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specialagentlokitty · 10 months

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Mr Evershed x Teen!reader - family isn’t always blood

A/N: thanks to @casserole-from-dads-asserole for putting up with my weird ideas and helping me create this 😂💜

Part one:

You looked at the paper in your hand with a heavy frown on your face and you set it aside, looking at the woman sat opposite you.

“So they want to combine the two very separate, very different schools?”

“That is what it looks like yes, do you have any idea on why they would be doing this Julie? You’re the go too between Ackley Bridge College and MTA.”

The woman shook her head.

“I’m not entirely sure, I wasn’t warned about this. But apparently it has recently been taken over by some trust, so maybe that has something to do with it?”

“Perhaps. The meeting is tomorrow. We will find out then, will you be attending with me?”

“Of course, if you want me too.”

You nodded your head and stood up and looked at your watch.

“Alert the students and stuff it is midnight and they can go home.”

“Of course, are you locking up?”

You nodded and she nodded and left, and you began to tidy everything away, setting all the files back and locking the cabinet.

Once away everything was away and out of sight, you set the desk back the way you found it and you left.

You walked back to the large building which held MTA students outside and wondering about inside.

“Is it true?!” Someone yelled.

You looked over at them.

“The night and day school merging?”

“I will let you know tomorrow.”

With that, you made your way to the top floor and headed to your desk to carry on working.

As morning came, you looked at your clock then got up, throwing in your blazer you made your way downstairs where Julie was waiting for you.

“Ready to go?”

You nodded your head and she drove you both over and she spoke to the receptionist and you were led towards a conference room.

There was already people in it and they all stood up when you walked in and they greeted Julie first.

“I’m Ken, the trust member over seeing the transfer. This is Mandy Carter, headteacher, and this is Martin Evershed, deputy head. I assume you’re (Y/N) (L/N), CEO of MTA?”

“No, I’m Julie, just the deputy CEO.”

They all looked at you.

“A student?” Mrs Carter asked.

You stepped toward and looked at them all in boredom.

“I am the CEO of MTA.”

“That’s.. that’s a teenager…?” Mr Evershed whispered.

You snapped your gaze to him.

“I apologise if I do not look as old or stressed out as you. I am the CEO and your letter was addressed to myself, so if we can hurry this up I am a busy person.”

The three shivered at the coldness of your tone, and they all slowly sat down.

Julie sat down and you stood at the end of the table hands clasped behind your back as you idly gazed at them.

“You wish to combine both the night school and the day school, why?”

“Well, what’s the point of having two different schools running from the same building? There’s only a handful of students at MTA, it’ll fit perfectly.” Ken said.

“Our students learn two different things.” You said.

“Please, I’m sure if I even tried to talk to you about this you wouldn’t understand, being a student yourself. Maybe it’s best to leave the adults to talk.”

You looked at Ken, and raised a hand when Julie went to talk.

She nodded her head and you blinked.

“You’re just a teenager who probably inherited this position right?”

You slowly reached out, placing your palms on the table and you leant forward a little as you stared at him.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I may have the appearance of a teenager but let me assure you I am more mature than all three of you combined. I have successfully run MTA for a long time, I am no student, and do not dare think you can order me around.” You whispered.

He gulped, and he slowly nodded his head.

“Tell me the real reason why you are combining the schools and do not even think to lie to me, any of you.”

“The trust are cutting the schools funding, and they can’t keep running the two separate schools.”

You stood up and clasped your hands behind your back again.

“If funding in the issue I can offer funding to keep the schools separate.”

“They want the schools combined.” Mr Evershed said.

“I see. I assume there is not much of a day for us here. Fine, I will agree to this, but be aware that we have a strict list of things we will need, Julie will send this over.”

With that, you left and Julie organised everything with them, and the following Monday, you were stood in front of the hall of teachers.

The MTA students all stood behind you, hands clasped in front of them.

“The trust had combined both the night school and the day school, MTA students will be attending core subjects in the respecting year groups, but they will also hold their own lessons. Lunches and breaks will be at separate times, and they will start and finish later than us.” Mrs Carter said.

“So we’re supposed to now accept freaks into our school?”

“Mrs Carp!” Someone hissed.

You turned to the woman and stepped forward.

“We are no different to the rest of you, we bleed, we cry, we laugh. We share the same genetic material which makes us who we are, which makes us humans. The only thing that makes us stand out, is a mutation in our genes, nothing more, nothing less.”

“And we’re supposed to listen to you? A child?” Someone said.

You took another step forward, and Julia walked over, placing a hand on your shoulder she looked at you.

“Don’t act so irrationally…” she whispered.

“They will not respect me until I show them why they should respect me.” You said.

She sighed and nodded, stepping aside and you looked down on all the teachers.

“Perhaps I should show you exactly why I am the CEO of this school.”

You raised your hand, and tilted your palm towards the floor.

Clenching your hand into a fist, a pentagram appears on the ground, glowing black as lightening surrounded inside of it, and a large flaming dog appeared in the middle, growling and snarling.

People gasped, shouted and jumped back.

“I am a sorcerer by birth.”

You clicked your fingers and everything vanished.

“Mutants are separated into classes, each class has a danger ranking. Make no mistake, I may look like just another student to you all, but I could have this country on its knees if I do wanted.” You said.

You stepped back.

“The MTA is a multinational school which teaches mutants how to control their powers, use them to defend themselves and others if needed.”

You turned around and walked away, vanishing into the air.

Julie settled the students into their new classroom, and you appeared in the classroom.

“There is a variety of rules you must obey, as students here in the normal world you set an example for us all.”

You listened the rules and someone stood up.

“Cameron.”

“So if you teleport can I?” He beamed.

“Absolutely not, not unless you are in the boarding house.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I am older than you, and your leader, remember that. The day you can defeat me in a fight maybe I’ll consider letting you teleport.”

Everyone laughed and Cameron huffed as he sat down.

You left the room again, wondering the hallways, you made your way to the front office and knocked on the door before walking in.

You looked at Mr Evershed, Mrs Carter and Mrs Carp.

“I just need some of my files.” you said.

Walking over the your cabinet you unlocked it and flicked through as you pulled some out and set them aside.

“You’re nothing more than a child playing grownup…”

You paused.

“Sue!” Mr Evershed hissed.

You turned around and stared at her blankly.

“Does my power terrify you Mrs Carp? Do my students, my school terrify you?” You asked.

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

You hummed, grabbing your files, you locked everything up and walked past her and back to the door.

“Good, so they should.”

With that you left.

Mr Evershed laughed a little as turned away, and he shook his head a little.

“Sorry, sorry. But seriously, you’re scared of a few teenagers?”

“Mutants Martin. I’m scared of mutants and it would do you well to remember what they did in the past.”

“Just.. be nice. Both of you.” Mrs Carter said.

Mr Evershed turned to look at her.

“Do you really think this is going to work? Humans and Mutants?”

“Honestly? I hope so. But.. there’s still a lot of fear around them.”

He nodded his head, knowing she was right.

Though he was curious as to why a teenager was playing headteacher of a large and important school

#ackley bridge #ackley bridge imagine #ackley bridge x reader #ackley bridge x you #mr evershed imagine #mr evershed x reader #mr evershed #mr evershed x you

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goldenraeofsun · 10 months

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Hum Part 2

A sequel to this one shot!

Dean curses and rolls over in bed, ignoring his blaring Monday morning phone alarm. Last night's dream mingles unpleasantly with his memories of Friday night before it all went to hell. The details are still fuzzy. He can’t name the color of Cas’s sheets or the titles of the books on his nightstand. He has no idea if Cas has morning breath or not.

But he remembers the jolt of red-hot shame perfectly. Ditto with the capital-R regret. All because he couldn’t keep it in his pants for his boss.

To be fair, Dean lasted a solid ten and a half months, which is the longest he ever held out, not counting Rhonda Hurley in eleventh grade. Not even a full goddamn year.

And now, Dean’s out of a job in a city he barely knows.

Sammy’s going to kill him after all he did to help Dean drag his ass to the other end of the continent for this shitshow.

A fist raps on the wall, jerking Dean out of his misery spiral. “Turn off that fucking alarm!”

One thing Dean won’t miss about Oakland: his three – count ’em – roommates. Lee, the bartender. Chuck, the writer. Dorothy, the… something.

Dean shuts off his alarm, and his ears ring in the sudden silence.

He could just… not go to work. All he’d be missing is a very awkward conversation with HR. Would they even want an exit interview if he’s getting fired for banging his boss?

Dean doesn't even particularly like his job. He likes his boss (a little too much, obviously). He likes the mini cheese steak sandwiches Tara orders for Friday lunch. He likes having health insurance for the first time in three years.

But the calendar management? Tracking Cas’s expense account for quarterly submissions to finance? All the goddamn endless meetings?

On the other hand, he left his favorite jacket at the office because he got too hot at the office party. Afterwards, he was too drunk and too horny to remember it. Instead, he hopped in a cab with Cas and fulfilled every dirty fantasy that had been rattling around his stupid, stupid head for the past ten and a half months. The rest of the night is a haze of tongues, fingers, and desperation.

Some moments stick out with awful clarity. Dean got his legs tangled in his pants in his eagerness to get to the good stuff, and Cas hauled him onto the bed, laughing. As Cas bent over the bed to grab the dropped lube bottle, Dean finally got his hands on that ass he’d been dreaming about for so long.

And, of course, the epic orgasm that felt like he shot his brain out of his dick.

Dean scowls at his now-hard cock. Great, now he has this to take care of. He hauls himself up from bed with a groan.

Time to get ready for work.

* * *

Dean slinks out of the elevator, a please-don’t-fire-me coffee clutched in a death grip. His stomach twists with nerves as he steps over the threshold to the office he shares with Cas.

But Cas isn’t at his desk. His coat hangs over the back of his chair, and his Origami Page-A-Day calendar torn to today’s date. A neon blue paper snail is propped up against Cas’s computer screen.

Dean settles in behind his desk, hyper alert to every footstep outside the door, every flash of movement in his periphery. He nearly has a heart attack when Alfie sprints past on his way to the conference room.

He checks Cas’s appointments for the day. At this hour, Cas is supposed to be here. Dean gnaws on his lip as he cranes his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Cas’s perpetual bedhead through the glass door.

Where the fuck is he?

By ten in the morning, Dean can’t take it any longer. His nerves are this close to snapping, and he needs more coffee, stat. If he has to pretend to stare at his inbox any longer, he’s going to go cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. Empty mug in hand, he gets up.

And runs smack into Cas on his way into his office.

“Shit, Cas!”

Cas blinks. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean nervously runs his free hand through his hair. “Hi.”

Cas straightens, his expression unreadable. “We need to talk.”

Dean goes cold all over. He should've expected Cas wanted to get right to it. “Right, yeah.” He swallows, his throat dry as the champagne bottle he and Cas practically inhaled last Friday.

Cas sighs and gestures for Dean to follow him back into their shared office.

Dean shuts the door firmly behind them. No way is he going to let the office gossip and their next-office-neighbor, Ezra, blab their business to the whole fucking office. He has no idea how Anna puts up with him as her executive assistant.

Cas sits behind his desk, and Dean swivels his chair around so they’re facing each other.

As Cas stares, Dean frantically scrambles to come up with some sorry excuse to keep his job. Jesus Christ, what was he doing for the past hour? He should've been using his goddamn brain for once. He grabs his jacket off the back of his chair and holds it in front of him like a shield. It’s probably acting more like a safety blanket, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Thing is, Dean knew it was too good to last, that he would fuck everything up. He practically told Cas so, before he even knew his name. But for some godforsaken reason, Cas hired him anyway, blabbering on about Dean’s ability to deliver under pressure, his memory for deadlines, and some other bullshit.

Honestly, Dean thought Cas hired him out of pity and, when his six month work anniversary came around, Dean swore he was getting the sack. Cas could wipe his hands of his mistake and hire someone with some real skills.

Instead, Cas shyly presented him with a selection of miniature pies over his lunch break.

It was a weird day.

“Dean,” Cas clears his throat, “about last weekend –”

Dean shakes his head. “Yeah, I know. My bad.” He snaps his mouth shut with an audible clack of teeth. He’s such an idiot.

What the fuck? My bad?

My bad is what he said after he used the last of Sammy’s gross oat milk for his cereal because they were out of regular milk.

My bad is what he said to his baby after he (unknowingly) let Sammy drive her on a Chipotle run.

My bad is not what he should say after boning his boss. Multiple times.

Confused, Cas just blinks at Dean for a beat before repeating, “Your… bad?”

“Yeah, so,” Dean hedges, itching to get this whole thing over with, “I’ll just,” he gets up from his seat, “get my stuff and go.”

“Go… where?” Cas says, his forehead furrowing.

Dean freezes, his ass awkwardly hovering three inches above his chair. “Home?”

Cas’s eyebrows rise. “I was unaware you’re taking vacation today.”

Dean makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. “Don’t need to take vacation for a job I don’t have anymore.”

Cas’s eyes widen. “Are you quitting?”

Dean internally groans. So much for getting out with his dignity intact. But since apparently Cas needs everything spelled out for him: “Are you firing me?” he asks bluntly.

Slowly, Cas shakes his head.

Dean’s knees nearly give out. He falls back into his chair, dumbfounded. “You’re not?”

“No,” Cas says slowly, drawing the syllable out, and Dean sags with relief. “But if you want to quit, I,” he swallows and reaches over to fiddle with his origami snail, “wouldn’t blame you in the slightest. Of course I will write you the best recommendation letter of my ability, and feel free to make use of my network contacts to find your next positon.”

“Hold on,” Dean says, leaning in to study Cas’s constipated-looking expression. “I don’t wanna quit.”

Cas’s head snaps up. He stares at Dean, his blue eyes large. “You don’t?”

Dean shakes his head. “Fuck no.”

“Thank god,” Cas breathes, a real smile breaking out across his face. “Or else that would make this whole morning very awkward.”

Bemused, Dean says, “But I didn’t see you at all this morning.”

“No, because I was meeting with Anna,” Cas says matter-of-factly. He sets his paper snail down and meets Dean’s gaze squarely. “As you can no longer be my assistant, she has agreed to take you on instead. Ezra will be my new assistant starting next Monday.”

“Wait – I can’t work for you anymore?” Dean asks, desperation coiling tense in his stomach.

Cas shakes his head. “Not after last weekend.”

“But – we can just forget it ever happened!” Dean says loudly, hitching an unconvincing grin on his face.

“I can’t,” Cas says shortly. “Not after all we did.”

Dean quietly dies inside. He stares Cas down, but Cas, of course, wins. Eventually Dean forces out, “So, Anna?”

“Indeed,” Cas says, a dull flush crawling up his neck and cheeks. His hands twitch towards a small pile of papers on his desk. After a beat, he holds them out for Dean to take.

“But if you change your mind about forgetting our night together,” Cas says stiffly without looking at him, “I have the paperwork that makes HR aware of a potential relationship between us and safeguards your rights against retaliation and sexual harassment if we separate for any reason.”

Hold on - Cas doesn't want to forget that night either? He was making contingency plans this morning? Not damage control?

Dumbly, Dean takes the papers. He scans them, his jaw dropping as he spots Cas’s signature already printed at the bottom.

The optimistic son of a bitch.

Dean can't help the wide grin that spreads across his face. “I changed my mind,” he announces as he reaches across Cas’s desk for Cas’s fancy fountain pen. “I wanna date the shit out of you,” he says as he scrawls his name on the dotted line. “Just as long as I don’t I have to personally give this to Naomi. That chick’s scary as fuck.”

Cas makes a strange strangled noise. “Really?” he breathes, his face going slack with mingled relief and delight.

Dean would kiss him for being such a dork, but they’re in plain view of the whole goddamn office. “So…” he drifts off, his own glee turning his brain to mush. Say something. “Should I clear my desk anyway?”

Cas settles back in his seat, calm as anything, but his eyes are fucking twinkling. “Your official transfer doesn’t start until next Monday, so you have a week to prepare Ezra to take over my workload.”

“But you hate Ezra,” Dean says, frowning. “You said he’s the most useless assistant who’s ever touched a keyboard.”

Cas shrugs. “I value you more.”

Fuck the office. If HR has to know, so can everyone else.

Dean gets up, walks around Cas’s desk, and kisses him square on the mouth.

#rae writes fic #destiel #fanfic #destiel fanfic #office au #coworkers au

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medicalconference · 4 months

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Experience Career Elevation At Scopus Conferences 2024

Embarking on the journey of professional development in the academic world often pivots around making strategic choices, especially when it comes to selecting conferences to attend. A Scopus conference, known for its high standards and academic rigor, can be a pivotal point in one’s career trajectory. The key lies in discerning which conference aligns perfectly with your professional aspirations and academic pursuits. This blog is dedicated to guiding you through the process of evaluating a Scopus indexed conference for its potential to elevate your career, detailing steps and considerations that ensure your choice is not just good, but transformational.

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#scopus indexed conference #scopus conference #international conference #scopus indexed conference 2024

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conferencealerts-org · 4 months

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Where Can I get Upcoming Scopus Indexed conferences 2024?

As of my last knowledge update in January 2023, I don't have the ability to provide real-time information, including details on specific upcoming Scopus indexed conferences in 2023. However, I can guide you on how to find such conferences:

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Explore reputable conference listing websites. Websites like Conference Alerts, ConferenceAlerts, and Conference Monkey allow you to search for conferences based on keywords, dates, and locations. They often specify whether a conference is indexed by Scopus.

University and Research Institution Websites:

Check the websites of universities, research institutions, and professional organizations. They often host and promote conferences that are indexed by Scopus. Look for the "Conferences" or "Events" section on these websites.

Contacting Conference Organizers:

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Academic Journals and Publications:

Explore academic journals and publications in your field. Sometimes, Scopus indexed conferences are promoted through academic channels. Check the announcements or calls for papers in relevant journals.

Networking and Professional Associations:

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Online Forums and Discussion Groups:

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Always verify the authenticity and relevance of the information before planning to attend a conference. Additionally, the availability of Scopus indexing can change, so make sure to confirm the conference's current indexing status.

Remember that this information might change, and it's a good idea to check the latest sources for the most up-to-date information on upcoming Scopus indexed conferences in 2023.

#conference organizers

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naresh12-08-2002 · 6 months

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Unlocking the Power of Scholarly Research with the Scopus Database Journal

Introduction

In today's information age, where knowledge and research are at the forefront of progress, accessing high-quality academic journals is paramount. Among the many databases available, Scopus stands as a robust and indispensable resource for researchers, scholars, and academics worldwide. This article delves into the Scopus database journal, exploring its features, significance, and how it has revolutionized the way we access and engage with scholarly research.

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Research Assessment :Academic institutions and funding bodies often use Scopus data to evaluate the research output of individuals and institutions. This demonstrates the platform's influence on the academic ecosystem.

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Conclusion

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Hyderabad, Telangana

#Research #papers #publish

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complaintreviews · 4 years

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I light-heartedly gave a list of names which, for all I knew, I might hear: Hugh Murray Constantin Petrie Peter SmallSignor Beniamino BariThe Honourable Alex O'Brannigan, Bart. Kurt FreundMr John P. de Salis, M.A.Dr Solway GarrBonaparte GosworthLegs O'Hagan

The story of how Dylan Fazel drifted into academic-publishing scams and from there into conference fraud would make for a fascinating interview, if any journalist or documentary film-maker in Minnesota is at a loose end. It is unclear whether the emphasis on biomedical fields in his operation is motivated by a thwarted childhood medic-manqué ambition, or simply that that's where the money is...

I am sorry. I seem to have committed the classic dramaturgical blunder of starting the story at the beginning, rather than in media res as tradition demands. Let me start again.

It only takes a few minutes with the Goofle Sir Chengine to paper the screen with tweets from people wondering how to get off the A. Siozos (M.D.) mailing list, or wondering whether invitations to his prestigious congresses are legit. **** SPOILER ALERT **** no they're not.

So you should look at this discussion of parasitical publishers and mockademic scamferences, in which the participants share their experiences with the unrelenting blizzard of spam from Dr Siozos (putative editor of the Archives of Applied Medicine), pimping his "Annual Conference on Genetics 2019" scamference in Vienna and his "2019 Global Conf. on Neuroscience and Neurology"…

NO WAIT, you can't, because ResearchGate zorched 200 contributions after receiving a legal-thuggery nastygram, and saw no benefit to themselves in replying to the bumptious censorious asshat with a richly-deserved invitation to "sniff my taint"[Popehat].

Bruno Chrcanovic reply

RG claimed that "[they] received a Notice of Claimed Defamation from Archives of Applied Medicine, asserting that they have a good faith belief that certain portions of the content constitute defamation to them." This serves as a reminder that academic social-networking sites like ResearchGate and Academia.com do not exist for your benefit, and any services they provide will evaporate faster than a Trump promise in the event of anything interfering with their monetising of your work.

As of now a replacement discussion thread exists, not yet cancelled by complaints from the botmaster behind the fake 'Siozos' identity that his commercial freedom to defraud people is constrained by attempts to warn them. Not to forget the equally fake identities "P. Jimenez, Ph.D." and "L. Smith M.D.", for the grifter has creativity to burn in the naming of spambots. In that thread we learn (inter alia) that the keynote speakers listed in the brochure had no intention of attending the Annual Genetics Conference and had no idea of the honour bestowed upon them… which is to say, the entire Prospectus was an unabashed fraud.

Two other aspects of that brochure are of interest (for sufficiently broad values of 'interest'). First, the promise of a special issue of AoAM containing the Conference Proceedings.

In fact the AoAM archives are a ghost-town where nothing but tumbleweed has moved since June 2019 and the only sounds are crickets and the mournful howls of far-off coyotes; the journal is moribund, as the aggressiveness of its spamming is not matched in the actual management of a criminal enterprise.

The second aspect was the name 'KEI' as part of the machinery of shearing:

Here 'KEI' is 'Knowledge Enterprises Incorporated': parasitical publisher of 'Medical Research Archives' and 'Internal Medicine Review' and a few others that are frozen in stasis. So it is not entirely by coincidence that KEI and AoAM use the same office forwarding mailbox to drape themselves in the respectability-mantle of a physical address, 340 S Lemon Ave #7750; Walnut CA 91789.

Physical cheques and letters to IMR are for historical reasons (TRADITION) funneled through a different mail-drop at 712 H St NE Washington DC 20002, with a cheque-cashing service conveniently located upstairs.

Despite these cut-outs, KEI is a departure from the norm in parasitical publishing, being an entirely US operation with no Hyderabad involvement. In fact the man behind KEI's campaign of global spam harassment documented himself thoroughly in his company ownership, and in Wikipedia revision logs, and in a blog dating back to the founding of Medical Research Archives where he claimed the title of "Interim Editor-in-Chief"; and in the registration of domains; and even by signing spam and correspondence with clients (before discovering the pleasures of spurious personae), as Dylan Fazel of Anoka, Minnesota.

Now pressure-to-publish-exploiting spam has evolved towards ever more aggravating persistence, stalking potential victims and boiling their bunnies, and it is only a matter of time before your mailbox deafens you with Feckle-Freezer-related screaming.

Dylan was a pioneer in this evolution, bombarding his targets with follow-ups and reminders… often skipping the original invitation and moving straight on to the reminders, in the hope of instilling the recipients with a sense of guilt and indebtedness. His special innovation, though, was an "ingratiating back-story" literary genre, in which the pressure to provide him with manuscripts and moneys is buttressed by cc:ing a correspondence among multiple non-existent identities, giving the reader an insider glimpse of an entire slice-of-life virtual world. Examples abound at "Flaky Journals", and at "Flaky Journals" again, and at ScholarlyOA, and even here at Riddled.

For a while these spurious personae used the names of actual Ukrainian translators, Venezuelan anaesthesiologists and Bulgarian casino-management freelancers, who were at least sometimes aware that their names were being made synonymous with 'con-job co-conspirator'. The shift to entirely fabricated identities like 'A Siozos' is new.

Dylan's gateway into the exciting world of virtual publishing (which is hard for one to leave, just as the elephant-poop-sweeper in the joke is loath to quit show-biz) was the Astronomical Review - an academic Salon des Refusés, providing autodidact would-be cosmologists with a convenient outlet for their original and challenging theories about the origin of the universe, without the hassle of cyclostyling those theories onto densely-written A4 pages and sellotaping them to the walls of bus-shelters.

Dylan recruited an Editorial Board of world-renowned luminaries from theoretical and experimental physics for this journal, including Roger Penrose and Jean-Pierre Luminet and Francis Everitt and NASA's Planetary Defense Officer, all content to follow his guidance as E.-in-C… or so he claimed, though one must bear in mind his fabulatory tendencies. This is all moot because in 2014 he sold the journal to Taylor & Francis, leaving him with time to found KEI and program his spam-bots. So now you know the back-story. The moral is that pimping out one's journals with wholly fictitious claims can be profitable.

T&F hiked the Article Publishing Fee from $25/page to a flat charge of $750 / £469 / €625 and imposed some standards on what they would accept. Bereft of submissions from Intergalactic Cracked Pots (and of the prestigious Editorial Board), Astronomical Reviewclosed its doors in 2018 after a less-than-glorious history. Someone with Whackyweedia privileges might want to reverse Dylan's self-promotional vandalism of the Wiki entries for Richard Penrose and Jean-Pierre Luminet, from October 12, 2012.

Anyway, I will give Dylan credit for opportunism timeliness. In light of current events, the latest Siozos spam -- urging me to travel to his next scamference in Athens -- has been updated, and now it highlights the potential to present about the effects of travel in spreading COVID-19.

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conferenceineurope · 1 year

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International conference on Gastroenterology and nutrition, Conference on Gastroenterology and nutrition, surgical gastroenterology, surgical gastroenterology and liver care, surgical gastroenterology and proctology, pediatric nutrition in chronic diseases and gastroenterology are some upcoming international conferences on gastroenterology. An academic conference is a platform for Students, researchers and the scholars. They are participating in this event for share their thoughts, ideas, findings and present papers in front of colleagues and receive feedback from them.

#UKConferences #UKMeetings #InternationalConferencesinUK #Medical #ConferencesinUK #EngineeringConferences #MeetingsInternational #GlobalConferences #Pharmaceutical #Sciences #Pharmacology

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xeqiropepo · 2 years

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Pdf crisis management

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28 août 2022 — Draft papers, briefs and recommendations on crisis management procedural policy in support of the effective maintenance of the NCRS, high-level de AM Barthe-Delanoë · 2014 · Cité 3fois — Crisis situations are unstable phenomena which evolutions challenge the efficiency of crisis responses. Download conference paper PDF Jul 20, 2020 - Crisis management checklist template, For most of us life is a free 12 crisis management plan examples pdf google docs apple pages crisis 5 juil. 2022 — PDF | Based on two flood events that recently affected new housing areas in very different political, organisational and hydrological Achieving Sustainability Development in the midst of Crisis Management. ef.uni-lj.si/docs/osebnestrani/Epsteinetal.4-2010.pdf. 5 juil. 2022 — PDF | In this study, we describe how to use innovative techniques to improve the decision-making process in crisis response organizations. de P Otto · Cité 1fois — ABSTRACT. The objective of this paper is to develop a means of examining the performance implications of alignment between IS strategy and crisis management de P Otto · Cité 1fois — ABSTRACT. The objective of this paper is to develop a means of examining the performance implications of alignment between IS strategy and crisis management de C Gilbert · 2007 · Cité 26fois — managing industrial accidents and natural disasters, transportation accidents, to crisis associated with the idea of an 'affair' or 'scandal' (contaminatedde V November · 2007 · Cité 4fois — 5In line with this perspective, emergency alerts appear as “real tests of the monitoring and crisis management measures already in place and, at the same time,

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mariacallous · 2 years

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Kostadin Kostadinov, leader of the far-right pro-Moscow Revival (Vazrazhdane), left a press conference at Sofia’s Bulgarian News Agency after his demands for certain journalists to be removed from the event were not met.

His anger was targeted at newspapers and websites who have attacked his rhetoric and presence in politics and which he called “foreign agents” serving the US.

“We have not sent invitations for this event to outlets such as Capital, Dnevnik, Mediapool, Club Z and similar metastasis”, Kostadinov said, although press events in the Bulgarian News Agency are traditionally open to all media.

“They should leave the press conference because we don’t want to be covered, or attend a single space together, along with media employees who are twisting the public consciousness in favour of foreign countries.

“They only present themselves as Bulgarian media but in fact they represent foreign interests … We can’t communicate with these yellow-brown-ish waste systems of the US embassy”, said Kostadinov, often nicknamed “Kopeykin”, from the Russian currency unit, alluding to his Russian sympathies.

After no action was taken, Kostadinov, along with other party members, left the room.

“This is not only unacceptable interference by politicians in the routine work of reporters but sends a dangerous signal that banishing and repression of independent media can be offered with impunity”, Capital Weekly and Dnevnik.bg, part of the private and independent Economedia group, said in a joint statement.

“We hope that the other political formations and the media will not remain silent in the face of these Vladimir Putin-style attempts to prohibit journalists and publications – as first they happen at media events, then they would happen on the distribution market.”

The outlets pointed out that Revival is the second party to make attempts to discredit them, along with the mainly ethnic Turkish Movement for Rights and Freedoms, which has been linked with numerous corruption allegations or oligarch ties, and includes members sanctioned under the Magnitsky Act and mentioned in the Pandora Papers investigation.

Both Revival and Movement for Rights and Freedoms are viewed as potential partners to the recent elections winners GERB, although GERB leader Boyko Borissov, also followed by a history of similar allegations, on Tuesday dismissed the idea.

Last Sunday’s inconclusive elections were the latest phase of Bulgaria’s continuous political deadlock and were the fourth since spring 2021.

Revival won 10.2 per cent of the votes, their best result yet and are enjoying growing popularity at home and among voters abroad.

The Association of European Journalists – Bulgaria condemned Kostadinov’s actions and called on “all reporters to be extremely critical of such actions and under no circumstances allow a politician to talk in this way to their colleagues. Especially when it’s not the first time it’s happened to this particular politician”.

AEJ alerted the prosecution in 2019 when a Revival video made threats to RFE’s journalists. Earlier in 2022, bTV journalist Maria Tzantzarova was questioned twice in the Ministry of Interior over her sources for a story that said despite anti-vax statements, Revival members were in fact vaccinated.

In the beginning of 2022, BIRN looked in-depth into Revival’s potential to gather public trust through its anti-vax, nationalist and pro-Russian stance.

The author of the article is affiliated with Capital, one of the cited outlets.

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donutloverxo · 3 years

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A Royal Scandal 3

Modern Royal King!Steve au

(Image from Pinterest)

cowritten with @lizzygal

Note - There will be no taglists for this. You can subscribe to the ao3 story to receive updates!

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs are welcome. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+.

Summary - Modern ruler, His Majesty King Steven G Rogers, is on a quest to make his long term secret relationship the real thing. He is a man in love and wants his lover and partner to be his queen.

Warnings - Smut (m/f), dub con/non con, sex tape, scandals, mentions of past domestic abuse, soft dark Steve, possessive Steve, spanking, power imbalance, mentions of previous domestic abuse, somnophilia.

Pairing - King!Steve x reader

Word count - 7k

Story masterlist

Sometimes Steven forgot that you weren’t that much younger than him. He forgot about a lot of things when it was only the two of you. You did that to him. You made him forget things that everyone else reminded him of constantly, intentional and not.

Early that morning was no different.

Long before his alarm went off, Steve found himself on his side watching you sleep. Feeling in every way equal to you, like there was not this huge ocean of things that he did not have in common with you, opposed to what the two of you shared.

Obviously, he was the son of kings and tyrants while you were the daughter of immigrants and a blue-collar family. You’d grown up in a house full of love and kindness and acceptance, he had not. You’d ended your teenage years going to college and then travelling and ending up here, where you chose to stay and work and travel and live a life that Steve could only dream of, his own had never been his own and never would be.

You had dreams and hopes, little things like aspirations. He didn’t.

Steve’s life was dictated by things like duty and obligations, expectations. Yours was not.

Maybe that was why he’d been so drawn to you?

Compared to all the royals around Europe and titled individuals, politicians, even old families, none of them interested him even a fraction of the amount that you interested him. To Steve you were exotic. You were a fascinating creature who might as well have come from Mars.

He couldn’t even say what it was or why.

For so long it had felt right to be alone. Considering the blood of monsters ran through his veins, Steve had been uninterested in any sort of companionship more than a brief encounter at a private location.

For Christ’s sake, he refused to sleep in the bedroom that his father had slept in.

Upon assuming the throne, he’d selected to take up older quarters in an unused part of the palace living complex. As if to ensure he was as far away from the rooms that his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had slept. Choosing to sleep in a bed untainted by any of those men, stored from when his land was ruled by an emperor. Hoping with the hopes of a young king that it would save him from their madness.

Beside him, you slept so peacefully, trustingly.

Steve had never brought anyone into his private apartment. Nor had his bed seen any carnal action since it’d gone into storage. Until you. He’d simply never been so inclined.

A rough sound from the growth on his cheek rubbing against his pillow. A pleasant reminder of that night that felt so long ago, yet also like only yesterday.

He’d had a beard back then he remembered.

A full bushy one.

One that had made you laugh softly at, roll your eyes and still manage to pull off an acceptable bow when you greeted him that late night.

“They beat Canada then Your Majesty?” You had inquired with good nature, setting down a whole stack of papers and folders onto the very modern conference table in a big room that could fit two dozen, more if the people were standing.

He’d beamed.

Steve remembered he’d been in a particularly good mood that night. Even if he was working late on the education push into the outer regions of his kingdom. A good amount was still very rural, many simple villages that lived as they had fifty or more years ago. Many parts of his kingdom were still deeply rooted in the past.

“Indeed. Eleven to four.”

He was beaming. Beaming! You were pretty sure you could see molars. It made you shake your head and begin to sort out all your work into piles to go over. Not that you’d ever admit to secretly being caught up in the hype of the team being so close to gold at the Winter Olympics. “So then the beard stays?”

“You of all people,” he admonished, coming over to help you. Picking up the well-marked up maps you’d spent hours annotating.

Making you roll your eyes.

On he went though, obviously needing to drive home the seriousness of this matter. “The beard stays until we win gold. Next we play Norway. I don’t think it needs to be said that we cannot risk it.”

He was serious. Really serious. If that full glorious beard was any indication.

More focused on the organizing task yourself.

Sorting your work by region, pile by pile, each had taken much work and effort and negotiation, endless phone calls and trips and emails to each area to get them to work not only with you, but one another. It was like herding cats. It had taken you months to get this all sorted out for Steve to see. His ideas weren’t even ready to be implemented. This was just the pre-gaming, the leadup, the work in preparation. You weren’t even on Step One. You were on Step Zero.

“Now that I know, I’ll be sure to grow a beard next Winter Olympics.”

And then you were rewarded with a rich hearty laugh from your king.

Well not your king, as you weren’t a citizen of this country. But you still liked to think of him as your king.

Watching you sleep was something he’d never tire of. Never get enough of. It was a luxury that he didn’t realize he wanted day in out.

The ability to wake up with you tangled up in blankets. Curled back against his front. Hogging pillows as you did. Allowing Steve to run his fingers up and down your bare thigh, along the curves of your body. Letting him lean forward to press his lips to your shoulder and see the peaceful rest of your face in his slowly lightening bedroom. Every last inch of you here for him.

Hungry.

That was what it was, he was hungry for you. Like a big bear that woke from hibernation after a long winter. At times he felt such a way. Never having felt this way about anyone prior.

In his own time, he slipped his fingers down along the round of your ass underneath the flesh of your hip. Warm. Soft. Smooth. Neither of you had left the bed since the late night bath in his tub.

Further down Steve allowed his fingers to trail.

Memorizing every last second to get him through his day. From how you felt pressed against the front of him, how your back moved against his chest with every steady breath you took. The way your legs tangled in his buttery sheets with his own, how the soft cheeks of your bottom pressed against his alert groin.

Most definitely though, how your skin tasted and felt beneath his mouth. Smelling like yourself from all your favorite bath products kept in his bathroom.

You’d smelled so good that night too.

You always smelled good.

It was something that he had noticed but hadn’t given any real thought to.

It seemed to be a mix of perfume and body lotion or cream. Cause Steve found the flowery smell would linger after you walked by in the way that perfume did, infusing the air and making his brain scream out that you were near. But also, when you shook his hand, it always had that sweet fresh clean smell afterwards.

Now, whenever Steve smelled it, all he could think about was you.

Those smells danced around him. Making the late hour bearable. Making the fact that the offices were empty but for the two of you, when you both should have been home in bed, not matter.

“Ok…” you were talking to him, pointing out places on the massive map that was his nation. Arms crossed. Legs spread. Standing beside you as you informed him with tones that indicated your happiness, your displeasure as well as your utter irritation. “…so I managed to get in touch with every Education Department in all nine of your territories.”

Though you were not looking at him, Steve nodded, laser focused on this project he’d tasked you with months ago.

“All of the department heads are on board with your desired overhaul to completely modernize the entire system. Unfortunately, they told me that I had to call all the district heads for all forty-six provinces to get their agreed participation too.”

Your tone went from pleased with yourself then skeptical and then annoyed.

You turned your head to look at him. “Which is what I spent the last three months doing. It was something of a thing.”

Steve could only imagine.

He was quiet though so you could go on. More than pleased with how well you worked in this position. He’d originally been skeptical with your being a foreigner. How dedicated would you be to a job in a country that was not your own? One hundred percent as it turned out.

Your hands flattened out dramatically on the table. Outrage surged from you. “I’m still waiting on two appointees because their predecessors apparently died during harvest season and no one could be bothered to replace the position. I literally had to fly out to the outer reaches of civilization to find this out. Cause all the government offices are closed during harvest season, fyi. But they’re literally filling the positions now.”

Such was the challenge of having a large kingdom with one foot in the future and one in the past. Such things led to the difficultly of keeping a Chief of Staff.

Steve’s previous Chief of Staff had come highly recommended and lasted a little over a month.

Whether it was from a lack of dedication, the obvious frustrations of the job or maybe he simply had not wanted to jump on a plane and fly six hours then ride by car five hours to remote areas in order to complete his work. Steve could not be sure. All he knew for sure was he’d keep you as long as humanly possible.

In his eyes, you were a saint.

“What’s with the question mark?”

Making you look to see which question mark you’d marked on the map full of stickers and marks and tabs. Hours had been spent working on the damn thing.

Seeing which question mark in question made your nose scrunch. “Oh…them, they refuse to even answer my calls until they are allowed to take their traditional name for their province. Which is way above my pay grade. Someone else is going to have to deal with them. I tried.”

Ah, Steve nodded, that was far from surprising. The far outer regions were notoriously independent or rebellious, depending on your stance.

He would deal with them accordingly. Not how his father did, but in his own way.

Steve’s attention was drawn to two nearby provinces. Each had a frowny face sticker. Without asking, he merely pointed.

A noise of pure disgusted frustration came from deep in your throat. Making you stand and look to him, brandishing your hands in all directions. “I tried my best with them. I really did. Both of those provinces absolutely refuse to take part in anything if the other is involved. Apparently, they’re still salty at one another over something that happened in fourteen-seventy-three and refer to me as the foreign she-devil. So…good luck with them Your Majesty.”

Soundly you slept.

Comfortable. Safe. At peace.

Making him feel like a true man. A provider able to care for you, protect you, satisfy you. As if he were stripped down to what nature intended. Instead of what society had dictated for you both.

Reaching down to that heavenly place between the V in your thighs, Steve pushed his fingers further to find your softness slippery, your skin slick with viscous arousal. In pushing his finger up further, running it around the edge of your slit to where the gateway to your body was hidden, he found you heavily aroused. Coating his fingers with a thick fluid that promised you would be able to take him now. Oozing into the cervices between his fingers and smearing thickly down his palm and over the back of his hand.

Unable to help himself, he brought his hand out from between your legs in order to look at your arousal. Merely the sight made his balls clench in eager anticipation. Tasting the bodily excretions had his hips moving against yours on their own.

A noise came from you. Though you were far from waking. Always one to enjoy your sleep.

On his tongue you were heady, ripe. Tasting like sin. Steve licked his fingers. Eyes closed so he could savor the taste, how you clung to his tongue and were thick, like a burst of brandy swirling with his saliva.

Awakened now from his deep sleep. Ravenous like a beast of the forest. He pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder. Making you mumble. Making you wiggle in your sleep, causing you to reach your arm out for a pillow to pull close. Hooking your leg up higher too. Becoming more comfortable in the bed in addition to opening yourself up more to your king. As if your body had connected to his on a level your mind was unaware and encouraged him to take you.

Down he peered. Strands of hair fell across his forehead at the harsh angle. A soft lightening of the sun through drapes he never closed last night allowed the sight of moisture. Folds of bare skin sheened up at him. Tempting him with that webbing of goo that promised him you were ready.

Taking himself in hand, he caught sight of your name curled over his side. Reminding him of your absolute possession over him. Sending his hand low to pull his foreskin back in order to feed this hunger of you that consumed him.

Your signature was all swoops and swirls.

Recognizable above anyone else’s writing he came across on a daily basis.

All over paper and on the maps. In little corners. Highlighted. In different color pens. On stickie notes. Written on napkins or on the back of random pieces of paper.

At the time, he’d had no idea how far gone he really was.

Not even when he watched you take note after note with a purple inked pen, your hand flowing across paper like a swimmer cutting through the water. Taking down his every word, every command.

A incredibly distinctive feeling of being full woke you up from your glorious sleep, in a very singular sort of way that could be from only one thing. Only one thing on earth felt like that when waking you up.

Pulling you out of a warm blissful sleep only to wake you with the exquisite feeling of being stretched open, pushed into, filled up. Making your fingers clench bedding or pillows or whatever they could grab.

A low breathy moan came from you in the time between you were woken and awake, your face burrowing in a pillow was followed by a soft profanity. Weight slowly covered you. Weight pinned you down to the bed a little at a time. Skin and sheets and soft dustings of hair rubbed against you.

Only when you had fully woken did you feel pubes brush against your cheeks. A light tap of scrotum bumped you too.

Long arms wrapped around you. Wet lips mouthed along the curve of your neck.

This was a far superior way to wake up. Compared to your apartment, in bed alone, to your neighbors loud shrilling alarm clock through your paper-thin wall.

Groaning out at the feel of His Majesty’s cock stuffed safely up in your secret garden. You found yourself whining at Steve at whatever time it was in the early morning. “…fuuuuck…what’d I say about doing that…” A swivel, nay, a swivel with a pop of his pelvis followed, making you see stars, gasp deeply as if you’d been stabbed in the lungs and then add on for God and Country. “…My King…shit, My King…oh shit, My King.”

Though it may have been said in jest, his tone was hot enough to scald. “If memory serves me correctly…” another deep push of thick hips shoved you forward into the pillows. “…you say, not in my ass unless I’m awake.”

Stars.

So many bright and colorful stars.

Mmm.

Yes, that was something you had told him on many occasions and it still held very true. If Steve was going to put anything in your ass, forget that thing he claimed was a dick, you needed to be fully awake so you could both physically and emotionally prepare yourself.

Nothing at all could have prepared you for the drastic turn your life was about to take that night.

Nothing.

Everything had been so normal. It was so regular. Like many a long night working late hours at the palace before. Hours had been spent going over all your hard work contacting each and every head in each education department per province, as well as per territory. In addition to the national department of education, preparing to prep them for what the king wanted.

Like any other late night, Steve helped you put all of your paperwork back in the correct order you had it in. Like every other time, he requested a palace car take you to your apartment. Granted the apartment you shared with your best friend was walking distance away. It was late and simply not safe and you found were touched that Steve would think about your well-being.

For a king, he wasn’t that bad. When it was the two of you anyway.

Looks aside, which he had in spades, he could be very funny in a sarcastic sort of way. He was very well read and intelligent, quick on his feet. Although people seemed to think of him a certain type of way based on his father and his own kingship at a young age, when he really was his own person.

You’d noticed he had a definite interest in the classical masters and had on rare occasion seen him sketch out something on a flight or during a less than stimulating event. He had an artistic ability that would never come to anything due to his role.

His strong sense of duty paired with a disgusting moral obligation pretty much guaranteed his life would be spent in service to his country. Period.

You could see why people thought he was hot. The man had been blessed by the genetic gods. Plus he was a king. Who didn’t grow up dreaming about being a princess? Or think about a literal Prince Charming from fairy tales?

Having now had the benefit of working in a real life palace. You knew the realities of that fantasy.

You had two pages of notes that could attest to the reality of your childhood Disney Princess movies.

Reality was always so different.

Not for the first time, you found yourself repeating yourself. “…and let me say one more time. Thank you so much for talking with my parents. I know it was only ten minutes, but, I know how busy you are and it just completely topped off their visit. My mother has been telling everyone about how she met the king. You even have my father cheering for the hockey team.”

A smile came over Steve’s face that was real.

It wasn’t one of his practiced smiles. It was an actual smile. You could tell because it reached his eyes.

“Well,” Steve answered you with a shrug, sounding genuinely pleased even if he also sounded tired and like he wanted nothing more than to go off to his living quarters in the palace and crash into bed, before he had to get up to start a new day. Helping you stack the last of your papers up. “Anything to convert a soul to hockey. Technically, it is his team too.” And because he could not help himself, Steve added on, “Even if his grandparents fled from here for a cushy life in the west.”

Up your hand flew to your chest.

Your jaw dropped in mock pain. “Ouch, Sir! That one was painful.”

His smile grew at your over-the-top reaction.

Still though, he dipped his head and you noticed there was a little blush on his cheeks above where that magnificent beard grew. Chagrined, he quickly followed up with, “I apologize. That was a cheap shot.”

In a physical sort of way that his people were known to interact, personal space be damned, Steve reached over to touch your arm apologetically. Not something he did frequently. Although he had done it a handful of times. The press of his mouth to your cheek was new. The little kiss was brand new. Steve’s lips were gentle on your skin. His beard tickled your face.

Never in your life had your heart pounded as violently in your chest as it did at that gesture. Quickly, your head turned. Though you did not move back or say anything. Instead, you found yourself staring at Steve. Looking into those pools of blue that were looking at you with the same amount of surprise that you felt. His lips were right there, right there.

Blood roared in your ears, your heart pounded faster and faster and faster.

He kissed you.

Did he really though?

Was it a kiss or was it a kiss?

For a moment in time, you leaned in. Leaned closer. Leaned till you almost touched him because that was what your body wanted to do. Until you remembered that Steve was a king. A KING. Remembering that made your head command your body to lean backwards a bit. Allowing you to see that he had leant in to meet you.

He’d leaned closer to kiss you.

What were you doing? What in the hell were you doing? You had no business doing this, no business at all messing around with Steve.

Fingers moved along your arm, tracing up the back of it softly. That simple touch made goosebumps break out over your skin. It made your breath hitch. Your hands began to shake so you grabbed the fabric of your skirt.

However, you made no move to step away from Steve. Nor did he make any sort of move to step away from you.

Another attempt at a kiss was not made.

Fingers touched your face instead. Steve was close enough to you that you felt his legs brush yours. You felt his breath against your face. Fingertips ran across the swell of your cheekbone, down over your lips, tracing the bridge of your nose in what felt like a desire to memorize your face.

Steve was gentle. His fingertips felt like feathers on your skin. He made you shake like a leaf in terror because you wanted him to touch you more. You wanted to be touched. You wanted to feel his hands on you and the soft glide of his thumb along the line of your jaw was painfully insufficient.

Without thinking, you reached up with your hands until you remembered that he was the king.

Were you allowed to touch the king? You weren’t sure. He was touching you and it was fabulous but were you allowed to do the same? You wanted to. You so deeply wanted to. You just were not sure what was allowed in this situation. It had not exactly been covered in the Royal Protocol Guidebook you had.

Then came Steve’s voice. Harsh. Gravelly. Desperate.

“Touch me. It’s ok. I want you to.”

For only a heartbeat or two you remained still, observing him, making sure. Only after that did you reach up with your hands to cover his wrists. Rub along the fabric of his button-up shirt. In doing so, you not only felt the strength in his well-muscled wrists, or how warm the silky fabric was, but, you could feel him tremble. He was shaking about as much as you were.

A rush of air surged from his lungs as if you had burnt him.

Curious, you turned your head so you could place a single kiss on the inside of his hand touching your face, right at the base of his thumb. In doing so, you ripped a noise from deep within him. A noise that was both pained while also infused with wanting.

“This is ok?”

“Yes,” he croaked out, as if he were terrified you would stop.

Never would you have ever imagined he would be so responsive. Almost touch starved it felt.

Sometimes, Steve still felt as if he were a little touch starved to you. Sometimes it felt like he’d gone his entire life without having that physical connection between two people. As complicated of a man as he was with as complicated of a life as he had, you at times forgot that he was still a human being with human being needs that were essential to thriving.

And it wasn’t like you were complaining.

Far from it.

Not after the orgasm you just had, not from on top of him either. Lounged across the front of him. Loose limbed. Languid down to your marrow. Peppering the damp skin of his neck with slow wet kisses and scrapes of teeth. Long drags of your tongue collected drops of salt that tasted of him. Lazily. Heart to heart. Stomach to stomach.

There really were worse ways to wake up.

Like, for instance, in your apartment taking cold showers cause the building’s water heater was ancient. That wasn’t fun at all and usually had you shivering and hurrying through an icy shower. Straight up not a good time.

This? This was soooo much better.

Feeling Steve’s long legs wrapped up in your own, paired with his softening member filling you by virtue of sheer size not letting himself just pop out…this was a much better way to wake up. Far superior in every way.

Not that you were willing to waste precious time like this luxuriating in post-coital bliss. No, no. A burning question was hot on your mind that kept popping up after last night. After all, you were a modern woman and this was a serious relationship. You had every right to ask this question at any time you wanted. Even now. As your boyfriend, the king, fondled your breasts in his hands with such intensity that you would have thought he’d just broken out of Alcatraz after a decade of no nookie. Not that you were in the least bit complaining. Not one bit.

“Am I going to have to quit my job?”

It was something of a concern.

You loved your job. You loved working with Steve. You loved your life as it was and a big part of you suspected becoming queen would mean big changes.

Not that you lifted your head from his neck, or ceased your trek down towards his collarbone. Trail of your kisses never slowing or stopping. No hint of any sort of disruption came. Not for a moment or two. Not till your ravenous boyfriend squeezed your breasts possessively. Thumbed your nipples and finally opened his eyes, as if it were the biggest chore on earth.

His voice was rough. His tone felt like hot gooey honey that just got everywhere. “No…not yet…”

Leading you to make a noise. A pop followed when your mouth left the dark spot you’d been sucking on nearly at his collarbone. What with your name already etched on him. What else could you leave in a display of ownership over him? “Nothing else to add My King?” For added emphasis, perhaps you gave you vaginal muscles a clench knowing what that did to him.

A grunt came from beneath you.

Wrapped up in yours, Steve’s legs clenched in response to what you did. White teeth sank into his upper lip and you absolutely thrived at the sight and feel of him arching up against you, shifting around beneath you at the way your body squeezed him.

Those hands left your breasts only to reach down, run over your waist as they had so many times before, leading you to grab them. Snatch then right up. Press them down into the mattress over Steve’s head. Since the man was far larger than you, this sent you leaning downwards and ever closer to his face. “Steve? I asked you a question.”

How easy it would have been for him to get free. Yet, he seemed content where he found himself. Still wedged within you. Warm in bed. Body a sea of a complex cocktail of chemicals after physically releasing into you. A far better way to wake up than alone in a massive bed. Or worse, to his mother jabbing at him to urgently tell him something that was not urgent at all.

Feeling your breasts press against his chest. Lightly brushing over his skin, your nipples little points that sparked a definite interest in his dick.

God did he want you to be his queen.

“Not yet,” Steve ground out, nearly close to being overwhelmed by you. Each and every word was enunciated to utter perfection, as if it took all of his concentration and effort to get them out. “I’ll have the palace leave your name out of the official statement today. We can go slow. Ease you into things…ease you out of your job…” and to reward him for such a thoughtful statement, you clenched around him once more.

However, it seemed, there was more and even though his eyes rolled up into his head at the feel of your core squeezing his not entirely soft organ, he pushed on with the determination of his ancestors. Grunting. Arching back into the bed as the pillows had all wound up on the floor. Perfect teeth clenched together. “M-my people…will…love you…too.”

So, it was entirely possible, that you were feeling all kinds of powerful watching him writhe beneath you. Knowing exactly what sort of repercussions this could have to your morning. Which was still progressing on time. It was entirely possible that you may have intentionally pushed your own pelvis against his to reseat yourself.

“Oh yeah? How can you be so sure? You saw what happened with those two over in England. And that prince isn’t even next in line to the throne.”

Perhaps it was the seriousness of the direction in which your conversation had taken, Steve remained beneath you. Taking no action, even though you could quite literally feel his dick grow more interested in what your hips were doing.

A panted out, “…fuck…” escaped from him, before he opened his eyes to look at you seriously, if not also a little heatedly. “Quit obsessing over them. The King of Jordan married for love. Queen Rania was a commoner. If you must, focus on them.”

Sudden movement found you falling off Steve and onto the bed, shoved onto your back and in a flash, he was on top of you again. Over you. Hovering. Though he’d escaped out of your body, you could feel the king’s most delicious semi, slick from your previous copulation, squish between you both.

Admitting on an exhale, “Forgot about them.”

“Everyone does.” He agreed, surveying down, taking in the sight of you. “My country appreciates you. They’re fond of you. You’re in all the papers and they’ve given you a nickname.”

And that. That. Nearly killed the mood.

It sent your eyebrows together dubiously so.

Everytime you were in the press it was when your skirt had been blown up on a windy day, or if you’d accidentally gotten food on your shirt. Or that time a baby goat pooped on your shoes. Or when you’d tripped and fallen off a dock into a lake. Who could forget that time you’d accidentally called the Prime Minister of Canada a ‘moose fucking cannibal’ when you’d still been getting the hang of the language, your first year on the job?

You’d been affectionately dubbed, ‘the King’s Foreign Devil’ and it had stuck.

Hell, you still got asked about your thoughts on the Canadian Prime Minister whenever a member of the press was around.

“Most the time, you have a higher approval rating than I do,” he added. Much to the consternation of Maria Hill in PR. “Trust me. There is nothing my country loves more than a hard-working loyal servant of the people who talks shit about western leaders.”

Mood totally killed, you seethed and not for the first time, “That was an accident! I was trying to call him Canada’s Disney Prince.”

***

The note had been hand delivered to the palace and was now crumbled into a ball in the Queen Mother’s bedroom as she stormed off, once more, that early morning in a fury of rose satin and silk. Her perfume clouded around her, drifting behind her, much like the wake of a boat cutting through the water.

Thick carpets silenced her heels. Doors opened for her as she neared them, allowing her to not need to slow her step even for a second. Not a single moment wasted as she made her way through the private living quarters of the palace.

Down hallways and around corners, over to the rooms that her grown son had selected as his own.

It would have been so much easier if he would have just taken the rooms that his father had lived in.

Although, with the horrific memories attached to those rooms, how could she blame him when he elected not to? She had her own private rooms. The dead kings rooms were locked up tight and still not used. Abandoned like so much he’d done, started and accomplished in his life.

Upon coming to her only child’s rooms, those doors were held open for her and on she pressed on. Sailing through his rooms, one after another, until she got closer to his bedroom and could hear his shower which was the direction she headed.

A brief glance was made at the mess that was his bed.

A roll of her eyes was followed by a shake of her head.

Some things males never grew out of it seemed.

“Steven!” She called out in warning, should he be in the bathroom about to come out in the nude. Which was the last thing she wanted to see.

Not only was his bed a mess but his clothes from yesterday were all over the floor.

She had every intention of telling him that he needed to straighten up this mess before the cleaning staff came in his room. The last thing she wanted was for them to think he was messy and then tell their families and friends when they went home that the king had a messy bedroom and word would get out that her son was a slob. Ugh. No. She’d make sure that he straightened up.

Speaking of the devil.

As his shower ran, Steve peered out of the bathroom with a wet head. A midnight blue towel was wrapped around his waist. A toothbrush was in his hand. To Sarah, it was very clear that her grown son had not shaved yet either.

Seeing him in such a state that morning along with his messy room and the fact the shower was going wasting water. It did not make her mood any more agreeable.

Though her son was taller than her and considerably more muscular, she never feared him.

She knew he would never hurt her like his father had so many times. Towards the end, Steve had even defended her from his father’s physical attacks. Those days. They had been dark. Horrible. Terrible. When she noticed that her husband had begun to carry a knife to protect himself from his son. Well. What was she supposed to do?

Attacking her was one thing. Being violent towards her was one thing. There were some things that she learned to tolerate. It was unescapable. Their son though. To take a knife to their son? Her son? Sarah would never allow such a thing.

She was queen at the time.

It was not so difficult to get the drug that she put in her husband’s evening nightcap. She’d used all of it. Thrown the vial away the next day when she went to rouse the king as she did every morning, only to find him dead in his chair. Fireplace having long gone out. Slumped down. Cold. The coroner had said it was a heart attack. Exactly as she’d been told the drug would work. He’d been buried with no one the wiser. Not even Steve.

“Yes mother?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You are not growing another beard. Last time you looked like some man that lives up in the mountains in a tiny shack.”

Just as her own father once did, Steve’s eyebrows rose in surprise and question.

No. That was not why she was here.

Sarah had a higher calling that morning and straightening her slim shoulders, she so informed him. “Hope and Janet are here in the city. They’ve come for a surprise visit and will arrive at the palace within the hour.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed at her in response to her information.

It was horrifying. It was outrageous. It was not what he wanted to hear that morning one bit. Not at all. Not one single bit.

Hope and Janet?

Those were two names he never wanted to hear with the additional words being, ‘on their way’. No. Just no.

All he could say that was remotely civil, after what the then Princess Hope van Dyne had done, came out in something of a tone. “I don’t want to see either of them. If you want to see them, that’s your choice. Keep them away from me.”

Considering what the now Duchess Hope had spewed to every reporter, journalist and whomever with a platform…Sarah was a little surprised that Steve was being so kind.

She’d expected a bit more of a reaction from her son.

Could she be holding a bigger grudge against her one-time closest friend’s daughter? After what had happened, Queen Janet van Dyne had become somewhat distant. Which was not surprising. Hope had not broken the engagement gracefully. Nor had she been anything less than opinionated afterwards.

“I suspect she is in trouble,” Sarah confessed. “Why else would they come here? Considering everything that Hope has said over the years.”

Steam continued to seep through the cracked door.

Sarah was about to say something about the shower. Steve was wasting a considerable amount of hot water. She herself was leading the Go Green Initiative in the country and as she stated constantly, it all began at home.

“Mother, don’t take this the wrong way, but, I wouldn’t shit in Hope’s mouth if she was starving.”

Ah.

Perhaps she’d been too quick to judge Steve’s current opinion on the wayward duchess?

Pondering his statement, Sarah found herself looking for any way to come back with a counter when she noticed that the shower turned off. Which was odd. Shower’s didn’t turn themselves off.

What was even more peculiar, Steve reached back behind himself to shut his bathroom door.

It clicked.

Like a light going off.

How could she not have noticed? How could it not have been obvious?

Blue eyes that were a little softer than her son’s narrowed. “You aren’t alone.”

Silence.

Quiet.

Her pink lips opened in surprised. A question hovered on her tongue.

“No mother.”

“But…”

“Mother,” he implored as only a son could. “Not now. She would not want the first time she officially meets you to be when you’re dressed for the day and she is not.”

And though her son’s words were true. They were right. They were exactly what she would have wanted him to say and because she had raised him well, she was even proud that he had made such a quick decision. It wasn’t fair.

Sarah wanted to find out who you were. She wanted to meet the woman that her son was involved with. Was that so wrong? Sarah wanted to meet the woman that her son was considering marrying. There was so much she wanted to say to you, so much to teach you, so much she wanted to learn about you. Perhaps her desperation showed because her son reached out to place a hand on her elbow.

“If you can chase Hope and Janet away, we could have lunch together. The three of us. If not, dinner? Or even tomorrow. I’m not doing anything with Hope under this roof. Not after she referred to our country as a third world plus hellhole full of war criminals and superstitious backwoods heathens.”

Ah, so he did remember.

Those words had been seared into her memory as well. Sometimes Sarah wondered, as Steve had never really given much indication that he cared one way or the other what Hope had said. It was only after she began to speak unflatteringly about their people that he grew irritated, much like herself.

Although, what irritated Sarah more, was the quiet that came from the royal house of van Dyne and Pym a few countries over. Never once had Janet spoke up. Never had Janet said anything about her daughters outrageous remarks or behavior. Nor had she apologized.

Knowing her son, Sarah knew that he would never court anyone who was not kind or compassionate. Steve would never pick a Hope as his queen.

Up came a hand that bore a lovely ring decorated with fresh water pearls from their own waters. “I’ll have them gone before lunch and then we will all sit down together so I can finally meet her.”

#steve rogers x reader #chris evans x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n

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spencermyangel · 2 years

Note

Could you do a part 4 of the Spencer turning into a cat , were perhaps in his cat form he helps solve a case.

Thank you for the request :)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

The team were on a case in San Antonio, a killer was targeting single women who lived alone. They had also discovered that each women had a cat that was taken after the murder. Spencer was reading through some of the files again when suddenly,

“Guys, look,” Emily exclaimed, “each women visited the same pet shop, on a Friday, the day of the murders.”

“Garcia?” Hotch said, leaning over to the computer

“Yes, sir,” Garcia responded through the computer.

“Look into the employees of the pet store,”

“On it!” Garcia quickly hung up. Hotch nodded before turning back to the rest of the team.

“Spencer, Morgan, I want you to go check out the pet store and talk to the employees,” Hotch told them.

A few days later the team sat in the conference room they were given. They were frustrated, all of the employees had checked out, and now they felt they were at square one.

“I have an idea,” JJ suddenly informed them, “what if we sent me or Emily undercover, and caught the unsub in the act?”

The team looked at each other, “that’s a great idea,” Morgan said, giving JJ a smile.

“Wait,” Rossi interjected, “where are we going to get a cat? Just walk up to an animal shelter?”

“Maybe, we don’t have too,” Emily smirked, turning to look at Spencer, who was reading through some papers. Spencer looked up, seeing everyone staring at him with amused looks on their faces. ,

“What?” he asked.

“Come on Spencer! Get in the carrier,” Emily demanded, glaring at the white and brown cat. Spencer seemed to smirk at her before sassily turning around.

“We don’t have time for this, we have to go to the pet store today!”

Spencer hissed, causing Emily to sigh, “please, Spence. If you’re good, when we go home I’ll watch an entire season of Doctor Who with you.” Spencer seemed to perk up at this and cautiously walked towards the carrier. After he stepped in the carrier he laid down in it with a grumpy look on his face.

“Thank you,” Emily whispered to him.

Later that night after they returned from the pet store, where Emily pretended to need a new collar for Spencer, Emily got ready for bed. They knew the killer would most likely strike tonight as it was Friday. Emily laid down and Spencer curled up beside her.

Spencer was woken up by a masked man picking him up and he quickly began frantically meowing, alerting Morgan and Hotch who were hiding in the closets.

“Freeze”

“FBI, put your hands up,”

The man froze before dropping Spencer and putting his hands up, Morgan rushing forward to handcuff him.

“You’re under arrest for the murders of 5 women,” Morgan harshly said.

Hotch went and picked Spencer up who cuddled him and began purring.

"You did a good job, Reid," Hotch told him, petting his fluffy head, as Spencer looked up at him with his big brown eyes.

Part 5

Send in requests or asks here

Masterlist

#spencer reid #criminal minds #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #david rossi #jennifer jereau #bau team

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sabraeal · 2 years

Text

Whenever I view the moon on the battlefield, Chapter 4

[Read on AO3]

This conference is the sort that should be confined between four walls, bound and sealed by paper and ink the way onmyoji once bound their secrets and shikigami. The sort that should be carried out with voices pitched low, careful of prying eyes and spying ears; the men here might wear the asagi-iro, but it was easy enough to don a haori to patrol Kyoto’s streets while pocketing coin for secrets sold. Caution urged them to keep these words locked tight, but this morning...

This morning the shoji sit open to let in the breeze. Or at least to let out the heat, though where Kai is tucked in the corner, gaze fluttering over each head bowed before him, the only exchange seems to be the quiet for a cicada’s drone.

He sighs softly, shifting on his heels, the fabric behind his knees damp with sweat. There is not a man in this room that has gotten enough sleep. Harada, for one, does not bother to hide his hunch, vest bowing out around the concave curve of his chest. Never so much broad as tall, it dwarfs him like a child playing in his father’s haori.

Nagakura, however, that takes more care. Hardly a surprise-- a samurai’s son would know the importance of how a thing looks, rather than how it is. His lean pitches at the same carefree angle it always does; if he had not known about his injury, even Kai might miss the way he favors his right hand-- though he would not be able to overlook the bandages on his arm, wrapped tight and thick with Yamazaki’s painstaking care.

Even Saito lists, chin jerking up as his eyes drift too far across the tatami. A danger that threatens Kai too whenever his gaze drifts too far afield of the other captains. The dawn came quickly this morning and did not linger; he barely had time to wash himself before the Vice Commander’s summons reached him, let alone flirt with the idea of his futon. And even if he did--

Behind his eyelids the shoji is spattered red. Floors shine black beneath in the moonlight, his geta stained where they pull away. Ikeda had been less an inn and more a charnal house by the time he arrived, following Hijikata’s narrow back. The scent of blood soaked the air, seeping into every corner of his nose, enough to churn his seasoned stomach. And when he opens them, it is only a reminder that too many seats in this room sit unfilled.

Yet the small back in front of him stretches tall, not an ounce of exhaustion tempering his vigilance. Even that narrow tail seems to lay rigid across his back, alert. The vigor of the young, Kai would call it-- at least, he would, if half this room weren’t that boy’s age. Perhaps his stamina comes not from youth, but instead--

“The name of the Shinsegumi has spread through Kyoto right to the Shogun,” Kondo boasts, his chest puffed with pride even as his shoulders sag with weariness. Yamazaki sits a little taller, his attention vibrating like a plucked string--

Instead, the strength of his conviction. Both made a heady draught, and together, well-- Kai knew more men than most who had broken themselves young on the shores of their ideals.

The Vice Commander sighs, eyes screwed shut, as if that alone might keep out the buzzing. There are bruises beneath them, rings so dark they might well have been drawn with a brush, a poem dedicated to sleepless nights pacing the halls. Even still, Kai could not think of a single bed that would turn him away in Shimabara; only the Vice Commander’s own could be so cold.

“That might be the case,” he rasps, the gravel thick this morning, having grown deeper in the night. “But Souji and Heisuke got wounded, and the enemy managed to escape.”

With twenty-three of the shishi arrested, locked up deep in the compound for the Watch to peruse at their leisure, the numbers support Kondo’s victory rather than Hijikata’s dire warnings. But numbers mean so little compared to the suffering of their wounded, to how easily it could have been snatched from between their teeth had Aizu been allowed to interfere.

It’s Harada who speaks first; hardly a surprise. As amiable as he is with his men, as a captain he’s the first to complain. “There was a strong one at the back exit. He got away too.”

Yamazaki’s reedy voice lacks the gravitas of Vice Commander’s gravel, but still, he is as calm, as certain as any of the more experienced men in this room. “There’s already a unit on the hunt for the fugitives.”

When he speaks, the men still look to him, even it is with skepticism. Mild mannered acupuncturist he may seem, but it would not take these men long to respect the skills this boy hides in his shadows.

Cups clink; Kai’s only warning before Yukimura kneels on the tatami. Sloppy of him to have missed her before this, but then, she’s always had a strange grace about her, a smoothness to her movements that was not elegance but ease. Not a geiko serving tea to her honored custom, but a sister serving her most beloved brothers as she had a hundred times before.

She bows over the Chief’s cup with a humble appeal, murmuring, “Here.”

A smile works its way over Harada’s face, a glint of mischief sparks in Nagakura’s; even Saito’s face grows softer with her near. Hardly half a year among them, and she might well be a sister in truth as well, a body that has always been among them, a light not a single one of them could stand to see snuffed out.

The Vice Commander watches her too, with softness in his eyes and sternness on his brow; a father watching a favored daughter. He’d sputter if Kai insinuated as much-- Yukimura Chizuru was a convenience, he was wont to say, not a mascot-- but his true feelings are writ clear with the gentle smile he gives her as she sets his cup in front of him, in the quiet way he murmurs, “Yes, thank you.”

He does not reach for his tea when she places it; no, he simply sits back, letting his eyes raise-- right to where Yamazaki sits. No, right to where Yamazaki is watching her as well, not with the stiff-backed surprise of sudden notice, but the same ease with which he wears his uwagi and fukumen. As if he has been doing it forever-- or at least, longer than the other men in this room have been.

Kai’s mouth twitches. Of course, it only makes sense-- after being her silent Watch for so long, Yamazaki must be uniquely attuned to her presence. Even now he sits back as she turns, anticipating the space she needs before she even thinks to ask.

Kondo clears his throat, a soft sound nearly lost beneath the cicada’s song. “How the situation with those severely injured?”

Another commander might sound aloof, detached from the fate of his men, but Kondo’s concern radiates from every word; a palpable presence in the room. The old Chief had laughed, had told him he would die with a blade through that heart on his sleeve, but--

Well, only one of them was here, wasn’t he? And the other dead, killed by his own men, the very same that sat in this room, sipping at their tea and nursing their wounds.

Kai clears his throat, palms pressing flat to his thighs. “Captain Okita and Captain Toudou are doing better due to Yukimura-kun’s timely measures.”

Yukimura stills, sitting back on her heels as he speaks, hope and concern shining bright in her dark eyes. There is nothing he would like more than to slide his gaze from the commander and fix it to her, to meet her eyes and tell her how her efforts have saved men that might not have lives to see the dawn without it.

But he cannot. He may know her-- know her better than even her own father, after these few months-- but oh, he is nothing to her. Simply another man in this room, bigger than the others, a mountain to cast shadows on the shoji. Still, he adds, “Their lives are not in danger.”

Her breath rushed from her on a sigh, shoulders slumped in relief. And still, Hijikata watches Yamazaki.

“We have tried our best with the others,” Kai continues, catching the way those same shoulders round as he says, “but we’re not optimistic.”

“I see...” Hijikata sighs, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the news. Kondo may mourn his men, may pray for every life lost beneath the Shinsegumi’s banner, but it Hijikata who knows their names, who knows the families that must be told of their deaths, who knows the precise amount to pay for each man lost.

And yet, when they open, it is not with the resignation Kai expects. Oh no, instead it is interest that flickers to life in those eyes, darting from Yukimura and then--

Then to Yamazaki. The intrigued hum he makes would chill Kai’s blood were he the subject of it. “This is your first time seeing each other, isn’t it?”

Yukimura looks back at him, wide-eyed, and the Vice Commander allows himself the smallest hint of a smile. “These two are part of the Watch, Yamazaki and Shimada.”

Yamazaki turns-- not just his head, but his whole body, palms pressed lat to his thighs as he bows. It’s formal, almost elegant, and with the two of them sitting across from each other like this, eyes finally meeting as Kondo and Hijikata look on--

It is not too dissimilar from a marriage meeting. An eligible son meeting a dutiful daughter, with proud parents over their shoulders. Or perhaps he only has such things on the mind, since he had one of his own only--

“We met last night.”

It is only his training that keeps Kai’s jaw from dropping, that keeps him from making a single noise besides a sharp sniff of surprise. If Yamazaki heard him, be gives no sign, jut forges one with, “But let me reintroduce myself as Yamazaki Susumu.”

Kai, for his part, recovers enough to bow his head. “I am Shimada Kai.”

“Oh.” She breathes, staring at them with her too-large eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Yukimura Chizuru.”

It is Yamazaki she mirrors with her bow, palms pressed to thighs and dipping even lower before them. Her bangs sweep at the tatami, and Kai could swear that the lines around Yamazaki’s eyes soften, that his whole face transforms from the strict taskmaster of the stockroom, to a-- a-- a boy. To someone who might live next door, unnoticed, until the time is right.

And Hijikata’s mouth inches, just the slightest bit, towards a smile.

The sharp attention melts from Yamazaki when Kondo dismisses them, news imparted and his orders give. No longer is he a shinobi dressed in a tradesman’s clothes, but instead the mild-mannered acupuncturist, one who will be round Okita’s door in no time, voice raised to remind him of his medicine. The one who looks less like a man of the shadows, and more like the boy who has barely reached his adulthood.

And he looks even less like it when Kai hums, “You didn’t tell me you met.”

Pink blooms high on his cheeks, two thumbprints pressed right over the bone. “I was busy,” he murmurs, tone edging towards plaintive as he plods along at Kai’s side, three steps to his one. “It didn’t seem pertinent to the matter at hand.”

Ah, so that is the game they are playing. Fine enough; Kai might be too big to dance with any grace, but these little skirmishes-- he knows how to keep an opponent on their toes. “Yukimura did an admirable job treating the men during the raid.”

His mouth twitches, a smile swallowed down before it can surface. “As one would expect of a ranpo’s daughter.”

After his bouts in the ring, Nagakura would always joke that no man could beat their mountain, not when he towered over every sumo head and shoulders. But in that, he is wrong-- or at least, not completely right, just the way he strove to be-- size helps matters surely, but a battle is won not by numbers, but by strategy. If one plan fails, another must take its place.

“I suppose,” Kai hums, watching the boy from the corner of his eyes, “that must be how you met.”

A good thing, since otherwise he would have missed the way Yamazaki coughs, the way his dusky eyes blew wide before he turned himself to the side. “Not...quite.”

His brows raise, thick and heavy as they inch over his brow. “Not quite?”

Yamazaki may turn from him all he likes, but it doesn’t nothing to hide the red blazing at the tips of his ears. “She was with Sannan when I came to deliver my report. Protocol dictates that I would first need to go to the Judiciary Commissioner, then the the Vice Commander, but with how urgent the information was--”

“They sent Yukimura?”

He had seen her, he realizes; just a pink splotch in a wave of white, a bright spot next to the deathly specter of the Vice Commander. But still, for her to have gone in the dead of night, for him to say they had met--

“I...escorted her.” He barely manages to choke the words out past the flush that creeps up his throat, making a bid for his cheeks as he admits, “At least part of the way.”

With the way Yamazaki moved, with the speed he could make in the dead of night with no inconvenient bodies between him and his goal-- there’s no way. “She could keep up with you?”

“Ah.” He tugs at the collar of his jinbei, distress taut in every finger. “I did...help her along. A bit.”

Kai’s mouth twitches. “Why, Yamazaki-kun, you didn’t happen to hold--?”

“It is good she did her job admirably,” Yamazaki says, too loud as he turns into his stockroom, eager to put his back to him. “I suspected she would. Rushed as we were last night, she took direction well.”

“Did she?”

“She did.” He cannot see Yamazaki’s mouth, but he can tell by the shape of the words that it is pulled thin. “We were set upon by Imperialists last night. She did what I told her, even if her nature would guide her differently.”

“You mean to say,” Kai hums, too amused, “that you told her to leave you for dead.”

“I told her to deliver the message,” he informs him primly. “Which she did. I said...I put it in her hands.”

Kai stares. Yamazki hardly trusts him to complete a job without his hand being held, let along a young girl like Yukimura Chizuru, trained only with the basics of her blade.

“You know,” he says, all innocence, poking at the jars on the shelf. “If her skills with ranpo are as good as her ones with bandages, maybe you should consider taking on an assistant.”

Yamazaki’s cheeks flare red. “D-don’t be stupid. An a-apprentice?” He shakes his head. “A silly idea.”

“You could use the help,” Kai reminds him.

“Sure.” Yamazaki’s mouth curls. “You call her an apprentice, but--what could I possibly teach her than she wouldn’t already know?”

#yamachi #hakuouki #my fic #yes it has finally happened #we have reached the part of the story where they actually meet #i have two more chapters planned of this and oh boy am i excited #less because we SEE yamachi action #and more because it's all the men standing around like #are you seeing what i'm seeing?#am i drunk? i'm drunk right?#hijikata: all according to keikaku >:3c

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