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themculibrary · 6 months

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Steve And Bucky (Stucky) Masterlist 5

part one, part two, part three, part four

14 Valentines (ao3) - jehans E, 18k

Summary: Someone is trying to woo Steve.

Every day in February leading up to Valentine's Day, Steve is sent an expensive, if a bit impersonal, gift from a secret admirer. And while he's less than impressed by this covert attempt to win his heart, he's very impressed by the sweet, funny, and deeply attractive delivery driver who brings these gifts to his door every day.

Bucky is amazing, and Steve is falling for him hard and fast, but each day that goes by is another day closer to Valentine's Day, and the expected end of his secret admirer's gifts. Steve had better figure out soon if Bucky's clear flirtation with him is serious, or if he's just in it for the chase. Because if he's serious, there are Things Steve would like to do....

1000 Dollar (ao3) - Jerana E, 5k

Summary: Camboy Steve does a huge mistake and meets with one of his viewers, Bucky, who isn't only the most handsome man Steve had ever seen, but also the most dangerous person in New York. If Steve could only resist his charm.

2005, 2012, And a Whole Lot of the 1900s In Between (ao3) - bashfulpenguin T, 10k

Summary: AU where Peggy Carter dies before Steve Rogers wakes up from the ice and her daughter, tells stories about how her mother was gay. Obviously, people ask if Steve knew and she explains that of course, he did. Now Steve wakes up in 2012 and has to deal with the world knowing he was gay and the threat of Hydra.

A Crown For A King (ao3) - 74days T, 7k

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a popular teacher of Arithmancy at Hogwarts - he loves his job and supports his students any way he can. So when the new Charms teacher transfers over from Salem and it looks like Bucky's dragging his feet about asking him out - his students take matters into their own hands.

As We Fade Into The Night (ao3) - jiminmeme T, 11k

Summary: Bucky was stood up by his date to a party, so he pretends that Steve is his date. Wait, he's going along with it?

Dishonor On Your Cow (ao3) -mandarou E, 111k

Summary: “Sergeant Barnes?”

“Oh, hell no, don’t call him that, man,” Sam warned.

“Captain Fuck Off!” Barnes shouted over him. “Fight me!”

Steve didn’t know whether to laugh or just slink away. He managed to combine the two by pacing two steps and snorting instead. Like a bull.

“I’m gonna need you to calm your ass, Barnes,” Sam said as he went limp again, obstructing Barnes’s struggling under him. “This is so undignified. That is Captain goddamn America.”

“Captain goddamn America!” Barnes repeated, louder. And angrier.

Steve cleared his throat again. “I’ve been looking for you,” he told Barnes.

“I hope you brought lube this time!” Barnes shouted.

Five times Steve kissed Bucky (ao3) - paragon (beverlymarshian) T, 16k

Summary: (+ once, finally, it was the other way around)

From Dirty Paws and Creatures of Snow (ao3) - goldenraeofsun T, 108k

Summary: Bullies had mocked Steve's lack of magic for years, emboldened as Steve cast spell after spell that fizzled and died.

Steve didn't believe a word out of Bucky's mouth when he said that Steve was the most powerful witch he'd ever seen, but at least Bucky had until they reached Bonding age to convince him of the truth.

hold me tight (ao3) - hollimichele M, 11k

Summary: In the old days, before the war, Steve got cold at night. That was all it was, at first.

I Already Know (ao3) - idiom E, 30k

Summary: If a ghost knocked on your front door, would you answer it and let him in? - After all is said and done, Steve is the one person Bucky trusts that he can turn to for help getting back to reality. All Bucky wants is to know his own mind again. Right now, that mind is trapped in the shell of a man he once was.

Lemon Meringue Lies (ao3) - Nejinee E, 111k

Summary: Being a server at a high-end restaurant is working out well for Steve. All he has to do now is convince Bucky he's good enough to work as chef in the same restaurant. Steve's determined to prove to his best friend that all Bucky's talent and passion for food is worth something.

He's going to make it happen, even if he has to omit a few solid truths to get it done.

Meanwhile, Bucky has his own issues to deal with. Namely: trying his damndest to dig them out of poverty, make sure Steve's health is on the up and up, and not acknowledging his very longstanding desire for his best friend that is slowly eating him up inside.

A story about food, compassion and stubborn idiots in love.

Proprietary Information (ao3) - notlucy E, 85k

Summary: Okay, so Bucky Barnes has a crush on Steve Rogers. The guy's gorgeous, talented and, oh yeah, the Chief Design Officer of the biggest tech company in the world. In other words: he's so far out of Bucky's league that he might as well be in a different stratosphere.

Revenant (ao3).- stele3 M, 73k

Summary: Post-movie AU in which Bucky didn’t just leave Steve on a river bank...he took him.

Secret Identity (ao3) - riverwrenwrites E, 51k

Summary: Bucky is just a regular guy. He works as a nurse, lives in a moderate Brooklyn apartment with his pet cat, oh, and he once dated Captain fucking America. After a pretty rough breakup over a year ago, he's been re-adjusting to regular life, with only a moderate amount of success. But what little progress he had made goes straight out of the window when Steve shows up at his door, and the two of them are finally forced to confront their feelings.

Targeting (ao3) - queenmab_scherz E, 149k

Summary: Steve and Bucky end up playing for rival college football teams.

The Spin I'm In (ao3) - victoria_p (musesfool) T, 3k

Summary: Five times Bucky kissed Steve because of ~reasons~, and one time Steve finally believed he really meant it.

To Be Vulnerable Is Needed Most Of All (ao3) - perfect_plan M, 118k

Summary: Steve is a shy comic book artist and meets his new neighbour, Bucky Barnes.

In which there are awkward longings, meddling best friends, comic conventions, heartache, lemons, video games, dorkiness, dancing and two cute boys.

Uncharted (ao3) - DisappointMe E, 14k

Summary: Steve gets curious and it's Bucky's civic duty to help him out. There's a chart.

War, Children (ao3) - Nonymos E, 106k

Summary: After Bucky was released from the hospital, it only took him a couple of weeks to give up on himself. Difficult to believe in any kind of future when the simple act of staying alive was almost too big an effort.

Out the frosted window, across the street, there was a tiny homeless guy burrowing under an awning.

You Could Go Blind From That (ao3) - shanology E, 6k

Summary: Post-WS Bucky hasn't been getting himself off, and somehow Steve has noticed. And decided it's something they should talk about. Awkwardly, in the middle of meals. Poor Bucky is now sexually frustrated, embarrassed, AND hungry. Not to mention way too turned-on by his roommate.

#themculibrary #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #mcu #marvel #captain america #winter soldier #masterlists #stucky masterlist #m/m

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brelione · 3 years

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When You Pass Out (Outerbanks X Reader)

hello! i have a request if they are open! you can write this with whoever, i have no preference whatsoever. also if you’ve written this already sorry, but anyways can you write something that has the reader fainting and then their SO taking care of them and being worried etc.? thank you!!!!

He thought you were just messing around and told you to get up

But then he started freaking out

“POPE!KIE!GUYS-HELP!”He screamed, staring down at you.

Your eyes fluttered open a few seconds later only to hear him scream, “WHAT THE FUCK, (Y/N)?”He shouted, hugging you. “You cant just pass out like that!”He exclaimed.

Pope

He wouldnt really freak out too much cause he knows that you have iron deficiency

BUT THEN YOU HIT YOUR HEAD ON YOUR WAY DOWN AND ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE

“Oh god-oh god, oh shit-i-fuck-SOMEONE CALL SOMEONE!”

He gets you an ice pack once you wake up and wont let you stand. “Where the hell are your iron pills?”He asked.You shrugged, holding the ice pack to the back of your head. “At home.”You replied, raising your eyebrows when he started to wave his hands everywhere. “WELL HOW IS THAT GONNA HELP?”He asked.

Kiara

She thought that you were just trying to scare her so she rolled her eyes and told you to get up

But when she grabbed your jaw she saw that your eyes were rolled back

She called her mom since she was a pediatrician and was asking what to do

It didnt help that you had collapsed in the middle of her driveway while her parents were gone

She ran inside to get you lemonade and a bowl of cheerios and asked you a million questions

Sarah

If you had passed out before she wouldnt be super concerned cause she knew you’d be awake in a minute or two

So if you passed out in a store she’d lie down on the floor with you so that you wouldnt feel embarrassed when you woke up

She kept mints and a mini water bottle in her bag for whenever you needed it, handing them to you with a small smile when you woke up.

“Lets go get something for you to eat, sound good?”She asked, helping you up.

Topper

He’s kind of just frozen there

He’d crouch down next to you and shake you by the shoulder

He’d call 911 within thirty seconds cause he doesnt know what to do

Kelce

Kelce can tell that you’re about to pass out by the way that your balance changed

He’d pull you to his chest and hold you tightly when your body goes limp and slowly sit down and waits for you to wake up

“You okay, baby?Do you need some water?”He’d ask.

Rafe

He’d try his best to catch you and would kiss your forehead lightly

Since you had passed out before he was rather calm and figured that you were just dehydrated and could get you water when you woke up

He would probably lay down on top of you so that you wouldnt try to get back up after he got you your water

“Nope, stay.We’re not doing this again.”He’d tell you.

@outerbongs @copper-boom @httpstarkey @teenwaywardasgardian @drewswannabegirl @simonsbluee @jiaraendgame @khiaraaa-in-spacee @on-socks-off @abbiesthings @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @rae131415 @popeheywards @nas-marie-loves-u @28cnn @sexytholland @yuxsh06 @ifilwtmfc @cherryobx @poguestarkey @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @poguestyleskye @judayyyw @sunwardsss @meaganjm @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @jj-fic-recs @homophobicclownmoviestan @jj-iz-bae @natalie-kate-98 @negativity4you @nxsmss @ofmaybankheart @broken-jj @joshy-obx @curroptbunnie @outerbnx-stiles @angelreyesgirl100 @hannahhh-marie @sadnessrehab @purple-vodka-99 @annmariek8 @harryswigss @imagines-07 @pink-meringues @popcrone818 @fttayla @cherryobx @drewstarkeyobx @jjtheangel @jj-iz-bae@sunwardsss @natalie-kate-98 @nxsmss @broken-jj @prejudic3 @outerbongs @copper-boom @httpstarkey @teenwaywardasgardian @drewswannabegirl @simonsbluee @jiaraendgame @khiaraaa-in-spacee @on-socks-off @abbiesthings @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @i-love-scott-mccall

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thenextchapter22 · 3 years

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Mail Order… Kitten Girl

Part 5: Pet me please

Description: Satan accidentally orders a special type of ‘cat’ online after having a few too many drinks...

Tags: Past Abuse, Past Non/Con, Slavery, Pet Play, Cat Hybrids, Fluff, Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content

Pairing(s): Reader/Everyone (but Luke)

Link to my AO3: Click Here

In this chapter: Kitten is lonely, and Simeon stops by for some cuddles...

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

+++++ MINORS DNI +++++

The house was empty. You were the only one inside of it, and it was so quiet you could hear the echo of your feet when you walked.

Your Master’s had an emergency Student Council meeting and said they would be home later. You were half asleep and when you woke up you were confused, but then slowly remembered that they shook you awake to let you know. But you quickly went back to sleep, too warm and comfy to care.

But now, you were so lonely, and you wish you had woken up more to protest their leaving. Begging worked a lot with your Master’s; they couldn’t resist your sad eyes.

You usually woke up in one of their beds, got morning cuddles and kisses, and, depending on whose bed you were in, you sometimes got special playtime. It was always like that with Asmo, so if you wanted to cum you’d just visit him. He never minded, and his bed was one of the softest of everyone's (Belphie’s attic room with the array of pillows was nice, too, and you loved watching the stars cuddled with one of your Master’s).

Your ears drooped, your tail was dragging behind you, and you felt a little cold. You fingered your collar mindlessly, a pretty pink lace with a pink bow in the center, and there was a bell that they sometimes put on but it annoyed you so it was usually off.

They hadn’t left you alone like this before...

You went to a few of your Masters’ rooms but it was cold even with a pile of blankets, without their body heat or presence it wasn’t the same. You took a few pillows to the living room, one from Asmo’s, one from Belphie’s, and lastly one from Lucifer’s to make a nest of sorts. Then you sat by the fireplace and curled up, trying to nap until they came back, hoping the time would go by quicker.

You felt some tears slip from your eyes as you fell into a fitful sleep.

The room was spinning, and faces meshed together, all of them angry. All of them your Master’s faces.

“She’s so annoying, I’m sick of this.”

“Her stupid tail and ugly ears, ugh, we should send her back.”

“Let’s lock her in a cage like the animal she is.”

You looked around at your Master’s as they sneered at you, their faces blurred by your tears. You tried to speak but no words came out, and you realized they had gagged you, and you couldn’t breathe.

‘Master’s please... I’m sorry!’ You wanted to beg, but it was useless.

Their hands came at you, clawed, large, frightening, and you shut your eyes in terror, waiting for your end, waiting to be treated like ‘they’ had, from before you came here. Here, where you felt loved for the first time since you were an actual kitten.

A large hand gripped your head, and yanked it back, and you screamed behind the cloth they shoved in your mouth.

“Wake up,” a soft voice spoke out, and you felt fingers in your hair, gently carding through.

You shivered, and whined in the back of your throat.

“Shhh, it’s all right now, it was just a nightmare...”

Nightmare...?

You opened your eyes, and they hurt, sore and swollen from crying. When you finally got them open, you saw Simeon, one of the Angel exchange students, crouched down beside you with a kind smile on his face. You only met him a couple times, but he was always nice to you.

“Hello there. Are you all right? That looked to be an awful dream.” He kept combing his fingers through your hair, and stroked behind your limp ears.

You sniffled. “I-I... I was s-scared...” You glanced around, sitting up as you did, mumbling, “master’s...” They were gone, still. You curled your tail around your waist, forlorn.

He hummed, and stood up. You missed his touch, and glanced up at him. “They sent me to watch you while they have their meeting. I’m sorry for taking so long.” He reached his hands down, and you flinched. Simeon frowned. “I won’t hurt you, little one. Let me help you up, and we can sit on the couch for a while.”

“’kay...” you took a hand, and he pulled you from your pillow and blanket nest on the ground. You were a bit unsteady, so he kept his grip on your hand, and helped you curl up on the sofa. You brought your legs up sideways away, and wrapped your tail around your waist again, squeezing randomly. You rubbed your eyes with a fist, and winced.

“Hm, poor thing,” he mumbled, and reached for the tissue box under the side table. He held out the cloth, and before you could grab it, he was gently dabbing your eyes. He tutted when you cried out. “I’m sorry for the pain. We’ll get some cream for your eyes later; it will help the swelling.”

“Thank you...”

He nodded, smiling. “Of course.” The tissue was thrown aside, and he titled his head at you, a question in his blue eyes. “Do you want to talk about it? I'm here if you need anything.”

“No, I don’t wana...” Too many bad memories blurred together. You knew your Master’s wouldn’t treat you like ‘they’ did, but that bad dream felt too real.

Simeon put his hand on your thigh. “I understand.” He glanced at the open doorway, and then at you. “I’ll be back quickly, I promise.” He patted your head once, and left. But he was not gone long, as he said, and came back with a tray. It smelled of sweets, and your mouth watered. You didn’t eat, too sad at being left alone, so now you were starving. Beel would be so angry at you if he found out you forgot to eat breakfast.

“This is why I took so long...” he said sheepishly. “Luke wanted to bake some snacks for you, and they took longer than expected. Do you want some?”

You blushed, and nodded. “Please... smells good...”

“We have some fruit tarts, meringue cookies, and mini French toast bites. What would you like first?” Simeon took a seat next to you, setting the tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

You sniffed the air, and smelled sweetness. But the little white fluffs looked good, and you hadn’t had one before.

So, you pointed at them and he nodded. “Ah, these are the merengues. Good choice, one of my favorites, too.”

That made you feel good, somehow.

Simeon held one of the merengue cookies out, and you shyly opened your mouth. Around Simeon you felt different, maybe because he wasn’t one of your Master’s, or because he was an Angel, but you were a little timid, and shy.

He popped the cookie in your mouth, and you loved it. It melted in on your tongue and tasted sweet like cream. You moaned and swallowed it, squirming in delight.

Simeon chuckled. “Do you want another one?”

You nodded, tail flickering happily. “Please,” you whispered, and opened your mouth up to him, eyes wide.

His smile turned sideways, and he carefully placed another on your outstretched tongue. His fingers, gloved with thin black material, slipped on your lips, cool and smooth.

“Mmm, ‘s good~”

He laughed again, and kept hand feeding you little bites. Occasionally his fingers would dip in and touch your tongue, and it was nice, tasting him even with his gloves. He liked it, too, because he kept doing it on purpose. He also gave you some orange juice and water, but that you drank from a cup yourself.

After you had enough, you started to purr, and curled up closer to him. He seemed shocked at first when you climbed onto his lap, but when his hands went into your hair, he simply helped you situate yourself into a ball, your head on his lap, and a blanket over your body.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked.

“Mmmhhmm,” you nuzzled his stomach, and he tensed for a moment. You smelt something different in the air, but then his fingers scratched at your neck, and you moaned. It felt so good. “More,” you begged, pushing up.

He hummed. Being pet always made you feel a little sleepy, and having a full stomach made you more so.

“Are you sleepy, Kitten?” he whispered. “You can take a nap if you’d like.”

“Nap,” you repeated, yawning. “’kay.”

The coolness of his body combined with the heat from the fire, it was all so relaxing. Adding his elegant fingers combing your hair, and rubbing your back in circles, it was pure heaven.

A few minutes later you were on the edge of dreamland, and then a loud bang shocked you out of it for a split second, and you heard Mammon shout, “Kitten, we’re home!”

But you were sleepy, and shut your eyes. Simeon kept petting you, and lulling you to sleep with soft hums. Your Masters were home but you felt too full and too tired to get up. You would greet them later.

#obey me #obey me fanfic #fanfiction #reader fanfiction #obey me reader x everyone #cat hybrid #hybrids #mail order kitten girl #female reader #my fics

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rilenerocks · 4 years

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During this quarantine, I’ve been reading about the effects that the disruption of routine has inflicted on people. For the most desperate groups affected by the sea changes in daily life, there probably isn’t enough time to reflect on anything more than how to get water, food and shelter. The time to reflect from a place of relative safety is a privilege. I’m mindful of that as I continue my interior journey, wondering all the time, thinking about so many different things. I’m examining my own behavior, interested in what I hadn’t anticipated. As a person who’s spent plenty of time trying to be prepared and proactive rather than unaware and reactive, I’m focused on what’s been surprising the past few months. I know that just as our autonomic nervous system hums away below our consciousness, other psychological systems of memory and connections are also churning along until for some reason or other, they emerge from just below the surface.

In basic ways, I haven’t changed much of my usual routine. When I wake up, I deal with my personal hygiene, get dressed and make my bed. I haven’t stopped showering and I don’t stay in pajamas or robes. I did that once in early March when I had a really long travel day and was worried that I might get sick. So on my first trip day, I hung out in my nightgown and a light jacket as a safety precaution. But otherwise, not dressing feels like I’m unhealthy. So I always get ready. Ready for what? I don’t know – just ready. I’m trying to wear different clothes instead of the same stuff over and over. I feel like I’m in the world by doing that. What I don’t wear will be donated. So this is a way to accomplish something that’s been on my list anyway.

I also started drawing. I drew a picture of my most beloved dog. I’m not exactly talented but most of what I’ve drawn so far is identifiable. I’m trying to do satisfying, creative work, especially on the rainy days. All dressed up, nowhere to go and too wet to garden. But the most unexpected activity is my resurgent interest in food. Not the eating of it, the preparation of it.

When my dad died, my mom stopped cooking. Her home life was very different from mine. I think my dad could’ve boiled water, but except for a year or so, when my mom was healthy enough to work, I don’t remember him ever preparing a meal. In that brief time when her job was downtown in the Chicago Loop and his was in our neighborhood, he made lunch for me and my sister every day. There was no cafeteria in our school. Every day we went home and ate either salami or egg sandwiches. At least it seemed that way. Sick or not, mom always cooked. Even better, she baked. A decent cook but a sublime baker. She could come home from a surgery and head straight into the kitchen, limping and all the while, fixing a meal while dad sat at the table, waiting to eat, reading the paper. That was just the way they operated. So when he was gone, mom hung it up. She was done after forty seven years of meals. She liked going to restaurants or coming over to our house for dinner. For herself, she kept things simple. Mozzarella cheese and wheat bread. Strawberries and cottage cheese. Eggs and tuna, plus lots of candy. She really liked these coffee and chocolate hard candies called Nips. When we had to move her from our house into assisted living, the floor under her bed was covered in Nips wrappers.

I really missed her cooking. The comfort of going to her house, smelling familiar spices and feeling that warm satisfaction of being cared for disappeared in what felt like one big loss. My mom survived my dad by twenty-five years. I took over the matriarchal role of the family dinners. A few times she tried to recapture that part of her life and made our favorite soup and chicken. But the truth was, she lost her touch. I got all her recipes, such as they were, and ultimately not only reproduced them but improved on them. The only one I’ve never tried is her lemon meringue pie. I think I’ll just let that one be since it was perfect. But my life wasn’t just like hers. I was always a working mom. In the beginning of our family life, I did most of the cooking. Michael, however, not only loved eating, he loved growing food, canning food and cooking it. Over the years, he took on more and more of the daily meals. I still prepared family favorites, but his recipe repertoire continued growing as he ventured from grilling to preparing complex dishes, and ultimately, to baking. In the last months of his life, he frequently asked me what I was going to eat when he died. I told him not to worry – there was always cereal, fruit and cottage cheese and delivery. And that’s exactly what I did after he died. I turned into my mom. If it wasn’t simple, it wasn’t happening. I stopped cooking and after awhile, I was embarrassed to find items in my cabinets and on my spice racks with expiration dates that went back a few years. Every now and then I made a dish for my kids because I remembered the bereft feelings I had when my mom quit doing everything. I’ll admit those times were infrequent. I even gave up the Thanksgiving dinner I hosted for thirty-five years, becoming instead, the person who brought a dish.

So here we are, in the pandemic. Every day I read articles about food and what people are craving and making. Suddenly there’s fresh baked bread, so much that the local stores have flour shortages, right along with toilet paper, paper towels and sanitizing wipes. People are reverting to the foods of their childhoods, buying cans of Chef Boyardee and bricks of Velveeta cheese which is actually a strange synthetic concoction, hardly what I’d call comfort food. But people are buying this stuff, even if it’s not great for them. For weeks, I was immune to this food-consuming tsunami, mostly getting cravings for my favorite meals from closed restaurants. I dreamed of a Dutch baby for days, my number one choice from the best breakfast place in town.

Then, in what felt like an overnight sea change, I began to have impulses to head into the kitchen, which has been the least used room in my house for the past three and a half years. The food I wanted to cook wasn’t so much about what I wanted to eat, as much as it was what I wanted to give to my family. I don’t want them to feel like those homey comforts I used to provide are gone forever. At least not while I can still function. I want my grandchildren to have memories of me making them feel safe, warm and satisfied. So I started with a noodle dish that was my daughter’s childhood favorite. Then I graduated to a full dinner for her family along with me and my son, whose work abroad was cut off because of the virus. That was oven baked skinless fried chicken with mashed potatoes and peas. Next I resurrected, with some trepidation, Michael’s chili. That recipe, which he got in 1987 from our friend Randy, was tweaked over time to make it his own. I could barely read the instructions but I managed to re-copy them and gave it a shot. My son was looking over my shoulder and said he’d bet that I couldn’t replicate the flavor we all knew so well. But I did it and Michael’s presence seemed even more intense than usual.

I was a lucky one who had flour in my kitchen. The next thing I knew I was heading for a cookie recipe which was given to me by our friend Brian’s mom, Mary, way back in the 70’s. We’d met Brian during our college years when we were all involved with the anti-war movement. He came from a small town of 800 people, northwest of our university community. He was the first person I knew who owned cows. Sometimes when he was broke, he’d have to sell one for extra cash. Brian is a pure soul, a dedicated conservation biologist. He was instrumental in saving the black-footed ferret from extinction and is a well-respected scientist and author with encyclopedic knowledge about practically everything. He’s also just a wonderful person. When he was getting his PhD, he lived in one of the upstairs apartments in our house. We were great friends. He and Michael had adventures together, both loving the outdoors and stuff like white-water rafting. Here is a blurry photo of an old-school selfie they took on one of their trips.

We shared a lot of experiences together in this house. Scary movies and family dinners. Brian, always breaking out his down home sense of humor around the science that had him plunging his hands into ruminants’ bodies with gloves that went up to the shoulder. He was here with us when we had our daughter and was her first babysitter. A thoroughly generous person, he helped with everything, from bailing us out financially when we were down, to shoveling the drive and walks during the worst winters. When he had surgeries, we were there. We hosted him with his new bride, making them a honeymoon suite with chocolates on their pillows. We went through births, illnesses and deaths. When he had brain surgery for a subdural hematoma after an accident, I flew out to his home in New Mexico to help take care of him. When Michael was weak and sick, Brian came here to be with him. He was the last person outside our family that Michael spoke to before he died.

So there I am in my kitchen with Mary’s recipe and up from under the surface burst all these memories of Brian and Michael and me and the families from which we came, and the families we built over decades which of course are now blended together. He and his family have been my stalwart supporters as I hope I have been to them over the years, most especially since Michael’s death.

The snickerdoodles tasted just as delicious as they did when Mary brought them here the very first time. She typed that recipe card for me those many years ago. Brian’s wife Carina didn’t have it, so I was happy to share it, sending it back to his family. I’m sure his daughters will be baking them one day.

And then there was my last venture, mom’s old fashioned chocolate fudge cake. My piece de resistance. That was a cake which never lasted long, impossibly spongy, dense, rich and light, all at the same time, with the center slightly concave from the wet batter. No thick frosting for this baby; rather a thin drizzle of sweet chocolate with the tang of a little orange juice to balance the flavor. I sliced this one in half before I got carried away by its temptation, and sent it across the street to my daughter’s crew. But I had to invite my sister here to have a taste of nostalgia in the most literal way. She came the next day and murmured happily while she ate and I totally got it, because it was so much more than the flavor. She ate two slices and cried a bit, both for now, for this weird uncertain time and future, and all that lies just below the surface. What’s next? What will rise up in the days ahead? Stay tuned…

Just Below the Surface During this quarantine, I’ve been reading about the effects that the disruption of routine has inflicted on people.

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birdsthatsingaftermidnight · 4 years

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Unexpectedly Soluble

This was in response to a friend’s prompt, which became the title.

I’ve messed around expanding the world a little, and Doctor Bob became the main character after a while. When I wrote this I expected it to be Fernanda.

Unexpectedly Soluble It wasn't a mad scientist laboratory, with twisty glass and beakers of mysterious goo; it was a big, airy space with white tiled walls lit by excessive amounts of lamps by night and by excessively large skylights by day. It had everything a laboratory should have – complicated machines that go whirrrr (sometimes even without being kicked first), scores of test tubes, lots of warning signs, pipettes and syringes, things that go clink, several mechanicals (and thus an amount of steam large enough to make complicated hairstyles go limp), and one extremely big and entirely extraneous sink. The sink was an antique; a cast iron thing with taps that had propeller like tops to turn them on and off and a huge rubber plug minus its chain. It wasn’t plumbed in or anything useful, it was just there, perched in the middle of a long stretch of cabinets. Fernanda said it was a conversation piece; everyone else said it was a pain in the arse. Fernanda was the local lab Genius though so they didn’t get a say in the matter. Sometimes she tried to grow plants in it. Currently it was empty. On thinking about it, many were grateful that sinks were the limits of her eccentricities. Rumour had it that there was a Genius over in Mecklenburg who kept poisonous tree frogs. There were two scientists in the lab. They weren’t doing anything complicated with condensers or bunsen burners, in fact Bob was failing to build a house of cards whilst Sergei very carefully cut a minute slice of the Thing off and dropped it into a test tube. A mechanical was watching with what Sergei thought was obvious concern. Given their total lack of facial expression, this wasn’t helping. Bob leaned over his shoulder. She’d put her goggles on, actually over her eyes, and that wasn’t helping either. “What?” Sergei growled. “Don’t let me distract you.” She was wearing her best wide-eyed innocent expression. “Bugger off.” Bob shared a look with the mechanical. It whirred at her and cocked its head to one side, their version of a shrug and a don’t-ask-me. “Are you really sure you want to do that?” She asked just as Sergei was about to add an aqueous solution. Her tone indicated her total belief that he did not want to do that. The mechanical vented a plume of steam and took a step back. Sergei put the pipette down and turned to glare at his colleague. “We’ve tried everything else. We’re heated it up; we’ve cooled it down. We’ve spun it around, irradiated it, magnetised it, hit it with a hammer, tried to pass electricity through it,” they both took a moment to remember that particular event before he went on, “and I even shouted at it. The only thing we haven’t done is add it to water and give it a shake.” “Doctor Plum said not to get it wet.” They both looked around as the mechanicals vented yet more steam. “Given that the lab assistants are powered by really hot water I think it’s already damp. Nothing’s going to happen. It’s completely inert.” “Damp and wet are different things.” Bob paused then giggled, no doubt thinking of something rude. He added the water whilst she was distracted. Bob closed her eyes, waiting for the bang. Nothing happened. She opened them again. “Huh.” “Yeah.” They both stared at the test tube. Clear water. It bubbled a little bit then settled again. Bubble. Settle. Bubble… settle. “So it’s soluble?” Bob suggested. “Apparently. Here,” Sergei thrust the test tube at her and wandered off to consult his notes. By virtue of the steaminess these were of necessity in another room. Bob shook her Solution-of-Thing. It bubbled again. “Doctor Wills!” She jumped. The voice was cranky. The mechanicals stood up straight and saluted and Bob cringed as she turned around. “Er… hello Doctor Plum. How are you?” She hoped the answer would be something like ‘deliriously happy, inclined to throw you a party and here, have a glass of milk’. His scowl didn’t make this seem likely. “Doctor Wills, is that… is that water?” He sounded outraged at the mere suggestion. She held up the test tube and examined it. A couple of bubbles went bloop as she considered the possibilities. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “Mostly.” “And what, Doctor Wills, are you doing with that water?” He folded his arms and tapped his foot in a perfect stereotype of impatience. Rumour had it that he was a hyper-real mechanical programmed with people behaviour that he didn’t quite get. Bob didn’t believe it though. Mechanicals were warm because of the boilers and funky and full of quiet personality. Doctor Plum was thin and weird and was so cold that he would do for when refrigeration broke down. She realised that, as she was running through reasons for building a Plum-mechanical, the real thing was waiting for an answer. Honesty seemed the best policy. “Sergei asked me to hold it.” Plum looked resigned as he sighed. “And where is Doctor Crankshaft?” “Oh, hello Plum.” Sergei had wandered back in. He was as scared of Doctor Plum as anyone, but he hid it behind winding him up. Plum was offended by the lack of honorific and drew himself up. “Doctor Crankshaft, please tell me that you did not get the… specimen… wet?” The water was bubbling again and taking longer to settle down. Bob found this very interesting. “Not all of it.” He scowled again. “You accidentally splashed it perhaps? Because I know, Doctor, that you did not deliberately add water?” Bob grinned. “He squeezed the top of that pipette with total deliberation, sir.” They both looked at her. Doctor Plum seemed to be condemning her frivolous tone; Sergei was certainly annoyed at her butting in only to casually drop him in it. “Then, sir,” she continued solemnly, “We shook it.” Bob had anticipated a fabulous polemic – possibly a personal scolding along the theme of knowing it was a bad idea to let Tešau into a lab environment (speciest slurs were her favourite since it meant she could respond in kind) – but instead Doctor Plum went pale. “Sh-shook it?” “Like this!” Bob exclaimed brightly and woggled the test tube. “See? Ooh! Look!” Sergei leaned over to see while Plum hastily gestured the mechanicals to stand in front of him. They did, nervously steaming. “Doctor Wills,” he began as he backed towards the door, “Any damage to the lab will come out of your…” He didn’t get to finish. There was a popping sensation and the world went yellow-white before calming down to a sort of creamy colour. It felt like being wrapped in a soggy duvet and it was getting hard to breathe. Then there was clanking and hot, damp air, and when sight and consciousness returned they were outside, having been dragged there by the mechanicals. Bob was still being cradled by one of them and since she was quite comfortable and warm she didn’t ask to be put down. Instead, she looked up at the something very frothy coming out of the broken skylights and pouring through the door. She was covered in goo, the consistency of which reminded her of collapsed meringues. It was going to take ages to get clean again. She wondered if it tasted nice then stopped herself before she licked a hand, wondering just in time if it was toxic. “Where’s Sergei?” Sergei was open jawed, looking at the mess. “Buh…” Doctor Plum was trying to clean himself up with a little hanky. “Doctor Crankshaft, you were told, in no uncertain terms, not to add water.” “Ahm… Th… Buh…” “And furthermore, you were instructed very clearly not to allow Bubastet Wills to come anywhere near it.” “Hey!” He ignored Bob’s indignation. “With all this in mind, I…” “Oh wow!” Bob craned her neck to look over the shoulder of the mechanical and smiled. Hopefully this meant she and Sergei were off the hook. “Repeatable experiments! My favourite! It did that when I added water too. Good for you, Serj! Hallo Abraham. I thought you were going to ask him not to do that?” Doctor Plum sighed, defeated. “Hello Fernanda. I did ask him not to do that, but as you see,” He waved a hand, “Doctor Wills happened.” “Sergei put the water in,” Bob muttered, grumpily sure that she was going to get all the blame just because she’d shaken it. “Awesome! Tešau science for the win!” Fernanda grinned, entirely happy. “Hey Florence,” She patted one of the mechanicals who whirred happily, “Would you mind rescuing my sink? Look!” She held up a chain from which swung a rubber disk, “I got a mint plug!”

#Doctor Bob #Geniuses #story

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xxnightgoddess · 5 years

Text

A Not-So Warm Welcome

(Brooke Alstreim x Hans Rommel)

St. Petersburg, Russia

closed roleplay

December 13, 2018

As the sun sat high in the sky, there sat a lady with a book in her hand of some obscure Russian literature. Today marked her third day in Russia, and the start of her fifth week in Europe. It’s been months since she’s been home. Before Europe she’d been around Asia, getting to know the different food and cultures. Mortals may attribute the sudden need for exploration to having a quarter-life crisis, but Brooke knew that she’d been alive for much longer than that for it to be such a simple ordeal.

Her nimble fingers turned a page before reaching over to retrieve the last piece of 𝘡𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘳. In all her travels, dessert was always her favourite part. Today it was a chocolate coated 𝘻𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘳. Americans may compare it to a fruit meringue that is more like a marshmallow in softness. Nonetheless, every bite sent her taste buds into a frenzy and the quick sugar rush pushed her over the edge. But before she had enough time to enjoy it, it disappeared. As did every other rush of pleasure in her life.

“Спасибо” She thanked the waitress as she stood from her table. Brooke patted down her dark coat and strode along in her thigh highs.

She thought that when she gave up part of her divinity, she could at least feel the same sensations that any other human would. She couldn’t be more wrong. Ever since she surrendered her powers into the box she’s felt more tied down to the world; less ethereal and more mortal. Since the night of the ceremony, Brooke had lost some of her powers and was only starting to get used to her limited abilities.

The sky was overcast this particular day with the sun quietly hiding behind a thick set of clouds. Brooke took this opportunity to walk around and explore the streets of St. Petersburg. Her black heels were pounding rhythmically against the cold pavement as she found herself in a less congested area. She was walking by tall buildings when a she saw a glimmer in the corner of her eye. Her curiosity got the best of her and she took a few steps closer, unable to contain the intrigue in her eyes. Before she knew it she was pulled into a narrow opening in the wall and was face to face with a man who looked like he was in his mid 30′s. He was rugged and smelled heavily of smoke and alcohol. She felt a prick on her neck and realized he was holding a sharp cold object to her skin. It stung.

“Hand over everything you got and you won’t get hurt.” The man had a deep, scratchy voice and he had eyes that were so full of evil she was just frozen in place. He pressed the object harder against her skin and she winced as it penetrated her skin. She felt a trail of warm blood trickle down her skin. At least that was proof that she bled now. She shuffled her hands to hand over her purse but the man grabbed her wrist instead. Is this what the mortals call getting mugged? This is a hell of a welcome to mortality.

“On second thought. Your blood smells amazingly 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠. I might need to kill you after all.” His words were laced with so much malice that it sent chills down her spine. She was without her full powers. She didn’t have the strength to push him ten yards away and smash his skull against the wall. She had only started to get used to her mortal body.

The last thing she saw was the man scowling, two sharp teeth extending out from an otherwise perfect set of teeth. Her fascination almost matched the fear welling up in her throat. But before she could even start to process what she was seeing the man’s grip suddenly disappeared and he was out of her sight. She looked to the side and saw that he was pulled away by a mysterious figure of another man. He was less rugged-looking than the one who just held a knife to her neck, but just rough and aggressive nonetheless, if not more. The strangest feature that caught her eye, though, was the large sharp claws extending out from the ends of his fingers.

“How lucky am I to witness two supernatural beings in the span of three minutes.” She muttered dryly to herself, her heart still trying to jump out of her chest from the adrenaline.

The mugger was face-down on the pavement, struggling to break free from the grasp of Brooke’s night in shining armour. Her saviour was crouching by the man’s waist when he looked up and locked eyes with her. For a moment she was frozen in place once more, unable to look away. It was as if she was under a trance. The scenes following this turned out to be the messiest and goriest slaughter she had experienced on earth.

With a devilish grin plastered on his face, Brooke’s mystery man lifted his hand just a fraction of an inch before plunging his long claws into the man’s back. A blood-curdling scream emerged from the mugger as the claws dug in all the way through, enough to skewer him. He crouched man stood up and lifted the mugger to a standing position with his claws. They both faced her, as if this mystery man wanted Brooke to watch every act of punishment he was doing to this scum. The bloody body was nearly limp from the amount of pain that was was being given. She saw the two pointy teeth glimmering in the sunlight once more when the mystery man cocked the head to the side, exposing his neck. Without a hint of hesitation, he dug his teeth into the flesh and blood splattered everywhere. Spouts of blood were all over the walls of the alley and a good amount got sprayed on to Brooke’s clothes as well. She couldn’t help but stare in awe.

She wasn’t horrified, no. If anything, she was 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘥. She hasn’t seen anything of this degree since Tartarus.

She lifted a hand to wipe the blood off her cheek but didn’t take her eyes off the scene for even a second. She was curious what would happen next. Is the show over?

As a final act, mystery man pulled out his claws from the scum’s back and grasped his head firmly. In one swift movement she heard a 𝙨𝙣𝙖𝙥. Mystery man pulled so hard that the mugger’s head was dismembered, and blood was steadily flowing into a thick pool at their feet. Brooke felt pathetic just staring but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything else. Mystery man shoved the body to the side and started stepping closer to her. His eyes showed almost the same malice as the mugger previously had and fear started welling up in her chest again.

“Hand them over, sweetheart.” His husky voice snapped her out of her trance.

𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥.

He grabbed her purse without breaking eye contact and soon enough his face was just inches from hers. His musky scent was intoxicating and her brain was bewildered. She was suddenly self-conscious, hugging her arms to her body as her heart threatened to leap out of her chest. He conspicuously sniffed at her shamelessly. “You smell... 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞.” She felt his eyes slowly travel down her body as if he was undressing her with his eyes and she just simply gulped. His eyes locked on to the trickle of blood from the wound the mugger had previously inflicted and thrust his face down to her neck without permission. Brooke felt a warm tongue lick at the blood on the skin of her neck and she gasped in surprise. Did he just lick her?

“What’s your name?” His eyes were locked with hers once more, his tongue licking his lips menacingly, and she could only meekly reply. “B-Brooke. I’m Brooke Alstreim.”

“Well hello there, Brooke. This has become quite an interesting day.” The devilish smile was back. She didn’t know what to think anymore, and frankly she didn’t want to.

(This is part of the narrative timeline showing the growth and development of Brooke Alstreim. For the previous post, click here.)

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theclaravoyant · 7 years

Text

AN ~ get ready for some FS hurt/comfort/fluff y’all. for @simmppaa, who prompted me along these lines. I hope you like it!

Where-ever this arrow lands; bury me there. - The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood, by Howard Pyle.

After the Framework, Fitz is struggling to shake it off, so Fitz and Jemma go to visit his mother in Glasgow. There they reconnect with Fitz's true past, his true self... and his future.

Read on AO3 (~2300wd)

wherever this arrow lands

Jemma burst into the room and was already rifling through those belongings they hadn’t moved off-base yet, searching for a good jacket, when she realised there was someone else in the room. She jumped.

“Fitz?”

He looked up sluggishly from the tablet he was reading. “Mm?”

“You’re done early.” Frowning, Jemma approached the bed. “Is everything okay?”

Fitz sighed, the ache suddenly clear through his whole body. He lowered the tablet and raked a hand over his face.

“I couldn’t do it, Jemma,” he confessed. “I couldn’t walk into the lab. I just – it’s like, every time I think of picking something up, making something, all I can think of is him. What he made. What he did with it. With my hands. All my work is – is – is –“

Shaking, he clenched a fist as the word eluded him. He was not sure there was a word for this, even if he could find it. Jemma seemed to understand, though, and she crawled across the bed to his side and eased his fist open so that he was holding her hand instead.

“Have you been in here alone all day?” she asked.

Fitz shrugged, but avoided her eyes.

“Mack’s off duty, of course,” he explained. “I ran into Daisy in the kitchen – I can hardly look at her. There’s no way I’m going anywhere near May. The things I said to her. About Bahrain. Twisting it on her like that.”

Jemma squeezed his hand, and he sighed again.

“I know,” he assured her, “I know it wasn’t me. But it’s still in my memories, my hands, my voice. My brain has enough trouble sorting out what’s real and what’s not. I’ll be fine, I just need some time. I’ll just catch up on some reading and paperwork. It’s fine, Jemma. Go back to work, please.”

Jemma scoffed.

“Absolutely not.”

Fitz frowned.

“You just came in here to get a jacket. There’s no reason to cut your day short.”

“There most certainly is.” She cuddled closer to him, defiant, and he wrapped an arm around her with an uneasy smile, still lost in unpleasant thoughts. He picked the tablet back up with one hand, and pretended to read the article he had open on it, but Jemma could see that his eyes were not moving.

“Fitz,” she prompted. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He was silent for a long moment, the weight of all possible answers heavy on his expression, his posture, his soul.

“I’ve been thinking about seeing Mum,” he offered, in the end. “I haven’t seen her since before the Pod. I didn’t realise it’d been that long. I really miss her, that’s all – especially after, you know. And as it turns out, I can’t get much done around here anyway. So why not go?”

“Well?” Jemma prodded. “Why not?”

He hadn’t come up with a way to put words to that answer yet, it seemed, but in the silence Jemma felt her own reasoning come to bear. It was the same reason, she imagined, why she had not visited her own parents in as long. So much had happened to them, they could never explain it. Their families could never understand – and nor should they, really. It was the life they had signed up for, after all. Being the Shield. Taking the hits. Suffering, so that the people they love did not have to suffer. And they were in too deep now; they had lost so much, in so many unexplainable ways, they could never quite go back to pretending it was all heroic missions and zany experiments. Their parents would always see the ghosts of what they were not saying, and not knowing how to deal with that was a daunting thing.

“I think we should,” Jemma assured Fitz. “Let’s take some time off, and go visit. It doesn’t have to be like it was before. She knows we can’t tell her everything. I’m sure she’d just love to see your face again and know that you’re okay. Maybe that will be enough.”

“I’d love to see her,” Fitz breathed. “And I think it might even help me feel… normal again. If I go to my real home, see my real life… You know?”

“I think so too,” Jemma agreed. She flashed him a brave smile – it took courage to reach out; a particular kind of courage that she struggled with as much as he did. Together, they pushed through it, and found their flights, and had their leave signed off by Coulson with a proud, almost nostalgic look in his eyes. Home was such a dreamlike concept here, he thought, and yet here these two were, their feet always finding their way back to the path toward it. They walked tall and proud and happy, relatively, but he imagined even if they’d been wounded soldiers, limping down the road and hanging onto each other for dear life, they’d always have that grounding thought of home, of each other, an invisible strength that pulled them on toward hope.

And it was hope that Fitz felt, at long last, as they broke through the cloud layer. In his lap, he held one of Jemma’s hands, and he looked out the window, watching the slowly shifting, whirling clouds and their meringue-like peaks, glinting in the bright sun. He wondered if this was how she felt, like a weight was lifting off her chest, when she saw the sunrise.

As if she could read his mind, she smiled.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she posited. This time, rather than being lost for words, he simply didn’t feel the need to answer her. Instead, he felt like maybe, for once, the cosmos was whispering you’re going to be alright.

Still, seeing his mother for the first time in so many years – and such formative years they had been, too – was a tearful affair. She had of course been updated on his progress since the Pod, and Fitz had given her the odd phone call since then, but to finally see her boy in the flesh, so much more of a man than he had been - older, stronger, more mature, and so physically different too – was enough to reduce her to tears within seconds of opening the door. Fitz faired a little better, but only because he hid his face with a hug. He locked his arms around his mother, squeezing tightly, and counted the heartbeats as he felt the world shift back into place and steady beneath him.

“It’s good to see you, Mum,” he whispered.

She hugged him, and cried.

After an emotional reunion, tea and cake were of course in order, and things settled down somewhat. Fitz and Jemma recounted what details they could about the Pod and the recovery and what had gone on since then, making their way in leaps and jumps through the story of how they’d finally gotten together. That way, at least, they knew it would have a happy ending. Despite all that they’d had to leave out, Fitz’s mother clapped when they announced the end of the story, and beamed, and hurried out of her seat.

“You disappear, and come back with this!” she cried. “Leopold! Why didn’t you warn me? I have a gift for you! I could’ve brought it out of the bloody storeroom…”

She trailed off, muttering to herself as she shoved open a reluctant door leading off the lounge room, and began digging through years of various acquired stuff. Fitz perked up at this, and trailed his mother to the doorway, looking in after her. It was a bedroom, somewhere under all that – his old bedroom. Now, it was full of extra furniture, an ironing board, some sheets and things thrown haphazardly, but also smaller ornaments and photographs dotted around the flat surfaces, on shelves and desks. Somewhere under bags of clothes for goodwill there was a bed, and behind a stepladder he himself had repaired a handful of times, was a bookshelf that still held the literature of his childhood. He knelt before it, searching through the books and telling himself it was the dust that pricked at his eyes and caused the lump in his throat.

“What’s this?”

It was Jemma’s voice; she had come to kneel beside him. She looked over the titles he had taken out; from Dear Zoo and Curious George, to The Wind in the Willows. In between, there was the Magic School Bus series, some of the Famous Five, and Hairy Maclary from Donaldson’s Dairy – Jemma snorted at that.

“We need a photo of that one for Daisy,” she whispered, and grinned back at Fitz, already pulling her phone out of her pocket to take the shot. Fitz, however, was distracted, by one of the larger, hard-cover books that remained in the back of the shelf. He drew it out slowly, running his hand over the cover with reverence. All his books were a little ratty – and if he remembered correctly, most of them had always been that way – but he remembered this one more than all the others. He remembered how he’d been the one to tear the top of the spine. How he’d got so upset one day that he’d thrown it or something, and crinkled one of the corners – hardcovers weren’t supposed to do that. He even remembered the illustration; the very specific style of drawing, that he had not realised until now, had stuck in his mind.

“Fitz?” Jemma prompted.

“I’m fine, Jemma,” he assured her, and opened the book slowly. He turned through the pages, drinking in their familiarity moreso than the story itself.

“What are you two up to over there?” his mother wondered, giving up her search for a while to check on them. She saw what Fitz was looking at, and crooned.

“Ah,” she reminisced. “The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood. That was your favourite book as a kid, you know. You’d go months at a time without letting me read anything else before bed. And it did you good, too. I couldn’t be more proud of you, Leo. And Jemma – I’m so glad my boy fell in love with such a lovely woman, and was lucky enough to have you love him back. I hope I’m not being too presumptuous with this but, if you don’t mind, I’d like to give you something.”

She held out an open ring box, and inside was a silver ring with a square diamond at its centre, in a simple but elegant setting. It had tarnished a little with age, but still gleamed with promise.

“My ring’s long gone, and good riddance to it,” Fitz’s mother explained, “but Fitz, this belonged to your Nan. She and Grandpa Henry had a long and happy marriage, and that’s what I wish for you two. That’s all I wish.”

It was Jemma who had to blink back tears this time. She remembered not-Fitz suggesting his intent to propose, and while she could do without thinking about the specific circumstances of it, she had nursed that image all this time: the gleaming promise, under all their struggles, to which they would always return.

“Jemma?” Fitz checked, a slight frown creasing his brow. She almost laughed. Of course, he didn’t know she knew.

“You mentioned it,” she said. “You were…talking in your sleep.”

“Oh.” Fitz let his eyes fall down to the ring, which he had taken from his mother. Jemma’s roundabout way of explaining it suggested that asleep meant in there, but that wasn’t why she was crying. It was love, she was in love, and the pain had been that she hadn’t been able to say it when she had been asked.

“…Well,” Fitz continued. “Since I’ve already blown the surprise, apparently –“

He dropped down to one knee, and Jemma couldn’t help it; she still gasped, and let her hands fly to her mouth, and she grinned so broadly her cheeks hurt despite her tears.

“Jemma Anne Simmons. You know I’m not as good with words as I once was, but… I hope by now you also know that I love you more than words can say, anyway. And I know you love me too. And I know that now is probably a bad time, but if we wait for the right time, we’ll be waiting the rest of our lives. I don’t want to wait anymore, Jemma. I don’t want to wait ever again. And I know I can’t always be with you, and I know that all this is just a symbol, but it’s a symbol that I want to share with you. So… will you marry me?”

It had taken so much effort not to interrupt him, that Jemma had to wait a few seconds until after he was done, before she finally reacted.

“Yes. Of course I will, you wonderful, wonderful man.”

He stood, and caught her as she leapt into his arms and they kissed and embraced until, laughing, they finally unfolded from each other.

“Oh, darn!” Evelyn cried, waving her phone in frustration. “I just got this bloody thing working. Get back to kissing.”

She waved at them insistently, and blushing a little, they obligingly posed with their necks outstretched and their lips on each others’ for a photogenic, if not particularly comfortable kiss. Then, at last, Fitz slid the ring onto Jemma’s finger, and they posed with that too, for a few shots.

“Now this,” Fitz murmured into Jemma’s hair, “is the photo to send to Daisy.”

#fitzsimmons #fsfic #thefitzsimmonsnetwork #buskidsnet #aospositivitynet

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gorillazsource · 4 years

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blog post on murdoc’s profile, plastic beach website 5/10/2010

Well. Wow! What A pointless week that was. Sugary Beelzebub !! The US authorities man. Total bummers. I’d snuck over to the US to go monitor the great and good ‘Gorillaz live band’, y’know, before they hit the main stage for the big Coachella festival slot. The UK warm up shows were great, but we / “they” hadn’t played with the any of the visuals or any of the guests collaborators, so y’know…the stakes were high. And so was I. I would have pulled Coachella if the band were just going to be limp. I wouldn’t have even blinked. It would have ruined the good and glorious work I’ve spent the last decade building up, and I’m not have that.….Anyway….

I was all hyped up the night before my departure, just rocking around my Plastic Beach, tweeting my nuts off. Rum n’ rohypnol on the go. Bags packed full of flick-knives and rum and spare nappies and capes and Satnavs. I couldn’t have been more fired up about this gig.

So, next right, I revved up my crappy little submarine, and after it spent two hours on its own zipping round the bay like a wonky Toyota (I have to upgrade that thing), I popped a couple of Xanies then purred my way over to the States. Feeling a bit mongy, like, but nice and calm inside….Mmmm….

It was great…Took me 24 hours of underwater hi-jinx but I eventually arrive in LA on the Tuesday, unzipped my wetsuit, and then checked myself into The Roosevelt, on Hollywood Boulevard. Nice! The so-called ‘party hotel’ of Tinsel Town. Spacious rooms, clean toilets, big wet swimming pool. Took a quick shower and then scooted down to the rehearsal venue where we were testing out the big screens...They look enormous! The Gorillaz backing band were in top form. Keyboards – check. Two sets of drums – check. Backing Vocals (four) – check. One Damon Albarn – check. Half the Clash – check. All good, and sounding unique! Let’s roll out the visuals and guests….

FRIDAY NIGHT in L.A.

So come Friday night, the April 16th, I went down to check on the Gorillaz G –Club gig, the first live gig with the visuals and some of those there guests we always crap on about. (I was at the back incognito dressed as Eddy Murphy from the Nutty Professor. Don’t know why I chose that one, but it was the last costume in the shop and it took me four hours to get the damn thing on. Still, did the job.).

But next thing, right, I notice we’re a few guests short of the full meringue. Turns out that due to that sodding Icelandic volcano explosion which went off we missed out on having the likes of Mos Def, The Hypnotic Brass, Shaun Ryder, Una Stubbs, Mark. E. Smith Bashy and Kano (or “Ashy” and “VolKano” as they’re now known round these parts), Rosie Wilson…loads of our sparkly glittery highlights…all stranded in Blighty with no way of getting to L.A.

My theory is that was Paul Simonon’s bass that managed to shift the ash out that Volcano. Nice work, Simmo!

Still, as I suspected there was more than enough action for our small, cosy little selected audience. The set looked amazing… although the atmosphere in the makeshift concert-cum-rehearsal hall was a little..er… dry.

Everyone was cross-legged so while they got blasted with 60ft screens, giant Doggy Doggs, the legendary Bobby Womack and seismic sub-sonic rumblings so deep I think half the first three rows actually sharted! I was just laughing away at the back in my Eddie Murphy suit….

At the same time their reaction was kinda somewhat static and …quiet. I don’t think they know exactly how to react….Maybe of having 8 zillion volts of sound and light blasted right at them left them a bit frazzled….And we weren’t even giving them the full spectacle….They look shell-shocked so I knew we were all set to go…Set us up good and ready for the Coachella meltdown….

That was the Friday. Friday The 16th. So, listen, after that we all go back to the Roosevelt, for our own little private Gorillaz party, to celebrate all the work we’d put together over the last couple of months. We were finally there and ready for battle. Nice hotel, as I said. Although I don’t think hiring an 8ft bouncer to kick you out of your own party when you’ve dropped more the 60k hiring a roped of area just to serve up a bunch of tepid drinks and a few chicken drumsticks is really anyway to run a top-notch LA hotel, for so called “celeb-based parties”. More like a knackers-yard for botoxed cock-knockers if you ask me.

Still, it was all good until I found a turd floating in the Jacuzzi…I should have taken that as an omen. A warning sign of darker moments to come, maybe?

DEARLY DEPORTED

So check this out.

3:00 am Saturday 17th I’ve just finished up the last line of my er….‘frantic memoirs’ when this happened…Saturday morning. 3:00 am. I got a knock at the door. Pause. Then it gets booted in. Some baloney-eating copper is standing there, with his squashed piggy nose telling me to get up and get dressed. Him and his stupid chubby sidekick.

You what? “I’m already dressed, mate” I said, “Nappy, boots and cape. That’s how I roll. D’you get me?”

Obviously not.

Even in my sleep I dress for success…So anyway, they yank me out of bed, and they’re barking about I can’t stay in the country. I’ve gotta get my peachy ass out of the U.S. and back to Plastic Beach. Now! No work visa. NO WORK VISA? Are you SERIOUS? I’m playing the biggest gig of my life tomorrow!

But no. They escorted me, well ‘frogmarched’ me with my spindly green arm rammed right up to the back of me neck all the way to the coastal border, and shoved me back in my sub. Bit unnecessary. But, yeah, for me the Coachella concert was cancelled immediately.

I was made to tootle of my way from the shores of America in my own little submarine back to my little garbage dump idyll in the middle of nowhere. Swine! SWEINHUNTZ! The Gorillaz backing band had to do the gig for me….Cnuts!

I missed out of the greatest gig of my life! Handed it on a platter to a sliver-gilded hired pick-up backing band. The very band I’ve been training for months, now get all the glory of headlining the Coachella festival on the Sunday night, bringing down the house to rapturous applause….

I watched it all from a video link up I’d arranged last minute….just heartbreaking. I almost wept. Watching these trained imposters steal my thunder! (big slurp of rum n’ ginger…all better now…)

So my rundown of the concert…Well, from the video cam footage I saw, it did look like an all-spectacular….

The Technicolor visuals of “The Orchestral Intro” with a 360 panoramic tour of my Plastic Beach straight into a 2000-foot Snoop Dogg lurching across the helm of the boat, telescope in hand right, then hit after hit washing like a Tsunami across the shores of the Coachella festival; a giant wave in all rights I should have been riding. White Flag, Clint Eastwood, FeelGood Inc, Empire Ants, Kids with Guns…Gliterfreeze…STYLO! I’d planned it all with meticulous detail!

I don’t want to spoil it all because it’s something that needs to be witnessed first hand, with your own eyes n’ ears, but what a fantastic concert. Something Coachella had never seen before. The best closing set the festival had ever seen by all accounts… And they’re all my songs! So imagine just how grand and awe-inspiring it’ll look when I’m in there. The real Gorillaz! Right in the middle of it all! Plus the artists who couldn’t make over Stateside. Makes my heart go all butterflies just thinking about it….

Still, such a bummer I couldn’t make it. Heartbreak aside I still managed to interrupt the performance with a message to my mate George, from Iowa, Des Moines just to let him know I got the stuff he wanted…I guess I’ll have to pass it on to him in Londonia. I sort you out at The Roundhouse if you’re coming George.

And where am I now? Kicking my heels back on Plastic Beach, that’s where!

Oh…The winds round here roar black operas into my ears. Tales of dust and ash and traumas, singing songs of desolation and hopes unfulfilled. All eternity wrapped into a single melancholic crappy midnight gale…I cannot seem to leave this rock.

It seems like my Plastic Beach is growing now too. Take a look at this. This beach in Hawaii is turning out the same as my place. Their beach is evolving into plastic too, all washed up by the sea…

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/8639769.stm

The horror is spreading…! Just without the cases of rum!

NEW YORK, AOL, STEVE COLBERT REPORT!

So, where were we? Oh yeah right, back in that world, while I just got escorted back to the island, the Gorillaz band continued without me. They had to. Straight on to New York, to do more promotion. A session at the legendary Electric Ladyland studios where Mr J. Hendrix laid down his seminal album. Historic! I think they’ve still got the original headphones he used in there. By all accounts they we’re well crackly…

Then what next hmmm…An AOL performance, and then some iTunes bizness. I’m glad these were just karaoke sessions otherwise I would have busted my nut over not being in on it. Still I just couldn’t hold my lip when it came to The Steve Colbert Report. That’s this TV show that’s big in America apparently. So I got wind that the boys and girls of the Gorillaz backing band were going to spring up on this programme, to play Stylo, again without your truly.

I thought it was only fair to let Steve Colbert know just exactly what he was getting for his bucks…I left him a little answerphone message to tell him that it wasn’t the real Gorillaz band, just a cod interpretation of it. I love them but I did think it’d be good to rain on their parade…

Steve Colbert quite rightly flipped his lid when he found out he’d been hustled. The interview with Jamie and Damon well and truly nose-dived into the surreal as soon as Steve got my message, so I’m glad to have helped out there….Or ruined it, if you like. Whatever.

Still none of that matters now. The past is a foreign country, as they say. Next Up!!!!

THE CAMDEN ROUNDHOUSE!!!

All of this is now loading the bases for The Camden Roundhouse in a magnificent style. Which I most certainly WILL be appearing at. My glorious return! And all the ‘work visa’ issues have just gone away. I just need to turn up. I’m a UK passport holder so there’s no worry of me not making this one. D’you get me…? I’m legit.

Boy, am I’m looking forward to this one. I’m applying the rosin to the shaft end of my bass….making it extra twangy for the Camden kids worldwide….POW!!!!!!!!!

This concert’s being streamed you know? LIVE to MTV worldwide. MTV will be steaming The Roundhouse concerts on the Friday and Saturday. So you can check it out all online, live streaming, for 48 hours after the concert…They’re going capture me in all my billowing glory! I’ve had my nappy silver –plated for this one…. http://gorillaz.mtv.com

And this time we’ll have the full set. We’ve got The Mos Def, The Hypnotic Brass, Shaun Ryder, Mark. E Smith….the works… Bobby Womack, Bashy & Kano, Little Dragon, The Syrian Orchestra….Gruff from the Super Furry Animals, Bootie Brown…De La Soul…

This will be the one! This will be the concert to end them all! Coachella got ruined because of the glaring gaping cavernous absence of me, Murdoc Niccals. That was like an Indiana Jones film without say…Harrison Ford. And I guess it would’ve helped too if, say, the Gorillaz guitarist Noodle was there too. Or Russel on drums. And having 2D singing instead of Damon Albarn probably would’ve made some kind of difference.

But the Camden Roundhouse concerts will have it all in spades! The full set. All the band, all the guests and all the back up we need to make this a gig to end them all.

It’s funny to think that Gorillaz started out here in this very spot all those years ago. Our very first gig was at the infamous Camden Brownhouse, just down the road from the Roundhouse. November 5th 1998. That’s the first one we did with out current line-up, me 2D and the other two. The first Gorillaz concert known to man.

A&R man Whiffy Smiffy from EMI signed us up there and then on the spot. One gig. One song. We we’re that good! And now look; 20 million record sales later, world tours, awards falling out of our collective arses, global stomping videos…. We couldn’t have taken it any further. We’ve pushed our boats to all four corners of the globe. The World is now Gorillaz-shaped!

And now we’ve come back to our old stomping ground. Camden, London, UK.

So here’s to Thursday, and here’s to me getting off this miserable island once more. It’s sending shivers up my spine now, this place. The island has started to rumble. Just before I left for LA it started playing spooky old jazz hits from the 50’s, eerie melodies wafting around its weeping shores. "Midnight, The Stars and You” I think the tune was...like something from the Overlook Hotel…I think something, some dark spirit, is trapped in this Plastic Beach. And it’s beginning to emerge….I’m actually hoping Russel gets here sooner rather than later now, which I never thought I’d hear myself say…

We shall see then…

Anyway, this is me Captain Murdoc of the Gorillaz Plastic Beach enterprise, signing off and hoping to see all of your pretty, pretty faces over in London at the Camden Roundhouse!

It promises to be an incredi….Hey! Wait a sec.! Just had a flick through the TV Times and what’s this? Apparently Gorillaz are playing the Jools Holland Show this Tuesday. In London. Tomorrow! Really? No-one informed me. Right, best get my harris over to England sharpish. Can’t miss that one too…Christ. It’s impossible to get decent update round these parts…Who’s tour-managing this thing? Houdini?!

Plastic Beach? It’s a concrete nightmare….

Right. I’m off

Love kisses and a sloppy dirty nicotine-stained smooch to you all.

I love you all from the bottom of my crooked little heart!

Ciao!

Murdoc N.

http://web.archive.org/web/20100924185751/http://gorillaz.com/profile/Murdoc

#gorillaz

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