanks.” Steve nodded to him.

“Yeah. You seemed pretty helpless without me.” Rumlow joked and Steve turned to see Natasha and Evans parachute down onto the deck to join them.

“So you know you said before about things not getting boring?” Natasha asked as they strode across the deck, Steve slinging his shield onto his back. “If you ever need any tips on how to keep it from getting boring in the bedroom, just ask.”

Steve shook his head and let out a groan.

“When you gonna ask her to move in with you?” Nat continued.

“Secure the engine room, then we can talk about my sex life and living arrangements.” Steve deadpanned back

“I’m multitasking” Nat sing-songed as she effortlessly hopped over a set of railings, disappearing onto the lower part of the deck.

Steve set off at a run, vaulting up a few steps, using railings to swing himself onto the higher level of the ship before he stopped just below the bridge, shooting one of Lawson’s listening devices at the windows. He listened in as Batroc instructed his men to fire the engines and then Steve retreated to a spot where he could see Batroc clearly through the window of the control bridge. Crouching down he continued to listen into their conversation, easily able to understand the French they were speaking, one of his many skills picked up in the war. It had come easy post the serum, as with everything it had enhanced his ability to memorise and grasp things like that.

Batroc was being informed by one of his officers about the radio silence from SHIELD and Steve watched carefully before Evans’ voice cut across the jabbers of French.

“Targets acquired”

“STRIKE in position” Rumlow replied.

“Natasha, what’s your status?” Steve whispered into his wrist coms, but there was no reply. “Status, Natasha?”

“Hang on!” She said loudly, and Steve waited as he heard a bit of a struggle before she spoke again twenty or so seconds later. “Engine room secure.”

That was it, they were clear to engage.

“On my mark” Steve whispered “Three. Two. One.”

With that he set off running towards the bridge, leaping up a small set off steps before he flung his shield through the window. He jumped in after it and Batroc caught him with a kick to the chest before sprinting off and kicking his way out of the door. Steve jumped up, wrenched his shield from where it had been wedged in the metal panels at the back of the control room and ran after him.

“Hostages on route to extraction.” Rumlow informed as Steve emerged onto the end of a set of steps. “Romanoff missed the rendezvous point, Cap.” The STRIKE leader continued as Steve jumped down onto the main area of the deck. “Hostiles are still in play.”

Steve looked around before he turned on his heels and started walking “Natasha, Batroc’s on the move.” He instructed quietly into his coms. “Circle back to Rumlow and protect the hostages.”

There was no reply, and Steve was starting to get pissed off at her radio silence.

“Natasha!”

But then, out of nowhere Batroc flew at him with another harsh kick which sent Steve flying, and no sooner had he righted himself, there came another. The two engaged, toe to toe, fists flying, legs kicking, arms blocking and Steve had to hand it to Batroc, even after he knocked him down with his shield, the man was quickly back on his feet. Steve aimed a knee to his gut and flipped him backwards only to see Batroc effortlessly fling himself into several back flips before landing on his feet a short distance away, smirking as he eyed Steve up.

“Je croyais que tu étais plus qu'un bouclier.” He chuckled slightly and Steve cocked his head to one side, chewing over the man’s words… I thought that you were more than just a shield.

The arrogance in Steve won out and he straightened up out of his attack stance. You wanna go, fucker? Fine. Let’s dance.

He took a breath, stashing his shield on the harness round his back, and undid his chin strap, pulling his helmet off. “On va voir.” He said simply, tossing it to the floor, his eyes not once leaving Batroc’s who gave a huge grin.

They dodged for a second or two before they began to fight once more, trading punches, kicks and a few more knees to the gut before Steve threw himself up into the air, twirling his body round into a huge over-head kick, connecting his boot straight with Batroc’s head. Batroc fell to the floor and soon staggered back to his feet, but Steve didn’t give him chance to recover properly. He ran at him, spearing them both through a door, and sitting up slighting, Steve knocked Batroc out with a huge punch to the head.

He took a moment to draw his breath when a voice rang out across the room.

“Well, this is awkward.”

He looked up to see Natasha smirking at him from where she was bent over a computer.

“What are you doing?” Steve demanded as he rose to his feet.

“Backing up the hard drive. It’s a good habit to get into.”  She retorted.

Steve glanced over his shoulder, happy Batroc was still out cold, before he strode purposefully towards her.

“Rumlow needed your help. What the hell are you doing here?” He drew up behind her and glanced at the screens. As it registered what she was doing he shook his head in exasperation. “You’re saving SHIELD Intel.”

“Whatever I can get my hands on.” She drawled, still tapping at the computer as she looked at him, before turning back to the screen.

“Our mission is to rescue hostages.” Steve glared at her.

“No. That’s your mission.” Natasha corrected as she finished what she was doing and pulled the pen drive out of the slot. She turned towards him and smiled causing Steve’s anger to bubble even more. “And you’ve done it beautifully.” Her tone was almost patronising as she smirked, moving to pass him.

At that, Steve felt his temper snap and he grabbed her arm stopping her in her tracks. “You just jeopardized this whole operation.”

“I think that’s overstating things.” Natasha stated calmly but before Steve had time to reply a movement caught his attention. Batroc stood up and threw a grenade at the two of them as he ran off. Steve deflected the bomb with his shield before he grabbed Natasha round the waist and hopped up onto the desks. Jumping to another one, Natasha shot out one of the glass windows into an internal office and they dived in just as the bomb exploded.

Smoke, ash and debris rained down on them and Steve gave it a second before he looked over his shoulder and out before sitting back down to take a moment. He was beyond pissed off. Pissed at Natasha and pissed at Fury for not bothering to tell him the full story.

“Okay. That one’s on me.” Natasha breathed out.

“You’re damn right.” Steve grit his teeth and pushed himself up, storming out in anger. Of course, Batroc was nowhere to be found.

**** Steve was that angry about the cluster-fuck of a mission that he didn’t speak a word to Natasha all the way home and yes, he knew it was childish, but he was getting seriously pissed off at the secrets and lies that seemed to be part and parcel of any goddamned mission Fury sent him on. Once back at base he stormed off the jet, ignoring pretty much everyone and simply barking out that they would debrief in the morning.

It was just before midnight when he got home, and as he pulled his bike up into the designated space allotted for his apartment, he noticed Katie’s car was in one of the guest spaces that lined the street. He frowned slightly, she never normally waited at his for him. Not for any particular reason other than he normally spent the hours or so after a mission debriefing before heading home to decompress for a few hours and then if it wasn’t too late he would head to hers. But the more he thought about it now he realised that he had no idea why he did it that way. It wasn’t like she didn’t understand what it was like being a SHIELD operative, or that he didn’t want her at his. 

Knowing that she was there made him smile for the first time since he’d left the Lemurian Star and, despite his various aches and bruises, he found himself taking the steps to his apartment three at a time, his eagerness to see her wiping all other thoughts from his mind.

She was on the couch, bare denim-short clad legs tucked underneath her, and she looked up from the TV as he walked into the living area and leaned in the doorway, smiling softly at the sight of her, hair tousled slightly from where she had been leaning her head against the arm of the couch.

“What are you doing here?” He asked gently as she sat up.

“Decided I’d wait for you.” She shrugged “You complaining?” “Not at all.” He smiled, turning away as he unzipped his jacket and hung it over the back of one of the stools by the breakfast bar before he crossed the room.

“You had a good day?” He asked.

“Yeah.” She replied as he walked back into the lounge. “Vanity Fair have written the article already, if I’m happy with it tomorrow then it’s going to be published this month.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile at her tone. She was proud, and she had every right to be. So was he. Stark Independent Publishing LTD had taken off like a rocket and the glossy magazines were queuing up to interview the youngest Stark prodigee. She had declined all of them until the board had suggested she do one interview for Vanity Fair, along with a photoshoot in her office. She’d reluctantly agreed, but had confided in Steve she’d actually kind of enjoyed it.

“That’s fast.” he said, heading back into the room.

“Yeah they’re really pushing for it.” She smiled as he dropped besides her with a groan, lifting her legs up so they crossed his lap. As he did so he jostled the bruised ribs and muscles he’d obtained on the Lemurian Star and let out a hiss, rubbing slightly at his torso. Katie spotted this, as always, and frowned, moving her legs so she was sat up, scooting over to where he was and gently tugged at his t-shirt. He didn’t stop her as she examined the large bruise over the side of his ribs and gently ran her fingers over it.

“Ouch.” She mumbled softly, looking up at him and then tilting his face round. He knew there was a small cut on his temple but other than that and the bruise to his side he was uninjured. “Is this it?”

He nodded.

“So how did you do it this time?”

“I got blown through a window.” Because that was a perfectly normal thing for Captain America to do, Katie merely rolled her eyes and dropped a kiss to his cheek as she stood up “I’ll get the arnica and fix you something to eat”

He loved this, the way she just wanted to take care of him, but he was aware of what time it was too, and he didn’t want her to feel like she had to play the dutiful housewife.

“Kitten, you should go to bed, its late.” He grabbed her hand. “Once I’ve patched you up and fed you I will.” She shrugged stubbornly, tugging gently on his hand and he allowed himself to be pulled up “Go take a shower, I’ll sort your dinner.”

This time he didn’t protest, simply smiled, dropped a kiss to her head and headed to the bathroom.

He stepped under the hot water cascading from the shower and let out a groan as it hit his body, allowing it temporarily to soothe his mind and his aches. He still couldn’t shake his annoyance at how the mission was gone. Suddenly, he was distracted by his stomach grumbling and he realised he was actually really hungry. He quickly washed off before cutting the water and stepping out, grabbing a towel. He could hear Katie in the kitchen as he walked down the hall towards his bedroom where he dried himself off and dressed in a pair of loose sweats and a grey T-shirt.

The smell of food hit his nostrils as he walked into the kitchen, making his mouth water. Her food was always good, he had no idea what he was in for tonight but he didn’t care. As he approached where she was stood, both his hands dropped to her hips and he placed a soft kiss on her neck, an easy sign of affection before he let out a heavy sigh and reached into the refrigerator.

“So, you wanna tell me what happened?” She asked, turning to look at him as he downed pretty much an entire bottle of water before he slumped down at the breakfast bar and explained everything to her. She listened, asked questions, shook her head, and when he reached the bit about the ransom she whistled slightly through her teeth, coming to the same conclusion he had when he heard the demand.

“That’s steep.” she frowned and Steve snorted.

“That’s what I said. Turns out its SHIELDS.“

The microwave finished and Katie moved to open the door, stirring whatever was in there before removing it and placing it down in front of him, along with a plate of his favourite bread. He was silent for a moment as he stirred the hot stew, Ghoulash, before taking a small mouthful to test the heat. Damned she could cook. He nodded appreciatively.

“It’s good.” “You sound surprised.”

“Behave.” He admonished, giving her a look. “You know what I think about your cooking.”

He continued to eat as she stood up and fished about in the cupboard he stored the bottle of Arnica gel she insisted he keep to hand. As he ate, she settled next to him and hitched his shirt up, gently and carefully applying the ointment to his side. The bruise extended from the middle of his rib cage to an inch or so beneath the band of his sweats.

It was relaxing, and he relished her touch and her gentle tone as she continued to talk.

“So did you get the hostages?”

“Yeah.” He nodded in between mouthfuls. “That bit was pretty easy all things considered.”

“So what’s wrong, love?”

She could tell there was more to his mood than what he had told her, and her instincts were proven right when he let out a soft sigh as she continued to rub at his side softly.

“I’m just annoyed Sweetheart.” He sighed eventually “At Fury, at Romanoff.”

“At Nat? Why?”

“She was running a separate mission, which meant the task I gave her to back Rumlow up with the hostages wasn’t done.”

“Fury?”

He nodded.

“More secrets” Katie sighed, feeling a flash of anger. “You know this is exactly why I got out…legacy or no legacy.”

“Tell me about it.” He dropped the spoon into the empty bowl. “We were lucky no one was hurt, or worse. I mean, Rumlow was great, got everyone out but, Doll, how can I lead a team when half of them are lying to me?”

“Nat was just doing as she was told.” Katie spoke softly, trying to deal with each issue one at a time.

“Since when is retrieving Intel more important than people’s lives?”

“I’m not saying it is. I’m just saying don’t be so hard on her.” She reasoned, her fingers still tracing shapes on his skin. “She has a job to do, same as you. Its Fury you should be talking to about it.”

“Oh I intend to.” Steve snorted. “I’m going to go see him tomorrow morning after de-brief…”

“Well, at least you’ll get an explanation. I mean it might not be what you wanna hear but…”

She was right, of course. Pushing it from his mind, Steve concentrated on her touch as she was still gently rubbing his side. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh of contentment, and was disappointed when she finally finished and let his t-shirt fall down before she stood up to put the ointment away.

“You want any more to eat?” She asked, once she’d washed the arnica off her hands.

“Is there any?” He looked at her hopefully.

She smiled, nodding, and then gave a small yawn which she tried to stifle, but Steve noticed it.

“Okay, I’ll warm some more up and you’re gonna go to bed.” He said, standing up “And that’s an order.”

“Bossy bastard” She retorted. He replied simply with a raised an eyebrow and stern glare as he crossed towards her. She held her hands up, “Okay, I’m going…” She leaned up to kiss to his cheek.

“Won’t be long.” He smiled.

Steve had another bowl of food before he slipped the dishes into the dishwasher and headed to the bathroom to clean his teeth. He turned off the lights, crossed into the dark bedroom and pulled off his T-shirt, sliding into bed behind Katie. His arm curled over her waist, surprise surprise she was in one of his shirts, which did nothing to ebb his growing desire and the twitching in his groin. Hoping she wasn’t asleep, his nose gently nuzzled at her neck, and he was pleased when she responded.

He needed this. Wanted this. Wanted her.

“When you told me to go to bed…” Katie sighed, as his lips gently started their assault on that spot, “I thought you meant to sleep.” “Want me to stop?” Steve practically purred into her neck.

“Didn’t say that.” She replied, rolling her head to catch his lips as his hand crept down her inner thigh. She let out a contented sigh and he smiled against the side of her neck as he traced his fingers over her hip, hand flattening as it crept down and round to the top of her panties, his fingers slipping inside, where he found her hot, wet, ready for him. It was enough to harden him completely as he started to gently tease her, causing her to groan at the pleasure, her back arching whilst his lips continued to kiss and caress her neck.

“Steve.” She moaned softly, her tone pleading. “I want you…”

Fuck, he would never get tired of hearing that. Ever. 

“Yeah?” he whispered.

“Yeah. Please Stevie.” He didn’t think he’d ever be able to say no to her. His hand moved up and he gripped at her hip, gently rolling her so she was lay on her back, using his leg to part hers. He guided his shirt over her head, pulled down her panties, before he stripped off his boxers, fingers lacing in between hers, as he crawled over her, pinning both hands above her head as he worked his way into her. They both groaned as he stretched her, and she looked up at him, those eyes locking onto his as he leant down to kiss her, starting up a slow, gentle pace. He moved slowly, again and again, lips caressing hers, then her jaw, then her neck, all the time his hands wrapped around hers, causing her to surrender to him completely.

He kept up that soft, gentle pace, loving her completely. He could tell she was close, he knew the signs well enough now and as she groaned in delight, tightening around him he coaxed her, “That’s it baby girl…” lips soft on her ear.

And then she came, shuddering underneath him, her head tipping back, as she let out a gentle, low, broken moan of his name. It sent shivers down his spine and he continued to thrust through her orgasm, the tale heat spreading across his belly and then he tipped too, jerking and groaning slightly before he fell forward, burying his face in to her neck.

“Love you.” She whispered softly into his ear as her hand ran up his neck, into his hair and he gave a hum of contentment as he regained control of his senses.

“Love you too, so damned much, Sweetheart.” He rubbed his nose up against hers and she chuckled slightly as he rolled off of her. She scooted closer so she could lay her head on his chest and his arm curled round her, large hand tracing shapes on her skin at the bottom of her back as she tossed her leg over his.

“What time are you in tomorrow?” She asked gently, hand rubbing absentmindedly over his chest.

“Half nine.” He gave a sated yawn.

“We can have breakfast together, I made cinnamon rolls.” She muttered through a yawn of her own.

“That so?” “mmmhmmm”

“You know, you’d make a good little housewife.” He grinned, thinking back to his thought before. He knew her response before she had uttered it. “Fuck you.” He chuckled, dropping a kiss to her head and they both fell silent. And his last thought as he drifted off to sleep was just how her being here had made him almost forget his worries.

Katie lay still, listening to the sound of his breathing which grew even as he fell asleep, clearly exhausted. He always needed food and rest after missions, his metabolism drained him. She stole a glance up at him, long eyelashes lay against his cheek as his head lolled to the side slightly, facing her.

“Night soldier.” She whispered softly, placing a peck on his lips before settling down and succumbing to her own tiredness. ********* Katie woke the next morning, tangled in Steve’s arms, his face pressed into her neck as he’d done his usual koala impression. As gently as she could, she moved to check her phone for the time, and found it to be twenty-five past seven, five minutes before her alarm was due to go off. Cancelling it, she glanced back over at Steve who shifted onto his back, the arm that had been thrown around her gently resting on his chest. Smiling, she climbed out of bed deciding to leave him to sleep as long as she could.

Considering what a light sleeper he normally was, Steve didn’t stir when Katie returned following her shower and was still out of it when she finished dressing so she unset the alarm on his bedside clock and headed to the kitchen. She put on a fresh pot of coffee, threw the fresh rolls she had made the previous day into the oven and settled down on his couch, flipping on the TV whilst she quickly scanned through her phone, looking at her schedule for the day. She only had one meeting in the afternoon, and it wasn’t important so she fired an email through to her PA asking her to reschedule.

At about eight-fifteen, there was still no sign of Steve so Katie headed through to the bedroom to wake him up. Any longer and he would be late for his debrief. He was lay side on, facing her side of the bed so she dropped next to him…

Something was tickling his nose, right on the bridge. He gently sniffed, and then soft lips met his. Again, again…Steve made a completely involuntary noise that was halfway between a groan and a sigh as he realised his girl was kissing him awake, before her lips met his and this time he gently responded.

“Hey.” That soft voice greeted him and he smiled, gently cracking an eye open and meeting that emerald green.

“Morning” He said groggily and she smiled.

“It’s almost eight-fifteen.”

He frowned, that was late. “My alarm didn’t wake me?” “I turned it off, sorry-not-sorry” She said with a tone so blasé it made him chuckle “You needed the rest.” She gave him a soft kiss again “There’s coffee in the kitchen and breakfast is ready.” “You know I could get used to this” He rolled over so he was on his back as she rose from the bed. “Coming home to a ready-made dinner, waking up to ready-made breakfast before I go to work. And you.” “Nice to see which one of those is your priority.” She teased over her shoulder as she left him to it.

“Always you, Doll.” he murmured with a smile. But as he lay still for another few minutes, he thought about it more and more. Over the past four months, other than when they were away either on missions or business trips they had spent every night together, either at his or hers but last night, something had felt different to him, more intimate. She’d taken care of his mission injuries, cooked for him, made love to him, and now here she was making him breakfast before she would wave him off to work later on. It was almost normal, what people with mundane nine to five jobs did. And he realised he wanted that all the time, he wanted to come home, find her there, wake up with her, every single day.

“When you gonna ask her to move in?” Natasha’s voice popped back into his head.

If he was honest, he hadn’t given it a lot of thought, it wasn’t something people did back in his time before marriage. But times were different, hell he was different, and as he lay there contemplating it, he realised, it wasn’t such a bad idea.

When he headed through, Katie was sat at the kitchen table, laptop fired up, mobile glued to her ear.

“I know!” Her tone was one of utter excitement. “I mean I didn’t think they would turn out so good…or they’d be done so fast but they’re pushing for this month’s edition…”

He dropped a kiss to her neck and glanced at the screen, pausing when he saw the image. It must have been one of the photos done whilst she was in New York and as he looked at it, he felt his mouth drop open. His girl was stood against a wall in her office in the tower, one leg bent, high heeled foot raised back against the flat surface behind her, palms splayed either side of her thighs as she looked to the right. Her hair was pulled back in a slick, high pony tail, her make-up was heavier than normal and utterly flawless, and she was dressed in a grey charcoal pinstripe suit which cinched in at her waist, with a low cut white blouse underneath.

“Yeah, I know Tony.” She continued speaking into the phone as she glanced up and saw the expression on his face. She pressed a button on the keyboard and it flipped to another picture, this one of her sat in her chair, legs apart, elbows resting on her knees, as she looked beyond the camera, laughing at something. She looked absolutely fucking stunning. His eyes roved the image on the digital copy of the article and he began to read the writing that was next to it.

There are a lot of things you might absolutely hate about Katie Stark. Aged just twenty-nine she has more money than anyone could possibly wish to spend in a life-time, looks and a figure that you would kill for, and a Super Soldier Boyfriend with a jawline that seems to be carved from marble. However, after thirty seconds in her company despite wanting to hate her for all of the above, it was simply impossible not to like her.

Unassuming, accommodating, and with a smile that you simply can’t help but return, she welcomed us into her office and was remarkably humble about the entire thing, admitting that she still wasn’t quite so sure why we were so interested in her. We took the time to grill her on how the first three months of Stark Independent Publishing LTD has gone and what we can look forward to in the future.

Katie stood up and gestured for him to sit down and carry on reading the article. She headed off into the living room, continuing her call, so he read as he ate a hot cinnamon bun. The article ploughed through a load of questions about the book that had launched the business when they published, the fact the company had already registered over fifty-percent first quarter turnover, where she thought the business was going, future pipeline projects, her favourite authors, genre, books, previous role in Stark Industries before she had spent a few years working for a Government Agency following the Battle of New York (no mention of Supernova or SHIELD) and then the final paragraph took a personal turn.

When asked if she would indulge us with a personal question she sighed slightly before grinning and telling us to ask and see if she answered. So we did…

“We know that you’re a notoriously private person, in comparison to your brother anyway, but most of our readers are dying to know…what’s it like dating Captain America?”

“No idea, I’m dating Steve Rogers.” She replied immediately, a faint flush hitting her cheeks as she spoke, all the time fiddling with a delicate yet gorgeous antique looking emerald ring which sits on her right hand, a gift we suspect from the man in question. When asked to elaborate slightly, she bit her lip and simply smiled before explaining; “Steve isn’t just Captain America. There’s more to him than a shield. He’s the kindest, gentlest, most caring man I’ve ever met and he makes me unbelievably happy.” The blush spread from her cheeks to her ears “And that’s not down to the Serum or outfit, it’s just who he is. The fact he’s 6ft2, drop dead gorgeous with a smile I’d happily die for is a bonus.”

Steve felt himself grin as he read the words and glanced at the small photo they had framed the paragraph round. It was the shot of them together that had been taken at the Stark Industry’s New Year’s Gala as they danced. His eyes continued to the final part of the article, this one complete with a picture of Katie and Tony. Katie sat at her desk as Tony leaned over, looking at something on the computer screen. 

When asked about the other man in her life, her brother Tony, she smiled again, another genuine smile, the love she has for her elder sibling evident on her face and in her voice.

“I owe everything I have to Tony. He brought me up from the age of seven, gave me absolute, unconditional love and opportunities I know I was extremely fortunate to have. People have a pre-conceived image of what he is like, and sometimes he can play into that, but to me he’s been nothing but loving and supportive, my father and brother rolled into one and I can’t thank him enough for everything he has done and given me. He backed my decision to open SIP from the off and believed in me and has always pushed me to be the best I can be.”

We couldn’t resist another personal question, so we asked her a little cheekily how Tony had reacted to news that she was dating one of his fellow Avengers, who had served alongside their Father Howard in WW2. Hesitating slightly, she flushed before smirking and answering, a grin on her face.

“How he found out wasn’t ideal, but once he realised we were serious, he was fine about it. I think deep down after my last car crash of a relationship, he’s just happy I’m with someone who puts me first.”

“Do they get on?” At that she laughed. “They have a love-hate relationship. In that they hate the fact they love one another. Tony has these ridiculous nicknames for Steve and he can be an absolute nightmare at times, but to be fair Steve’s quite sarcastic himself too but I know full well that they have each other’s six and, even though they would probably deny it, they are quite close and would miss one another if they weren’t around.”

Steve, grudgingly, had to admit she was right. Tony could be a pain in the ass at times, but he would miss the billionaire if he wasn’t there. Underneath all his bravado he knew that he thought the world of his sister and, despite their initial meeting whereby Steve frankly thought the guy was a dick, he’d fast learnt during the Chitauri Battle that underneath that persona he had a heart of gold and was more like his father than he would care to admit. A fact that Steve was even more convinced of having gotten to know him much better on a personal level over the last two years or so.

Whilst the siblings certainly share a lot of attributes, both good looking, tough, hard-working, Katie has a certain softness to her edges and we challenge anyone who spends time in her company not to warm to the youngest Stark. Stark Independent Publishing has, in our opinion, a very bright future ahead of it whilst it is spearheaded by such an astute and shrewd business woman and we wish her all the best.

“What do you think?” Katie watched as Steve read the article, leaning against the wall, nibbling at her thumb, nervous to see his reaction.

Steve jerked his head round and smiled at her. “I think it’s fantastic. The photos are stunning, the article is well written. Are you happy with it?” “Yeah.” she nodded as she walked over to his chair, standing behind it and slipping her arms round his shoulders from behind “They wouldn’t drop the whole So you’re dating Captain America angle though, so our PR department told me to answer a few personal questions to shut them up. Are you ok with it?” Steve smiled and turned side on in his seat, pulling her into his lap. “Seeing as I’m the kindest, gentlest, most caring man you’ve ever met how could I not be?” “I meant every word of that.” She smiled, rubbing her nose against his.

“I know baby.” He gave her a peck on the lips. “Now I need to go or I’m gonna be late.”

Sighing she stood up as he did the same, grabbing a final cinnamon bun from the plate.

“I’ll be back at mine” She informed him as she walked to the door with him, “I have a few calls to do this morning.” “I’ll come over when I’m done.” He smiled. “And maybe we can do something this afternoon?”

“Sounds perfect”

***** Chapter 14

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers smut #mcu #mcu fanfic #captain america #katie star #chris evans #chris evans characters

[let-it-raines]

your wonder under summer skies (13/18)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory.

rating: mature

ao3: beginning | current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 

-/-

“Okay, so I would recommend doing a buffet. I know a lot of people stupidly think that’s tacky, but it’s not. That way you have a constant flow of food and people aren’t sitting down waiting. The one thing you don’t want is people tapping their foot waiting for you two to be done with pictures so they can eat.”

“Do pictures take that long?” Liam asks.

“Oh my God, Liam,” Anna sighs through the phone, “we have been over this. Yes, pictures do take that long. This is a special day, and you’re going to want to remember it from every possible angle. Plus, you have to have pictures with family and friends, and it’s not a simple thing with a one, two click. Don’t you ever listen? I feel like you have to listen. You better be listening when my sister is trying to talk to you. She deserves a man who listens.”

“Anna, take a breath,” Elsa sighs.

“I don’t know how you’re planning a wedding with this man. I feel like I have to keep repeating myself.”

“You know,” Emma murmurs, rolling her eyes at Elsa, “there is also the option to have all of the pictures done before the actual ceremony. A lot of couples are doing that now. You can have private time with each other so that Liam isn’t seeing Elsa for the first time in front of all of these people, and it can also streamline the time between the ceremony and the reception.”

“But that first look during the ceremony is so special!” Anna whines. “You don’t want to miss out on that!”

Elsa looks up from her phone to look at Liam, and they seem to have some kind of silent conversation. Emma meets with different couples several times a week, sometimes several times a day, and while she’s used to there being questions and disagreements, she’s not used to have the bride’s professional event planner sister asking a million and two questions over FaceTime.

It’s fine, really. Anna is lovely, but she’s a lot to deal with. Emma is so used to spending time with Elsa and it being calm and soothing, so this is throwing her for a bit of a loop.

At least Liam is being nice. He’s been…kinder lately. Emma should question it when he usually likes to be a bit of an ass to her, but she’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Why did she just think that phrase?

Why is that even a phrase to begin with? Who is look a horse in the mouth? Why is it a gift?

“I think taking pictures before the actual ceremony sounds nice,” Elsa finally says, “and so does the buffet. Do you have servers or is it self-serve?”

“We have servers so people aren’t sticking their hands in the food.”

“Perfect. Can you remind me again of the contingency plan for if it rains?”

Elsa and Liam spend another forty-five minutes talking about different options and scenarios with Emma, most of that time spent talking with Anna and listening to plans, but eventually, they’ve covered everything they can and are ready to leave. Emma’s got an appointment with another couple in fifteen minutes, so when Elsa and Liam walk out of her office, she expects them to walk away and go back to work.

She decidedly does not expect Liam to linger around.

“Did you forget something?” Emma laughs, leaning against her doorframe.

“Oh, nothing big. Elsa simply forgot to ask if you were going to bring a date. Anna’s got her obsessing over making sure the envelopes are all addressed correctly, and for some reason she was tripping up over yours.”

“I promise you that I will not be weirdly offended if you guys give me an envelope that says Emma Swan instead of Emma Swan and guest. And tell her not to stress about that stuff. If someone gets offended over how an envelope is addressed, you probably don’t want them at your wedding to begin with.”

Liam chuckles and leans down against the arm of the chair that sits outside she and Mary Margaret’s office. “So, no date?”

“Eh, I don’t know. I’ve still got a month. Maybe I’ll magically fall in love again. Or at least meet a cute guy who would look good on my arm. Or, hey, maybe I can take Killian. He’s a good dancer, would be a hell of a wedding date. I feel like we should probably be each other’s default wedding dates at this point, you know?”

Liam’s smile falters, but it’s just for a second. If she wasn’t used to having to try to read him, she wouldn’t have noticed because just as quickly as it falters, the smile reappears. “He’s seeing someone, you know, so who knows? He might take her.”

“The same someone?” Emma asks before she can stop herself.

“I think so. You still don’t know who she is? I mean – you know, never mind. I told Killian I would stop interfering with his personal life, and I meant it. I can’t keep going behind his back and trying to get information from his friends.”

Emma arches a brow, and she takes a deep breath. Her heart is racing all of the sudden, and she desperately needs it to calm down.

Is this why Liam is being nicer? Because he and Killian had some kind of talk about Liam being too much into Killian’s business? She knew they got into an argument, but how does that translate to her?

Fuck.

Did Killian tell Liam that she was the one he was sleeping with?

No, no, that wouldn’t make sense. Then Liam wouldn’t be asking her if she knew who it was. He can be invasive, but he’s not about to go all FBI or something on her. And Killian wouldn’t do that. It’s against their rules.

“I think that’s probably a good idea on your part,” Emma sighs, pushing off the doorframe. “I don’t know if I’m bringing a date or not yet. Tell Elsa to stop freaking out over the little things, and if Anna gets to be too much, I’m always here to talk about the practical side of things.”

“Thank you for all of this, by the way.”

“It’s my job, but I’m happy to do it. Now go, Elsa is waiting on you, and I’m sure Killian is tired of manning the office by himself.”

“Please,” Liam laughs, “he and Skipper are probably enjoying the silence.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t going to say that. I’m technically supposed to keep my clients happy. Once I’m off the clock, though, all bets are off.”

“I understand. Goodbye, Emma.”

“Bye.”

Emma waves him away, and as soon as he turns the corner down the hall, she sees her next couple. They’re early. They almost always are, and she thinks they might have the same enthusiasm as Anna does…if not more since they ask for yet another tour of the entire grounds because they’re just not sure of what exactly it is that they want yet.

It takes some kind of herculean strength not to scream since this is the fifth tour she’s given them, and their wedding isn’t until next July.

That’s a year that she has to deal with them.

A year.

Why does she do this again?

Oh, yeah, because most days it’s not that bad, and she usually doesn’t go down the wormhole that is thinking the entire wedding industry is a sham and wondering why people get married in the first place.

Is it for the wedding or the actual marriage?

For at least half of her clients, it’s only for the wedding. She’s obviously not some kind of expert on healthy relationships and only does this because she isn’t qualified to do much else that will pay her this well, but at least she knows that it’s fucked up.

When she finally gets the Taylors out of the club, Emma sighs in relief.

And her stomach growls.

It’s the middle of the afternoon, but she hasn’t eaten all day. Damn, she could go for whatever it is they served for lunch in the dining halls today, even if it’s probably cold right now. Emma checks her phone to make sure she doesn’t have any emails or last-minute appointments, and then she heads down the hallways and through the nearly empty main dining room to get to the kitchen.

Her phone dings in her hand, and she stops walking to look at it.

Killian: Why is my brother asking you if you’re bringing a date to his wedding?

Emma: He said something about Elsa being worried about how to address the envelope.

Emma: Wait. How do you know about that?

Emma: Did he tell you that I said I was bringing you? Because I was joking? Kind of. I don’t actually have a date or plan on having one, but you would technically be the most fun date of anyone in the city.

Killian: Why, Swan, are you asking me out?

Emma: Shut up.

Killian: I would love to go with you, for what it’s worth. I promise I’ll be a better wedding date than your last one.

Emma: That’s not much of a bar you have to leap over.

Emma: Do you want to get dinner tonight? I get off at seven.

She waits for the little bubbles to pop up immediately like they have been, but they don’t. Emma doesn’t think anything of it and stuffs her phone in the back pocket of her jeans and starts walking toward the kitchen again only to see Neal and his dad sitting at the table closest the kitchen entrance.

Dammit.

She should have gone through the back doors, but this way was closer.

What the hell is he doing here?

This is where she works.

Yeah, it’s a public place (if you pay a ridiculous member’s fee, which they unfortunately pay), but something being a public place doesn’t mean he can show up whenever he wants to.

This is her space, not his. They broke up, and there’s got to be some kind of unwritten rule that he simply doesn’t show up to her place of work.

He’s already always at Granny’s, which is bad enough, and then there was the fair and the one time she saw him when she had to go to Target for some new pillows.

But this? This is different?

They could have lunch at fifty different places, and the asshole knows it.

He also knows that she’s just spotted him because he’s staring right at her.

Shit.

Does she turn around and walk away or does she walk straight toward them, ignore them, and then head into the kitchen where she hopes Neal has the decency not to follow her in?

Emma doesn’t really get to make the choice, though, because Neal is standing from his chair and walking right toward her, the smile she used to love plastered on his face.

Was it always that disturbing? Did it always look so much like his dad’s?

“Emma,” he calls out. She bites her tongue. She cannot say anything dumb here. It could get her fired. His family are members here, and she doesn’t think Regina is going to give her a pass because of her personal business with them. In fact, she knows that she won’t. “Hey, how are you doing?”

“Wonderful,” Emma says. It’s not a lie. She’s not doing wonderful at this particular moment, but in general, she’s a lot better than she was the last time she was this physically close to him. “Are you enjoying your lunch? Is there anything that I can get you?”

His head tilts to the side, and his smile widens. “Oh, come on, Ems, you don’t have to be in work mode with me. We’re friends.”

Emma grits her teeth and takes another deep breath. She’s sure everyone in Storybrooke can hear them. Her dentist is going to be thrilled. “We are not friends, Neal. You ended any chance of that when you started sleeping with someone else and started working with your dad again. We’ve been over this, and I really don’t feel like repeating myself again.”

“You’re not still mad about that, are you?”

Seriously.

How is this the same man that she fell in love with? Was she blind to all of this? To how absolutely inconsiderate he is about so much?

“I don’t let you take up that much space in my head anymore, but you can’t honestly believe that I’m just going to forgive you for all that you did.”

His eyes roll. They actually roll.

He’s the one who fucked up, and he’s the one who is trying to act like they’re friends. Yet he’s also the one who’s exasperated by her pushback.

What an asshole.

“It’s not like you waited around long after you ended things before you started fucking Jones? And come on, you always told me there was nothing going on between the two of you, but that’s obviously bullshit.”

What the hell?

How does he…no, there’s no way that Neal could know. No one knows, and there’s no way Neal, who never paid any attention to the little things in her life, could know.

“I’m not sleeping with Killian,” she lies, “and even if I was, it would be none of your business since it would have happened after I left you.”

“I saw you two walking around at the fair, and he got fucking defensive over it when I suggested it to him. He didn’t say it, but come on, it’s pretty damn obvious.”

Emma swallows the lump in her throat so she can focus on her breathing. It’s the only thing she can focus on right now so she doesn’t punch Neal and knock all of his teeth out.

What an asshole.

How dare he confront Killian like that? Why did Killian not tell her?

You know what? It doesn’t matter why Killian didn’t tell her. What matters is that Neal is the worst.

“Neal,” she says slowly, her teeth grinding, “you lost any right to know who I am or am not sleeping with the moment you fucked someone else, so please, unless you need something from the club that only I can give to you, leave me the hell alone.”

He blinks, almost like he’s taken aback by her, and his smile falls.

Good.

“You don’t have to be a bitch about it.”

She opens her mouth, a curse at the tip of her tongue, but there’s a voice in the back of her mind that’s telling her this isn’t worth it. He’s not worth it. She’s got to stop letting him take up so much space in her head like she said she’s not. He doesn’t deserve it.

So, not for the first time, she walks away from Neal.

She walks away, knowing there’s only a half of a chance that he’ll bother to follow him, and she heads toward the kitchen. It means that she has to pass Neal’s dad, and she can feel his eyes on her.

The thing is, she doesn’t care.

That part of her life is over, and she’s not going to lie to herself and say that a part of her doesn’t still hurt and won’t hurt when she has to see Neal and Tamara, but she can’t keep dwelling on it.

This summer has been strangely good, and maybe it’s not all that strange since she’s cut Neal out of her life.

“Emma,” Harry, their head chef, exclaims when she walks into the kitchen, her heartbeat racing, “I’m just about to start dinner. Do you want something in particular?”

“What did we have for lunch? I can’t remember the schedule.”

“Pasta salad.”

“Do we have any of that left?”

“In the fridge. Feel free to help yourself.”

Emma picks up a cookie from the half-empty platter next to her. “You know that I will.”

“A cookie before dinner? Are we celebrating something?”

Emma laughs and takes another bite. “Just having a good day is all.” “Well, kid, I hope that continues for you.”

-/-

“Hello?” Emma calls out as she pushes open the front door of Jones Brothers’ Boating. The obnoxious as hell bell goes off, so everyone downstairs should be able to hear that someone has come inside, but no one comes out of any of the offices, not even Skipper.

Huh.

“Killian,” she says as she starts walking down the hallway. “KJ! Are you around?”

There’s still no answer, and when Emma checks the back offices, there’s no one in any of them. She decides to walk up the stairs to the apartment, but when she tries to turn the knob, she realizes that it’s locked.

She’s got a key, could easily let herself in, but if the apartment is locked, that means no one is home.

Where the hell are they?

Emma pulls her phone out of her back pocket and hits Killian’s name. It rings once, twice, several more times, and then his voicemail message comes up.

Well, damn.

This is probably why she should have called first, but Killian never texted her back about the two of them getting dinner. He’s almost always free, and if he isn’t, they’re usually plans she can join in on, but he’s obviously MIA tonight.

Emma swipes through her phone again and calls Elsa.

“Hello?” Elsa questions.

“Hey, Elsa. Have you heard from Killian today?”

“He’s in the back of the ice cream shop. Do you need him?”

“Why is he in the back?”

Elsa groans, and then Emma hears some kind of curse that definitely didn’t come from Elsa. “One of my machines broke today, and when Leroy couldn’t fix it, Killian said he’d give it a go. I don’t think it’s working out for him. Hold on. Let me get him for you.”

“Oh, you don’t have – ”

“Killian,” Elsa yells, her voice booming through the speakers, “Emma is looking for you.”

“Fuck,” he mumbles.

Well, that sounds pleasant.

“I’m pretty sure she could hear that,” Elsa laughs.

“Aye, I know. I didn’t text her back about dinner. Give me the phone.” There are a few hushed murmurings, and then Killian’s voice comes in clearer. “Sorry, love. I’m afraid I can’t get dinner tonight.”

“Oh, well, that’s okay. I’ll pick something up and bring it to Elsa’s.”

She hears him click his tongue, and she’s probably imagining things, but she swears that he’s silent for a few seconds too long. “You don’t have to do that. We can do it another night.” “It’s really not a problem. I’m at your place right now, anyways. I can get us salads from Zoey’s. Does that sound good to you?”

“Uh, yeah. That’s fine. I’m not really sure when I’ll have time to eat.”

“Well, maybe my brain power will help us figure out how to fix the machine.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“You okay?” Emma asks, suddenly worried she’s overstepping here.

Does he not want her to come over?

No, that would be ridiculous.

“I’m perfect, love,” Killian sighs, his voice audibly more upbeat now. “I’ll see you when you get here, aye?”

“Yeah, see you when I get there.”

-/-

Elsa’s store is a mess.

Well, the front is still perfect. All of the round tables are clean and perfectly in their spots, the black and white as classic as it always is, and Elsa is still serving customers and doing custom orders for cakes and birthdays. She’s on the phone when Emma walks in, but she smiles and nods to the door that leads to the back of the store.

It is decidedly not perfect.

Mostly because it looks like Killian has taken one of Elsa’s machines apart piece by piece and he has no idea how to put it back together.

His hair is pushed off his forehead, sticking in at least thirty-seven different directions, and his t-shirt is sticking to his skin from his sweat.

He might be the only person to ever sweat here since it’s usually the coldest place in town.

Elsa’s air-conditioning bill must be insane.

“Hey,” Emma greets, putting their salads down on the table and walking up to Killian, pressing up on her toes to kiss him. He doesn’t kiss back at first, but then he’s there, his lips softly sliding over hers while his hand settles on her hip, squeezing her. “I’ve come to your rescue with food and another set of hands.”

“You’re my savior, love.”

“I know.” She kisses him again, this time much briefer, before sitting down on one of the chairs Elsa keeps back here. “Where’s Liam? Why is he not helping?”

“I’m better with fixing things. He’s manning the shop.”

“No one was there when I stopped by.” “What time was that?”

“A little after seven.”

Killian nods and pulls his salad out of the bag. “He was taking Skipper out. Thanks for this, by the way.”

“Not a problem. You think you’re going to be able to fix this?”

“I think I’m nearly there. I’ve tested it out a few times, but it’s all been for naught. Elsa is going to bloody kill me if I keep giving her hope and then take it away.”

Emma pulls their salads out of the bag, taking the lid off hers and pouring some dressing on before putting the lid back so she can shake it. “She’s got the other machines, though. Can’t she still make flavors?”

“Aye,” Killian sighs as he starts tinkering with the machine, “and she’s got a pretty good stock of all of the flavors. It’s not an emergency, but she wanted me to look at it before she called someone to come fix it. It apparently does not come cheap.”

“Look at you coming to the rescue. Getting those brownie points.”

“And access to the freezer.”

“That will balance well with our salads.” Emma stabs some lettuce with her fork. “You will never guess who was dining at the club today.”

“Cindy Crawford.”

“What?” Emma laughs as she takes a bite. “Why would Cindy Crawford be there? Also, that is the most random guess.”

Killian pokes his head out from behind the machine. “You said to guess. You didn’t say it had to be reasonable.”

“Okay, a reasonable guess then.”

“August Booth.”

“No, but that would be interesting. Is he back in town?”

“I have heard the rumor. So, who was dining at the club today?”

“Neal.”

Killian drops whatever tool he’s using, and it bangs against ice cream maker before clattering against the floor and landing near her foot. “Fuck.”

“Exactly my thoughts,” Emma laughs, kicking the screwdriver back to him. “But, you know, it wasn’t that bad. He was an asshole, of course, but it felt kind of good telling him to fuck off. He told me he thought we were sleeping together, which he apparently told you at the fair.”

“Uh, yeah, he did mention that. I denied it, of course.”

“He was always jealous of you. I don’t know why, but he hated when we spent time together.”

“Well, love, I am devilishly handsome. That’s bound to make any man jealous.” Emma rolls her eyes. She can’t see Killian’s face, but she just knows he’s smirking. “None of our actual friends have picked up on it, so there’s no way in hell Neal actually would. He doesn’t pay enough attention to me, never has.” Emma takes another bite and slams her hand down on the table. “But you know what? I don’t care. He can do whatever he wants, because I’m moving on. I’m happy and busy and life is pretty damn good even if I do have to take you as my date to your brother’s wedding.”

She keeps eating, waiting for Killian to say something, to tease her really, but she just hears him muttering to himself as he keeps working.

“You’re still cool with that, right? I know you said you’d love to, but you know, if you start dating someone else, go with her. I don’t mind going by myself.”

Killian pops out from behind the machine and walks toward her, leaning over the table and placing a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead. “There is no one I’d rather go with than you, love.”

“You don’t have to. Seriously. You know our deal.”

His beard scratches over her forehead, and he pulls away. “I know. I’d still be honored to go with you.” He sits down across from her as he opens up his salad. She gets distracted watching him. The lighting in here is all fluorescents, and it shouldn’t be flattering, but Killian’s tan still shows up, his eyes are still ridiculously blue, and there’s still something so charming about his smile. She watches it as it falls into a flat line, almost curving down into a frown, but then she sees the curve tick upward. “I’m glad you’re happy, Emma. I’ve always wanted that for you.”

She nods, unsure of what to say. “You too, KJ. You know what would make me extra happy?”

“What?” “If you could steal me some of Elsa’s birthday cake ice cream later.”

“Your heart’s desire, love. That’s all I want you to have.”

-/-

-/-

tag list: @qualitycoffeethings​ @mrtinski​ @klynn-stormz​ @scarletslippers​ @jonirobinson64​ @snowbellewells​ @therealstartraveller776​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @sherifemma​ @galadriel26​ @galaxyzxstark​ @idristardis​ @karenfrommisthaven​ @teamhook​ @spartanguard​ @searchingwardrobes​ @jamif​ @shireness-says​ @ultimiflos​ @nikkiemms​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​ @superchocovian​ @killianswannn​ @carpedzem​ @captainkillianswanjones​ @mayquita​ @mariakov81​ @jennjenn615​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @a-faekindagirl​ @scientificapricot​ @xellewoods​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @singersdd​ @tornadoamy​ @cluttermind​ @lfh1226-linda​ @andiirivera​ @elizabeethan​ @captain-emmajones​ @csalltheway​ @itsfabianadocarmo​

#your wonder under summer skies #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan

[astudyinimagination]

So... I was inspired to write a Sherbeth fake-dating-for-Christmas fic and @wellmanneredthief and @lost-without-my-detective were my enablers. :D I don’t know how often I’m going to be able to post and this is going to be way more ramble-y and fluffy than I usually do but here it goes.

Also playing a bit fast and loose with SH22 canon; if you know the show, you’ll know it when you see it. ;)

And sorry for the horribly unoriginal title. If I come up with a better one, I will change it!

Holmes for the Holidays

1. White the Fading Forests Grow

“I still don’t understand why we’re doing this, Inspector.”

Beth Lestrade sighed but didn’t look away from the road, gripping the steering wheel of her rental as she turned north onto U.S.-31 from the South Bend International Airport. “Watson, what’s not to understand? My family wants me to be set up with some nice guy, so I’m giving them that. For this Christmas, anyway.”

She felt rather than saw Sherlock’s look of amusement. “And next Christmas?”

“I will cross that bridge when I come to it. Live in the moment!”

“Yes, please do.”

“Relax.” Beth signaled and moved left to pass a semi truck. “This isn’t as bad as New London.”

“Yes, but it’s on the ground. I would have thought this city was big enough to warrant air traffic.”

“Nope, that’s just the big cities and their urban sprawls, and South Bend is still too small and too far outside of Chicago. You’ve just spent too much time in New London, that’s all. Relax.”

“I will when we’re clear of the urban traffic.”

She risked a quick glance at Sherlock Holmes — he was clutching his armrests. “It’s the side of the road throwing you off, isn’t it.”

“...it might be.”

“Okay, it’s okay. We’ll be in the countryside soon, all right?”

“But, Inspector,” Watson piped from the backseat, “the most direct route is to take this freeway straight up to South Haven.”

“Yes, the most direct route, but not the prettiest. I’m taking you guys the scenic route, just as soon as I can hit a Michigan road I know. And then Sherlock can relax, too.”

“Too kind.” His tone was bone-dry.

“Relaaaax. Traffic is thinning out already and also we’re in Michigan now.”

“I’m still not sure why we didn’t use a Michigan airport,” said Watson. “There are two closer to your parents than South Bend is.”

“Mm, a little bit closer but not as direct. The flight to South Bend was the shortest and most direct, and now we have a little time to kill to enjoy the scenery.”

“I must say, the scenery is already quite pretty.”

Beth smiled. The scenery was pretty. Most of the land surrounding U.S.-31 in Southwest Michigan was either farmland or woodland, and it was all liberally coated with snow. The snow wasn’t necessarily a given for seven days before Christmas, and Beth was grateful for it.

“Okay,” she said aloud after a few minutes, “here we go.” She turned off the freeway and headed northeast. “We’re hooking up with M-139, and that’ll take us basically all the way to St. Joe, turn on to M-63, and then take that north until it meets with the Blue Star Highway and that rides us all the way up to South Haven.” She glanced at Sherlock. “You’ll get to see the lake along the way.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Saint Joe?”

She sighed. “That river we just passed? The Saint Joseph River. Look, a lot of Catholics settled in this area.”

“Irish, Germans, and Poles, from what I’ve read, followed by African and Latin Americans.”

She raised both eyebrows at him. “You researched the area?”

He shrugged. “I was curious.”

She shook her head. “Just look out your window and let me know if you spot any deer.”

“Is that a danger?” Watson sounded concerned.

“Eh, a little bit. Not as much now as in the fall, but I do remember I almost wrecked on time on a little gaggle of does on a country road.”

“Perhaps the freeway would have been safer,” Sherlock muttered.

Beth sighed. “Just wait till we get to the lake. I promise you it’ll be worth it.”

❄️❄️❄️

Less than an hour and no deer later, Holmes had to admit that Lake Michigan was worth the detour. Beth’s own hometown was also on the shoreline, but he could understand her impatience to show off her Great Lake. The water was green-grey beneath a pale grey sky, and the waves were choppy enough that for a moment, he felt disoriented, thinking that he should have been able to smell salt in the air. But there was no salt in this particular inland body of water, no tang to the air above it, just the bite of winter.

“Beth, it’s magnificent,” he murmured. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Although it did remind him achingly of the English Channel, and his little cottage on the South Downs.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her beaming. “Isn’t it great? Technically, Lake Michigan and Lake Huron are a single body of water, and as such, they’re the biggest body of freshwater in the world, and on its own, it’s still the fifth-biggest.”

“It’s very impressive, Inspector.” Watson had a camera out, and was snapping pictures. “I imagine it’s calmer during the summer?”

“It depends. While you guys are here, though, you should definitely see a Great Lakes sunset if the sun shows. It’s beautiful.” Beth’s eyes were distant, her smile dreamy, and the wind off the lake whipping her hair around her, and Holmes realized he had never seen her looking quite like this. What are we doing, performing this little charade? It had seemed an innocent-enough idea at the time...

“Yes, well…” He cleared his throat and turned away from the view. “I imagine your parents are wondering what became of us.”

Beth waved a dismissive hand. “I told them I was gonna do a little sight-seeing with you guys. It’ll be fine.”

They both blinked the next moment as a light flashed, and Watson smiled innocently at them, his camera pointed in their direction. “Sorry.”

❄️❄️❄️

The drive northwest to the lakeside had been mostly fields, quiet and white, the very image of “a picture print by Currier and Ives.” The drive north along the lake was more wooded and less peaceful, the road often running close to the shoreline. “A hundred years ago, the lake was further back,” Beth explained, “but erosion has always been a problem and, early 21st century, it was helped along by climate change. A lot of homes were lost — their foundations crumbled right out from underneath them.”

“That’s horrifying.” Watson sounded aghast.

Beth nodded. “No matter how far we advance, we can never manage to control nature.”

“And that’s probably just as well,” Sherlock said quietly.

Soon enough, they were entering South Haven, and Beth was always hit with a wave of nostalgia as she returned to her hometown. She had eventually adjusted to living and working in New London, but at heart she was still a small town girl, and she was pretty sure she would come home when she retired.

“What a charming little town,” Watson remarked.

Beth smiled. “It is pretty, isn’t it?”

“Festive,” was Sherlock’s comment. “Not as overdone as some parts of New London I could name.”

“I actually like the huge displays.”

“Of course you do. You put up an artificial tree in my sitting room in the middle of November — of course you like the ostentatious light shows.”

“Oh, c’mon, you like the tree, you know you do.” She glanced over at him, and he was trying not to smile. “Ha.”

“Your parents aren’t in town, Inspector?” Watson asked as they drove further from the downtown area.

“Nope, they’re on the other side of the highway, in the country. Just a few more minutes.”

❄️❄️❄️

The Lestrades’ home ended up being a few miles east of the highway, sitting a respectable distance from the road: a renovated old farmhouse, pale yellow with white trim and surrounded by trees. Old… but Holmes had a notion that the house had been built decades after he’d been born. At least the place looked homely. An enormous Christmas wreath graced the front door, and smaller ones decorated the windows.

This scheme is insane.

But it was far too late to back out now. As Beth parked the car, a woman in her fifties emerged from the house, her hair dark, her skin pale olive… but those brilliant blue eyes were Beth’s.

Beth grinned and sprang out of the car, hurrying towards the woman. “Mom!”

Definitely no backing out now.

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century #Beth Lestrade #robot Watson #Sherbeth #Christmas #Sky writes stuff #Holmes for the Holidays

[demigodsanswer]

Once Upon a Pointe

Summery: 

"Annabeth, you’re with Percy,' Chiron said. Annabeth. She looked like the figurine in a little girl’s music box had come to life to dance in City Ballet. Percy felt like every opportunity to dance with her was a privilege. Just don’t forget the choreography, Percy thought as he got into the right starting spot for the wedding pas de deux. Don’t forget the choreography, and don’t drop her."

Percy, a soloist with the ballet company, and he is offered one chance to dance with Annabeth, one of their star principals. If he nails the choreography, he might just earn a chance to dance with her. And, if he's really lucky, he might get a date out of it as well. 

Chapter 1/?: Once Upon a Dream 

Read on AO3

“Alright Percy, you’re up,”

Percy looked at his artistic director, Chiron Bruner, who was looking back at him with a deadly seriousness.

He had been standing in the back of the rehearsal room, not dancing, for days as Chiron tried to cast their company’s upcoming production of Tchaikovsky’s The Sleeping Beauty.

Percy knew from the minute he has been brought into the room that he wasn’t a favorite for the Prince, the male principal role. As a first soloist, he had had opportunities to play principal roles (a few times even in the first cast), but big classical ballets like The Sleeping Beauty were long, intense pieces that drew in big crowed and, more importantly, big donors. Big name stars like Charles Beckendorf were always shoo-ins for principal roles and first cast spots.

In fact, Beckendorf had pretty much been guaranteed the spot until his knee popped when he landed a jump last week. He was out for the season at least.

Percy was the fifth man they brought into the room to start learning the choreography. Of the five of them, four would lead a cast (first cast would open their run of the show), and the fifth would likely be an understudy.

It wasn’t a good sign that it had taken four days for Percy to be offered the opportunity to dance at all. If he was getting the chance now, it was his only shot.

He had been watching the choreography for days and practicing it alone in his apartment at night (a challenge without a partner, but he made do). He hoped that was enough to get it into his body. He did a few small jumps and rolled his shoulders to make sure his muscles were warm before stepping into the center of the room.

“Annabeth, you’re with Percy,” Chiron said.

Annabeth. She looked like the figurine in a little girl’s music box had come to life to dance in City Ballet. She was stunning – long arms, legs, and neck, beautiful blonde hair, and sharp features. Percy couldn’t even think of a time she had so much as fallen out of a turn.

Nothing was ever set with ballet casting – Chiron could like a pair better than another, or a dancer could get hurt – but if Percy was betting man, he’d bet that Annabeth was already set (in Chiron’s mind at least) as first cast Aurora.

Being able to dance with her was a privilege. She was only a year older than him, but she had been in the company for a decade already, getting her apprenticeship at sixteen. He’d only been there for seven years, earning his apprenticeship at eighteen. She was made soloist the next year – the same year he entered the corps.

Last year, they had been slotted to dance Balanchine’s Diamonds pas de deux in Jewels. But she dropped out a week before the performance. All he got out of Chiron was that she was dealing with a personal loss and would be taking a short leave from the company.

Silena, the woman who ran the costume shop, seemed to know everything, though. “Dancers like to talk to me or around me,” she told him.

“So, what happened?” He didn’t want to pry, but he wanted to know if she was okay. He hadn’t had may opportunities to dance with her, but everyone was close in a company. They had talked, they had shared barre space. She’d even used his foam roller once.

Silena pinned some fabric on his doublet into place, “She broke off her engagement,” she said.

“What?” He asked, turning so quickly that Silena accidentally poked him with the pin.

“Stand still,” She said, adjusting her measurements again.

“What happened?” He asked, being sure to stand still and composed.

“That I can’t tell you,”

“You don’t know?” He asked.

“No,” she said, “I know. It’s just … really not great,”

“And it’s not your place,” Percy said, finishing the sentence for her. Silena nodded and finished her alterations.

It had been nine months since Jewels, and Annabeth had been back for months and dancing better than Percy had ever seen. Her ex-fiancé, Luke, had retired just before her comeback and had moved out west. It was a young retirement – he was only thirty-three – but Percy had never liked him. (“Yeah, and your dislike of him has nothing to do with your major crush on her,” his best friend, Grover, said after Percy admitted his schadenfreude at hearing about their breakup and Luke’s retirement. Percy tried to deny it, but Grover knew him too well for that. “Crush on her or not,” he said, “I still think he was a dick,”)

Nine months later and Annabeth was walking towards him the rehearsal room, already looking like a young and beautiful princess. Just don’t forget the choreography, he thought as he got into the right starting spot for the wedding pas de deux, don’t forget the choreography, and don’t drop her.

Throughout his life, people had critiqued Percy for acting without thinking – jumping to action without considering all the options or the consequences. That had gotten him into trouble when he was younger, but in dance it proved to be his strength. He was able to turn his brain off when he danced. He didn’t have to think step-by-step; his brain heard the music and his body knew what to do. He let his body move on its own and used the extra mind space to focus on his artistry.

This is your wedding day, he told himself as they began. You met her in a dream and saved her from a curse. This is fairytale love. Show Chiron how much you love Aurora.

 He was lucky. It wasn’t hard to pretend to love Annabeth Chase.

Most days, he loved being in a Balanchine company – the arrangements, even for classical ballets, were faster and more exciting. Typically, this suited his ADHD. But as he supported her in the final signature fish dive, he wished they were dancing in London or Moscow just so he could enjoy a slower arrangement and let this moment last longer.

But, of course, that couldn’t happen. All he could do was wait for the music to end, before gently lifting her out of the dive and back on to her feet.

She was smiling at him. That has to be good, right? He thought. Annabeth, of course, had no say over casting, but she knew good ballet when she saw it.

Chiron was a master of the poker face, though. He just nodded at them and said “Good,” before calling an end to the day.

Percy went to the side of the room where his dance bag was to grab his water.

“Good job today,”

He looked up and saw Annabeth sitting down next to him to take off her pointe shoes.

“Thanks. You make it easy. You’re a great partner,” he said. He moved a little back towards the center of the room, looking for a place to stretch.

She joined him soon after, pointe shoes replaced with warm-ups.  

“I don’t think I ever apologized for leaving you high and dry with Diamonds last year,” she said.

Percy shrugged casually. “Don’t worry about it. Piper’s a great partner. I think we managed to pull it off,”

Annabeth nodded, sliding into her split and bending forward over her front leg. “You guys did a great job,” she told him.

Percy looked at her. “You came to see it?”

Annabeth nodded before bending backwards towards her other leg. “I didn’t stop loving dance just because I wasn’t doing it,”

Percy smiled, “Well, I’m glad you're back. Things weren’t the same around here without you,”

“I’m glad to be back,” she said, coming out of her split. “I hope we get to work together again soon,”

Percy tried to think of something funny or kind to say in response, but after hearing Annabeth express a genuine desire to work with him, he could really only manage to pull of something articulate: “Me too,”

~*~*~

Percy found himself humming along to The Sleeping Beauty score as he made dinner that night, dancing around his kitchen like he used to when he was a child. He still wasn’t confident that he’d be chosen as a prince for any of the casts, but he couldn’t help but daydream about dancing the ballet with Annabeth. If, for nothing else, the opportunity to dance with such an artful and technically skilled dancer. Sure, all the women in the company had good artistry and technicality – they’d mad it into the company for a reason – but Annabeth was something else.

The next day, Chiron had Percy and Annabeth run the pas de deux one more time, and then he had him run it with Reyna. Three chances, he thought, maybe that will be good enough for Chiron.

Annabeth didn’t say anything to him afterwards, choosing instead to stretch near some of the other women on the other side of the room. He didn’t take it personally; it wasn’t like they were close friends.  

As he left the studio to head home, he passed a room with just Chiron, Annabeth, and one of their ballet mistresses. Percy recognized the dance already – Aurora's act one variation. That’s it then, he thought, she’s going to be first cast for sure.  

He wanted her to succeed. Of course he did. But there was a small part of him that hoped that, if he didn’t get first cast, maybe she wouldn’t either. First cast didn’t really mean anything, anyway. It was more for reviews and promo photos. Every cast danced the ballet. The only thing that changed was who you danced it with. With only his three chances next to all the other men’s four, five, six, or seven chances, he was not going to land any higher than third cast.

That was if he got a cast at all.

Percy tried not to worry about it too much as he walked to the subway. If they were both lucky, he and Annabeth both had at least another decade of dancing left. There would be plenty of time for partnering.

But she’s going to be a beautiful Aurora, he though.

~*~*~

Percy sipped his coffee as he walked into the studio the next morning. He headed towards the office where he knew the cast list would be posted.

It was old fashioned to post the cast lists on a bulletin board outside Chiron’s office like they were in some high school theater not a world-class ballet company, but Chiron had always been old fashioned.

He started reading from the bottom and made his way to the top, never the optimist about his own chances. He made his way through the third cast without seeing his name at all.

His heart rate started to rise as he became more and more sure that he hadn’t been cast at all.

Not in the second cast. That was it then. Nothing.

He looked at the first cast to confirm his suspicions about Annabeth.

There she was, at the top of the list:

           Aurora: Annabeth Chase.

He almost dropped his coffee when he looked at the line below:

           Prince Désiré: Percy Jackson.

#percabeth #percy jackson #annabeth chase #luke castellan #silena beauregard #charles beckendorf #ballet au #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #i wanted to get in on the sports au slowburn action #they're so fun #once upon a pointe

[alolanrain]

Cursed Object

(all true stories, just with characters swapped in for people)

It starts on July 3rd, 2007. Delia is inlisting all of Red’s friends, their parents, Ash, and the Oaks into helping clean out her garage and finally throw away junk from her late husband since he was a fucking Packrat. At this point she enlisted like half of pallet Town in the beginning. The sun was setting and they can finally see most of the garage flooring. Everyone was chugging drinks and eating several boxes of pizza Blue’s mom had ordered because no one was cooking that night. Everything was fine...

Until Red, at the ripe old age of 7, came ambling out of the garage with a large plastic bat that was a horrid Orange color.

“Mama?” Red yelled across the yard to his mom who was talking to Blue’s Grandma, easily getting Delia’s and half the people’s attention as well, “what’s this?” Raising the plastic bat into the setting rays it flashed an even brighter disgusting orange.

“I don’t know, sweetie.” Delia sighed before waving her eldest away. Eyeing Blue who was cooking over 4 year old Ash and Gary who was six months younger.

“That’s a Wiffleball bat, my boy.” Professor Oak scared the living daylights out of Red by landing a hand on his skinny shoulder. “Your father was great at baseball and Wiffleball was his first sport. He wanted to play with you and Ash when you two had gotten older but never found the time with his job.”

“Ah.” Red muttered lamely before ducking out of Oaks grip and trotting over to his friends. Green had his baby brother in his grip that was eyeing the bat. Red gave the bigger end to the boy, allowing him to feel the surprisingly soft playable plastic, and pulling it away soon after when he tried to put his mouth on it. Luckily he didn’t fuss, turning back to his teething ring instead while eyeing at Blue who still cradled Red’s own brother.

“You know,” Green started, that greedy look in his eyes shining brightly and caused a sinking feeling to form in Reds gut, “Wiffleball and baseball sound pretty lame and boring. I would be embarrassed if my dad made me play baseball.” He spat.

Next thing any adult knew Red had Instinctively swung the large plastic bat as hard has he could in his sitting position next to Green directly into the boys face. Causing Green to drop Gary and for both boys to start wailing. Gary because he bonked his face directly into the dry, hot summer ground, and Green because his nose was now bleeding.

“At least my mom didn’t leave me by choice.” He spat before making eye contact with Blue who looked at him with wide eyes and then at Ash who started tearing up from the yelling.

“Alfred Johnston Ketchum!” Delia screeched across the yard. Making everyone, who was in shock because passive, soft spoken, and loving Red had just down that, jump at the women’s sudden scream of rage.

Red immediately let go of the bat and immediately looked between Green, his hands, and then to his mom before repeating.

———

The next time the bat was taken out of the garage, and Delia had sworn to the police that she had torn the thing up in front of all the rest of adults after the kids were sent home, was next month. Red and Green made their truce yet again for the fifth time since the end of July.

They were playing some kind of ball game out in the back of Greens Grandpa’s lab. Gary and Ash were at some kind of baby appointment so the kids were put under Oaks watch... though he isn’t really doing a lot of kid sitting when he’s staring at the TV half dead basically from the heat.

Red had gone home, while Blue went to hers and Green went down to the Professors basement, to try and find a bat. When he got into his garage, sitting right in the middle of the concrete floor, was the Wiffleball bat. Shrugging he leaped down the two steps and scooped the bat up before charging, much to his mistake, across town and back to the Oak Labs. Both Blue and Green couldn’t find a better bat at their place so they used the one Red brought.

They only lasted an hour until the sun peaked at its hottest and the parents weren’t back yet either. Probably having lunch or grocery shopping since they are in Veridian.

“I’m hot!” Blue complained. Dragging her feet and pulling at her dress. Red chose not to comment at the pit stains that were growing where her dress was pressed between her armpits. “Can’t we go inside?”

“And listen to Grandpa snore the entire time?” Green asked, Shaking his head, “absolutely not. We can’t even change the channel or else he’ll get super mad when he wakes up.” A loud snore echoed from the open window into the living room and made all three kids flinch a little. Lousy old man. “Let’s just continue on playing.”

He tossed the ball to Blue, who had the orange bat that looked even worse out in the sun, who tried to swing it but was to slow.

“I’m tired!” She threw the bat down. Tears pricking her eyes as she continued to stomp her feet like it was supposed to intimidate Red and Green besides being annoying. ”tired, hot, and hungry!”

“Oh stop being a pansy!” Green snarled. Red could only nod his head and murmur and verbal agreement with Green.

“I’m not a pansy!” Blue shouted before stomping off and into the porch. Twirling around and sinking down onto a shaded step. Crossing her arms and pointing while glaring holes into Greens head.

Reds best friend turned to him and pointed behind his back at Blue, “girls are always so weak against guys, that’s why they stay at home and take care of the babies and chores while we men do the real work.”

Next thing Red knew Green had almost fallen into him. Blue standing behind him with the Wiffleball bat raised and an angry rabid look into her eyes. Before Red could do anything to try and placate both or just one of them. Blue descended upon Green.

Hit after hit, Blue didn’t stop. A look Red had only seen in one of those horror movies on the killers face on hers. His little feet carried him into the hose before nearly barreling into Grandpa Oak who started awake with a shout.

“It’s Blue and Green,” Red panted, “their fighting and Blues trying to draw blood.”

“Fucking Arceus-“ Oak struggles to get up from the rocking recliner.

“Grandpa! Make Blue stop!” Green shouted from the backyard. Pokémon from big to small had come out fo their hidy-holes to see what was happening.

“Make me yourself coward!” Blue shouted back before a particular loud Thwak! Was heard.

“Grandpa!”

“What happened to men being stronger then girls!? Where’s your logic now you wet-willy bug-sucker!”

That had ended with the parents rushing home, police called by a bitchy neighbor named Mr. Hickiby, and an ER lady stitching the side of Greens forehead in an ambulance that was also called because Mr. Hickiby had exaggerated every detail over the call.

All three were so grounded.

———

The Wiffleball bat popped up once more around 2010, August 18 to be exact. No one knew where Ash had gotten ahold of it since the three had set fire to the bat last year. but soon he was charging out of the front entry way with Houndoom hot on his heels, speedy little fucker Ash is, and came speeding past Red who was walking home and Berliner straight for Champion Lance who was walking a bit behind Red to enjoy the view of the country side of Kanto.

Lance has bugged Red to show him his home town, not like there’s a lot to see in little ol’Pallet Town besides fields and farms and more fields. Now that Red was an equal to Lance and also technically Lance’s boss since he’s apart of the aka to Elite Four he had wanted to get to know more fo the soft spoken boy.

The Champion wasn’t expecting him to have such a terror of a little brother.

Ash had planted his feet down and slid in the loose gravel. Sliding by and swinging the Wiffleball bat as much as he could into Lance’s groin. Making the much older man double down and the force swung little Ash aroudn to where the bag had hit Lance’s ass with the same amount of force. This causes Lance to sink to his knees with a high picked whine.

Soul the Houndoom, Red and Ash’s mother’s Pokémon, barreled into Ash and bit into the loose part of a shirt and continued to tug the little seven year old back to the house.

Red had yelled at Ash without any words before turning to Lance. Not knowing what to do. All the while trying to ignore Green and Blue who chased Ash and Soul out of the house and are fucking loosing it behind the two in the grass.

Ash shouted that he was in the right because the strange weirdly dressed man, who must be higher then a kite, looked like he was gonna mug Red. That had sent Green and Blue deeper into hysteria while Red tried not to let his anger get the best of him.

———

The bat didn’t make a resurface until December 12 of 2012. Ash was nine and Red was twelve. His ass had just gotten dragged down from Mount. Silver by Green, Blue, two kids named Gold and Crystal, and then his hidden affair brother named Silver a year ago and Red was having his first Christmas with his family after two years.

Red was sleeping off a cold and Ash had just coe charging into the living room. Livid and holding the same plastic orange bat from Green and Blues memory.

“What’cha got there bud?” Gold, a fucking year older then Ash himself, asked.

“Someone,” Ash was already nearly yelling as he glare sweeper through the room, thankfully Delia had left to go last minute Christmas shopping and left everyone to watch Ash, “destroyed my snowman with this!” He shock the bat in the air before letting it fa back down by his side, “and not the hole in its stomach is bright red!”

Blue scrambled up from her slouched position on the one person seat to look out the window at Ash’s actually destroyed and fake bloodied snowman with a large red hole in the middle and red flakes everywhere. “Well damn,” she muttered, “He’s right.”

“Well I know it’s no one in here.” Green didn’t look up from his phone. Texting Lance about his orientation of being Viridian’s new gym leader after Red had knocked that greasy Mankey Giovanni down.

The others muttered their agreement, which was a mistake, and Ash raised the bat to grip it with two hands and yelled “Red you big meanie! You killed my snowman!” And then went charging up the stairs to Reds room.

The other kids were left speechless and in shock before there was a familiar loud Thwak! Noise and then a angry shout before Ash’s scream of terror then the two brothers charging down the stairs.

Ash was only saved by certain death by the hands of Red because Red was only in a shirt and some shorts and also obviously still very sick.

———

It was September 30th, 2015, and Silver had gotten his hands on it this time around. No one really stopped him as he had pinned Gomd down and had beatened him over the head continuously for four minutes before throwing the Wiffleball bat down and storming into the house. Hiding himself in Ash’s unused room, who was in Orange Isles at the time, to scream wordlessly.

Red and Green just dipped their coffee while Blue stomped forward for her own piece.

#worlfy writes #ash ketchum #red ketchum #green oak #blue #silver #gold #professor oak #gary oak #wiffleball bat cursedTM #my brother played by Red #my cousin Brandon played by Green #my cousin Micky played by Blue #baby cousin Gavin thats actually younger then me played by Gary #Me-Ash #yes i did slam the Wiffleball bat as hard as i could into his face

[etraytin]

Poem Rough Draft

College is in full swing in the bedroom and the first day of fifth grade is unfolding in the home office, so I’m in the living room, standing by for technical or moral support and trying to put minimal pressure on the wifi. I’ve been sorting through a bunch of random word processor documents from the last few months, and I found this poem I forgot I wrote. It’s super rough, probably needs a real ending, but I thought I’d put it up just to see whether there’s anything real here that people can respond to. 

This is Only a Drill

The dorm has a new fire alarm system this year. Much better, they say, and so sensitive! It will save your life. It rings seven times in the first month Mostly at night, its sensitive eyes confused by a steamy shower, a bag of popcorn, a blunt. We pull the screen from the window by the microwave Anyone who burns the popcorn must throw it out the window Like a sad smoky balloon of shame Before the alarm has time to notice it. Retrieving it from the bushes down below is optional. We know the alarms are false and we hate them, But still we obey, wrapped in blankets and stumbling down the stairs blinking and shivering and watching the firemen Who also understand this farce, Sweeping the building to roust any disobedient seniors Without bothering to put their masks on.

There is a stillness in the air today It looks like rain, but the air is not heavy It is waiting. I can feel the subtle sickness in the green-tinged sky. Something is coming, and it might come here. Tornado watch, says the television, Third one this month, but this one is different. Or maybe I'm just tired. The baby has been awake for a hundred thousand hours. He is teething and I may die of it. But I grew up on the edge of the prairie And this is different. Find the pet carrier and fish the kitten from under the bed She clings like velcro to carpet, duvet, me. Use a cloth to scoop the budgies from their cage, Put the baby in his carseat. I am definitely overreacting. There are still people outside. When I was little we had a basement. I would hide under the workbench and listen to the radio Every tornado was an adventure, Now there is an apartment with a huge sliding glass door. And all these tiny dependent lives. A mournful siren in the distance, Loud, soft, loud. Something is coming. We settle in the first floor hallway, No windows, ancient carpeting, a flickering florescent bulb. Only one neighbor joins us. We smile at one another and are silent as the baby whines and the birds huddle on their perch, bright, miserable flowers. The tornado touches down fifteen miles away.

I've never lived through a hurricane before I have watched them on television Safe and smug in the midwest as the houses float away. Tornadoes are green skies and strange air and sirens. This hurricane starts on a bright sunny day. It is unimaginably far away, but it is so big. People here talk about hurricanes like sports teams, Keep an eye on your favorites, make predictions with your friends. Which ones will dissolve, or swing up the east coast, Which ones could come our way. It's all a guessing game, but you trust the computer for clues Instead of the taste in the air. “The first 72 is on you” says the pamphlet at the library. We buy toilet paper, canned foods, batteries. I find a big coloring book in case the television goes out. He is five and does not know from hurricanes But he is excited because everyone is acting so strangely. The Red Cross calls my cell phone,  A shelter is opening. Come and help.  I double check my supplies, pack a backpack, and go. Red vest, name badge, and I am safety Even if I do not feel safe.

Substitute teaching at the elementary school Special ed reading, eighty dollars for the day. The first graders are restless on a Friday afternoon Poking one another and laughing too loud. Read this word, this is 'house', can you say 'ou'? Say it again, now draw a picture. Yes, that's very good. Don't poke your friend, that's not nice. Now let's all- The boxy speaker on the ceiling hisses static. Twenty faces swivel up like sunflowers. A woman's voice, firm, loud. “LOCKDOWN, LOCKDOWN, LOCKDOWN” Knowing it was coming does not make it better. “It's just a drill,” we whisper as the students flee their tiny chairs, “It's just practice, you are safe.” Nobody says anything else. The children press themselves into the closets, hidden between the backpacks Pressed against the open doors, arms around their knees. I  don't know what to do, so I huddle as well, Just outside the closet with the children who do not fit. Twenty pairs of wide eyes, twenty silent mouths, Even if the quick rasp of breaths seems so loud. I look up and see the teacher, younger than me, Maybe a few years past college. She is standing by the door. She knows it is a drill, but her face is grim. Her aide stands with her, my mom's age. Five minutes ago we were reading about Clifford Now I watch them as they imagine What it would be like to die for their students. We all jump when someone outside shakes the door Testing the lock and our nerves. Nobody cries. It could be five minutes or an hour (It is seven minutes) “The lockdown drill is over, thank you all.” Everyone breathes again. The lights come back on, the window shades go up. Everything is the same, but no one is learning any more today.

#poem #poetry #creative writing #rough draft #tw lockdown #tw hurricane #tw tornado #tw fire drill

[aj-illustrated]

what’s this is it a one-shot born from my love of Varian’s redesigns

Fic below the cut!

It was his dad’s idea to get him the goggles.

Varian couldn’t remember how old he was when he first took up alchemy, but he remembered his first major explosion like it was yesterday. Setting the garden shed on fire at the tender age of four had to be some kind of record.

His dad was positively livid, and once the fire had been put out and Varian was checked over for injuries, he was stuck with his nose in the corner for what felt like hours. Of course, that didn’t stop him from plunging headfirst back into alchemy the minute his father’s back was turned, and it was only a matter of time before Varian was once again in time out.

Eventually, Dad realized that the time outs weren’t working and Varian was going to keep mixing chemicals regardless of how much trouble it got him into. So on Varian’s fifth birthday, instead of a new toy, Dad had gone into town and purchased a brand new pair of brass-lined goggles.

“There,” Dad had said, strapping the goggles around his son’s head. “Now you can do your experiments safely.”

“Like a real alchemist?” Varian had asked in earnest, grinning so broadly that he thought his face might split.

Dad smiled. “Like a real alchemist.”

******************

It was Xavier’s idea to get him the apron.

Ever since he was little, he’d been using the small kitchen apron his father had made for him years before. But by the time he was eleven, the apron was frayed and scorched in certain places where he had spilled some of his more volatile substances– not to mention, it was so small that the strings could barely tie together and the front fell just above his knees. Something would have to be done about that.

Over the years, Varian had gradually taken on the responsibility of the household mending. Between him and his father, there was an abundance of shirts to be patched and socks to be darned, and Dad was… admittedly not super great at it. Luckily for Varian, sewing came naturally to him, and he didn’t mind the chore so much as he wished he could get it done faster.

Initially, he’d only gone into town to pick up some extra fabric to adjust the length of his apron and maybe get some extra thread, but as always, the temptation to wander inside Xavier’s forge overcame him. Something about the smell of coal dust and molten iron drew him in like a moth to a flame, and no matter how he tried, he could never bring himself to look away from the sight of Xavier pounding a slab of metal into an actual working tool. As far as Varian was concerned, this was as close as the world was going to get to real magic.

Evidently, it seemed like Varian stood staring for too long that day. Xavier turned from his anvil to face the boy, his eyes twinkling with amusement. 

“Like what you see, eh?” he asked playfully, a smile curling at the corner of his lips. “Why don’t you take a closer look?”

Varian’s feet seemed to gain a mind of their own, because before he knew it, he was standing at the edge of the anvil, eyes fixated on the gleaming hunk of iron before him. It was like staring into the sun, the glow was so bright, but Varian couldn’t tear himself away.

“So, young alchemist…” Xavier drawled, glancing down at the enraptured boy. “What brings you to the capital this fine day?”

Varian finally looked up from the anvil. “Just picking up some new fabric. My, uh… my apron needs some repairs.”

“Does it now?” asked the man playfully. “I might know of something that could suit your purposes.”

Xavier ducked into the back room, and in a moment returned with a folded length of brown cloth. “Recently, I bought some leather for the tailor to fashion me a new pair of gloves. But it seems as if I bought too much,” he said, offering the cloth to Varian. “Leather is a fire-resistant material, and your father has told me of some of your… eh… close calls. Perhaps you could find some use for this.”

Varian took the cloth with wide eyes, nodding and murmuring a thank-you. By the same time next week, he’d completed the last stitch of his new, fireproof apron. It was a bit big (Varian hadn’t wanted to waste any of the precious leather), but he still had plenty of time to grow into it.

Oh well, back to work. Those pesky raccoons were eating away the apple harvest again... 

******************

It was Andrew’s idea to get him the coat.

“You have to show these filthy Coronans who’s boss,” he’d said, not long after the coup had taken place. “And no offense, kid, but you’re kind of a runt. You’ve got to do something to make yourself look more intimidating.”

Varian hated to admit it (and he hated it more to hear it said out loud), but Andrew had a point. He was barely five foot two, and though he was hoping for another growth spurt, it didn’t seem to be coming any time soon. The coat in question was stolen off a rich noble, a glossy red-and-black leather that was a size too big, but it certainly did the job of making Varian seem larger than he actually was.

The slick black boots followed soon after, and so did the fanged bandana. With every new addition, Varian got more and more used to his new identity. He wasn’t just Varian the alchemist, Varian the screw-up – he was Varian the Saporian, and he was going to use his newfound alliance to make everything right… no matter how wrong it felt.

******************

It was Eugene’s idea to get him the suit.

It had only been a few weeks since they had taken down the Saporians and freed his father, so Varian didn’t fully expect for things to feel normal just yet. He was thrilled to have Dad back, of course, and Rapunzel commissioning him to help rebuild Old Corona had kept him busy– designing blueprints and schematics might be second nature to him at this point, but it was certainly a step up to redesign an entire village.

When he wasn’t actively involved with a royal project, though, he was ignored or brushed off by pretty much everyone but the princess herself. That was... fine. To be perfectly honest, Varian didn’t expect anyone to start trusting him right away. Or ever again. Varian didn’t even trust himself after everything he’d done. So when Eugene had glanced him over and judged that he was in need of a new wardrobe, saying Varian was shocked would be an understatement.

At the moment, Varian stood alone in one of the palace dressing rooms, buttoning the vest of the freshly tailored suit of clothes Eugene had insisted be made for him. 

“Believe me, Goggles, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the suit makes the man,” he’d said with a grin, gently pushing Varian inside the dressing room. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re pretty amazing as-is, but I’m thinking you could use an update. Starting with some clothes that actually fit.”

Eugene– or rather, Flynn Rider– had been Varian’s hero ever since he was old enough to pick up a book. Even when they were technically enemies, Varian couldn’t help but admire Eugene’s strength and ingenuity. He was everything Varian wished he could be, right down to the forgiven criminal record and flawless facial hair (which may or may not have served as the inspiration for Varian’s drawn-on goatee). 

Varian glanced himself over in the mirror, straightening up a bit. He looked… older. Mature.

He took a deep breath, chancing one more look in the mirror; something seemed like it was missing. Glancing over towards the pile of his old things, a glint of glass and metal caught his eye. With a smile, Varian slipped on his goggles– the ones his dad had given him so many years before.

Perfect.

******************

It was Varian’s idea to get the second hairstripe.

Being the Royal Engineer had its perks, sure, but spending every day solving other people’s problems had long since grown tedious, and Varian couldn’t deny that a part of him yearned for something... more. More what, he wasn’t sure yet, but he was hoping that these “seven trials” his mother had spoken of her in her old journal would give him that answer.

That is, if he ever convinced Dad to let him seek them out.

Varian had gotten his work at the castle done early that day, and when he arrived back home in Old Corona, Dad was still working in the fields and would be until sunset, which was hours away. Hopefully, Varian wouldn’t lose his nerve before then.

It wasn’t long before boredom overtook him; he’d read all his books, and he’d left all his projects for the kingdom back at the palace. He had practically memorized his mother’s journal at this point, and as of late, it was the only thing that seemed to capture his interest for longer than thirty minutes. 

Varian sighed, pressing his back against the wall and glancing over to the mirror hung on the wall across from him. His eyes wandered up to the streak of turquoise in his bangs and he absentmindedly tugged on the lock of hair; Dad said that Mom was experimenting with different formulas for shampoo and had tested one of them on an infant Varian. According to Dad, while the formula had gotten his hair clean, it also permanently stained the roots blue– which in retrospect was pretty funny, though Varian could only imagine Dad’s reaction when he saw the results of his wife’s experiment.

The longer Varian dwelled on the streak, the more the idea of dying his hair began to appeal to him; if Mom could do it, why couldn’t he? It wasn’t difficult to color hair... he just needed a bit of hydrogen peroxide and some sort of colorant...

Dad came in from the fields a few hours later, and by that time, the washroom basin was smeared with homemade hair dye and so were Varian’s gloves. A second, slightly brighter streak of blue adorned Varian’s hair, still wet from application.

Looking back, dying his hair probably wasn’t the smartest decision Varian could have made to convince his dad that he was responsible enough to venture out into the Seven Kingdoms on his own. Then again, at least he didn’t try to pierce his belly button (an argument Dad did not appreciate).

Luckily, Dad wasn't nearly as upset about it as he could have been (he was more concerned with the state of the washroom), and by the time Varian found it in himself to bring up the idea of him leaving home, Dad... wasn’t actively opposed to it.

“I’m not going to say I love the thought of you traveling on your own,” Dad explained wearily as he helped load a bag of supplies onto Prometheus’s back. “But you’ve more than proved that you can take care of yourself. Just... stay safe. And when you feel ready, come home.”

Varian nodded, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “I... I’ll write to you as often as I can,” he said as he mounted the donkey, reins in hand. “I promise.”

Dad smiled down at him, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I can’t wait to hear about all your adventures,” he replied softly. “I love you, son.”

“...I love you too, Dad.”

With a flick of the reins, Varian was heading down the path leading past the Corona walls, the early morning sun shining like a beacon into the beyond.

#varian #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #varian fanfic #tangled fanfiction #AJ writes #one shot #if necessity is the mother of invention then boredom must be the father #and late-night impulse the weird uncle

[ciestessde]

NOT My Hero Academia: Part 1 – Ch.8

Iida manged to change direction at the last second, and Dark Shadow was out and between them and Bakugo now, ready to block an attack or push Team Uraraka into the air.

"OHHHHH?! IS LEAVING YOUR UNIT REALLY ALLOWED?!" Sero's tape came and saved Bakugo before he could touch the ground. "It is here, on a technicality!!" Midnight replied to Present Mic, "As long as your feet don't touch the ground!"

While Teams Bakugo and Uraraka squared off, Present Mic's commentary washed over the auditorium, "BOTH THE DOGGEDLY PURSUED FIRST PLACE TEAM… AND ITS DETERMINED PURSUERS ARE NOTHING TO SNEEZE AT! LET'S TAKE A LOOK AT THE CURRENT POINT SPREAD…" The screen updated to show the team rankings and their points. Izuku -- and All For One, through his cameras -- noticed another team pass behind Bakugo's. A hand reached out… "HOW ARE OUR TEAMS DOING AFTER SEVEN MINUTES OF PLAY? ...OHH?!

"NOW WAIT JUST A SECOND…! BESIDES URARAKA, CLASS A'S NOT LOOKING SO HOT… WHAT HAPPENED TO BAKUGO…?!" "Too simple, really. Class A," said the owner of the hand. Bakugo spun, "Give that back! I'll freaking kill you!!" "He got us!" cried Mina. "When Midnight announced the first event, it didn't take a genius to realize they wouldn't be thinning our numbers that much in a preliminary."

The rider who'd grabbed the headband smirked and glared condescendingly at Bakugo and his team. "It wasn't much of a stretch to imagine they'd be letting a good number of us advance to the next event. Forty or so seemed reasonable." A rumble came from behind team Bakugo. It was another Class B team! "It was the perfect chance to hang back and observe our soon-to-be rivals' quirks and tendencies. So it's only fair that we ended up placing more modestly."

"The whole class was in on it…?" said Kirishima. "Well, not everyone, but that wouldn't have been a bad idea… Instead of aiming for some fleeting first place, like a horse going for a dangling carrot." Bakugo's otherwise stony face twitched. "Ah, but you're already a celebrity, aren't you? The victim of that sludge incident! I'll have to ask you sometime. How does it feel to be known as the kid who needed saving?"

"Kirishima… plan's changed." Bakugo was radiating doom. "Before we go for Deku… I've gotta murder every last one of them…!!"

.

'Class B… They threw the qualifiers and planned for the long game!' Izuku thought, impressed. 'They want to prove Class B's supremacy. But from that, I can guess that they're not necessarily dead set on targeting me…!! Maybe this won't be too hard to evade-!' But at almost that same moment, as Present Mic announced they'd reached the halfway mark-

-Team Uraraka was approached by multiple opponents. 'Or maybe… it won't be quite that easy. We've stayed still too long!'

"Looks like this won't end without a fight…" Tokoyami said, "They're really gunning for us, Midoriya." "No. We're halfway through. We've just gotta keep moving!"

Todoroki gave orders as his team approached their target. "Yaoyorozu, prepare our defense. The insulator too." "Right!" "Kaminari. You…" "Yeah, I got it! Just stay alert!" Kaminari warned.

At that, Kaminari screamed, announcing his special attack for the audience of Pro Heroes, "Indiscriminate shock. 1.3 million volts!!"

All the teams nearby were stopped by the sudden shock, Dark Shadow useless against the bright attack. Todoroki took advantage of that. "Less than six minutes left. No turning back now." He lowered a staff of ice to the ground. "Sorry. Just hang in there." All of the frozen teams' feet were now literally frozen to the ground! As they passed, Todoroki grabbed another team's headband, "I'll be taking this."

"Tokoyami, Iida, get us out of here!" Izuku cried. When Dark Shadow managed to break the ice around their feet, Todoroki tried to freeze them again. But Iida was too fast. Todoroki then tried to block their escape, creating an arena of ice, but Dark Shadow launched them over the wall, higher than anyone had thought they could go.

.

Kurogiri joined All For One in front of the screens. "He's doing well so far." All For One nodded, agreeing, "Although nothing spectacular, it will keep him in first place. His team will run, other teams will close in, and they'll run again." Hesitantly, Kurogiri commented, "You seem… dissatisfied." "On the contrary. I'm simply eager to see further results."

As the competition went on, Todoroki's team was particularly persistent in chasing Team Uraraka. Already holding one of the top spots, they seemed determined to come in first. And getting the ten million point headband was the only way of doing that…

.

After being humiliated by the Class B team, "Team Monoma," and glued in place by yet another team -- Bakugo was looking for revenge. Before they could make it to the offenders, however, the score board updated, and Present Mic's commentary blasted through the auditorium again. "WITH JUST ONE MINUTE LEFT, TODOROKI'S GOT THREE HEADBANDS, BUT URARAKA'S TEAM STILL HOLDS FIRST PLACE!! TEAM URARAKA'S MANAGED TO EVADE TODOROKI, NO MATTER WHAT THEY'VE THROWN AT THEM!! HAVE WE FOUND OUR TOP FOUR TEAMS FOR THIS EVENT?!"

Bakugo looked at the score board. Deku's team were still in the lead. Good -- he could take their points himself! That stupid pebble… How was he making it this far?!

… He would fix that.

Below them was Team Monoma, the bastards, with 1360 points. Then Todoroki with 990, and Tetsutetsu in fourth with 940. His team had 0 points. But not for long.

"Second place, huh? Seems too good to be true," Monoma was saying, "Let's focus on keeping what we've got." "Wait just one stinkin' minute!" Bakugo shouted. Monoma looked over his shoulder at them. "Persistent, aren't you. That sort of tenacity is…"

"Get back here, Bakugooooo!!" Kirishima shouted. Bakugo had launched himself through the air again. "Tsuburaba! Guard!" Monoma yelled. "Got it!"

One of the guys holding Monoma up took a deep breath and blew out. Bakugo came to a stop in midair. "Ha ha! How d'ya like that? It's an invisible wall!" said Tsuburaba. Bakugo just pulled his arm back -- and smashed through it, grabbing at their headbands. "He got two of them!" yelled Monoma.

"TEAM BAKUGO'S STOLEN TWO, PUTTING THEM IN FOURTH PLACE!!" Sero pulled Bakugo back to them, as Todoroki moved up to second place on the score board. "A LATE SHAKE-UP IN THE RANKINGS! THAT'S THE SPIRIT OF YOUTH FOR YA!!"

"Damn… DAMMIT!" Monoma cursed. "Alright… It's fine. We're in fifth! And Kendo's not going anywhere, frozen like that…" He adjusted their remaining headband. "Right! Just have to guard this one with our lives…"

"Give us some warning before you jump!!" Sero chided Bakugo when he'd landed back on their horse. "But now we're guaranteed to move on…" said Kirishima.

"I AIN'T DONE YET!!" "Huh?!" Sero gaped at him.

"I'm not settling for some half-assed first place!!" Bakugo, more energized than ever, was banging on Kirishima's hardened head. "I couldn't brace myself going at it alone. So move!!" They sped up; Bakugo's excitement was contagious. "WE'RE TAKING OUR POINTS BACK. AND THEN THE TEN MILLION!!" 'I'll make that useless Deku realize he's just a PEBBLE in my path to Number One IF IT KILLS ME!'

"Soy Sauce Face! Tape, now!!" Bakugo lifted his left leg out of the way. "My name's Sero!!" Even as he said it, he taped the ground near Team Monoma's feet, already knowing what Bakugo had in mind. "You missed," Monoma stated smugly. "Raccoon eyes!" Bakugo lifted his right leg out of the way now. "Melt a path for us with that liquid!" "It's Mina. Mina Ashido!" She sprayed the ground beneath Sero's tape.

Sero reeled them in and, as they sped passed- "BAKUGO!! ABSOLUTELY MERCILESS!!" -Bakugo ripped the last headband from around Monoma's neck!

"WHAT A PERFECTIONIST! ANYTHING WORTH DOING IS WORTH DOING RIGHT!! WE'RE NEARING THE END OF THE GAME, NOW!!"

Switching gears immediately, Bakugo turned in search of his main target, "Next up! Deku and Todoroki!!" "TIME'S ALMOST UP. LET'S COUNT DOWN. HEY, EVERYBODY SAY… 10! 9! 8!" Bakugo spotted Team Uraraka with only 6 seconds left. He launched into the air without hesitation.

But… "-TIME'S UP!"

.

All the teams stopped moving, and Bakugo went crashing to the ground.

"LET'S SEE WHO THE TOP FOUR TEAMS ARE RIGHT NOW! "IN FIRST PLACE, TEAM URARAKA!!" 'I almost can't believe how well things are going so far,' Izuku thought to himself, as Uraraka hugged him, 'Although, I'm actually… even more scared of the final event because of it!'

"IN SECOND, TEAM BAKUGO!!" Bakugo cursed and screamed.

"IN THIRD, TEAM TODO… HUH?! WHOA!! TEAM SHINSO?!" Izuku looked around, then spotted that purple-haired guy who was talking to goggles-girl earlier.

.

It was just after he'd finished forming his team for the Cavalry Battle…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Heh heh heh… Yes, you're in first place. You sure do stand out!" Izuku heard someone say from behind him. He turned- "-Team up with me, Mr. First Place!!" "Whoa, too close!!" 'The girl with the hover boots?!'

"I'm Mei Hatsume, from the support course! I don't know you, but I could be useful to someone like you." She blabbed, heedless of anyone around her aside from her target. "Joining with you means I'll inevitably be right in the spotlight!! And then, inevitably, my supercute babies… will be seen by the industry big shots. They'll have to take notice of me and my babies!!" As she talked, she just seemed to get more and more enthusiastic.

"But wait -- there's more. This could also be advantageous for you." She pulled out some gadgets. "In the support course, we develop equipment to make heroes' quirks easier to use! I've got plenty of my babies here, and I'm sure you'll find one or two that-" Izuku spoke loudly, raising his hands to cut her off, "-Sorry, but I already formed my team!" She froze. "Ah! But…" He wanted to say something nice -- she had actually WANTED to team up with him. Even if it was just for his points… "I thought those hover boots you used back in the race were awesome! It's just…" She smiled, seeming to take the rejection surprisingly well. "I get it. You wanna work with your friends."

She got up close to his face again. Izuku stepped back. "But mark my words. Someday, you're gonna need my babies. And you'll come crawling, begging me to build you the most awesome equipment anyone's ever seen!" Her tone wasn't hostile, just filled with certainty and determination. "Mr. Quirkless Wonder!"

She turned and walked away. Izuku saw a purple-haired guy approach her and heard him say, "Wow, those gadgets of yours are awesome! Can I see one?" "Sure-!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"WHO SAW THAT TURNAROUND COMING? WHO EVEN SAW IT HAPPEN?!" 'Yeah… When did that happen…?' Izuku had been keeping an interested eye on the score board. 'But I was distracted in those last few seconds… Must've been then. Wish I'd seen that, though!'

"… IN FOURTH, TEAM TODOROKI!!" "No surprise there," said Uraraka, now sitting on the ground, exhausted.

.

"THESE FOUR TEAMS WILL PROCEED… TO THE FINAL EVENT!!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Beginning]

[Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

Read my original book, Crossroad of Infinity for free right here on Tumblr, on my website, or on AO3!

#villain!deku #villain deku #my hero academia #izuku midoriya #fanfiction

[winetae]

:: modern loneliness

⇨ prompt : android!hoseok x reader. 2205 words. drabble with a possible follow-up. it’s been 38 days since you’ve last seen and interacted with a living, breathing person and you’re slowly going insane.

.

[Week 1 of lock down.]

At first, you’re optimistic. 

Working from home comes with its own set of non-negligeable perks. Notably, no more commute time! No more squeezing in between sweaty men on the subway during rush hour just to get home. The new arrangement means that you’re no longer obliged to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to blow-dry your hair or meticulously put on makeup while stuffing a bagel into your mouth because you’re short on time. 

On Day 1 of quarantine, you roll out of bed and don’t even bother to change out of your pajamas. It’s quite the sight. Not that you care whether or not your hair looks like a bird’s nest or if there’s a small hole in your shirt. You’d gladly take your flannel pants and old university sweatshirt with the coffee stain by the collar over the rigid pencil skirt and stupid obligatory heels they force you to wear to the office. Ironing? You don’t know her. 

That’s not to say there aren't any inconveniences but as of now, the pros outweigh the cons. For one, you’re now allowed to add as much sugar into your coffee without susciting your coworkers’ judgement. You can blast angry rap songs while finishing your reports and no one will stop you. The list goes on. 

With all this newfound time on your hands, you have no more valid reasons to procrastinate. You start off by cleaning out the kitchen cabinets you’d been meaning to re-organize for months. Then you rearrange your wardrobe, dust off the top shelves of your bookcase that you usually skip over because no one can see them, and water the potted plants you’d been neglecting. 

It feels great to be so productive. Your friends tell you via FaceConnect that your productivity streak won’t last long, but you’re quick to shake off their doubts. 

“I’m a new me!” You insist when Mia’s laughter echoes around your empty apartment. “My life is back on track. I feel like a proper adult now that I’m not struggling so much to get everything done.”

“Sure,” she humors you. “Just don’t get upset when I tell you I told you so.”

.

[Day 8 of lockdown.]

Now that your apartment is cleaner than it’s ever been, you need to find other means of entertainment. According to the internet, now is the ideal time to learn a new language or acquire a new hobby, like crocheting or playing the guitar. But while it might be technically possible to learn a language, you’re definitely not an overachiever. You’re aware of your own limits. 

Today you try your hand at baking. To some it might not seem like a big deal. But for someone like you who solely uses the kitchen to boil ramyeon packets and chop the occasional vegetable, today’s venture into the world of cooking is the equivalent of a quantum leap. 

The molten lava cakes that come out of the oven 15 minutes later don’t look like the picture advertised in the online recipe. They don’t taste like how you’d expected, either. 

You try not to be too disappointed with your failed attempt. After all, it’s only your first try. Dry cakes aren’t that bad in comparison to the horrors that could have occurred. At least nothing is burnt and your oven is still intact. You’ll try again tomorrow with hopefully a little more success.

.

[Day 16 of lockdown.]

It turns out that baking is not for you. After numerous trials and errors you learn a few days later that you have no vacation to be a baker. You end up abandoning all attempts to acquire a new hobby and instead look for new ways to pass the time. 

Thankfully, your home server is offering free VOD for a limited amount of time, so you’re not short on distractions. You consume around half a dozen cult movies, the kind people always reference and quote without actually watching, before you finally begin crossing TV series off your to-watch list. 

You yawn. It’s 9 PM on a Saturday night and you’ve just finished binging the entire season of Tiger King. It’s the third show you’ve watched from start to finish since quarantine began and now you’re wondering whether you should start a fourth. 

“Well, it’s not like I have anything better to do,” you say before a grimace crosses your face. “Oh great... Now I’m talking to myself.” 

That can’t be a good sign, you think to yourself. How long has it been since you’ve last talked to someone? You used to call your parents every day but when there’s nothing new to report, the conversations become repetitive and dull. 

You should call Mia. Just to see how she’s doing.

.

[Day 24 of lockdown.] 

YOUR WEEKLY BASKET FROM FOODCONNECT HAS ARRIVED. ALL PURCHASES WILL BE ADDED TO YOUR MONTHLY EXPENSES CARD. REMINDER THAT DUE TO THE EXCEPTIONAL CIRCUMSTANCES, CONNECT CARDS ARE ALLOWED A 5000 EXCESS OVER FIXED LIMIT. TOTAL EXCESS HAS NOT YET BEEN REACHED.

.

[Day 38 of lockdown.] 

You’re browsing BH, hoping to restock your vitamins. Lately you’ve been feeling tired and mentally drained, despite your workload not being what it used to be. Why you’re so exhausted is a mystery you’ve yet to solve. In all logic, your energy level should be at an all time high now that you’re working less and spending all your free time lounging on the couch surfing the internet. 

According to the national health guideline, you’re supposed to be exercising an hour a day minimum in order for your body to remain in good condition. Your BODYCONNECT watch monitor beeps every hour to remind you that you haven’t completed the suggested activity. 

Ugh. 

You press the button on the side of the watch to turn the reminder off. It’s the fifth time you’ve had to silence it today but you can’t bring yourself to work up a sweat right this minute. You keep telling yourself that you’ll exercise later but like all things lately, later ends up being never. 

Come to think of it, this isn’t the first time you’ve caught yourself slacking off. Where did all your motivation during week 1 of lockdown go? You don’t even have the strength to do ten jumping jacks anymore; it’s like your bones belong to a person three times your age - feeble and brittle and threatening to break at a moment’s notice. 

LOW ON SEROTONIN? WE’VE GOT YOU COVERED. Flash promo over in 00:32:43! Limited offer while supplies last.

A bright yellow advertisement flashes on the top right corner of your screen. Intrigued, you follow the link without expecting much. The last thing you expect is to be brought directly to BH LAB’s homepage. 

“Um… I don’t think I have the budget for this…” You mutter under your breath and prepare to exit out of the page. 

Androids are usually employed by the government but the ones for sale to the general public are known to be exorbitantly expensive. 

A message reads: EXCLUSIVE 1 HOUR PROMO, 40% OFF YOUR FIRST PURCHASE. Click here for more details. Offer valid for new customers only. 

You pause and decide to click on the link. Looking around won’t hurt anyone, right? It’s not like you’ve decided to buy anything yet. 

The seven Dwellers available for sale are just as good looking as you expected them to be. Their unnaturally good looks and vibrant green eyes are what makes them easy to pick out from the crowd. 

You skim through each Dweller’s description. It seems that apart from the physical differences like their facial features and build, they each have their own specialty and characteristics. One of the best-selling models boasts the cooking ability of a 5-star chef, which you admit sounds very tempting since your skills with a knife are pathetic enough to make Gordon Ramsey cry. 

Another best-selling model specializes in...sex. You blink, your cheeks warming as you read over the model’s description (the “thick, vibrating cock that guarantees an orgasm every time!” comment makes you choke on your saliva). You can understand straight away why this particular model would be so popular. All of the models are pretty, but this one’s face doesn’t look like it’s from this world. Confinement would make anyone horny, and when promised a godly sex bot equipped with a vibrating dick, well…

Too bad you’re too tired these days to even think about having “mind-blowing sex for 5 hours straight.” Having such intense intercourse would probably make you pass out on the Dweller’s artificial cock, and there’s no way in hell you would want someone from CONNECT to intervene after receiving distressed signals from your body monitor. That would just be embarrassing. 

You’re about to exit out of the page, curiosity sated, when the last model catches your eye.

SEROTONIN BOOSTER. Low on energy? Feeling sad or depressed? Need a companion? 

This model is perfect for you! Model JHS is equipped with emotion sensors. They will fulfill your every need even when you’re not able to vocalize them. Stressed? They specialize in massages and are proficient in: Swedish massages, Aromatherapy, Shiatsu massages, Reflexology, among others. 

Personality : This model is energetic. They are very active and therefore requires a minimum 6 hours to recharge. They are extremely tactile and will easily engage in skinship such as hugs or holding hands. They are talkative and will hold passionate conversations with you about almost any subject. 

Likes : cleaning, working out

Dislikes : horror movies, strong smells

When reading the description, it feels they’re talking about a person rather than an android. You’re surprised to see that the Dwellers are programmed to have a certain personality that caters to specific needs because the only androids you’ve ever come across before are the government ones, and they’ve always been stoic and devoid of any distinguishing characteristic. 

It would be nice, you think, to have a companion. Someone you could talk to for real instead of through a pixelated hologram. As much as you enjoy your time alone, each passing day locked in your apartment makes you realize how much you long for a hug. You miss holding someone in your arms, feeling their heartbeat against your cheek and the rise and fall of their chest as they squeeze you back. 

Model JHS looks like he could fill that vacancy. Their smile is blinding, like they’re physically radiating sunshine through their expression alone. You don’t doubt their capacity to bring positive energy into your life. 

Before you can think twice about it you’re adding the model to your shopping cart. The site asks you if you want to pay more in order to customize them. For an additional fee, you’re able to tweak the Dweller’s personality or modify their physical attributes to your liking. You skip over the option. For one, you don’t have the funds to afford a vibrating dick enhancement and two, you’re more than satisfied with your Dweller as they are.

It’s not until you finish supplying all your information including your Connect Card details and shipping address that you realize what a monumental purchase you’re about to make and how empty your account will be by the end of it.

You stare at the price listed at the bottom of the screen and weigh your options. Even with the 40% reduction, it’s not a negligible sum. You could buy several models of the new Birkin bag you’d been saving up for with this money. 

Why purchase designer bags when you can’t even go out and use them? a voice argues. And - uh. Fair point. 

In any case, you’d have to stop shopping, eating out all the time and going on frivolous trips overseas. Not that you really have a choice, given the circumstances. 

You look at the laptop screen again. Are you seriously so touch-deprived that you’re willing to fork over that much money for a live-at-home android? Really? 

Fuck it. 

You click on [VALIDATE PAYMENT] before rationality has time to kick in and you change your mind again. Just as the screen changes and the new page loads, you feel your heart leap to your throat but it’s too late to back out now. 

PROCESSING ORDER …

...

CONGRATULATIONS! 

YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY ORDERED (1) DWELLER - JHS MODEL. WE THANK YOU FOR YOUR PURCHASE. 

(!) Your order is eligible for Instant Shipping (delivered to your door in 24 hours or less). 

(!!) Due to exception circumstances, your order might encounter delays. We are taking multiple steps to ensure the safety and hygiene of all products and shipments. For more information click here.

(!) All BH products are covered by a limited two-year warranty. Please refer to warranty details regarding your product in the Dweller E-HandBook, free for download here. Please register your product after purchase in order to qualify for future claims, returns, and support.

You expel the breath you’d been holding. Your father will throw a fit once he finds out you’ve blown all your money on a bot. The criticism is warranted.

What are you even supposed to say to defend yourself? You’ve bought a  Dweller on a whim while browsing for Vitamin C supplements.

Quarantine is really making you lose your goddamn mind, huh.

#blurb.txt #idk what to think of this tbh so i guess i'm just testing the waters?? if it's not too weird i'll write the rest #i really hesitated btwn jimin and hoseok dflkdjf it was a hard decision #drabble named after that lauv song

[clansayeed]

Things Worth Keeping, or the Annual Raines Corp. Fourth of July Charity Gala

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil)

⥼ Summary ⥽

Kamilah takes great care in preserving some of the more sentimental articles of clothing she's acquired over the years. Nadya realizes she might have a historical costume kink.

word count: 2,775 rating: teen+ content warnings: language, brief political discourse, implied sexual undertones, implied kink

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽ 

So it turns out every time there’s an event that requires Kamilah’s attendance (specifically requires, since the Awakening Ball was both some weird vampire-political obligation and her wanting to see Marcel again) the mannequins come out.

Only for costume events though.

Or… she’s decided ‘every’ just because what are the chances she’s lucky enough to behold the sight of Kamilah Sayeed in period wear twice in one year? Apparently very good, very good indeed.

The vampire takes it upon herself to explain while fussing with a few collars and sleeves rumpled in transit. Nadya takes it upon herself to listen intently — takes everything in her willpower not to take notes. “Indeed one comes to terms rather early on that all objects are replaceable and their worth is only what the owner projects upon them,” which is quite a lot judging by the little smile Nadya sees peeking at the corner of Kamilah’s lips as she works, “and because I have had the misfortune of losing things I once coveted, I see no harm in preserving that which has stayed with me.”

Nadya adjusts her seat on the couch; makes sure the lid on her travel mug is secure otherwise she’ll never be allowed to drink in the front room again. “Is that a really fancy way of saying ‘I think it’s really pretty and I want to keep it that way?’”

Kamilah goes still. Not the tense kind of still that makes Nadya want to stuff her words back in her mouth but the kind of still she’s come to understand will reap very wise rewards. If she’s patient enough.

She’s learning to be patient enough.

“I suppose if you wish to bring the sentiment down to the simplest terms… yes.”

And oh man even that little agreement has Nadya buzzing excited.

“I’m so excited — this is gonna be so much fun!”

“What it will be, Nadya, is a gross exaggeration more akin to a serial drama than the real thing.”

“Wow, grumpy pants. Where’s your sense of patriotism?”

“In the same gutter as the ideals on which this nation was founded.”

Okay, fair point. But that brings up a very good series of questions all scrambling to make themselves heard. Which goes about as well as it always does and leaves Nadya tongue-tied and mute.

More than a few times Kamilah throws subtle looks in Nadya’s direction. Totally discreet and casual — done while circling a dress here, adjusting a cravat there. And each time she asks some variation of “Are you sure this is how you wish to spend your evening?” Nadya gives her the same answer.

“There’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be.”

The final time Kamilah is just close enough to turn crisp on her heel and bring them face to face. Her deep honey eyes roam Nadya’s face and spare no detail; like she’s one of those pretty dresses Kamilah’s kept after all these years.

It makes Nadya feel small and big, whole down to the tips of her toes but also just a sliver in Kamilah’s long long life. Which is a lot to feel for someone of her size. Maybe too much.

Cool, soft lips on her forehead force Nadya to open eyes she didn’t know she was squeezing shut. No longer scrutinizing, now the vampiress allows them both a rare glimpse behind the mask. To the concern she guards close and reserves for those she cares about.

Adrian, Gerard, Marcel… Nadya.

She cares about me that way. Holy cow.

“You truly mean that.” Kamilah says and it isn’t a question. Kamilah isn’t in the business of asking stupid questions to which she knows the answers — that’s Nadya’s ball game.

“Of course I do.”

“Forgive my surprise.”

“Always.”

It’s just a kiss. People kiss all the time, all over the world. But those people aren’t Nadya and they aren’t kissing Kamilah so they couldn’t possibly know how wonderful and important and loved each one makes her feel.

Along with all the other things that make her squeak when they part. It’s impossible to miss that look in Kamilah’s gaze.

“While I enjoy your company immensely Nadya… I may have to ask you to leave,” even though the trace of her finger over Nadya’s lips kind of contradicts that, “as I do have to attend a conference call before the night is through.”

Nadya doesn’t even care that her pout is a little childish. “I thought you took the day off for this.”

“I took a half day for this. You were the one who insisted on losing an entire night’s productivity to help me choose my attire.”

“I’ll be quiet?” There’s no harm in trying, right? Thankfully Kamilah still seems more amused than anything.

“You misunderstand.”

Does she, though, because there are only so many ways to take the sudden closeness. Kamilah’s hands braced atop the back of the couch pinning Nadya between the cushion and her permanence, the contradictory darkness in her bright eyes with their lowered lashes, and oh my god that smirk…

Then Kamilah’s leaning in to whisper in her ear and she’s just—just jello, absolute jello. “I had hoped to be finished by now, yet I keep finding myself distracted.”

Jello or not though Nadya will always be Nadya.

“I—I can leave, if… if that’s what you want.” I know work is important to you. I know schedules are important to you even though your organizational methods are outdated and frankly anxiety-inducing. I know you have a lot to get done and only so many hours of moonlight to do it…

Kamilah doesn’t answer. Instead just taps the underside of Nadya’s chin with her pointer finger and gives a smile in reward when the human lifts her head obediently.

“What do you want, Nadya?”

You know what I want, she would normally say, but if she did then all their… all their training would be for nothing. And don’t memories of that (as recent as, uhm, three in the afternoon today) make her zone out somewhere over Kamilah’s shoulder.

Seven mannequins; still headless, still creepy. Four beautiful ballgowns and a priceless Egyptian kalasiris†, a definitely custom-tailored zoot suit, and…

Holy broad stripes and bright stars.

“I asked you a question.”

Oh yeah, she’s definitely wearing that.

Kamilah doesn’t have to remind her twice. Nadya leans forward what little she can; basks shamelessly in the one thing in the entire world she knows she’s earned—

The way Kamilah looks at her with absolute pride.

“You. I want you.”

Its so fulfilling to see all her hard work come together in one place, on one night, and with the promise of fireworks to come. There’s just something about fireworks. She loves ‘em.

Jax lets out his fifth heavy and long-suffering sigh of the minute. A personal best, but Nadya’s having too much fun to ruin the night by telling him.

Unfortunately her hoop skirt makes it hard to sidle up for a hip-check. Cue sigh number six.

“You know I’m technically the hostess for this thing, right?”

“Are you saying you’re the person I complain to?”

She huffs. “No, I’m saying that your grumpy face is personally offending me.”

She can’t tell if he’s purposefully avoiding her eyes out of spite or shame — then a roaring yelp of laughter from the dance floor draws Nadya’s attention out to where Lily and Maricruz spin fast-paced and free; held together by just their hands and their shared looks of ‘I couldn’t care less where I am so long as it’s with you.’

At least that gets a little smile out of Mr. Grumpy-Pants.

A costumed server stops at the pair of them and offers his tray of goodies up like sin. Nadya spares two quick glances over either shoulder — thankfully Adrian has donors to schmooze and Kamilah hasn’t arrived yet — before she plucks a cheese cube carved in the shape of the Liberty Bell.

But it isn’t enough that Jax has to act so unhappy the entire gala — now he’s stealing her snack and eating it himself?! Where’s my purse, where’s my stake?!

What else can she do but gape? He doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed, just chews and chews and swallows while trying to ease the itch in his legs caused by the borrowed hose.

“Lily warned me you might make bad choices.”

So what? I’m a grown woman, I can make bad choices if I want to. “Are all of you in on some big conspiracy to keep me from cheese?”

“If it’ll spare you future pain, yeah.” Which — she wasn’t expecting that. Nadya can’t help but feel her face soften. One look down her way though and he rolls his eyes. “Stop it.”

“You hate my party. You steal my cheese. What’s next, burning my crops and delivering a plague onto my house?”

Jax looks appalled — which is a real shame. That would have gone over so well with Lily. “I—what?!”

Nadya just waves it off though. “Forget it. Just…” oh hey look, time for her own sigh, “forget it.”

“It’s not you. It’s these tights.”

“They’re hose.”

“They itch.”

“Imagine wearing them all the time.”

Nadya is totally enjoying her frilly not-period-accurate-in-the-slightest ensemble but of course Adrian is the only one who looks really right in his whole get up. It’s a good thing he has to wear modern suits and styles or else he’d be pegged for a vampire right away.

Her boss pulls her in for a one-armed hug, expertly outmaneuvering the skirt but he probably has experience with that, huh? And his smile only widens as he takes in Jax in all his colonial glory.

“They were good in the winter, obviously. Though I’ll admit once I didn’t feel the weather anymore the discomfort really presented itself as a problem.”

Jax just rolls his eyes. “Why do I feel like you throw this thing just to say shit like that?” Which— she can tell he’s trying to be sarcastic but Adrian definitely goes tense beside her.

“I ‘throw this thing,’ as you say, because my own personal wealth can only go so far, and most of it is immaterial. But every donation is material, and that maximizes the good I can do with it.”

Nadya nods eagerly. “There’s like six different scholarships in STEM research alone, I think a dozen in the business sector, and when we get to our goal tonight —” she knows they will, Raines Corp. history states they always do and Raines Corp. never had her to push them above and beyond, “— the company’ll have enough to match the city’s bid for the abandoned tunnel reconstruction project.”

If he ever read the minutes she sent him after every Council meeting he’d know this, but when Jax said he didn’t do paperwork he meant he really didn’t do paperwork.

But it’s enough to get his attention. “And what happens then?”

Adrian shrugs. “I postpone it. The most I can do without getting politicians involved is five years but I figure… that should be long enough to either relocate the former Clanless and break even, or fortify the Shadow Den enough that any efforts won’t cause structural damage. Unfortunately Vega’s interim replacement hasn’t officially made her views on such things known, but I think with time —”

It’s—as Lily would put it—freakin’ cinematic. How Adrian’s voice fades away to a buzzing in her ears and Jax’s reply sounds like a mouthful of cotton. The music dims and the lights aren’t as bright except where they fall on her when she strides through the open double doors.

Now let it be known that Nadya firmly believes Kamilah looks amazing in anything. Her power suits, a crimson dress from centuries gone, the plum kimono she uses as a nightgown… Honestly she’d probably somehow make a banana costume look sinfully sexy.

No. What? No. Moving on.

And even though Nadya knew the moment she laid eyes on the uniform it was the non-negotiable choice — her brain put some weird filter on itself to keep her from imagining just what that looked like. Probably to try and keep her sane.

Because the real thing… there are literally no words.

Adrian’s laugh comes both from behind her and a million miles away. “Would you look at that. Now that is a sight that brings back memories.”

“Wow, color me surprised.” Jax deadpans.

Adrian is a close personal friend of the New York Historical Reenactment Society (surprisingly not a bunch of vampires… if there was ever a group suspect but no, she’s checked) and most of them are in attendance tonight. They make Nadya look like her dress—a gift from Adrian, rental only—was bought at a cheap pop-up Halloween store.

And Kamilah makes them look like a middle school theatre cast. There’s just something about the fabric, the way it fits her and the way she carries not just the uniform but her own body inside of it that makes her look authentic. No one would believe her; not with the freshly-oiled leather and polished brass buttons, but Nadya’s chaotic-dumb brain really wants to scream “take a look at the real deal, ya posers!”

Kamilah’s hand rests on the glossy hilt of her saber as she approaches. Eyes passing right over Adrian — probably used to the sight — and sparing Jax absolute no dignity in the soft “ha” she gives.

“I didn’t know we could wear uniforms.”

Kamilah raises an eyebrow and tucks a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. “You… have one?”

“No,” sigh number seven, “but I would’ve tried to find one. Anything to get out of these tights.”

“They were useful during winter.”

Adrian laughs and gestures to her eagerly. “That’s what I said!”

Kamilah wasn’t ignoring her, not on purpose. That’s made obvious the second she finally does take in every skirt and frill, every pearl in her necklace and lets her eyes linger where Nadya’s chest heaves against her corset.

“Nadya, you look as beautiful as ever.” Then Kamilah takes her hand and kisses the back of it with a soldier’s courteous bow. Where’d I leave that dumb lace fan…?

She’s about 99.9% sure Kamilah holding her hand is the only thing keeping her standing right now.

Adrian snickers. Nadya couldn’t care less. “Careful there, General Sayeed††. Your lady seems about to swoon.”

Thankfully the woman takes heed and pulls Nadya close, possibly the most public affection they’ve ever had holy crap on a cracker, resting a hand on the curve of her hip. Yet she looks at Adrian with… what is that, mild annoyance?

“You know very well I was not named General until nearly a century later.”

Jax mouths his silent counting — blanches; “You were a General in the Civil War? You know what — of course you were.”

“A discussion for another day, perhaps.” Kamilah dismisses him just shy of pushing him out the door; lucky for Nadya both he and Adrian take the hint and fade into the cinematic background.

It’s just Nadya and Kamilah now.

“Hello.”

“H-Hi.”

Long fingers brush a strand of Nadya’s hair aside feather-light. “You do look… stunning, Nadya. You look stunning. Blue becomes you yet again.”

Blue? She’s wearing blue? Because her face is scarlet. “You — I mean — wow like…” words Nadya — words, “you really wore that and…” And fought in it?

Kamilah’s nod is curt. “In a sense. My skills were best suited to espionage, sabotage and the like.”

“Of course they were.”

“Though I’m gladdened to know the uniform still becomes me.”

As if it ever wouldn’t. “You look perfect in, like, everything.” But Kamilah’s not a fan of those kinds of blanket statements, so she tries again a little bit more from the heart. “You make a uniform look really good, that’s what I mean.”

The hand on her hip presses down then; important and as on purpose as everything else Kamilah does. Through the fabric right underneath her hand a familiar purpling not-at-all-bruise sings sweet on Nadya’s skin. Of course Kamilah knows where the love bite is. She was the one who gifted it.

“I may be the soldier…” Kamilah pulls her close; a hold of stone — she leans down to ghost a kiss at Nadya’s jaw (and knows it will drive her wilder than wild) and whisper in her ear.

“But you’ll be the one taking orders.”

Nadya’s last coherent thought?

She really needs to find more chances to get Kamilah in costume.

NOTE: While this fic technically exists in the Oblivion Bound universe it works standalone as well, I think. The only references are brief and to Maricruz Espinoza, a vampire original character and girlfriend of Lily, and a sort-of reference to the fact that Marcel survived in my fanfiction. Hopefully it still reads well!

#bloodbound #kamilah x mc #kamilah sayeed #adrian raines #playchoices fanfiction #; my fics #mc: nadya al jamil #jax matsuo

[carapeace]

(ok so the keep reading thing is being Weird And Mean so i had to repost the whole thing)

(i’m sorry @involuntarydiaphragmspasm​ if you got multiple notifs for this i was tryna figure out how to make it work aaaaa)

but here it is if you want to read!! sorry i just saw the shark and kinda ran with the first idea that popped into my head and thus may have not captured all the other emojis well enough oops

Thanks so much for the ask!! 💞

~~

There were few things in this world that Nino Lahiffe was afraid of.

And when he says few, he means very few. Heights? No problem. Snakes? They were cool. Spiders? Irritating, but not scary. (Unless you happened to be Anansi.)

But sharks?

That was at the top of his fears list. Public enemy number one. Maybe it was seeing Jaws when he was five years old or maybe it was the turtle in him, but he hated sharks.

The rest of his fears list was remarkably small. The dark (since he was a kid), blood, public speaking, and Kagami Tsurugi.

(He couldn’t help it. She terrified him.)

So he was not thrilled, to say the least, to be trapped in an aquarium with nobody but Kagami to keep him company.

This was gonna be a long akuma fight.

They were all there in the first place because Marinette was paired up with Adrien on a marine biology project, and the two of them had to go to the aquarium to research, and of course Marinette couldn’t spend more than five minutes alone with Adrien without spontaneously combusting so she had to invite Alya as backup and then Alya invited Nino so she wouldn’t be third-wheeling and then Adrien asked Kagami and by some miracle she could come.

So the five of them went to the aquarium that day, Marinette and Adrien taking notes on the animals and Alya marveling at how cute the two of them were and Nino trying not to show how scared he was. He had no idea what Kagami was doing--he refused to look at her, because you never look your fears right in the eye.

Alya noticed he was acting apprehensive about halfway through, and she nudged him. “Everything all right, babe? You’re looking kind of pale.”

He nodded, managed a smile. Not even Alya knew how scared he was of sharks. And he couldn’t explain it to her now--she’d probably laugh. (Not in a mean way, in a boy-isn’t-it-ironic-that-I-made-you-face-your-worst-fear-by-accident way. He loved his girlfriend more than life, but sometimes she could be kind of tactless, and he didn’t really feel like having this conversation.) So he waved his hand. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

She clutched his arm and pointed straight ahead. “Look! A tunnel!”

He looked. It was indeed a tunnel.

She started pulling him by the elbow, holding up her phone. “We can watch all the fish swim around us! I’ve only seen this kind of thing in movies--c’mon!”

Marinette and Adrien were already inside, taking notes on the animals that they saw and reading the signs. Kagami was following them. She stepped into the tunnel and the blue light washed over her--she looked like a kid stepping into a candy store, her eyes lighting up, her mouth dropping open at the sharks swimming overhead and all around.

That was one long tunnel... Nino couldn’t even see the exit.

He gulped.

“All right.”

He took a tentative step inside the tunnel, trying not to cringe as a shark passed by overhead. Alya was all over everything, reading signs about the water pressure, about all the different animals. She always looked ethereal when she was passionate about something.

Nino tried not to imagine a shark swooping down and biting her head off.

Don’t think about that, don’t think about that...

Quite suddenly, there was a loud siren that made them all jump. Akuma alert, the loudspeaker blared. Akuma in the jellyfish hall. Please shelter in place immediately.

Oh, shit, Nino thought.

Marinette went pale and dropped her notebook, Adrien lunging and catching it just in time. He handed it to her. “I think... I think I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Uh, yeah... I think I left my purse in the touch pool room,” Marinette stammered. “I don’t want to lose it during the attack.”

They shared a glance, then sprinted toward the tunnel exit and out of sight.

Alya had to call Nino’s name several times before he heard it, and when he turned to her, she grinned and held her phone up. “I’ve got to film this. Ladybug and Chat Noir will be here any minute!”

And she ran off, too.

Not a minute too early, because the loudspeaker kept saying please shelter in place and then suddenly the ends of the tunnel were starting to close and the siren was going off and everything was too loud and he was trapped.

Nino Lahiffe was trapped in an enclosed tunnel, facing two of his five greatest fears in the face.

Shit shit shit.

Fear number five still hadn’t moved. She was staring at the sharks, eyes wide, washed in the blue light from the water. She followed a shark with her eyes.

Nino sat down and tried not to tremble.

Shiiiiiiit.

Then, so suddenly it made him jump, she snapped her head toward him, eyes locking onto his. Like an owl. Or a shark. “Nino, is it?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Yeah.”

Silence. Nino tried not to watch the sharks. He pigeon-toed his feet inwards. This nightmare couldn’t be over fast enough.

The silence was actually kind of peaceful, he thought. If he didn’t think about the sharks. Or Kagami. If he just thought about the water, the coral, the calmness of it all--

“Is Nino a full name or a nickname?”

He jumped again. “Jeez, dude, don’t do that, you scared me--”

“Oh,” said Kagami. She looked down at her feet, and he swore she looked--sad? No. Trick of the light.

“Nino’s my full name,” he said quietly. “I don’t have any nicknames.”

He made the mistake of looking to the left then, and a giant shark passed by, so big his whole body could fit in its mouth. It took him a minute to realize his arm was trembling and another minute to steady himself.

He leaned against the wall that had trapped him in the tunnel, hoping it would open, wondering if it would make him feel better or worse to play some music right about now. On the one hand, no more awkward conversations with Kagami. On the other hand, a shark could easily attack him and he wouldn’t hear anything.

He decided the safest bet was to leave the headphones off.

“What’s your blood type?”

“What?”

Kagami turned towards him. She looked so much like a shark in this light that it gave him the shivers. “Your blood type.”

“I don’t know.” And he didn’t really want to talk about it. Blood was fear number three. He didn’t much feel like adding another fear to the pile right about now.

“That’s very interesting. Marinette didn’t know hers, either. I suppose it’s a French thing, to not know your blood type. I am O.”

“Huh.”

She resumed her post, watching the animals. He’d have thought she was a statue, how still she was. “Do you like sitting there?”

“What?”

“Sitting where you are. Do you like it?”

Nino shrugged, and then the impossible happened--she walked over next to him and sat down.

This day could not get any worse.

She looked at him, and somehow he found himself looking back, even though you never look your fears in the eye, Lahiffe, what are you DOING?

“Do you drink orange juice?”

He shook his head to clear it and looked at the ceiling--no, don’t look there, there are sharks. There was a fear everywhere he turned. The safest bet was just to look at the floor.

“Yeah, sometimes,” he said to his sneakers.

“Me, too,” she said.

And then something weird took hold of his words and suddenly he choked out “do you like soda?”

She shrugged, looked up at the sharks above. “My mother says that soda has too much sugar. But she allowed orange juice. It was the sweetest drink I had as a kid. I always loved it. Sometimes I had it for dessert.”

“Orange juice for dessert?” he cried.

Kagami looked at him with a weird expression on her face. “Yes. What?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled. “It’s just--you should try soda. When you get the chance.”

“Okay,” she replied, and they lapsed into silence.

Nino thought of Alya, whether she was getting herself into trouble or whether she was staying safe. He really hoped she was okay, that she wasn’t in too much danger.

“What’s your favorite animal?” said Kagami.

“Turtle,” replied Nino without thinking.

Kagami cocked her head. “Why?”

“They’re--” he thought. “They’re survivors.”

Kagami nodded sagely, like he’d just said something very wise.

“What about you?”

“Dragon,” said Kagami. “Even though they’re not real in the technical sense. They’re powerful, in a special kind of way. But if I had to pick a real animal... sharks. I’ve never seen one in person before.”

Sharks.

Of course this girl’s favorite animal would be sharks.

Kagami frowned. “Is everything all right, Nino?”

Nino filled up his lungs, emptied them. He stuck his head between his knees.

“I’m scared of sharks.”

It was very strange saying the words out loud. He’d never told anybody that, not even Alya. Not even Chris. And now here he was, telling his fifth fear about his first fear for no particular reason--what was going on with him today?

There was a few seconds of silence, and then Kagami said, “Oh. Was that why you looked so uncomfortable?”

Nino nodded.

“I’m sorry, Nino.”

Nino blinked. “It’s all right. I’m sorry--I shouldn’t have even--forget it.”

Silence for one two three four five six seven heart-stopping seconds--

Then Kagami reached out a tentative hand and placed it on his shoulder. She left it there for a few seconds and made something that resembled a smile, and it dawned on Nino in that moment that maybe she was a little bit afraid of him, too.

She retracted her hand and wrapped her arms around her legs, curled up in a ball. Both of them watched the water overhead.

He turned to her. “What kind of music do you listen to?”

“I don’t.”

He laughed. When she didn’t join in, he stopped. “You’re serious.”

She nodded. “My mother says it’s a distraction.”

“You don’t listen to music?”

She shook her head, looking politely bewildered. “Is that bad?”

Nino, in a split-second decision, pulled his headphones off his neck and placed them on her ears, sweeping her hair out of the way. She sat up straight, surprised. “What--”

“Trust me.”

He picked up his phone and scrolled through the library--a song that Kagami would like. What song would Kagami like? He barely knew the girl. Ten minutes ago she was his fifth greatest fear, and now...

Now he didn’t know.

He picked out a lofi song, slow and calm, with a low beat that always reminded him of the color blue. He pressed play, and at first Kagami looked surprised, but after a couple of seconds she relaxed and started to close her eyes.

That day was the first time Nino had ever seen Kagami Tsurugi smile, eyes closed, head leaned back on the floor of the aquarium during an akuma attack while Ladybug and Chat Noir were off doing who knew what and there was water on all sides of them and the sharks swam and danced overhead.

It was gorgeous.

By the time Nino left the aquarium that day, one of his fears was gone.

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #nino #kagami #involuntarydiaphragmspasm #thanks for the ask ily #this was super fun #i totally got carried away it's way longer than i thought it was gonna be #but anyway here you go!!!

[bubonickitten]

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: tumblr // AO3

Chapter 6 full text & content warnings under the cut:

   CWs for Chapter 6: some ableism &internalized ableism (re: ADHD & anxiety); panic attacks; one (1) swear, because Jon is BORED and he CAN'T HANDLE IT and it is A MOOD. SPOILERS through S5.

   Chapter 6: Rude Awakening

   Jon is back in that blank vacuum, and time is doing that thing where every moment feels like an eternity. He suspects it might have just as much to do with his innate intolerance of boredom as it does with sensory deprivation. The lack of any sort of stimulation in this place is unbearable. He never has been able to sit still for long periods of time, and he can’t even fidget here, for fucks sake.

  It’s like he’s a child again...

  ...seven years old and lying face-down on the kitchen floor, swinging his legs in the air, complaining loudly about how there’s nothing to do. Normally, his grandmother might snap at him to go outside and stop pestering her, but a vicious thunderstorm is passing through and she won’t let him play in it – and besides, he’s technically grounded.

  Just two days ago, he had wandered off after being forbidden from leaving the yard. Again.

  In his defense, there was a cat sunning itself just beyond the fence, and he wanted to say hello because he loves cats but his grandmother won’t let him have one, and then the cat stood up and yawned and trotted off, and obviously he had to follow it, and then – before he knew it, two officers were escorting him home. Again.

  His grandmother had been shocked to find the police on her doorstep with her intractable grandson in tow – she hadn’t noticed he was missing – yet again.

  After they left, she was furious with him for embarrassing her like that. Again and again and again. 

  So, now he’s under house arrest – a new term that he had picked up from the officers: “Your grandmother is going to put you under house arrest if you keep wandering off like this, kid.” The first couple times, they had found his meanderings and adventurous nature cute, albeit worrisome; by the third time, the charm had worn off and the weary indulgence vanished along with it; by the fourth time, he received a stern dressing down about safety and recklessness and making things difficult for his poor grandmother; and now, the fifth time, there had been a not-so-subtle warning about contacting social services to investigate neglect....  

  With each scolding, Jon would feel appropriately abashed in the moment, but it never took long for it to fade into the background, drowned out by a mind understimulated and screaming for some novel distraction. Somehow, courting negative attention was preferable to receiving no attention at all. When adults were being charitable, they called him precocious and clever. When he was testing their patience, though, he was a difficult child, a nuisance, a bother – and he had a tendency to exhaust even the most tolerant adult’s patience very, very quickly. He's always been... difficult.

  God, why is he even thinking about this? Is he really so starved for something to occupy his attention that he’s digging into the annals of his childhood?

  (Yes. Yes he is.)

  He throws his head back with an aggravated sigh. Or he would, if he had a body here, but whenever there’s no dreamer around to witness him, he’s an incorporeal mind floating in nothingness.

  What he wouldn’t give to be able to just jiggle his leg right now. Tap his fingers. Play with his hair – or better yet, Martin’s; his hair was always so soft and he would always lean into Jon’s touch like a cat. It will probably be awhile before Jon gets to touch him again. If ever. What if –

  Stop, he tells himself. You’re only going to catastrophize, and then you’ll get depressed, and then you’ll be useless. Why are you always so difficult? You –

  He throws the brakes so quickly he can almost feel the screeching halt. Crashing a train of thought like that is like ignoring an itch. Itch, itch, itch, the word echoes in his head – and now he wants to scratch at his worm scars.

  Wait, no, don’t think about them – it’ll just make you itchy, and you don’t even have a body, which means you won’t be able to scratch, and – and, yes, now you’re itchy, and – damn it, can’t you just sit still and clear your mind for five sec–

  “Um. Hello, Jon. Do you… mind if I call you Jon?”

  Wait. Is that…   

  “I mean, you don’t actually know me. It’s just, well. ‘Archivist.’ It’s so formal, isn’t it?”

  Oliver! Finally, Jon thinks with relief.

  “Dreams are like that, you know. No matter how lucid you think they are, there’s always that part that just drags you along. Guess I don’t need to tell you that. At least, not right now.”

  Oliver. Oliver, can you hear me?

  Oliver sighs. “Wish I could tell you why I came here.”

  Apparently not.

  “Wish I knew why I came here.”

  When in doubt, blame the Web.

  “Sorry to go on, I – I don’t talk to many people these days. Putting my thoughts outside myself, it gets a bit, er, clumsy.”

  Jon knows the feeling.

  “Be easier if you could talk back, right? Ask me questions, have it tumble all out?”

  Easier, sure. But far more unpleasant.

  “But no. It’s – it’s just me. Wish there was a better way, but touching someone’s mind, it’s not as simple as that? Doesn’t always make things clearer, you know?”

  Again, Jon does know.

  “Still, I gave the old woman a statement, so maybe I owe you one as well. That’s how it works, right? Give your terror, give your dream?”

  Unfortunately.

  “It’s not like I don’t have them to spare.”

  Preaching to a choir, Oliver.   

  “Let me tell you about how I tried to escape.”

  No – let’s – can we just move things along?

  “So. My name is Oliver Banks. In my other statements, I used the name Antonio Blake, but…”

  Guess not.

  This probably counts as a live statement, and Jon had been keen to avoid those this time around. He wishes he could cover his ears, shut his eyes, block it all out – but then again, even if he could, would he? That familiar single-minded fixation is settling over him like a heavy fog, and it’s as unnerving as ever – a craving that he doesn’t want to indulge, but once he has a taste, it feels right. The guilt never comes until after the need is satiated.

  It’s nearly impossible to stop a statement once it starts. His mind starts to go fuzzy, restless, full of static and pressure. He’s always wondered: is this what compulsion feels like to the ones he turns it upon?

  The static fades then, everything becoming sharp and clear and real, like a picture coming into focus. The Archivist is hungry, intent on every single word like a cat, motionless and unblinking, watching a moth beat itself senseless against a light.

  And the Archive – the Archive is ravenous. Its presence looms in the background in a way that it hasn’t since before Jon passed through the rift, weighing heavily on the back of his mind.  

  He gives up on trying to reach out and touch Oliver’s mind for the time being, gives in to the need, and listens as the story twines itself around and through his thoughts.

  When Oliver finishes his account several minutes later, Jon feels brighter, more alert, reinvigorated. The disgust and shame will creep up on him later, he’s sure, but for now, it feels right. He feels whole. 

  “Right,” Oliver says. “That’s, uh, it, I suppose. Maybe you heard me. Maybe you’ll dream.”

  Oliver, Jon tries again. This time, for the briefest of moments, he thinks he can hear a subdued hum of static. Can you hear me?

  “Then again, maybe I just wasted my breath – but I don’t think so. Honestly, I’m still not exactly sure why I’m here. But you know better than anyone how the spiders can get into your head.”

  You don’t need to rub it in, Jon mutters to himself. 

  “Easier to just do what she asks.”

  I beg to differ. The static picks up again, more of a persistent buzz this time. Oliver, listen –

  “The thing is, Jon, right now you have a choice. You’ve put it off a long time, but it’s trapping you here. You’re not quite human enough to die, but still too human to survive.”

  Yes, yes, I know. The buzz becomes a shrill whine. Oliver!

  “You’re balanced on an edge where the End can’t touch you, but you can’t escape him. I made a choice. We all made choices. Now you have to –”

  Oliver Banks.

  “Um?” 

  Finally, Jon thinks, exasperated.  

  “Jon?” Oliver ventures. “Or, uh – Archivist?” 

  I prefer Jon. 

  “Huh.” Jon can pick up a soft squeaking noise, as if Oliver just leaned back in his chair. “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how you’re even doing this.”

  Neither do I, but I don’t exactly have time to contemplate that right now –

  “I suppose it’s similar to Elias’ ability to broadcast knowledge into another person’s mind,” Oliver muses, almost to himself.

  Oh. It… it is, isn’t it? That’s… not a comforting thought.

  “I didn’t realize it was something the Archivist could do as well. I thought your job was more… acquiring knowledge, pulling answers out of people, not impressing it upon them.”

  I’d… really rather not dwell on it, Jon says, tamping down the burst of fear that surges through him at the thought of comparing himself to Jonah. His mind has gotten trapped in that particular rut many times before, and it's never a good place to be.

  Either Oliver respects Jon's wishes or simply doesn't care to waste energy pressing him on the matter, because he drops it and moves on to the main reason for his visit.  

  “Have you made your choice, Jon?”

  I made my choice months ago. I just couldn’t figure out how to – how to act on it. How to actually wake up.

  “I confess, I’m surprised to hear you declare your choice with such confidence.” Jon hears fabric rustling – Oliver crossing his legs, maybe? “I was led to believe that you were… almost pathologically indecisive.”

  I… usually am, Jon admits, though Oliver’s phrasing is too incisive for his comfort. But I made my choice, and I’d like to follow through on it now.

  “Ah. Well.” Oliver sounds uncharacteristically perturbed. It almost reminds Jon of himself when he's unable to Know something. “Not sure why you couldn't before?” 

  Jon wonders if it has something to do with being newly well-fed. Or maybe he just needed direct contact from the End? Speaking of – he can feel Oliver’s eyes riveted on him, quietly observing and calculating as if trying to get an accurate estimate of the Archivist.   

  “But – but you definitely can now. The roots are...” Oliver falters, and Jon thinks he can feel him lean in closer. “There’s something… off about you. The roots, they look… sick. Wrong. And the threads are – are tangled.” Another pause. “Can you explain it?”

  Not here. I don’t want Elias listening in.

  “Doesn’t he have eyes everywhere?”

  Almost everywhere. The tunnels under the Institute are… a blind spot, sort of.  

  “And you would discuss it there?”

  Within reason, Jon says warily.

  He doubts whether Oliver would ever be an ally – judging from the statement he gave during the apocalypse, he’s too fatalistic to intervene one way or the other – but he doesn’t feel like an enemy, either. Maybe he would be interested in sharing information, or even just letting Jon bounce strategies and theories off of him? It might be helpful, having a mostly-neutral Avatar to consult.

  Also, there's just something… lonely about Oliver.

  If nothing else, it would be a break from the monotony for you, Jon adds.  

  “I don’t know how I feel about visiting the Institute again. Not out of fear for my safety, mind. Just don’t like the feeling of being watched. Feels… I don’t know. Slimy.”

  That’s one word for it.

  “Apologies. I’m not a wordsmith, if you haven’t noticed.” Jon can hear Oliver shifting uneasily in his seat now. He really is awkward, isn’t he? 

  I don't know, I’m sure you could put together a decent sermon on… existentialist philosophy, or macroeconomics, or the inevitability of death and taxes, or – or something.   

  “I’m not exactly pleasant company.” He says it matter-of-fact, but Jon thinks he can detect a trace of melancholy underneath the customary impassiveness. “People tend to be… unsettled when they meet a walking, talking memento mori.”

  No more unsettling than talking to an incarnation of paranoia and terrible knowledge, Jon says sardonically. Also, the vulnerability inherent to being seen. Maybe some of the more vexing aspects of academia as well. 

  Oliver chuckles at that, but cuts it short. It's almost like he didn't expect it. Jon thinks maybe he can understand. Go long enough without laughing, and when you finally do, it will come out sounding all wrong to your ears. Like an out-of-tune piano, Martin said once. You have a nice laugh, Jon. You just aren't used to hearing it, and right now it's a bit rusty from disuse.  

  “I don’t know that I was ever good company,” says Oliver after a moment. 

  Can’t be any worse than I am, Jon says lightly. Maybe you’re just out of practice.

  “Perhaps,” Oliver says evasively.

  Well, consider it an open invitation. Just... I don't know. Keep it in mind.

  “Not like I can forget anything.”

  Quite a curse, isn’t it?

  “I’ve made my peace with it.”

  I know, Jon replies. If he’s honest with himself, he can’t help but envy Oliver to an extent – how secure he is in his role, his tranquil embrace of his destiny.

  Jon isn’t being fair, though, is he? Oliver went through hell to achieve his current level of humble acceptance, and regardless of either of their current perspectives on fate and free will, the fact remains that they were both forced into making impossible choices under duress. They’ve both become something they never expected or wanted or asked to be, and... it doesn't seem like Oliver deserved it. On his good days, Jon thinks maybe he didn't, either.

  “I’ll… consider the offer.” Jon can detect just a hint of curiosity beneath the reticence.

  Before Jon can reply, though, he hears the door open and close.   

  “Can I help you?” Georgie’s voice, slicing through the quiet like the crack of a whip.

  “Oh, I – I’m a friend,” Oliver says quickly, clearly taken by surprise. “Of Jon’s.”

  “Are you, now.” The hard edge to her tone turns icy, and Jon can’t help feeling sorry for Oliver, pinned under that uncompromising stare of hers.   

  “Uh, y-yes.”

  “Right. Just haven’t seen you visiting before.”

  “Um, I’ve… been out of town!”

  If Jon had any control over his body, he would put his head in his hands right now. Apparently Oliver is just as bad at lying on the spot as Jon is, and unfortunately for him, Georgie happens to be a natural lie detector.

  “Right,” Georgie replies flatly. “The nurse didn’t say anyone else was here.”

  “Oh! Oh – oh, well. Sorry if I surprised you.”

  “It’s fine.”

  It’s not.

  “I’m Antonio!” Oliver blurts out, and Jon cringes with secondhand embarrassment.

  “Sure,” Georgie says, voice dripping with disdain. “I think you’re done here.”

  “Oh. Uh, right…” Oliver’s chair scrapes against the floor as he stands up. “Have I upset you, miss –”

  Bad move. Georgie hates being referred to as 'miss.'

  “No, you just remind me of someone.”

  “Ah. I’m sorry. Were they –”

  “Evil. Yes.”

  “Uh. Okay, then.” It’s almost funny, an Avatar of death itself shrinking under Georgie’s scrutiny. Then again, she would likely be a force to be reckoned with even if she hadn’t lost her ability to feel fear. “Well, I just – well, I guess I should just go.”

  “I guess you should.”

  “Um. Goodbye, Jon. I guess I –”

  “Goodbye!” Georgie says, putting on a transparently false cheery tone, and Jon can make out Oliver’s harried footsteps as Georgie ushers him out.

  Once the door clicks shut, Jon hears her approach him again.

  “Sorry about that, Jon, but you really don’t need friends like tha– wait. Did…?” More footsteps; then the door opens again, and Jon hears Georgie’s voice echoing distantly down the corridor. “Hey! Hey, get back here! I need to talk to you!”

  Jon wonders if Oliver's already gotten away.

  Oh, Jon thinks suddenly, she’s… not going to be pleased if she finds out I tried to make friends with the grim reaper. Neither is Martin, come to think of it.

  He feels a twinge of guilt and worry. He’s not yet woken up, and already he’s doing things that Georgie might see as careless and self-destructive. Still, though… he doesn’t think Oliver is evil, or even particularly threatening. If anything, Jon thinks he knows now how Naomi must have felt, watching some eldritch monster fumble a conversation like any other mundane human grappling with social anxiety.

  Well, what’s done is done. Oliver might not even take Jon up on the offer. No use worrying about it at the moment.

  He needs to focus on waking up.

       Unfortunately, Oliver didn’t explain exactly how Jon should go about waking up.

  His first instinct is to think of Martin. With practiced ease, he reaches out for a memory, and –  

  Jon has always had an unexpected sweet tooth. He never really mentioned it to any of his coworkers. It’s not that he’s self-conscious about it; it’s more that he just never thought to share unsolicited facts about himself. Most people would take one look at Jon and either assume he takes his tea black, or that he’d prefer to fix it himself – and the latter wasn’t an unfair assumption. Martin, though… somehow, he figured it out.

  It took some trial-and-error, though at the time, Jon never noticed that Martin was deliberately trying to puzzle it out. Eventually he settled on the exact right formula, and Jon – well, by the time he realized, it felt like too much time had passed to remark on it. He was never very good at compliments anyway, giving or receiving. From that point forward, though, w henever Jon was having a particularly rough day – which, by their standards, was saying a lot – Martin would make Jon’s tea sweeter than usual. It was such a small gesture in the face of the horrors that permeated all of their lives, but in retrospect, it spoke volumes.

  Jon took forever to notice all those little gestures. He still feels like an ass for how ungrateful he was back then, but it just never occurred to him that anyone would put that much time or effort into learning his preferences, especially something so mundane as how he takes his tea. Jon barely put any thought into his own comfort, let alone that of others.  

  But Martin isn’t like Jon.

  Jon has long marveled at how kindness seems to come so naturally to Martin. As much as it might seem like he just preternaturally knows the exact right things to say and do when he sees someone hurting, though, it was never effortless: Martin cares deliberately, painstakingly, actively. He prides himself on that attention to detail, on all the little acts of kindness and consideration that, when put together, make him the most thoughtful person Jon has ever met. 

  Of course, Jon also feels a wrench in his heart every time he thinks about how and why Martin cultivated that caretaker skill set in the first place. They talked about a lot of things, after the Lonely, and the truth had come out little by little: Martin had never had anyone in his life who loved him unconditionally. From an early age, he tried desperately to curry favor with a mother who resented him for reasons he could not help and that she would never explain. It bled into all areas of his life. Every adult role model, every passing friendship, each of his few short-lived intimate relationships was a link in a long chain of giving and sacrificing and carefully policing himself to meet others’ expectations at the cost of his own vivid inner life – and never once did he receive anything meaningful in return. For too long, Jon was a link in that chain himself. 

  Martin had learned to measure his worth by whether and how he could be of use to others, and always found himself wanting. Jon could relate to that unhealthy preoccupation with making himself useful, but for him, it manifested as workaholic tendencies, harsh self-criticism, and a fear of letting anyone get so close that it would actually hurt when they inevitably grew tired of him – though at the time, he would have said he just had a preference for his own company. (Funny, in retrospect; he's never been good company for himself.) Martin sought to be noticed and loved; Jon ran headlong in the other direction, unable to tolerate the vulnerability of being known or the risk of being abandoned.

  He suspects that Martin would be compassionate regardless, though. And it's admirable, it's beautiful, it's brave, and Jon loves that about him – but Martin shouldn't have had to go through hell in the process of nurturing that trait. Trauma didn't help him grow; it only twisted his definition of caring until it became an instrument of self-harm. As they navigated their relationship, Martin did get better at setting boundaries and communicating his needs. It never made him any less compassionate towards Jon or anyone else. He just learned that he deserved compassion as well - from others and from himself.  

  Jon will always be in awe of how after everything – how Jon treated him in the beginning, how Jon left him alone and grieving in the aftermath of the Unknowing, how thoroughly the Lonely pervaded his life – Martin never once lost that instinct. He admitted to Jon that by the time Peter threw him into the Lonely, caring didn’t feel natural anymore. He was too numb and isolated to really feel a connection to other people. His empathy had been drained away. But even in its absence, Martin still made the effort to care. He still believed that human connection was important, even if he believed that he couldn’t experience it himself.

  And after the world ended, when Jon was deep in his grief and hopelessness, Martin stayed by his side. Jon told him that this was no longer a world where they could trust comfort – but Martin responded with patience and kindness. He put comfort into a world where it seemed like none could exist, and Jon will always be in awe of how Martin could just… do that, and with such confidence – stubbornness, almost.

  Even after Jon lost him, the memories of these moments anchored him. To hope, to care, to try – it was worth it. Or, as Martin told him more than once: “The fog doesn’t go on forever, even if sometimes it seems like it.”

  Martin will be okay. He has to be. Jon just has to find his way back to him. He’s done it before; he can do it again. He just has to wake up.  

  “–m trying – help – came to me.”

  Lost in thought, Jon almost doesn’t register the voices. They’ve been there in the background for a few minutes now, he realizes belatedly – they just hadn’t penetrated his conscious awareness. It’s like listening through six feet of soil – he curses his brain for immediately reaching for that mental image – and he strains to translate the dampened noise into coherent words.

  “I came to Melanie.”

  Georgie!

  “Well, sorry. Right now, I’m it.”

  Distantly, Jon can hear the steady ticking of a clock, and he spares a moment to be thankful that he couldn’t hear it the entire time he was asleep. It would have made his restlessness even more intolerable, and – as his thoughts veer off track, the voices go muffled again. Damn it.

  It takes him a few seconds to refocus his attention.

  “– don’t know why this guy would have left a tape recorder?”

  Basira.

  “You’re the detective,” Georgie says.

  “And you’re sure it was him who left it?”

  Jon didn’t hear this part the first time around, but he can safely assume they’re talking about Oliver.

  “I mean, the nurses said there were no others visitors, so…” Georgie takes a breath. “Unless it appeared by magic?” A pause; Jon can practically hear Basira’s eyebrows raise. “What, seriously?”

  “I don’t know,” Basira sighs. “The whole tape thing is… I don’t know.”

  To be honest, Jon doesn’t Know, either. That was always one of the things that the Beholding kept to itself, much to his chagrin. 

  “Right, well… I showed you like you asked, so –”

  Breathe, Jon tells himself. Time to wake up.

  “Shh,” Basira interrupts. Jon can hear movement nearby. “Down here.”

  Come on. Inhale –

  Jon can feel his lungs expand ever so slightly.

  “I told you.”

  Good. Exhale, now.

  Jon’s lungs contract, and some of the feeling starts to come into his extremities. He experimentally tries to move his hands and one of his fingers twitches, brushing against the coarse hospital linens. At least it's something. 

  “This is the one?”

  Wake up, Jon, he tells himself, attempting to overlay his thoughts with compulsion. He tries to wiggle his toes, but it doesn’t seem like they’ve gotten the memo just yet. Come on, this is the part where you woke up before. Just – just wake up –

  “Sure.”

  Jon feels a brief stab of panic – Why can’t I wake up? – and then he feels his heart stutter in his chest. A telltale pins-and-needles sensation begins to spread in his fingers and – this is probably the first time he’s been relieved to experience the precursors to a panic attack.

  It’s a good sign, he tells himself. You’re connected to your body again, so just – 

  “You don’t sound very sure,” Basira says.

  It isn’t working. Why isn’t it working?

  Come on, open your eyes –

  “I mean – I don’t know. It might be a different model, maybe? I thought it was plastic – but yeah.”

  Just sit up, just – wake up, Jon.

  Nothing.

  Neither Basira nor Georgie speak.

  The tick of the clock is deafening.

  Wait, Jon thinks. What if…

  “So what does it mean?” Georgie says eventually.

  Open your eyes, Archivist.

  His eyes fly open and he sits bolt upright with a gasp.

  “Jon!” Georgie yelps, jolting backwards as Basira simultaneously breathes, “Jesus.”

  Clutching his throat with one hand, Jon continues to struggle for air in deep, rasping gulps. Each breath comes with a sharp pang and an uncomfortable tightness in his chest, his lungs protesting after months of disuse and refusing to completely expand.    

  Eventually, although he can still only manage half-breaths, he looks up at Georgie and Basira. Intending to apologize for frightening them, he opens his mouth and – 

  The tape recorder under his bed clicks on with an earsplitting, static-leaden whine.

  Both women startle again, and Jon’s posture goes rigid, his other hand coming up to rest against his throat.

  Sorry, he tries to say again, but nothing comes out, and the tape recorder emits another blast of white noise.

  Basira and Georgie are watching him closely now – Georgie with concern, Basira with suspicion. Jon looks back with terrified eyes, panic blanketing him with all the weight of the Buried.

  No, Jon thinks to himself, not again –

  As his vision starts to blur, both trembling hands leave his neck and reach up to cover his mouth.   

  “Jon,” Georgie says gently, approaching his bedside again, “what’s wrong?”

  Jon’s eyes squeeze shut, sending two streaks of tears trickling down his cheeks, and he shakes his head frantically. He tries desperately to stifle the whimper building in his chest, but it’s creeping up on him anyway.

  “Breathe, Jon.” When Georgie rests her hand gently on his shoulder, he flinches violently away. She pulls back, holding both hands up palms-out in a pacifying gesture. “Okay,” she says evenly, “okay. No touching.”

  Jon has had these episodes for most of his life, and Georgie had witnessed more than a few while they were dating – though they were nowhere near as frequent then as they are now. It's been awhile, but Georgie easily slips into the same soothing tone she would always use. 

  His brain is already tuning her out, though.

  I can’t – I can’t –

  The Archive prowls forward and settles in just behind his eyes, an opportunistic vulture watching intently for its next meal. If he really needs to use his voice, the library is available for reference. He just has to –

  No – please, no –

  Who is he even talking to?

  Jon draws his knees up and locks his arms around them, curling his shoulders in and hunching forward to hide his face. He takes a shuddering breath in. It comes out as a strangled sob.

  What am I supposed to do now?

     End Notes:

Shorter chapter than usual this time since it was originally part of the previous chapter, BUT that kind of felt like a good place to end it for now. I hope to have Chapter 7 ready to go by early next week. Now we REALLY get into some S4 canon divergence.

Oliver's dialogue (up until the point where he starts having an actual conversation with Jon) is from MAG 121; Georgie & Basira's dialogue (up until the point where Jon wakes up) is from MAG 122.

So! For those who like Archive-speak Jon: yes there will be more of that starting next chapter. For those who don't: there will still be original dialogue too. I like writing him both ways too much, so expect a mix from here on out. (Some chapters may have more or less depending on what state Jon's in at any given moment. I'm playing around with some concepts.)

I should probably note at this point that a lot of how I write Jon's ADHD, anxiety, and other mental health stuff is heavily based on my own experiences with neurodivergence. It doesn't mean everyone experiences these diagnoses/symptoms in the same way, though. c:

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #jonathan sims #oliver banks #and others #tma spoilers #long post

[theuniversitychallengereview]

UC 50.7 - Bristol vs Corpus Christi, Ox

Corpus Christi means Body of Christ in Ecclesiastical Latin, and most commonly refers to the Feast of Corpus Christi, also known as the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ, which celebrates the Real Presence of the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ in the elements of the Eucharist, while Bristol comes from an old English word meaning assembly place by a bridge. 

One might think you could draw some deeper meaning about the relative prestige of the two institutions, and of the inherent value of the students who attend them from the relative grandiosity of the derivations of their names, but you can’t. Its purely coincidental. 

However, were the Oxford College to be called Corvus Christi, which would relate to the Crow Messiah, it would render them victors of this tournament by default due to the fear they would instil in opposition teams. Anyway, nonsense aside, and to directly contradict said nonsense, Corpus Christi do have an historic pedigree in University Challenge that their Avonside opponents do not share.

This is a story that gets told every time Corpus appear on the show, but its a surefire way to use up a few paragraphs so I’m going to tell it anyway. Four years after lifting the 2005 trophy, they once again returned to the Grand Final and defeated an excellent Manchester side 275-190, but on this occasion they did not raise the plaque (well, technically they will have done, given that they were post-humously disqualified, which would have rendered the celebrations null and void).

One week after the final was broadcast, Corpus, who had won it in large part thanks to the legendary performances of Gail Trimble, were stripped of the title thanks to role player Sam Kay having left University mid-way through the filming of the series. It left a sour taste in the mouth, even for the Manchester side who inherited the victory, and Corpus have only made one appearance since then, making the quarter-finals in 2017. 

The quarter-finals are a stage Bristol know all about (the king of segues strikes again), having been knocked out at it no fewer than seven times in fifteen appearances during the Paxman era, including four times in the past six years. This being one of the few occasions where a statistic has enough data points on this show to be significant. No side has gone out at the same stage more often apart from University College London, who match them with seven exits in the second round, and Warwick, with a magnificent nine losses in the same round. 

Of course, I’m not really sure how much stock you can put in the previous performances of teams, given that its an entirely different set of contestants (although in recent years there does seem to be a trend of performance being related to training - thanks to Quiz Socs - at Universities outside Oxbridge in a way it didn’t before. See Edinburgh reaching three semis in a row, and winning a title, and Durham’s two semis and counting for proof that practice makes perfect), but I wouldn’t mind if Bristol got to the Quarters again, just so I could make a big point of it, whether they won or lost. 

But, we’ll just have to wait and see. You all know the rules by now, so here’s your first starter for ten...

Bristol are mascotted by a wooden plaque from their Student Union Awards, which is strange, but in a way you have to respect. Corpus Christi have a duck (edit: they don’t have a duck, they have a pelican, as was pointed out to me on Twitter, and which I would have known had I read the Corpus Christi wikipedia, which mentions teh Pelican Sundial, as well as the Pelican Bar and The Pelican Magazine, all of which are related to the College), which is less weird, and if it was a crow then it would have tied in nicely with my joke from earlier, but I still respect.

Webb takes the first three questions for Corpus, but its not that surprising, given that he studies Ancient and Modern History, which presumably means he knows about everything thats ever happened. His team, however, miss out on a bonus about The Princess Bride, which is frankly a disgrace. 

Bristol are delighted to get off the mark with the picture round, on travel to work areas. I wonder if they would have changed the questions had Bristol been one of the answers, but they probably wouldn’t have, given that any of the other questions could also be perceived as a gimme for one of the contestants, so you could never fully cover yourself.

Another for Webb kept the momentum up for Corpus, but a guess from Pye and a couple of bonuses on Holly got Bristol back in the game. You can’t keep a good Webb down though and he takes his fifth of the night without breaking a sweat. But he doesn’t know much about female fronted rap, and Bristol are starting to feel at ease and enjoy themselves a bit more. He might need some help from his teammates soon.

Zaayland does decide to chip in, but Webb simply takes that as a cue to up his own game, and snaffles up a couple more Starters to put Corpus ninety five clear with only a few minutes to go. Game over.

Or...

Game not over?

Salmon hooks another ten for Bristol with Johanna Konta, and the Avonsiders charge. A hattrick on the bonuses, and two more on the picked up picture bonuses. Owens grabs his first Starter of the night and they get two more on famous Huberts. They can barely miss if they want to, and Salmon comes in like a peregrine falcon with Finnish. Australian deserts bring them within ten. How has this happened? There are surely seconds left.

But unfortunately for them, Cherry pulls up clutch with her first Starter of the night, rhinestone, and seals the match. Webb takes yet another to ensure they won’t make the high-scoring loser play-offs (though Paxman says they might, they won’t)

Final Score: Bristol 135 - 175 Corpus Christi

So, Bristol will not have the chance to add to their historic seven quarter final losses, but what a comeback that would have been. For Corpus, Webb looks a proper quizzer, strong on the bonuses as well as the buzzer.

Thanks for reading, and if you enjoyed this, then you can sign up to my Patreon to get exclusive Retro Reviews of old series from before I started this blog. I will write one this week, definitely! 

https://www.patreon.com/user?u=16447756&fan_landing=true

#university challenge #bbc2 #corpus christi #oxford #bristol #paxman

[itsstickball]

How do you imagine ppl/teams reacting when they eventually figure out the ‘my husband’ comment¿¿(I love your rivalry hc!!)

I think there are three groups of people who notice the comment at all.

Group number one: The conspiracy fans. They’ve been fighting over which of Neil’s teammates he’s been secretly dating for years. The ship wars started in earnest his fifth year of college and never really died down. Is his husband one of his current teammates? Is it one of his former teammates? Is it the supposed boyfriend of one of his teammates? There’s that weird tension he has with Jean Moreau too, they could totally be fucking. Unsurprisingly, a large portion of people ship him with Matt - despite the numerous articles and pictures that cite him as the best man in his and Dan’s wedding several years prior. (Neil really can’t even say he’s surprised by the fans who claim he’s married to both of them). Half of them are ecstatic that their ship could be the right one and the other half are mourning the swift sinking of their hetero-titanics. 

Group two: Gay right warriors.Now this is technically two groups of people. There are those who find the footage and make every type of rainbow-overlaid gif you can imagine. They write posts and articles about bravery, about being gay in sports (it’s mlm, not just gay, a small remnant of them chide), about how they’re inspired to live boldly by Neil. They are internet denizens, news anchors, sponsorship deals, fans.And, unfortunately, just as loud, there are the homophobes. They also talk about homosexuality in sports, about Neil’s troubled past and tenuous relationships with teammates. They exist in the same crevices as the people they spew hate against. They bring up a God twisted into their own image and weaponize their words. As opposite as they are, both factions have the same effect. It’s not Neil they care about, not really. They push, and use him as an example, but really, they’d do the exact same thing if it was Oprah. For them, it’s about the agenda.

Group three: Those in the know.Predictably, the Fox group chat blows up. Neil stops even trying to read after Nicky starts typing out his exclamations one letter at a time. He also receives several texts from his current teammates, a call from his manager that he ignores and seven voicemails from Kevin that lead to him turning his phone off altogether. The ride home is quite pleasant after that. When he turns the device back on the following morning (after letting it vibrate non-stop on the counter for twenty minutes while the rest of his missed messages queued up), he finds mostly a lot of support. Nicky, of course is indignant because he never quite got over the fact that they hadn’t told him they were getting married at all (He’d found out three months after the fact) and here he was, getting blindsided by the announcement again. Neil smiled at the various messages of support from the old Foxes, including a gruff warning from Wymack to stop giving him grey hairs. The smile morphed into an eye-roll at Kevin’s messages - four of which got deleted without him even listening to them (a good thing probably, the sixth one was just Kevin complaining that Neil insulted his dick on live television). He did call his manager back and promise to come in early before their next practice to talk PR. Not all of his current teammates knew he was in a relationship with another man, but of those who didn’t he’s confident he can handle any negative reactions without benching anyone. Mostly, he knows, management just wants to make sure everyone is on the same page. It’s one of the reasons he likes this team.

Ironically enough, big fans of the rivalry don’t think much of it. Unless they fall into one of the above categories, they’re far more interested in the fact that Andrew effectively blew up his twitter for the sole purpose of getting Neil Josten to insult himself on live television. If that isn’t peak rival behavior, then they don’t know what is. He insulted his appearance, his attitude, his obsession with exy. And again, he had to flood his twitter and the mean tweets tag in order to monopolize Neil’s airtime. Before this (and after, tbh), they were lucky if they got one tweet from him a year. The “he’s ugly too” tweet becomes a meme and shows up on many a glitter posterboard in the opposing teams’ sections at Neil’s games. (He likes to take pictures of them and send them to Andrew to be annoying). He doesn’t ever comment on who his husband is, though.

In the end, of course the only reaction that matters is Andrew’s. 

Ten minutes after he turns his smart phone off and two after he walks into the door of his apartment, a dingy, cracked plastic brick of a flip phone tries to rattle its way out of the top drawer of Neil’s nightstand. He doesn’t bother looking at the caller ID before flipping it open. Only one person knows he has the thing, let alone remembers the number for it.

“I didn’t know you’d taken up writing love letters.” Neil says into the receiver, his smile evident in his voice. 

“I didn’t know you were planning on announcing your relationship status to the world.” 

Andrew’s rebuttal is calm; he’s not angry. Neil can tell even over the phone. Still, he sits down hard on the edge of the bed.

“Oh.” He says, scrubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands as his words from earlier come back to him. Even with all of the hubub from the Foxes, the implications of what he’d said hadn’t really sunk in. He tells Andrew as much.

Andrew, thankfully is neither surprised nor tired of dealing with him. He hums non-committally then tells Neil he’s trending on twitter.

“Still think no one likes a smart mouth?”

Neil grins into the silence, imagining the way Andrew’s mouth flattens into a line when he thinks his husband is being particularly bothersome.

“What I think is that I’d still rather hear you choking on a dick.”

“Yeah?”

Neil’s grin grows to the edges of his face and he flops back onto the bed. He had other plans for the morning before meeting Kevin for lunch, but they can wait. Andrew is transferring to his team in three months. But until then, he’s going to soak up every possible opportunity to spend time with him. After all, he is Neil’s husband.