#is curt shorter than james?

[twilightzonecloseup]

1.02c Chameleon

Director: Wes Craven

Writer: James Crocker

Cinematographer: Bradford May

Summary:

In orbit above the earth, a spacewalking astronaut notices a strange blue light flashing off part of the space shuttle Discovery. When the shuttle returns to earth, two engineers, Brady (John Ashton) and Gerald (Steve Bassett), are asked to inspect one of the exterior cameras after it malfunctioned in orbit. When Brady removes the camera, he is engulfed in blue light and disappears—leaving just the camera. The camera is moved to a sealed observation lab where a team of NASA scientists can securely examine it. Dr. Curt Lockridge (Terry O’Quinn) and his team try to reason through what happened while they wait for consultation from a higher ranking scientist, Dr. Vaughn Heilman (Ben Piazza). 

The camera flares up in blue light again, but now the observation lab is occupied by, what appears to be, Brady. “Brady” pleads with them to let him out. They attempt to reason with him, but “Brady” becomes increasingly irate. In a fit of desperation, “Brady” shape shifts into the form of Brady’s wife, Kathy (Lin Shaye). Kathy then pleads the case to the scientists to let “Brady” go home. This reveals that when this shapeshifter absorbs someone, it also absorbs their knowledge and memories, as the real Kathy is safe at home. 

The scientists catch the shapeshifter up in its misunderstanding. It morphs back into its Brady form and begins to lash out. They decide to forcibly sedate the Brady-Thing, and Heilman enters the room to examine it. The Brady-Thing wakes up and absorbs Heilman. Rather than taking on Heilman’s form, it morphs into a bomb with a clock counting down to detonation. As it turns out, Heilman used to work in weapons R&D. Lockridge decides to enter the room himself as a sign of trust, to reason with it and set it free. When the countdown reaches zero, another flash, and out of the room runs the shapeshifter, now in the form of Heilman. 

Lockridge chases after it, out onto the tarmac of the airfield. The shapeshifter explains to Lockridge that it ended up on earth out of pure curiosity and assures him that Heilman and Brady are not being held prisoner. Unable to explain its nature in human language, it offers Lockridge the opportunity to merge with it as well, and travel the universe. Lockridge declines and the shapeshifter transforms into a swirling ball of light, launching itself into the open night sky.

Closing Narration:

“Imagine yourself a visitor to many worlds, drifting on the solar wind, a thousand voices singing in your memory. Now imagine you're this man, who can only guess at the wonders he might have known, wonders that exist for him now only as a riddle... from The Twilight Zone."

More about Chameleon:

Chameleon was conceived and written by supervising producer James Crocker. On the DVD commentary for this episode, Crocker explained that his inspiration for writing this story was simply that he liked shapeshifter stories. It was refreshing to hear to be honest, as sometimes producers who envision themselves as creatives build up grandiose creation myths for their creative output. Anyway, I think that this approach worked out well for Chameleon as a Twilight-Zone story. Crocker successfully took inspiration from  preexisting stories about shapeshifting alien beings and synthesized something original from it. (My assumption is that his inspirations were The Andromeda Strain (1971), The Thing (1982) (or The Thing from Another World (1951)), and maybe just a touch from the Star Trek TOS episode “The Squire of Gothos.” But, that’s just my speculation!) 

Superficially, Chameleon reminded me more of a story that might appear on The Outer Limits. However, the shorter runtime of the episode gives it a Twilight Zone-y flair of presenting the viewer with a strange premise for them to mull over on their own. That is, Chameleon is relatively fantastic, rather than explicative, which would be more in line with the more sci-fi leaning Outer Limits. 

No specific episodes of the original series immediately come to mind to pair Chameleon with, which is a good thing. If every episode had an analog in the original series, this reimagining of the series wouldn’t be showing much imagination! However, if I’m pressed to pair it, I’d go with The Lateness of the Hour (2.08) for depicting the panic response of suddenly not comprehending who or what you are or The Invaders (2.15) for depicting a fundamental difficulty in communicating between people from different planets. While this isn’t a Twilight Zone episode, The Outer Limits episode Corpus Earthing also came to mind when watching this story for the first time.

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#the twilight zone #twilight zone #1980s #chameleon #jim crocker #james crocker #wes craven #bradford may #terry o'quinn #ben piazza #iona morris #alma martinez #john ashton #science fiction #scifi #speculative fiction #aliens #first contact #shapeshifters #retro tv #tv #classic television #tv history #cinematography #close up #close-up

[pickledpascal]

Secret Weapon

Chapter Six: With Pleasure, M.

Warnings: SMUT!!!!! also a bit of crack

Word Count: 2.6k

Secret Weapon Masterlist 

Previous Chapter  |

Ezra tilted his head slightly, cocking an eyebrow at James as he grabbed the file in front of him. The agent was toying with him. That much was obvious. At least Tanner wasn’t in there. Would be embarrassing for what he was about to do next. Ezra stood from his desk and made his way around it, eyes zeroing on his prey. Bond. He lifted a hand to James’ cheek, a finger gently grazing across his jaw–it caused the agent to let out a light gasp. He didn’t think Ezra would do anything. Not in the office…

“Be here at 8 pm, will you?” Ezra smiled innocently as he took his hand away. Oh, James was in for it now. “You’re dismissed, 007. Do whatever you do when there’s a break, hm?”

James didn’t even have to think too hard to realize why Ezra wanted him in his office later on. Most operatives would be gone… Including Moneypenny and Tanner. No one to accidentally walk in on them. 

Bond gave Ezra a curt nod, “Of course, sir.” He turned to leave, a smirk on the edges of his lips. Being James Bond, it was part of his duty to annoy the new Quartermaster. 

And so he did. 

James arrived at Q’s headquarters to be met with Q and Alix working away at a desk together. Ezra had to know but it didn’t seem like he cared. Q was much more stable than he or Ezra ever could have been. He made his way over to their desk, the pair straightened up when they realized he was there. Alix knew James and her father had a… relationship going on. Of some sort. 

“007, what can we do for you?” Q asked, trying his best to be nice. Though, his voice was condescending no matter what he did. 

Bond hummed as he looked around at the different people working around them. “My… car. The DB-5… When will that be fixed?” He’d like it to be his daily car. There was never a dull moment in the life of 007. With the car repaired, at least he’d have the upperhand if it just so happened that their enemy wanted to catch him on the roads of London. 

“You gave it back to us as a burnt crisp.” Alix said simply, crossing their arms. “You might need to wait a while.” They sassed as they motioned to the shell of the car that was sitting off to the side, in its own little enclosure.

James cocked an eyebrow at the short twenty-something year old. Alix wasn’t that intimidating but they were the child of the Director. Well, when has anything like that stopped him before? “And? You’re in the Q-Branch, figure something out.” He said in a teasing tone.

“Not our fault the DB5 got fucked. Now is it, James?” Alix shrugged. Perhaps she was being difficult on purpose. Wasn’t her place to say. 

James chuckled, an idea popped into his head. One he wasn’t so sure he should say aloud… but it was too funny to keep to himself. “That’s not the only thing getting fucked.” He hummed, leaning against Q’s desk to look around at the new gadgets being developed. 

Alix and Q were silent–shocked he would say such a thing. Then again, that was normal for James Bond. Alix glanced from Q to James, suspicious. “I know it isn’t Q–or me, for that matter–I hope to God it’s not you.” They observed James. It was obvious, like how he wanted it to be. “Fuck… no!” They exclaimed, pained to have made the realization. 

Q ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t need to be hearing this, much like Alix didn’t need to either. “James! No one needs to know about your plans with M!” Q hissed.

“What?” Bond laughed. “I never said I was fucking him.”

“Please never say anything like that about my father ever again.” Alix requested with a strict tone. Not really a request, more of an order. One they hoped James would listen to because they didn't need to hear anymore.

“Or about our boss.” Q added. 

James countered, “Then fix my car, hm?”

Q and Alix shared a look, the shorter of the two pursed their lips. “Fine. Don’t blow it up again then?” Alix cocked their eyebrow at the agent.

“Deal.” James nodded. They both knew he would never fulfill the deal. He might try but it wasn’t the foremost thing on his mind. He was sentimental about the DB5 but when it came to his own life or the car–well, it was obvious which one he’d choose. He'd wrecked it plenty of times before and he expected to in the future.

Q glanced at Alix before he fixed his gaze on James. "Is that all, 007?" He asked. He wanted to focus on the new car they were building rather than that old piece of junk. Burnt junk. 

"Yes. Thank you, Q. Alix." James nodded to the both of them, winking before he curtly turned and made his way out of the lab. He had a smug smile on his face…

—---

Just before eight, Ezra was in the middle of quite the stack of paperwork. He pursed his lips with each pen flick he did, wrist hurting. He'd get cramps from holding a gun too tightly but a pen… he was not used to that. The man set his pen down and flexed his fingers for a moment. Tanner and Eve left a few minutes ago, each saying goodbye for they left. He was alone in the Whitehall office, cloaked by darkness with some light filtering in from the street lamps outside his windows. 

Ezra let out a breath as he stood from the desk to flick on the lights in the room. He didn't realize how dark it was. How late. He smiled slightly as he checked his watch. 

James would arrive soon. 

Though, he's heard from Tanner that the agent liked to be fashionably late. Ezra had a feeling James didn't want to miss a single second. 

The director–interesting title Ezra wasn't quite sure he would get used to–unbuttoned his cuffs to roll up his sleeves. He wore his signature three-piece suit, this time in a deep brown color. His blazer was already draped on the back of his chair so he didn't need to take that off. Convenient. 

A light knock on the padded door and Ezra knew. He opened the door to reveal just the man he expected. 

James. James Bond. 

"Hello, M." He smirked, sliding next to Ezra's body to make his way inside the office. James ran a hand across the other man's chest as he did. 

He was being a tease on purpose. Probably his most notable quality–being an asshole simply for the sake of being one. 

Ezra closed and locked the door behind James and hummed, "Ah, just what I ordered." He teased back. He liked this game. Though, Ezra wasn't into foreplay much. It was wasted valuable time that could be spent… elsewhere. 

So, he grabbed James’ tie, pulling him close as he connected their lips. James quickly held onto Ezra’s shoulders, squeezing at his favorite spot. The space where his shoulder met his arm. It was James’ favorite because it was the thickest part of his arm, it felt solid. It’s been a while since they’ve had a moment to themselves like this. With Ezra becoming M and James officially back on the job as 007, their lives have been hectic the last few weeks. Ezra needed this. He was sure James needed it too. 

For the first time in his life, it seemed, Bond pulled away from the kiss first. He needed some air in his lungs. Only for Ezra to tear off James’ blazer with his tie, ripping off the agent’s first few buttons to reveal the expanse of his neck. Burying his face underneath his jaw, Ezra sucked and nipped marks onto his skin. James’ hand settled into Ezra’s hair, a gasp then a light whine extracted from between his lips. 

He didn’t expect this. For Ezra to be such a… passionate lover. But it excited James for the possibilities of what would happen next. 

Once Ezra did pull away, he didn’t waste a second taking off Bond’s shirt with dark eyes as he admired his bare chest. He ran a hand down James’ side, feeling some rough spots from scars among soft muscles. Ezra went to undo James’ pants but hands stopped him.

“I’m feeling fairly bare compared to you.” James whispered, biting his lip lightly. He wanted to see Ezra’s body too. See his bare broad shoulders and lines of tattoos across his chest and arms. 

Ezra smirked, cocking his eyebrow as he gently grabbed Bond’s jaw in his palm. “What makes you think you’re in charge here, 007?” He asked teasingly. James' visibly swallowed, his Adam’s apple accentuated as his pupils widened. Oh, yeah, Ezra knew what it did to Bond to use his designation number. It was hard to miss it.

“Of… course, sir.” James eventually said as Ezra continued with his mission to take off his trousers. Standing in just his boxers in M’s office wasn’t something he particularly wanted but… his boyfriend was M now. 

Ezra hummed as he admired James’ body, a hand in his. He led James over to the desk, thankful he cleaned it before James arrived or else he wouldn’t have the patience to do it then. He’d probably have swiped off all of it from the desk and then the papers would have been all over the place. He pulled James on the desk with ease, continuing their kiss from earlier. A bit more feverish this time. They needed more from each other–James needed more. 

And Ezra intended on giving it to him.

Pulling away, Ezra ran a few fingers across James’ jaw as he admired the agent’s swollen lips and the small sliver of blue around his pupils. Then there were his firm thighs. Quite frankly, it was hot. He was able to do this to James Bond. He made him whine. That had to be an achievement of some kind. A medal, maybe? Ezra would surely win gold. 

“I have a surprise for you. Just for you, love.” Ezra whispered with a small smirk, narrow eyes as he looked at James. He had a feeling it wasn’t what the agent expected, much like what happened previously wasn’t what he expected either. James might have expected himself to take the lead rather than Ezra. He thought he would be a lot more shy in bed– in this case, an office. “Want to know what it is?” 

—---

“Wanna spy on my dad?” Alix asked Q, an excited glint in their eyes. They were just about to leave for the day, a bit late since it was past eight at that point but duty calls. James did want that Aston Martin fixed and, knowing him, he’d bother them until it was done. They weren’t too keen on having him do that for more than a few days.

Q was in the middle of typing on his computer, some new algorithm he was implementing or some such thing, as he shook his head. “I’d rather not since he’s my boss. And, it may not be a spoken rule, but it’s against MI6 policy to hack into our own cameras.” He scolded softly.

Alix groaned in frustration, their accent became thicker with it, “You’re no fun! There’s no one else here so they won’t know. Plus, M is now my dad. I don’t think he’ll care too much.” They pouted.

Q was a sucker for Alix, he couldn’t quite say no to them. Even if he knew it would be better if he did. Purposefully getting into trouble wasn’t his favorite thing in the world to do. “Fine.” He sighed, “For a minute then we’re turning it off!”

“Yes!” Alix exclaimed happily, pumping a fist in the air before she got on her computer.

Getting into the camera system was quite simple. For them. Not really for other hackers. First order of business Ezra set up was to make sure every single piece of technology in MI6 had a failsafe, inhackable unless an operative was a part of the Q-Branch. Most notably, Q himself and Alix.

Only a few seconds later, Alix had the cameras for M’s office pulled up. And not even a second later, they exited out of the tab. Their eyes were wide as they looked away from their computer screen. They needed to scrub that image from their mind. Q looked concerned, he didn’t have the time to take so much as a glance at Alix’s screen.

“What happened?” He asked softly.

“I… just saw…” Alix took a breath, shaking the image from their memory. It just wouldn’t leave. “Them fucking.” They cringed, realizing they brought this upon themself. 

Alix’s words, while slightly vague, made Q understand. It was James and Ezra. In Ezra’s office… fucking. He didn’t need to know this boss. In fact, he didn’t need to know anything about his boss’ private life besides the fact that Alix was his child and perhaps exchange a few pleasantries. That was it. 

So much for a normal career in espionage. 

—---

“Good boy. You take it so well, love.” Ezra praised softly into James’ ear as the man whined. He was practically on top of him while James was bent over the desk, one of Ezra’s hands on his hip while the other was planted on his shoulder. 

Ezra wasn’t undressed at all. His shirt might have looked a bit wrinkled as his tie seemed out of place but nothing on his body was exposed except for a bit of tattoo on his forearms. He did add one extra thing to his wardrobe though. That surprise–it was a strap-on. Well, it was buried inside James at the moment. 

James let out a low grunt that turned into a moan as Ezra thrusted at just the right spot. “I… Fuck!” He panted, his forehead against the desk. The wood was cool compared to his steaming body. He needed its coolness to feel a little bit normal, at least. What he was feeling wasn’t normal. Not for him. All his other lovers couldn’t compare. “Ezra–ah!” Another thrust at just the right angle. He was so close, he could feel it coming. 

“There it is…” Ezra hummed, a wicked smile on his face. He enjoyed it, possibly a little too much. Those noises, though. They were beautiful. He eagerly awaited the next time he’d be able to hear them. Soon, he hoped. “Cum for me, love. I know you want to.” Ezra could tell. Bond was teetering on the edge. Perhaps some encouragement would do the job. “Don’t you wanna be a good boy for 009?”

There was a shift deep in Bond’s stomach, his orgasm just hit him. “Yes!” He whimpered. An almost instant relief washed over him, like a wave upon a shore. Breathless, the man turned to Ezra. “You… are going to be the death of me.” He whispered.

“Would you have it any other way?” Ezra asked in a soft voice, running a hand through James’ hair. Bond’s entire body had a thin layer of sweat. Seemed like Ezra did his job well.

James pressed a kiss to Ezra’s lips, a sigh coming from his own once he pulled away from it. “No… No, I wouldn’t.”

#oc #daniel craig character #daniel craig #james bond x ezra wayne #james bond #007jamesbond #ezra wayne #gay oc #secret agents #secret weapon #spies in love #spies #smut

[incorrectpeipquotes]

Bob: Making my way down town.

Bob: Walking fast.

Bob:...

Bob:...

Bob: Walking a bot slower so my steps match with Howard's because he's short.

#is curt shorter than james? #idk #Howard Goodman #Bob Morris #Presidentialpowercouple #incorrect PEIP quotes

[dorminchu]

Insult to Injury: The Director's Cut — Chapter 01

Note: All right, it's been a hot minute since I uploaded anything substantial in regard to this fic. So I'm going to try something a bit risky! I've archived Insult to Injury as you all know it, with the exception of a few errant reblogs outside of my control. But that's neither here nor there; I am very excited to present to all of you all the definitive version of this fic — the Director's Cut, if you will. ;)

Fandom: James Bond Characters: Madeleine Swann, Lyutsifer Safin, various OC(s) Relationships: Madeleine & OC(s) Warnings: Strong language, intense scenes of violence, general cynicism. Rating: M Genre: Crime/Drama Summary: A troubled psychologist desperate to escape her past criminal ties finds herself drawn into a far more insidious schism. [Post-Skyfall]

[Ao3 | FFNet]

— ACT I —

“Everything which is done in the present, affects the future by consequence, and the past by redemption.” — Paulo Coelho

— Episode I: A THOUSAND DETAILS —

In the sterile comfort of her office, Dr Madeleine Swann stared blankly at her computer monitor. The notification that her application as a psychologist consultant with the Médecins Sans Frontières had been sent six days prior blurred with lack of focus. The location of the mission in question was Conakry, Guinea. Her contract duration would last from the start of May to the end of August; just shy of two months away from now. There was an additional caveat:

All non-ECOWAS foreigners are required to have a valid Guinean visa and a vaccination card in order to be granted entry. Yellow fever vaccination cards are verified upon entry into the country at Gbessia.

Approval for the visa necessitated a seventy-two-hour window of clearance. And it would be at least four weeks until she heard back from the Human Resources Office—up to six if she were unlucky. She sat erect and the movement alone was enough to incite a sharp stab of pain into the back of her head. Through the window the sun cast a reddish glare, obfuscating the monitor and warming the nape of her neck. She shoved her face into the heels of her palms while the pressure in her skull abated to a dull throbbing.

Usually she made a habit of drawing the blinds. There were already enough odd complaints about her office being too cold and sterile passed along by the secretary. It had been a stressful enough week that Madeleine saw no reason to keep the shutters closed, so her clients might have something else to focus on besides four polished wooden walls and the analog clock.

What came off to most outsiders as a cool and direct manner of conduct was simply pragmatism. She had a laptop computer used primarily for sending emails. She recorded the bulk of her notes on patients by-hand and revised by means of portable recorder. She kept no photographs in her home nor office. The casual anecdotes she provided to her colleagues were ostensibly as droll as her taste in décor; though her efforts to blend in had largely gone unappreciated.

There wasn’t anything else immediate to review for tonight. She wished a curt good-night to the secretary before donning her coat and exiting into the crisp evening air.

⁂

It was only a fifteen-minute walk from the clinic to the flat. Above her head the clouds hung grey and pregnant with snow. By the time she had ascended the staircase and opened the door to her apartment her fingers prickled. Numbness seeped into her skin. She’d never much cared for the colder seasons.

“You’re back early,” said Arnaud—a fellow Sociology major from her college days. After graduating from Oxford, Madeleine had taken his offer to return to Paris and transfer over to the 8tharrondissement with the understanding that they would be rooming together. Her colleagues back then often referred to them as friends-with-benefits as Madeleine had showed little interest in dating before. After three years of cohabitation, her co-workers at the office wondered how she and Arnaud remained so cordial while balancing their careers and relationship.

“Yes.” Madeleine hung up her coat, noting that he had not yet changed out of his own. “I submitted my request with the MSF a week ago. If I am accepted I’ll be working as a psychologist consultant. In that case, I’ll be out of the country until August at least.”

“Well, you’ve never landed a position that didn’t suit you.” Madeleine smiled politely. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks.” She looked away from him towards the window. “You could open the blinds. It's very bright in here with the lights on.”

“There’s hardly much to look at when the sun is in your eyes. Isn’t that what you say?”

For the most part, Arnaud was easy to live with. Neither of them required financial support and he was of equitable social standing. Her relentless volunteer work did not always lend much time to get to know his inner mind. “It’s late. Are you going out again?”

“No, I got back first. And it’s fortunate. You looked awfully cold when you came in.”

“I can hardly control the weather. And you needn’t worry, I always carry a key on me.”

“Madeleine, we live together. It wouldn’t be right to avoid you. But you know, if I were going out to an unscrupulous club it would make for a pretty good story.”

“Hm.”

“And knowing you,” Arnaud continued, “you probably won’t be going out drinking. The sunrise disturbs you in the mornings, and you woke up before I did, at seven. I assume you’ve been busy all day. In just a few weeks you’ll be working that much harder. You ought to get some rest while you can.”

“So,” a little cooler, “you’ll be another mission?”

“Most likely.”

“All these countries must seem the same after a while.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. When was the last time you volunteered out of the country? 2011?”

Arnaud laughed. “Jesus, this isn’t a competition.”

“But it’ll give you something to talk about to your friends while I am away.”

Arnaud said nothing. Madeleine frowned. She went into the other room and began to change. He could not approach her in the same casual manner as his peers, nor dissect her outright. His life was one of prestige as well as privilege, and Madeleine could not foster any underlying resentment towards him for acting in his nature. The silence held, strained. Then Arnaud said:

“It’s always been important to you. That’s what should matter.”

⁂

In two weeks’ time she got a response from the HRO; the initial interview was scheduled shortly thereafter. By the middle of April she was making preparations to depart. Thanks to Arnaud’s tactic of avoidance she had little reason to tell him the details. No one would know where she was headed unless they broke inside her laptop and hunted through her mail. The situation in Guinea had kicked into mainstream awareness back in February for a week or so before gradually sinking back into obscurity.

Reports from several news outlets cited the emergence of an outbreak primarily affecting South Africa. Originating inland, a mysterious illness that revealed itself first with fever and spells of vomiting, then gradually ate away at the flesh of those afflicted and bore their bones and muscle, vulnerable to further rot. More emboldened journalists had taken to calling it the Red Death on account of this. Neither a cure nor a place or origin had been discovered.

The situation had not improved in the last two months so much as stabilised. Madeleine had been assured several times over email and electronic conference that those working in the field had already taken precautions, and she’d be instructed further on what to do upon her arrival. She was issued a few pamphlets and strongly advised to vaccinate before boarding the flight. Which she had done, but it was very kind of them to remind her.

In spite of Arnaud’s apparent disinterest, his last words to her before she departed had been: “Last year it was four missions. I'd never seen you so tired. I wish I knew what you’re trying to prove.”

After managing to get some sleep on the plane she touched down Conakry International Airport around mid-morning and contacted the Project Coordinator; a shorter man in his mid-forties with a photogenic smile and toupee. He clasped her hand in both of his clammy ones and said: “Very glad you've made it, Doctor. We need you on-site in twenty minutes. Make sure you are ready.” Her luggage was dropped off on the second floor of the Grand Hotel de L’independence, where she and the other MSF members would be rooming. The staff were polite enough, though their attention was fixed on the Project Coordinator.

Her room was spare and a little dingy, and the only means of fresh air came from opening the window and polluting the room with outside noise, but it was at least reasonably clean. A fine sheen of sweat was building on her skin. No reason to delay the inevitable.

Upon reaching Donka Hospital she met up with the rest of the team, most notably the Medical Coordinator, and the Psychosocial Unit. It soon became apparent that there were still not enough medical doctors to handle the influx of infected. An isolation ward had been established before the MSF’s involvement, but they were reportedly at full capacity; the workers in there were clad in full-body personal protective equipment. Another section of the grounds had been set aside and fenced off; rows of tents all lined up, reminding Madeleine distantly of a prisoner’s accommodations. No matter where you went the stench of rot always seemed to hang pervasively in the air.

She was paired off with another psychologist by the name of John Herrmann; American, around her age. He was of a friendlier disposition than she was used to, introducing her semi-formally to the rest of the group before adding:

“So, one thing you should know now, we’ve been having problems with the electricity on site as well as the hotel. There’s no running water either.”

“This isn’t my first mission with MSF. And I lived out in the countryside when I was small. I know how to look after myself.”

Herrmann smiled. “That’s fair.” He scratched his neck. “The mosquitoes are worse. Bug nets won’t help worth a damn. Make sure you close your windows at night, I had to learn that the hard way.”

“I see.” The humidity combined with the smell off-road were already becoming intolerable. But she did not want to appear so snobbish or weak in front of someone she would be monitoring for the next three months. “I won’t go any easier on you just because you are unaccustomed to the environment.”

 “See ,that’s the kind of attitude we need around here!” He clapped a hand on her back; Madeleine regarded him levelly until he relented. “Good to have you on the team.”

The other members on the Psychosocial Unit were as amicable with Madeleine as the situation permitted. None of them got on her nerves as much as Herrmann. His enthusiasm was never to the point of seeming false or obsequious, but he remained just enough of a go-getter to piss her off. After a week of monitoring them she came away with the impression that Herrmann was genuine. He had been consistently genial with the clientele and hospital staff alike, no matter the severity of their condition. She saw no reason to socialise with him outright. The most he ever noted about her mood was: “You’re pretty reticent for a psychologist consultant.”

“I’m here to do my job. That’s all.”

Herrmann shrugged. “I can respect that. We all deal with the situation in our own ways.” He paused. “I can see why the Project Coordinator wanted you. You’re handling this situation a lot better than I would have.”

“Thank you.”

“The workload must be insane compared to what you’re normally used to. I know it took me time to adjust—" he stopped as Madeleine threw him a look of confusion “—what is it?”

“Back home, I am usually referred to as what one would call a workaholic. Or didn’t anyone tell you?”

“Oh, hey, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“No offence taken.”

The higher temperature was not so bad as the humidity that slapped her in the face whenever stepping outside—according to the forecasts, it was only going to get worse within the coming months. There was no manner of ventilation or air-conditioning in the hotel so often times she had to draw the curtains and keep her hair back. She resigned herself by reminding herself that it was better than sleeping in a tent.

There wasn’t much time to be hung-up on much else besides her assignment. The members of the Psychosocial Unit all looked good on paper, but they betrayed their inexperience through a shared level of idealism towards the mission that Madeleine deemed ill-fated. She did not blame them. Young, perhaps fresh out of school, looking to make a difference in the world without truly anticipating the gravity of the situation. Their time spent observing the crises of the rest of the world through the lens of journalism and outside empathy could not compare with the experience of actually sitting down and listening to the stuff their patients talked of with prosaic seriousness.

It often sounded outrageous when Madeleine played back the recordings, taking down notes in the quiet, stuffy hotel room. Mortality was an expected outcome, and the implication of negligence by their government a common topic of discussion among patients. Most conversations were conducted in French or else by way of an interpreter, though the antagonism in the voices of these patients needed no translation.

There was a growing disparity between the narrative put into circulation by the news and what was happening in the field. According to several members of the MSF and the staff at Donka, the media blew the problem out of proportion. The people whose condition had kicked off the “Red Death” story had been subjected to long-term exposure. Most of the patients that came through were not in that same condition, but it created an illusion of immediacy that incited concern in the public eye and a need for donations. Government officials wanted to cover up the severity of the situation as not to detract from any potential business opportunities; until the MSF got involved, they were only employing the most rudimentary of safety procedures.

This latter revelation had shaken up the Psychosocial Unit considerably; Dr Herrmann had lost his patience with the Medical Coordinator. To this end, he’d apologised profusely to Madeleine afterwards though she would hear none of it. Whatever he felt about the situation was not necessarily invalid, but out of consideration for their patients, he would not bring it up again.

Herrmann never held it against her. So Madeleine busied herself in her own work. Whatever quiet camaraderie forged between the other MSF members was not her business. When pressed for advice, she would talk calmly, carefully with the rest of the team about what would be optimal but never overreach. In the sweltering nights and throughout the early morning, Madeleine would pore over her notes, listening to the passing automobiles and indistinct conversation carried over by civilians.

⁂

June crawled by. Currently the MSF were in the process of dealing with a new influx of internally displaced persons (IDPs) from the surrounding prefectures and villages, all of whom had to be tested and separated from those not stricken with disease. Thanks to the cooperation with the local civilians and tireless efforts on part of the medical staff and Medical Unit, there had been a forty-five-percent decrease in fatalities compared to the start of the year.

The atmosphere within the hospital was not improving. The topic of insurgence was the new favourite with patients. Allegedly there had been several attacks on neighbouring villages; a consequence of the lack of tangible progress coupled with deep-seated mistrust of government officials. Now the Force Sécurité/Protection, or FSP, had been brought on in collaboration with an additional Protective Services Detail (PSD) by the name of Kerberos, to ensure the hospital and surrounding property remained untouched.

Their Project Coordinator called them all in for the sake of reviewing protocol in the event of an attack. Outright criticism of the government’s method in handling the situation was discouraged. Madeleine was savvy enough to keep herself abreast of any controversy. For the rest of the Psychosocial Unit, she presumed they were either too naïve or willing to look the other way.

The only exception to this was the Vaccines Medical Advisor, Francis Kessler; a stoic older man with thinning hair and glasses. He and Madeleine had cooperated a handful of times beforehand, at the discreet behest of the Medical Coordinator. Madeleine had found nothing wrong with his conduct. A diligent worker, he acknowledged her judgement fairly but did not overextend his gratitude. Outside of his work he was straight-laced and reserved and wouldn’t be seen socialising with any of the younger MSF who all talked about him as though he were some out-of-touch stick-in-the-mud. As the situation in the hospital became more dire he would stay behind on-site, late into the evening. Whenever they had a break, he would disappear on calls. Once he came back late by only a few minutes and apologised to Madeleine.

“I was supposed to be sent home last month, but with the situation being what it is, I decided to stay on until things are resolved.” He did not sit down, his attention turned towards the path back to the infected ward. “It’s madness. We’ve already waited until things are too severe to think of bringing in a proper security detail—who the hell does the Project Coordinator think we’re fooling?” Madeleine ignored him. “Dr Swann. The Medical Coordinator tells me you’ve been involved in volunteer work for a while.”

“Five years, as of March.”

“Perhaps they would be more willing to listen to someone with your expertise.”

“I’m flattered. But it’s fortunate that I was not selected for my personal opinion.”

Kessler chuckled. “You’ll go far.”

Madeleine had no interest in pursuing this topic any further. “Who were you speaking to?” He froze up, didn’t answer immediately. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have been so blunt. But you leave often enough on calls, and it appears to be taking a toll on you.”

Comprehension dawned on his face, his shoulders relaxed. “Just my wife. This past month has been no easier on her. But I find that it can help somewhat, just talking to someone outside of this element.” Madeleine nodded stoically. “I’ve never seen you contact anyone outside of your unit.” Madeleine did not anticipate the conversation to take such a turn, nor did she wish to divulge much about herself. But she could not deflect as she could in the clinic back home, and Kessler seemed forthright enough to warrant a harmless response.

“I’m living with a friend. We graduated from college together.”

“And you keep in touch while you are abroad?”

“He tends to lead his own life while I am away.”

“That’s a great deal to ask of someone.” Madeleine inclined her head in his direction. This was not a man that emoted often; now the thin mouth was set, and the eyes behind the glasses disillusioned. “Few women your age would devote themselves to a thankless vocation as this. Not everyone is going to want to stick around until you decide you want to settle down.”

Madeleine’s smile did not touch her eyes. She hadn’t even mentioned the nature of her relationship to Arnaud. “We have an understanding, that’s all. Besides, I don’t bother him about his social life.”

Kessler shook his head. In a few minutes they were back to work as usual. By the end of the day, Madeleine resolved to let him dig his own social grave without further interference.

By the time July rolled around Madeleine found her mind snagging easily on technicalities. She became less tolerant of the Psychological Unit’s personal hang-ups with the lack of resources and lack of any obvious moral closure. Smell of rot and disinfectant permeated into her clothing and hair until she had begun to associate the smell itself with a total lack of progress.

She left the window to her hotel room cracked most nights, afraid to open it completely. Alone with her own mind and the recorder. The conversations now circled back readily to death and terrorism. An overwhelming fear of retaliation from looming insurrection.

Madeleine stopped the recording. She checked the time and cursed under her breath. Just past one in the morning. In six hours she would return to Donka Hospital and repeat the process. A month and a half from now she would be on a flight back to Paris. Her mind wouldn't settle on either direction.

Outside her window she heard the distant voice of Francis Kessler. He was conversing in German, from a few storeys down, but as Madeleine came over to the window she understood him clearly:

“…I’ve been saying it for weeks, and they dismiss me every time. These wounds are the result of prolonged exposure from chemicals. We’ve seen evidence of IDPs coming through, exhibiting the same symptoms as the PMCs we treated back in February. How we can expect to make any progress if the Project Coordinator refuses to bring this up? We’re putting God-knows how many lives at risk waiting for a vaccine that we don’t know if we need—and even so, it won’t be ready for another week. There’s not enough time to justify keeping silent….”

Madeleine closed the window carefully. She’d never been one to intrude on family matters.

⁂

When Madeleine exited her room the next morning, she found the Project Coordinator waiting for her in the hallway, along with the head of security from Kerberos and a couple Donka Hospital staff Madeleine knew by sight but not intimately.

The vaccines had arrived earlier than anticipated, around three or four in the morning. Several members of the Medical Unit had stayed on-site in order to determine if all had been accounted for and subsequently realised it was rigged. Thanks to the intervention of Kerberos the losses were minimal. Several doctors had suffered chemical exposure and were currently isolated from the rest of the IDPs to receive immediate medical attention. Others, such as Drs Kessler and Herrmann, had been less fortunate.

Now there was additional pressure from the hospital doctors and Logistics Team to begin moving the high-risk patients to a safer area. The fear that this story would circulate and any chance of obtaining vaccines would be discouraged could not be ruled out. So they would not be reporting this as a chemical attack, but as a failed interception of an attack by local terrorists, stopped by the FSPs.

“Dr Swann.” The head of security, Lucifer Safin, gave Madeleine pause. His accent would presume a Czech or Russian background but his complexion and eye colour invited room for ambiguity. The MSF on staff commonly referred to him by surname; perhaps Lucifer was simply an alias. What set him apart was his face. Gruesomely scarred from his right temple to the base of his left jaw, though the structure of his eyes and nose remained intact. In spite of the weather, Madeleine had never seen him without gloves. “I understand that you were one of the last to speak with Dr Kessler?”

His manner wasn’t explicitly taciturn, more akin to the disconcerting silence one might experience while looking into a body of still-water—met only with your reflection.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, “but that was nearly five days ago.”

“You were instructed to monitor him during that period by the Medical Coordinator?”

 “That’s correct.”

Safin glanced at the Project Coordinator. “I’ll speak with her alone.”

“Of course.”

Safin nodded. They walked down the length of the hall back to her room. His gait was purposeful and direct. He had a rifle strapped to his side. Madeleine tried to avoid concentrating on it. Her attention went to the window. She'd forgotten to lock it.

“Dr Swann.” The early morning light put his disfigurement into a new, unsettling clarity. Too intricate to be leprosy or a typical burn wound, it was more as if his very face were made of porcelain and had suffered a nasty blow, then glued together again. “What was the extent of your relationship to Dr Kessler?”

“I did not work with him often. We talked once or twice but that was all. I have my own responsibilities with the Psychosocial Unit. From what I could tell, he never made an effort to befriend anyone.”

“But you were asked to monitor Dr Kessler.”

“I was requested to do so on behalf of the Medical Coordinator. There were concerns that Dr Kessler was somehow unqualified to continue his work. In observing him, I had no reason to suspect he was unfit for the position psychologically.” Safin said nothing. “The only issue I could see worth disqualifying him for, was that Kessler and the Project Coordinator had very differing views on protocol.”

“He spoke to you about his views?”

“He expressed to me once, in confidence, that he did not understand the Project Coordinator’s hesitance to bring in a security detail.” Safin’s attention on her became sharper. “He also told me he’d elected to continue volunteering here past his contract duration, just to ensure the operation was successful. That was my only conversation with him outside of a work-related context. You would be better off asking the other doctors about this.”

“We have video surveillance in place on the Grand Hotel de L’independence. At around one in the morning, Dr Kessler exited the building and contacted an unknown party by mobile phone. Then, a minute later, you were at your window.”

“Oh, yes. I have been forgetting to close it. With so many longer days, it can be difficult to remember these things.”

“Your room was the only one to show signs of activity at that hour.”

“I was reviewing my notes from that day’s session. I heard a voice from outside, though not clearly. It was distracting me from my work, so I got up and closed the window.”

“Do you commonly review your notes in the early hours of the morning with an unlocked window?”

“I just wanted some quiet. I leave the windows open because otherwise I seem to find myself trapped with the smell of rotting flesh as well as humidity.”

Safin’s expression became easier to read, but not in a positive sense. This was not a man you wanted to be on opposing sides with. Madeleine kept any apprehension away from her face and her voice tightly controlled.

“Look. Without information about Dr Kessler’s lifestyle outside of the MSF, I cannot give you an answer in good faith. I was assigned to survey him. He showed no signs of dereliction in his work, and to my knowledge kept his personal views separate from his work. Whatever he said to me during outside hours was assumed to be in confidence. Many people say things to one another in what they believe to be confidence that they would not admit to otherwise. If I had reason to suspect he was unfit to work, I would have contacted the Medical Advisor immediately.”

Safin held her gaze. She did not dare avert her face. Then he said: “Thank you for your cooperation. The Project Coordinator is waiting for you downstairs.”

The rest of the day she spent in a different wing of the hospital. The Psychosocial Unit was cut down from four members to three. Another inconsequential day of thankless work that never seemed quite good enough. That night Madeleine laid back on her bed and watched the shadows on the ceiling stretch over peeling paint until daybreak.

When she’d arrived at the airport she could stave off her doubts with shallow, private reassurances. As long as you are here, you are just Dr Swann the psychologist consultant. Your father is many miles away and he won’t contact you again. No one else will come looking for you in a place like this.

With a guy like Safin around she was undoubtedly safer than she would have been with the FSPs alone.

Safer, but no longer invisible.

⁂

July brought hotter weather and brittle peace—the vaccines had finally arrived. The wing of the hospital that had suffered the terrorist attack was still closed and they had lost several more staff members wounded in the initial attack. Madeleine and the remaining MSF were encouraged by the Project Coordinator to take earlier shifts. Progress remained steady but there was no clear resolution in sight. The stench of rot imprinted into Madeleine’s senses to the point where she no longer consciously registered her own nausea. Discontent among the staff continued to bubble under the surface on account of the closed wing and bad press.

It couldn't last forever.

A week away from August. Just another humid morning at six AM. Madeleine rose and prepared herself mentally for the day ahead. Stress kept her mind working late into the night, but her position with the Psychosocial Unit barred her from working overtime in the hospital. She was overwhelmed with keeping up the pace, not yet to the point of exhaustion.

There was an inordinate of activity on the road outside as she got dressed and left the room. She put it out of her mind.

Outside the hotel she met up with the Medical Coordinator and a few members of the Logistics Unit. They spent about ten minutes standing idle in the humid air, too weary to speak. The streets were usually empty this time of day.

An unremarkable black Jeep pulled up. The Medical Coordinator opened the door and was about to step into the car when it happened. The Medical Coordinator’s head burst over the interior of the vehicle and Madeleine. The body slumped like a doll to the dirt. Madeleine wanted to scream but could not. She turned and found herself facing down the barrel of a rifle.

Around a dozen men with guns, sans insignia, circled them. The man who had fired addressed her harshly in French: “Where are the rest of the MSF? Why are they not at the hospital?”

“I don’t understand.” Madeleine could see another group of men approaching from the rear. A massacre, onset.

“We’ve been waiting for months for a solution, and you have been injecting us with a useless vaccine.” He aimed right at her sternum. “Your doctors gave them all false hope for months. Now the MSF have abandoned you.”

“You have been protecting them!” the insurgent roared, levelling his weapon. “All this time! You knew why they were here, and you allowed them to experiment on our families like dogs!”

The man at his left turned and fired. The insurgent fell dead. “That’s enough.” One of the men from Kerberos in plainclothes. A dozen more in military gear materialised as if from nowhere. “There is no need for additional bloodshed,” said the plainclothes. “Release them now or you will be shot.”

All around her at once, gunfire. Madeleine didn't wait to see who had fired first. She prostrated herself, hands clasped over her neck, breath clogged in her throat.

All sound ceased. Her head continued to ring. Her eyes were open but she did not process the colour staining her skin, on her clothes, the smell of it. She hadn’t been shot. Her heart hammered against her ribcage.

Heavy footsteps approaching. She closed her eyes awaiting the kiss of metal at her temple.

“Dr Swann.” Madeleine shrunk away instinctively from the gloved hand upon her forearm. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Another soldier pulled her upright. Sight of blood on dry earth briefly mixed up with blood spattered across wooden floorboards. Madeleine went limp. Ushered into the backseat of an unmarked Jeep, she could not stop trembling. Shoulder-to-shoulder with another man she recognised as head of Logistics, Peter Miller. The door slammed shut, jolting her back into her own body. Sound of the ignition set her into trembling. Miller’s naked hand materialised on her shoulder. His voice overtaken by the roaring in her ears. Madeleine bowed her head into her hands like a child, whispering: “Ne me tuez pas. Je n’ai rien fait. Je ne sais rien.”

#no time to die #madeleine swann #lyutsifer safin #several ocs #crime drama #fanfic #fanfiction #multichapter #canon is gonna joss this into the sun probably #haha... unless? #slow build

[heli0s-writes]

II. The Binding

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary:  You return to the newly dubbed Avengers Tower after two years. The Words find you with a surprise. A/N: Part 2 of Mystery of Love.

It took a few months for you to settle in and find a new apartment, but soon enough you were back on a regular schedule. Your work continued to be well-reviewed and circulating, which was a good sign because it meant you could still make a living off it. The merchandise in your store was steadily being bought and it certainly helped that you still had quite a bit of money left over from your last few paychecks. There were invitations in your inbox for exhibitions and requests to purchase original files of your work. For now, you were leaving them unread.

You visited your parents once, to talk to them, but you felt strange in their home. The longer your conversation went on, the more you realized that your parents couldn’t comprehend the importance of your work to you. Nor did they understand why you were no longer enamored with the idea of a soulmate. To them, you were meandering around the world to pursue a hobby, luckily it made you quite a bit of money, but you needed to settle down and find your other half. He was in Manhattan, they believed, so you needed to stay put. When you scoffed and said that it could very well be a “she”, they asked you to leave and think about your actions for a few days.

On a sunny May morning, as you reviewed the hundreds of pictures from your journeys, you received an e-mail from Ms. Potts. She hoped you had a fun trip, and that she’d like for you to come by for another assignment. She promised that there was a surprise.

You thought the surprise was that the Avengers Tower was now called Avengers Facility and was outside of town. It wasn’t. The surprise also wasn’t the chauffer who pulled up the next day to drive you there.

You balked at the size of the estate upon seeing it. She met you once again at the door, first to give you a hug and ask about your travels, then as if she’d done something wrong, Ms. Potts bashfully straightened her skirt and led you in. You laughed and returned the hug, thanking her for the bonus; it had gotten you through more than 5 countries in almost two years, after all.

The contract she slid under your nose was entirely review same guidelines as before. There were new specifications, however, four new Avengers: Samuel Thomas “Sam” Wilson, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, Pietro Maximoff, and Wanda Maximoff. You had heard about Sokovia while you were travelling- it happened while you were in Thailand, and Sergeant Barnes’ investigation and trial was on the news during your entire stay in Saudi Arabia. It was very, very recent.

“I thought you might like an additional photo to your Peculiar Pairs Series,” Ms. Potts smiled, “Wanda and Pietro are bonded,”

Your eyes must have looked like saucers. You’d never seen it before- soulmate twins! There were old folktales, of course, but you didn’t think it was real. You gasped in disbelief and ransacked your brain for an appropriate response. What kind of words would they have said to each other? Babies don’t have a concept of language? What was it like growing up together- what is their relationship with each other like? What did their family think?

You sputtered.

“I… Only with their permission, of course!”

Pepper laughed, “Yes, of course. Come on, let’s go see everyone.”

It was then that a wave of nausea hit you, thinking suddenly about Captain Rogers and the awful feeling your stomach gets around him. It was such an embarrassing thing to admit and be helpless to control. You often wondered to yourself if you were reacting so extremely because he scared you? No, he didn’t. Did you like him? Well, you didn’t know him. You were attracted to him, yes, but who wasn’t?

Captain Rogers had been in your textbook since you were a little girl. You went to the museum in Brooklyn multiple times and gazed at his uniform and peered at his photographs alongside Sergeant Barnes. He was handsome in such a honest and gentle way, someone once upon a time you might have dreamt of being your soulmate. He had beautiful blue eyes and a boyish grin, even as a man. You always thought even before the serum, you could have liked him. It wasn’t like you were a very tall woman, anyway.

You rubbed your sternum discreetly as you slipped behind Ms. Potts.

“Please call me Pepper,” she said abruptly, as if she were letting out a too-big breath of air, “Please. And Tony would love it if you’d call him y’know, by his first name too.”

You blushed. You’d just never been that way. But you promised her to try.

“I understand we’re all much older, but just get into the habit, yeah? Wanda and Pietro are your age, and wouldn’t it be weird to call them Mr. and Ms. Maximoff?”

You agreed.

After a few long hallways, the turn led into a large sitting space illuminated by an entire wall made of windows. A large sectional was placed in the center of the room along with some single sofas and bean bags. There was a bookshelf along one wall and a flat-screen across from the seats. All eyes turned to you when you entered. You recognized them- Tony, Natasha, Steve, Bucky Barnes, the Maximoff Twins, and Sam Wilson. Apprehension flooded your core at the sight of the Captain. Sergeant Barnes, who sat beside him, seemed to be glaring.

“Ah! There’s my favorite little P.R. twerp!” Tony Stark cried as he slid across the rug, arms outstretched, “Missed your photos, kid, I’ve got one of me blown up in the master right now. It’s fantastic.”

“Thanks, Tony,” You replied shyly, feeling a bit silly for taking so long to make the switch. Tony gasped dramatically and pretended to be on the verge of tears, punctuating his display with a loud, “Finally!”

Natasha came to hug you as well, whispering a greeting in your ear and congratulating you on all the good fortune with your travels.

The twins regarded you wordlessly, both giving curt nods and gazing at your camera bag. You returned the gesture, placing your hand on the strap to move the bag out of view- you didn’t want to take their picture until they were ready, regardless of what the contract stated. Sam Wilson came to shake your hand and introduce himself. He was very charming, you noted, and definitely knew how to hold a conversation- maybe being the most normal person here.

“I’m such a fan of your work,” he said with a smile, “It’s such a refreshing take on an old, trite thing.” You thanked him in response, grabbing the strap of your camera bag nervously. It was a habit you were trying to let go of, but receiving compliments was still something you handled poorly.

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes had been standing since you and Pepper entered the room. You noticed that the Captain cut his hair shorter than you’d seen it before. Two years ago, it was longer on top and brushed to the side. He tentatively gave you a small smile and waved, unsure of your reaction.  

When you smiled back, he exhaled loudly, “It’s good to see you,”

“You too, Captain”

There was a sudden sensation prickling at your flesh. At first it tickled, like a brush, but then it hit you like a staccato of needles stabbing into the skin of your chest. Your face contorted into an expression of confusion before the pain hit, hands pulling the strap of the camera bag down roughly to investigate the source of your agony. You backed up into a chair. Natasha and Pepper rushed over. The sweltering feeling grew as you struggled to unbutton your shirt, finally giving up and tearing it halfway down the middle.

As the buttons scattered, you watched in horror as black words appeared on your sternum, all capital letters running up your chest in a straight line: it’s good to see you.

Captain Rogers groaned audibly and fell backwards onto the couch as he frantically rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to see your words appear on his left bicep, cursive script running in a circle to disappear and return around. The room was filled with gasps and clattering chairs as the watchers began to realize what was unfolding. Sergeant Barnes leaned down to examine his friend, fearfully looking back and forth between the two of you.

“Jesus Christ!” He cried, as the Captain’s handwriting stopped carving into your skin. Your gasps were beginning to subside when he called out, but when those words left his lips, you began to feel it again, this time overtaking your arm. You couldn’t remain balanced on the chair any longer as you doubled over in pain, sliding onto the floor, just out of reach of Natasha’s steadying hands on you.

Underneath the loose sleeve of your speckled navy and white button up, the Sergeant’s words appeared in thick, heavy strokes of half-cursive, half-print: Jesus Christ.

The room froze in disbelief. Everyone looked from you to the Captain, to the Sergeant. Even your tears subsided for the time being while your heart hammered in your chest. There was ringing in your ears as you tried to still your panting, your hands trembled as they touched the newly formed Words on your left arm.

Sergeant Barnes slowly rose to his feet, staring at you. The Captain did the same. The three of you knew why this was happening, but not quite what it meant, or what it involved for your futures. Captain Rogers extended his hand first, and you slowly slipped shaky fingers into his large palm. It engulfed your hand in a compassionate but strong grip, and you couldn’t help but admire the way his arm flexed ever so slightly as he pulled you up. The touch had an immediate response. It felt like the first time you stepped on warm sand, or the feeling of an ice pack on your head in the throes of a fever. In Captain Rogers’ eyes, you could see the same emotions overpowering him.

“Say something to him,” he whispered. You gulped, looking at the Sergeant, waiting by his side, lips parted in anticipation. You shook your head wildly, afraid. Your first words to Captain Rogers were so dull already- what could you say to the Sergeant? You were racking your brain for phrases you’d memorized over time when he spoke up.

“Say somethin’, please,” Sergeant Barnes’ icy blue eyes urged you with a frantic plea, “There’s nothin’ that wouldn’t be just exactly how it should.”

Your stomach turned again and you reflexively placed a hand to your torso, suddenly reminded that your shirt was undone, your breasts barely covered by the sides of fabric. Captain Rogers pulled it shut for you, sliding one seam over another, and lightly touched your collarbone before letting his hand fall back to his side. It was a deliberate motion; the desire to pull you up into his arms and hide you away in his room was riotous in his mind, and it was taking all of him to be still.

“I’m not so bad, am I?” the Sergeant took a step forward, expression faltering on the cusp of sorrow. You opened your mouth to speak but couldn’t find what to say. He was a complete stranger- just another legend you grew up with, like the Captain, like soulmates and the idea of love. But he was right now in front of you, he was proof that the legends you’d been disregarding for the past 4 years existed, as much as you wished they didn’t. His hand brushed your cheek, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear, and leaving a tingling path in its wake.

“This… can’t be real,” You gasped absentmindedly as his thumb traced a line down your jaw. When your eyes started to fill up again with tears, you didn’t know, but they were cascading down your face as Sergeant Barnes sucked in a sharp breath. His full bottom lip rolled between his teeth as he unbuttoned the loose Henley. Your eyes travelled slowly down each button. At the edge of the slit in his shirt, there they were, the Words… your Words: this can’t be real. They were in the same position as Captain Rogers’ Words on your own chest. Sergeant Barnes exhaled shakily as the letters finished their scorching trail on him. The three of you stared at each other, heaving in unison, panting, steadying the furious butterflies in your stomachs.

Sam Wilson was the first to speak up, shattering the silence with the question everyone else thought, “What just happened?”

It shook you from your daze. Both of Pepper’s hands were clasped over her mouth. Natasha looked astonished, but intrigued. Tony slowly made his way to Pepper and pulled her hands down, gripping it tight in his, his eyes remained transfixed on the three of you on the floor the entire time. The twins sat in silence, fingers intertwined with pleased smiles.  

“This is incredible,” Pepper sighed, “I’ve only heard stories,”

“You... all are soulmates?” Sam asked

You looked back and forth between the two men at your side, unsure of how to answer. You could only think of the time you met John in Prospect Park with Francis and Marilynn. Tony seemed to recall that photo as well and spoke up in clear voice over his shoulder.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., pull up the Peculiar Pairs photo gallery on the T.V.” The flatscreen hummed to life as Tony scrolled to the last images of the set. There were three elderly people sitting on the bench together, holding each others’ hands. Francis on the left, John in the middle, Marilynn on the right, all smiles. Tony traced the Words on Francis’ wrist and Words on Marilynn’s collarbone. John sat happily between them, two sets of words etched on the same spaces: wrist and collarbone.

Tony pointed to you, “Same thing,” he said with a slight jerk of his neck, “You got Capsicle’s words on your chest, Count Buckula’s words on your arm… and he’s—” a slide to the right of his finger, pointing to Captain Rogers, “—got your words on his arm… and those words are on his chest…” the finger slid to the other side, at the Sergeant.

Both of Tony’s hands came to rest on his hips as he regarded you almost proudly. “I can’t believe it, kid, you got two soulmates.” It seemed like the speech would end there, but Tony’s eye began to twinkle mischievously, and a deviant smirk overtook his previously harmless smile, “Oh my, my, my, my, my, aren’t you three going to be having some adventurous s- Ah!”

Pepper had punched him before he could finish his sentence, and began to twist his ear, dragging him out of the room with a very sympathetic apology. The rest of the Avengers followed suit, loudly clearing their throats, offering you congratulations and smiles as a dark pink blush spread over your cheeks. The Maximoffs were the last to leave. Pietro strode casually to the hallway but lingered in the shadow as Wanda put her hand on your shoulder with a knowing smile. She pulled up the sleeve of her flowing blouse and showed you her brother’s mark--- a long curved line, punctuation with a frenzy of dashes and dots at the end. “Do not worry. It is meant to be how it is meant to be,”

At her brother’s bidding, Wanda slipped away as well, following him down the hall.

You were left alone with them. The two men standing in front of you stiff like statues, hands clenched tightly at their sides. You didn’t know what to do with your own body, either, as it hummed and positioned to their frequency. There was a vibration that was unmoving, a tune that was noiseless, a thread hanging onto all three of you, stringing you together. Your legs were beginning to shake.

Sergeant Barnes noticed and led you to the couch as Captain Rogers pushed two loose sofas closer so that they could sit facing you. He was careful to give you as much space as you needed, so long as it didn’t entirely take you away. The very sight of you now, etched with his Words gave him the clarity he’d been searching for nearly his entire life. He didn’t need verbal verification to know that Bucky also felt the same way.  

Your gaze slowly traveled up to the sandy-haired man sitting in front, leaning forward with his elbows resting atop of his knees. You’d known this man for years, but somehow in this moment, he looked so strange and unfamiliar. His brow creased with curiosity. You were sure this wasn’t how he – either of them- must have imagined meeting their soulmate. You were just some kid. Christ, fifteen minutes ago, you were still rejecting the idea of soulmates!

The markings on your body began to feel heavy with each acrimonious thought. Your chest tightened up again, stomach squeezing itself inside of you. Tears started to fall from your eyes as the room caved in. Your heart felt so full, as if it could burst from your chest at any minute if you let it. Your hands moved on their own, grabbing at your chest and arm, scratching wrathfully at the Words’ inscription on your body. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t want it. You refused it.

In the darkness of the chamber, you heard someone say, “She’s having a panic attack, Buck,”

A warm hand found itself against your back, rubbing large lines up and down your spine leisurely. Another hand was rubbing against the narrow plane in between your breasts, but it was cold and made you shiver. Someone’s hands were tucking your hair behind both ears, sweetly wiping away the tears that ran freely and gathered under your chin. You felt so small against them, leaning sadly into the warmth, shuddering sobs shaking your frame.

“Breathe… breathe, there you go, hon’, you’re doing great,”

The blackness soon began to fade, and you struggled to follow the rhythmic directions being whispered into your ear. New tears were shushed away gently by another voice, like an ocean breeze blowing away sand. Your hands clenched severely to your thighs, but soon were peeled away and held in a grasp that burned like a furnace. When the light returned to your field of vision, you could make out the Captain and Sergeant giving you encouraging smiles.

“I’m.. sorry,” you wheezed hoarsely. You hadn’t experienced one of these since early college.

“Don’t apologize, it’s a lot to take in,” Captain Rogers spoke, squeezing your left hand in his. At the sensation, you looked down to see your small hand, once again, engulfed in his and laughed loudly, surprising them both. They were glad to see you laughing, at least, and only raised their eyebrows to question it. You shook your head, not knowing where to start, pulling your hand away and wrapping both arms around your legs. You didn’t notice Captain Rogers’ expression.

“How does this work, Captain?” You asked, murmuring, in hopes that if they didn’t hear you, maybe you could just avoid talking about it forever. “There’s… two of you… the Sergeant, I.. this… we’ve only just met.” You squeezed your puffy eyes shut, feeling your poor head starting to hurt.

“Please,” he called, “Please…” it was pleading, soft and slow, so, so desperate, “Call me Steve, please.”

You swallowed, trying the sound out over your tongue gently, “Steve,” You chanced a look over to his left, where icy blue eyes wandered over your face.

“You’ve got more options with me, hon’” a smile graced Sergeant Barnes, and you started to notice just how much more handsome he was in person. All those museum photos could never capture the sharpness of his jaw, or the way his stubble worked to frame his face, or the dip in his chin that seemed to make his rather intense features so agreeable. His long hair was much nicer in person than it was on all those breaking news broadcasts. His blue gaze was brighter than you could have ever imagined from those black and white reels. You licked your lips idly, and flushed pink when both men followed the trajectory of your tongue and lingered on your mouth.

“Bucky work for you? If not, you can call me James,” “That’s his government name,” Steve quipped, getting smirks from both of you.

You tried both, and promised you would try to settle on Bucky. Neither of them felt right anyway, since you’d grown up categorizing any information you knew of him under “Sergeant Barnes”. You relayed the information to them, and added that frankly, it unsettled you to call Steve by his first name too. They, in return, promised to be patient.

“What if… its’ wrong?” Your face contorted, your eyes were flashing from Steve to Bucky, back to Steve, back to Bucky. Your brain was revving up, “I mean, soulmates, you know? What is that? Right?” God, you were rambling, but you couldn’t stop. “Shouldn’t we choose who we love? We’re… god, we were born decades apart. You guys are… superhuman.. and I’m just 23…! Compared to you, you’re legends, you’re Avengers, you save the damn world? Oh my god, I just take pictures of people.”

“I’ve never even kissed a boy.” You said suddenly, squeezing your eyes shut. There were flashbacks to all the times you’d run away from boys, or during the speed-meets when you’d stare longingly into someone’s eyes for the good span of five seconds before having to do it again with someone else thirty more times, or in undergrad, when you tried to go on a date with Nathan Young but when he dropped you off at home and put his hand on your thigh, you bolted.

Bucky and Steve laughed in relief as you slid your head in-between your hands. They shared a knowing look with each other before Bucky slid his hooked finger under your chin and turned you upward to gaze at him.

“Sweetheart, you don’t gotta kiss anyone unless you want to,” he assured, “We just want to be with you,”

They laughed again in unison. Bucky leaned back on the sofa and put both arms behind his neck, letting Steve explain.

“We’re eager, but we understand. I’ve waited for so long. We’ve tried to ignore fate… with dating,” A snort from Bucky confirmed his fact, “It never worked out.” Steve continued, “I feel it, in my gut, this is right. Can’t you? Buck and I, we’ve known each other since we were in diapers; there are no secrets between us.”  

You placed a hand on your stomach, feeling it settle strangely, wondering if the sickness you’d experienced in the past around Steve was a sign you wrongfully chalked up to your anxiety. He seemed to hear your thoughts and nodded, letting you know that the fateful day in the conference room, when he reached his quarters, he had developed an angry red rash across his arm. He was curious, but since you were keen on avoiding him, he let you have your space. Now, as the three of you sat in each other’s company, you couldn’t help but wonder if the universe needed all of you together for the Words to work.

You asked them for their patience. You needed to go home, let the information settle, do some work to calm down, maybe. You could tell that Bucky was hesitant to let you go, but Steve assured him it would be fine. He asked for you to return soon, because as you knew, soulmates who were already bound to each other with Words, suffered each other’s maladies, and he was honest in letting you know that it would hurt him to not be close to you.

When you quietly got ready to leave, Bucky broke the silence by asking your name- a fact you’d forgotten to give in the chaos of the Binding. He repeated it, over and over again, tongue touching the top of his mouth in deliberate flicks, as if it was holy. Steve walked you to the car and watched it until you disappeared into the horizon.

Upon returning to the lounge area where Bucky sat, pained expression casting harsh shadows on his face, Steve placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Bucky understood the implication of the hand—a request to keep his promise of patience. He wanted to, for you. He wanted to do anything for you.

“She’s gotta come back, Stevie,” he muttered, hand reaching up into his shirt to trace the words. Steve assured him that she would. “I can’t stand it, Stevie, all those times in the chair, when they were scrambling my brain,” his voice dropped low, “I was thinkin’ about her. I could feel her somewhere, not knowing what she looked like or anything, but just feel her. Can’t stand it that she doesn’t want to be here now.”

Steve didn’t need his friend to finish the sentence to know what he meant.

“Buck, if we push her, we’ll lose her. I want the same thing, but she needs to come to that conclusion on her own.”

That night, as you fell into your bed, a message blinked on your phone- an e-mail from Pepper. It was the picture you took of of John, Francis, and Marilynn- from Prospect Park, beaming on that old wooden bench next to the birdbath. A single question was written beneath the photograph.

It worked out for them, didn’t it?

Next Chapter

#Steve Rogers #Bucky barnes #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader #Mystery of Love heli0s #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #mcu #marvel #soulmate au

[hortensemitchell]

Always Been Yours

Some people say dreams show you what you desire most in life. If that saying is true, James might have a problem on his hands.

Rating: G

Pairing: James Diamond/ Logan Mitchell. 

Words: 3243

He’s alone in a well lit room. It’s the first thing James notices.

He isn’t exactly sure where he is though and makes his way around looking for clues. The room is sparsely decorated, a rose pink chaise lounge rests against the wall with a variety of clothes piled on it. And against the other wall, a vanity covered with more beauty products than James currently had on his own bathroom sink.

James walks over to the vanity to inspect the products more closely, reading the various labels stating “New and Improved Formula”, “No more split ends”. He’s never seen these brands in his life, which for someone who is as look conscious as James, should be weird. He brushes those thoughts aside when he catches a look at himself in the full length mirror by the vanity.

And okay, the situation just keeps getting weirder. He’s still himself, which fills him with relief, but he’s dressed in the most formal looking tuxedo he’s ever seen. He slowly approaches the mirror, turning this way and that and admiring the way the color of the tux compliments his tanned skin.

He continues his inspection, dragging his fingers over the purple silk tie clasped around his throat and the cuff links that catch the light on his wrists. He’d always looked good in that color, he thinks. He makes a mental note to add more purple into his wardrobe whenever he gets back from what’s going on here.

Whatever the situation is, James does take some comfort in the fact that he still took time to look his best. He’d always felt like he could manage a situation better if he could dazzle people with a smile and a flick of his perfectly styled hair.

His momentary preening in front of the mirror is cut short when there is a curt knock at the door.

In drifts a voice muffled through the heavy wooden door, “Are you decent?”

And James can’t help himself when he replies, “Morally no, but if you’re asking ‘Am I wearing pants?’ then yes.”

He hears a sigh on the other side of the door, and James tries to bite back his smile. The door swings open on it’s hinges and reveals Kendall, also dressed in very formal attire.

And god, James hadn’t been this excited to see the tall blonde since they were thirteen and he stood up for him, telling his mother Brooke that there was no way she was going to cut James’ hair. His signature flippy hair had been saved for another day and Kendall had gained James' appreciation for the rest of his life. Now Kendall stands in the same small room and James feels so happy he could cry, making his way over to the man and locking his arms tightly around his neck.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you.” He pulls back from Kendall before gesturing to the rest of the room. “I’m having the weirdest day.”

Kendall shoots him a confused look, glancing all over James’ face. “Did you really think I would miss something as important as this?”

Something important as this? What exactly was this? And why couldn’t he remember?

His worry must have been written clear on his face because he notices Kendall stand a little taller, and go into what James’ and the other boys would describe as his leader mode. It was a mode he reserved solely for times where he had to step up and make sure everything was going to go fine.

He reaches forward placing his hand in the crook of James’ elbow, ushering him out of the room. “Look I know how stressful this is, but you can’t get cold feet now.” Kendall is looking earnestly at him, as he leads him down the maze of hallways. “I promise that I’ll be standing by your side through all of this, so don’t worry.”

He takes a quick glance at his watch before he picks up the pace, “We have to hurry though because the ceremony starts soon, and the wedding coordinator will have a hissy fit if I’m not in my spot.”

Cold feet. Ceremony. Wedding Coordinator. All of these words ping in James mind in rapid succession. The whole world seems a little muffled as he comes to terms with this new information.

He’s getting married today.

He’s getting married today and he doesn’t even know the girl's name.

James is pulled from his thoughts for what feels like the umpteenth time today when he and Kendall make an abrupt stop in front of a pair of huge double doors.

In front of them stands Mama Knight who has her back turned toward them attempting to fix a strand of Katie’s hair. From where he stands, it looks like a losing battle as the young girl fidgets and tries to avoid the adjustments.

The sound of footsteps alerts the two of Kendall and James' presence and they turn around to face them.

Mama Knight’s eyes instantly fill with tears as she makes her way in front of James, admiring him. He feels his cheeks flush under the attention, suddenly feeling bashful under her watchful eye.

Kendall thankfully breaks the mood, “You can’t start crying now mom, the photographer will kill you if you walk down that aisle with your mascara running.”

“I can’t help it.” She sniffles, and begins waving her hand in front of her eyes trying to keep her tears at bay. She then looks up at James smiling. “I’ve known you since you were five years old, and I have had the pleasure of being your mother for so many years. But seeing you here right now.” She pauses to steady her breathing. “I am just so proud of the man you’ve grown to be.”

And James had to blink his own tears away at that. All he had ever wanted was unconditional love, and he knows that he’s lucky to have found that with Mama Knight and the rest of her family.

Kendall pats James on the shoulder before he starts backing up down the hallway. “Okay well now that everything is in place, I gotta take my spot.” He points over to Katie, “Remember baby sister, you have to walk out when the music starts. And try to smile!”

Katie nods from spot next to the double doors, and James’ finally notices the basket of flowers she had nestled in the crook of her elbow. He has to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing because he knows Kendall had to pull some big brother points to get Katie to agree to being a flower girl.

His assumptions are proven right when he hears a soft piano piece being played in the other room. Katie takes her place in front of the doors before, glancing over at James. “You’re lucky I love you.” The affectionate smile she wore, gave away that she didn’t really mind her situation all that much though. And James watches her walk through the double doors.

And then there were two.

Mama Knight takes her place beside James’ and slips her hand into the crook of his elbow, the same spot that Kendall had dragged him by earlier that day. He took a deep breath and relaxed, letting her touch ground him.

He might not fully understand what was going on, and he might not know exactly who he was going to marry. What he did know is that none of his family would ever let something bad happen to him. And wherever Carlos and Logan were, they wouldn’t let something happen either. So he rolls his shoulders back, stands in front of the double doors and waits for his cue to enter the room.

James wasn’t entirely sure how weddings actually operated. He knows that there is something about making some promises, and you exchange rings. And he definitely knows that he gets to kiss his new wife at the end. But all the details of the ceremony were kind of fuzzy in his brain.

He wondered if his fiancé was going to make her entrance down the aisle after he and Mama Knight made their way to the altar, but he didn’t have any more time to dwell on those thoughts as the double doors finally opened again and James was bathed in the natural light of the ceremony room.

He steps forward into the room, trying to absorb everything he can. The room is filled with the warm afternoon light, cascading from the floor to ceiling windows that lined the walls. And everywhere he looked, he could see beautiful arrangements of purple and white flowers.

Set up on both sides of the room were many white chairs, and as he scanned the room he recognized many familiar faces in the crowd. The Jennifers, Jett Stetson, hell even Lightning the TV Wonder Dog was in attendance. He knew he’d have time to see his guests later, but for now he needed to make his way through the room. But when he finally cast his eyes forward, it’s like the air was taken from his lungs.

There Kendall stood off to the side of the altar, right where he said he would be, ready to help James if he needed it. And James felt some comfort seeing his stand there. And James’ had finally found Carlos who stood on the other side of the altar, opposite of Kendall.

The shorter man was also dressed in a tuxedo, missing his signature helmet. The sight felt a little strange to James, and he almost wished that he could see the helmet and feel a sense of regularity.

And his eyes finally drifted toward Logan, the sole reason James had yet to take a breath.

He looked beautiful. It was the first and only thought in James’ head. He had seen everybody today in their most extravagant formal attire, but there was something about Logan that had James’ thoughts reeling.

He stood at the altar beside a very official looking man in a suit. Tied around Logan’s throat was a purple bow tie, close to the color of James’ own tie. And James had to smile because the bow tie brought this nerdy charm to his attire that he always associated with Logan.

James was halfway down the aisle now, aware that all eyes in the room were on him. His own eyes never left Logan’s. There was this look of pure adoration on Logan’s features and a smile so wide showcasing his dimples. The very same dimples that James’ had informed Logan when they were twelve, would be the ticket to getting any girl. And here they were aimed at James’ making him feel like his heart was going to break from his chest.

In the back of his mind, James wondered if he should feel a little weird about this. Up until a minute ago he had incorrectly assumed he would be tying the knot with an unknown woman. But instead Logan stood in place of this unknown woman.

The very same Logan he had known since he was eight years old. The boy who wanted to make friends so desperately in his new school that he did not only his, but the other boys homework as well. The boy who was so painfully awkward with dating, that he would turn to James’ expertise, hoping he would never utter the words “Bleep Blap Bloop’ again. And the boy who’s intelligence left James’ in awe, never once doubting that one day he would be a doctor.

That Logan.

If he should feel weirded out, he didn’t.

He finally arrived at the edge of the altar, and felt Mama Knight lean up to place a kiss on his cheek before she made her way to her seat in the front row beside Gustavo and Kelly. Logan offered his hand to James to help him step up on the platform, and James felt grateful that he didn’t release the hold on his hand once he finally stood in front of him.

Behind Logan, Carlos gave James a huge double thumbs up, and James could feel the huge stupid grin on his face, no doubt matching the one on Logan’s face.

The official standing on the platform with them began his speech, and James had a hard time paying attention to anything but the twinkle of Logan’s eyes. He was brought right back into the moment though when Logan began to speak his vows.

“I was eight years old when I first met James Diamond. And if you thought he was a handful now, you should have met him back then.” He paused while the room erupted in light laughter before continuing. “But even though he was a lot to take in back then, I knew there was never going to be another guy like him.” He takes a deep breath as he tries to get ahold of the emotion in his voice.

“You’ve always been someone that I strived to be like. Beautiful, suave, and talented. You were and always have been so sure of yourself and your future, and back then I hoped that by being around you, some of those traits would rub off on me.” He laughs softly, squeezing James’ hand. “ But all these years I have spent with you, as your best friend and your boyfriend, I’ve learned that the best trait you have is your never ending kindness.”

James could feel the tears welling in his eyes as he heard the other man's words, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. His words sounded so pure and from the heart that James wondered how he was ever going to follow this up.

“You came to my rescue when we were younger, protected me from an entire wrestling team. And even though they gave you a black eye and bruised your face, you were still more concerned about whether I was okay.” Logan smiles at the memory. “It was the first time I had to confront that there was more to you than I had previously known. And for a know-it-all like me, it was hard to accept.”

Logan takes one more deep breath, scanning the crowd in the room before he locks eyes with James once more. “But what I want you to know is that I want to spend the rest of my life learning about you. I don’t think I’ll ever know enough, but I want to keep learning because I love you. And I can’t wait to be your husband.”

He punctuates his speech with one more heartfelt squeeze to James hands, and James wishes more than anything that he could break tradition and kiss the man standing in front of him.

The official gestures to James and he realizes that he now has to follow up that heartfelt vow completely on the spot. But if there is one thing James knows how to do, it’s how to give a performance. So he relaxes his shoulders, and starts speaking from the heart.

He turns his head slightly addressing the crowd before speaking. “Logan right when he said I was a handful. When I was younger I was a little self absorbed, and self centered. I knew I was going to be someone someday and I acted like I already was.” James then turns to make eye contact with Logan. “But, and I know you don’t hear this often, you were also wrong.”

“Those qualities you saw in me all those years ago, you had them too. Maybe not in the exact same way as me, but you 're beautiful, suave and talented too. I’ve admired you since we were small for your work ethic and intelligence. Even if you didn’t understand something, you’d work the night away until you did.”

Not everything came easy to Logan. Contrary to popular belief. He’d been tutoring the other boys since they were all small. Though he wouldn’t admit it, James had seen on countless occasions Logan studying subjects he wasn’t even taking just to be able to help Kendall, Carlos and James on their homework. It was one of his ways that he showed his love for the boys.

“If you think I’m selfless, I don’t even know how I would describe you. The boy who put his own dreams of being a doctor on hold to help me pursue mine. I can’t wrap my mind around that kind of love, but I’m thankful to have it from you. And my only wish is that I can give you the same amount of love and support that you have always given me.” The last sentence comes out choked as James fights back his tears. “I love you Logan Mitchell. And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

What a pair they made, James thought. Both standing at the altar, hands entwined tightly with silent tears running down their faces. You would think they were upset if the giant grins on their faces didn’t give away their true feelings.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Kendall pass over a container holding two rings. He’s thankful as Logan reaches out to take a ring first, since James isn’t positive which ring is Logan’s.

The ceremony continues on as the two men exchange their rings, and James feels amazed at how pretty the ring looks on Logan’s hands.

James hears the words “Kiss” and “Groom” and is pulled from his trance. The moment he’d been waiting for since he had first entered the room.

Logan steps closer, tilting his face up toward James and he can feel his breath tickling his cheeks. James instinctively slides one of his hands to cradle Logan's jaw, his eyes slip closed, and he leans down slowly as ever to meet their lips.

Just as they are finally going to kiss, James is startled by a smack to his face.

His eyes fly open and he has to adjust to the dimly lit room. He’s no longer in the ceremony hall he notices. He’s in his bed at the Palmwoods, with his alarm clock blaring loudly on his bedside table.

He looks over and sees Carlos’ blankets are pulled over his head and he hears under the blankets, Carlos’ muffled cries. “Dude we don’t have work today, turn it off.”

James leans over and finally puts an end to the shrill alarm, before he notices Carlos’ pillow on the floor. That must have been the force that hit James in the face he deduces.

Without the alarm blaring in the room, James is able to lean back into his bed and his thoughts immediately drift to his dream. He was going to kiss Logan. Scratch that, he was going to marry Logan. And not one part of him had found that weird.

He could brush the whole thing off, it didn’t have to mean anything and really no one was in control of their dreams. But James couldn’t ignore the pit in his stomach and the disappointment he felt when he awoke alone in his bed.

He’d have to deal with this at some point, but for now James shifted further into his blankets and closed his eyes. Maybe if he falls asleep quickly, he could pick up his dream where he left off.

#my writing #James Diamond #Kendall Knight #Logan Mitchell #Carlos Garcia #Jennifer Knight #Katie Knight #Jogan

[reinkhings]

Black Friday (*Spoilers*)

Alright first I want to say this is not hate! I absolutely LOVED Black Friday. However, I did have some things that I felt could have been changed to make the script a little stronger

Things I loved:

The old TGWDLM gang! — we got an update into their lives without it being overly shoved into our faces. It was just there for people who loved the first musical, but knowing about them wasn’t necessary to the understanding of this one

The music! — Feast or Famine, Do You Want to Play?, Adore Me (especially the chorus), Black Friday, If I Fail You, Our Doors Are Open well I can’t name them all.

Oh, and how America is Great Again played in the background when General McNamara appears on screen. I’m a sucker for characters having their own themes songs. Wouldn’t it be amazing if Paul got a mix of Let it Out/Inevitable

The fact that starkid made a MUSICAL extended universe

The new characters/actors, Kim, Angela, Kendall, James, Curt, were all amazing and their addition really helped flesh out the new universe (plus, it doesn’t hurt that they have amazing voices)

The old cast playing new dynamics and pushing themselves (Lauren, Dylan, and Joey especially, but Jaime killed in her role as Sherman too, as did Robert with Ethan and Jon as Gary)

THE SCRIPT OH MY GOD THE SCRIPT

The choreography! Feast or Famine was my favorite but they keep getting better and better with this!

Their comedy, still fucking gold. Especially those fucking oneliners and small exchanges. “Well, we haven’t put a label on it yet” “But we are intimate” *moment if silence*, “Hannah what the fuck is this, that better be fucking floss!”, “That’s a bribe sir, and that’s illegal”, *raised eyebrow*, “... Well it should be”, “Ooh right in the subpeona”, everything about James Tolbert as Agent Morris

The social CRITIQUE, the fact that the kids don’t even want wiggly, it’s the adults who want to buy wigglys to fill the holes in them (still buying a wiggly though)

How vitalized they all seem to be about the new direction of starkid/that they’re experimenting and coming out of their comfort zone. I love starkid but you could tell that they were getting worn out by just sticking to the same formula of just making parodies. Before TGWDLM we had 2 year gaps between uploads of musicals (which, a year to write a musical is incredible, Sondheim has currently been working on the latest for a decade, and Miranda took like three for Hamilton). I love seeing creators grow

The overall aesthetic of the stage, costumes, and music was so vicerally haunting and scary. I literally slept with my hallway light on and the door open the first time I saw it

Sigh, and now for the things I might get pitchforked for

First some technical stuff. One, I think the sound equipment was on too low for the stage production. If you compare the songs in the stage production to the album version, you can tell that the more subtle parts of the intrumentals were just too quiet. Also, the actors’ voices were much louder than the music so sometimes it was like they were singing acapella. Two, although I appreciate the new camera work and how it’s more similar to traditional recordings of musicals, it did take away from my ability to appreciate the choreography and the subtle reactions of the cast

While a lot of the songs were good, some of them just needed to be cut or trimmed. Especially for songs where one line of explanation would have sufficed. An example of a trimmed song I think is CaliforM.I.A where Lex sings that her mom is an alcoholic, etc. I feel like it could have just been spoken and it would have been more subtle, quiet and painful. A song I think needed to be cut was Deck the Halls. I love Robert, but that song was mostly just an omage to what they did with Workin’ Boys. However, the part that made Workin’ Boys, pardon the pun, work was that it was Professor Hidggen’s backstory/dream. It revealed something about him and his isolation

Some of the lines in the lyrics were just clunky. It’s something I noticed in TGWDLM, but I thought it really worked there since the characters couldn’t sing naturally. However, it seemed to be worse in this? Like I said, some songs were still golden. But some just. Monsters and Men, I noticed had a lot of it. Which yeah, they had less than a year to write it and they had more songs than TGWDLM, so it makes sense that some are a bit rushed? But still, i would have preferred a shorter soundtrack with tighter songs.

I think the Becky and Tom romance was so unnecessary. I feel like yeah, you can make them exes, and you can build up their chemistry so it’s implied they’ll get together eventually, but the fact that they fall in “love” in like 5 hours makes them so shoehorned. For Becky, it’s kind of a disservice because most of her songs are then focused on romance. For Tom, it’s just. It kind of cheapens him, especially since he was previously married for at least 8 years. Like you don’t hear him mention Jane or Tim at all, or worry about Tim’s gift when he’s at the theater. So when it comes to him singing “If I Fail You” it doesn’t feel authentic because you don’t get that sense of Tom feeling like failure over Tim in his dialogue. And also, you could cut out a lot of songs (and give them something new ones)

Although I loved the multiple storylines, I felt like it was really hard to connect to the characters. I feel like that might be because of the songs? Characters were so busy with info dump songs that there were just less interactions in general. I would have loved if the character subtleties could be explored in the same way as TGWDLM

They shouldn’t have killed Ethan. Not just because it’s Robert, but as part of the overall storyline, they shouldn’t have killed Ethan.

Imagine if it had played out like this: No Becky-Tom Romance. They’re just fleeing the mayhem together because they’re the few that managed to keep sane. Becky has a doll but Tom doesn’t. Ethan and Hannah get accosted by the mob. Ethan tells Hannah to run and you see him start to fight, but not what happens after. Hannah is running and you see dead bodies strewn around the mall (to show that people have died). Becky and Tom appear. They hear a few of the wiggly worshippers members yell that they have to find the girl with the wiggly. Tom joins in on the hunt because “he needs to find one for Tim”, the same scene plays out with Do You Want to Play With Me? bc that song is a BOP but Ethan shows up to save Hannah. Becky manages to snap out of her trance and helps Ethan subdue Tom. The three of them flee. Now the two of them are bigger targets bc they had two wigglys. Meanwhile Lex teams up with her managers/discovers her supernatural powers during their escape or something and goes looking for Hannah and Ethan. All this within the first act. Now you’ve got about ~4 plotlines (the cultists/Linda, the trio, Lex (all at the mall) and General McNamara) that are a bit interconnected instead of ~6.

None of the characters got time to breathe, pause and reassess, or grieve. Hannah and Lex never even found out about Ethan. Gerald didn’t find out his wife died, and his call bit was used for comedy, The President didn’t even seem too affected by General McNamara’s sacrifice (which might be a byproduct of the switching story arcs, but contrasts to his TGWDLM moments where he at least got his last words and Paul remembered him)

There was no indication of Lex being supernatural, so her connection with General McNamara was pretty out of the blue and unearned.

That’s it. As I said, I loved it, I just think it could be rearranged somewhat

#black friday #hatchetfield #starkid

[odaatlover]

Slam

“Noelle, no slamming doors!” Nicole called out from the kitchen where she was brushing the flour off of her hands onto her apron. She paused for a moment and shook her head in disappointment. “Oh god, I’m turning into my mother.”

The front door opened and shut again, this time in a more calmly manner, before Waverly walked into the kitchen.

“So? How bad is it?” Nicole asked.

The shorter woman sighed. “They just sent her home for today. She’s not suspended or anything, thank god.”

“She’s lucky. They have strict rules on violence.”

“I know.” Waverly nodded.

“Who was it? The boy she punched in the face, I mean.”

“Colt James.”

Nicole let out a short laugh. “Champ’s son? Figures. That kid is worse than Champ. I’m sure he deserved it.”

“Nicole.” Waverly gave her wife a stern look.

“What? I’m just saying, he probably threw the first punch.” She froze as her face and her tone of voice became much more serious. “Wait, did he hit our daughter? Is she hurt?”

“No, he didn’t touch her.”

“Good.” Nicole gave a curt nod. “So then, why did she hit him?”

Waverly pursed her lips as she slowly sat down in the bar stool across the kitchen island from where Nicole was standing. “Because he was making fun of her.”

The redhead scoffed. “Then he definitely deserved it. What was he teasing about this time? Her hair? Her clothes? Her braces?”

With a small smile, Waverly softly replied, “Her period.”

Nicole stared at the brunette, unmoving for a moment. “What?”

“Yeah, she got it this morning during class.”

While letting the news sink in, Nicole took in a deep breath as she pulled out one of the empty bar stools and plopped down in it. “How did Colt find out about it?”

“He saw. Well, pretty much everyone in her class did.”

“She got it in front of everyone?” Nicole asked with wide eyes.

Waverly nodded. “Mhm. They had her change into some gym shorts they had before telling her to wait for me in the office.” She reached for her purse on the floor and opened it to pull out a grocery bag with a pair of blue jeans inside.  

After taking the bag from Waverly, Nicole pulled out the jeans and saw the small stain on the back. She sighed and closed her eyes as she dropped her hands holding the denim on top of the island. She could actually feel the pain of her daughter being absolutely mortified by the whole experience.

“From what her teacher told me, she stood up to ask if she could go to the bathroom because her stomach was hurting, and that’s when everybody saw. Mrs. Allen wrote her a pass to go to the nurse’s office, and as she walked back to her desk to grab her things that’s when Colt made a comment about it. And she turned around and hit him in the jaw.”

“Good.” Nicole said pointedly.

“No, not good.” Waverly raised an eyebrow at her wife. “We agreed to be the kind of parents who don’t condone violence.”

“Oh come on, Waves. She got her first period in school in front of all of her classmates and asshat Champ’s son made it a million times worse. You know you would’ve done the exact same thing if you were in her position. I know I would have. Hell, I would’ve beaten him up until he was knocked unconscious.”

“I probably would have too, but that doesn’t make it okay.”

Nicole sighed. “So what do you want to do then? Punish her for it?”

Waverly fervently shook her head. “Absolutely not. She’s already been through enough. But I think we should tell her that she only gets one free pass and knows better than to use violence as a way to solve her problems.”

“Okay, I can agree with that.” Nicole nodded. “So did you talk to her at all?”

“I tried, but as soon as I started to say something she begged me to have a silent car ride where she didn’t have to think about it. So I told her it was okay.”

“So we should probably give her some more time then before going up there.”

“I think that would be best. She just wants to be alone right now.”

Nicole rested her chin in her hand as she looked down at the jeans. “Well this explains why she’s been extra moody lately.”

“I had a feeling it was PMS related.” Waverly chuckled.

Nicole rolled her eyes. “She’s been PMSing for the last year and a half. She slams the doors so often than I have to fix the hinges on a regular basis.”

“Teenagers.” Waverly said in a playful tone of voice. “She’s just like you, you know.”

“She’s too much like me.”

Waverly stood up from the bar stool and wrapped her arms around Nicole’s shoulders from behind her as she rested her chin on her shoulder. “She’s perfectly enough like you.”

A bright smile formed on the redhead’s face as she felt soft lips kissing her neck. She reached up and lightly rubbed her hand along Waverly’s forearm that rested against her collarbone. “So how long do you think we should give her?”

“A few hours. We shouldn’t expect her to come down for dinner.”

“Oh, I bet if I made her favorite foods she’d come downstairs.”

Waverly laughed as she shook her head. “Good luck.”

———

Nicole pushed up her sleeves and gave herself a quick head nod before raising her fist and gently knocking on the door. “Noelle honey, dinner is ready!” She sang in a cheery voice.

“I’m not hungry,” A soft voice said from the other side of the door.

“I made your favorite! Ravioli with cheesy garlic bread and Caesar salad.” Nicole smiled from ear to ear, even though she knew her daughter couldn’t see it.

“No thanks.”

Nicole frowned and turned around to look at Waverly, who was giving her famous ‘I told you so’ look. She shook her head and turned back around with a sigh. “Is it okay if we come in?” Noelle was silent. Usually the young brunette’s silence meant that it was okay, so Nicole took it as such. She opened the door and walked inside with room with Waverly following behind. She pulled out the computer chair to sit in as Waverly sat on the edge of the bed where their daughter’s feet rested underneath the covers.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Waverly started, “But we need to talk about it.”

“Do we though?” Noelle asked as she slightly lifted her head to look at her moms.

“We do.” Nicole replied.

“Ugh, fine.” Noelle pushed herself into a sitting position against the headboard and shrugged her shoulders. “Okay, go ahead.”

Both Waverly and Nicole looked at each other. They hadn’t actually planned out what they were going to say. After so many talks with their daughter, they kind of just got into the habit of winging it and letting the conversation happen more organically. Nicole cleared her throat and asked, “Well, how do you feel about it?”

“About the fact that I got my period and everybody saw it? Yeah, feels great.” Noelle rolled her eyes and shook her head as she looked down at her lap.

Nicole looked at Waverly, silently asking for backup.

“I think what Mom means is, how do you feel about this new change?”

Noelle looked down at her hands in her lap and picked at her fingernails – a habit she got from Waverly. “It’s okay, I guess.”

Waverly looked over her daughter. “Well, do you feel okay right now? Do you have any cramps or anything? Back pain? Tender breasts? I usually get those symptoms when I’m on my period.”

“Same.” Nicole nodded at Waverly. “And my legs will hurt too. But that didn’t start until around college.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that.” Waverly replied thoughtfully. “Didn’t your cramps suddenly get a lot worse around then too?”

“Yeah! They used to be nothing, and now they kill.” Nicole shook her head in disbelief.

Noelle cleared her throat as she pursed her lips at both of her moms, and Nicole and Waverly looked at her apologetically.

“Sorry sweetheart.” Waverly patted her daughter’s leg.

“I feel fine.” Noelle shrugged.

“Well, do you need us to show you how to put on a pad?” Nicole asked as she sat hunched forward in the chair with her elbows resting on top of her knees.

Noelle shook her head. “They taught us how to do that in health class. It’s not that difficult.”

“Okay.” Nicole nodded. “Um, do you need us to by you some? I’m not even sure if we have any in the house.” The thought hit Nicole as she said it, and she looked over at Waverly with questioning eyes, trying to remember the last time either of them even used pads.

“I’m not sure. I think we have an unopened or barely used box stocked up in the closet maybe, but I’ll have to check.”

Nicole waved her hand. “Either way, I’ll go out and buy you some. Your own box just for you.” She smiled at the younger brunette as she lovingly grabbed her foot over the covers and shook it with a smile, trying to lighten up the mood a little.

While shifting her eyes, Noelle tucked her hair behind her ears. “Um, actually, do you think you can get me some tampons?”

Nicole froze. “Tampons?” The thought of her little girl using tampons suddenly made her feel a little nauseous. She had always thought of tampons as being something adults used. Or at least people older than twelve. Pads were one thing, but tampons? “Um…” Nicole looked over at Waverly, who looked back at her with indifference in her eyes.

“Sure honey. If tampons are what you want to use.” Waverly smiled.

“Well, we’ll have to see about getting you some tampons,” Nicole quickly chimed in. “For now, we can start with pads, and then later down the line we can discuss using tampons.”

Noelle furrowed her brow. “Why can’t I just get them now?”

“Because, they’re more difficult to use and you’ll be much more comfortable with pads, trust me,” Nicole replied.

“But you use them, so why can’t I?”

“Because, I’m older. But I started out by using pads, we both did.” She looked over at Waverly, who didn’t look too happy.

“But that was a lifetime ago! Things have changed now. All my friends use tampons. I’ll be fine, I know how they work. You just stick the applicator inside, push the tampon in and then pull the applicator out.”

“Sounds like you’re very educated about your body.” Waverly smiled before giving Nicole a pointed look. She never wanted to shield Noelle from knowing any part of her body, as she thought it was important for her to understand how things worked. She wasn’t expecting her to want to use tampons right away, but she wasn’t opposed to it. She believed it was Noelle’s choice.

Nicole shook her head. “Still. You should start with pads, and then we’ll see about getting you some tampons.”

“Ugh this is so unfair!” Noelle yanked the covers back and ran into the hall bathroom before slamming the door shut.

With her jaw clenched and eyes closed, Nicole balled her fists before tensely stretching out her fingers and taking in a deep breath. “I swear, if she slams one more door in this house I’m going to lose my shit.”

Waverly smacked Nicole in the leg with the back of her hand as she looked at her wife in disappointment.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“What is the matter with you? Why are you being like this?”

The redhead held her hands up, as if it were obvious. “Waverly she just got her period today. She’s not ready for tampons yet.”

Waverly let out a short laugh in disbelief as she slowly shook her head before scrunching her eyebrows together and folding her arms across her chest. “I don’t really think that’s for you to say. It’s her body, so she should decide if she wants to use tampons or pads. There’s no such thing as being ‘too young’ to use tampons, and you know that. At least let her try them, and if she doesn’t like it then she doesn’t have to use them.”

“I can’t.” Nicole sighed.

“Why not?”

“Because, she’s our little girl! I don’t want to think about anything going up in there. She’s way too young for that.”

Waverly narrowed her eyes as she dropped her hands in her lap. “Nic, we’re talking about tampons here. It’s not like she’s going to go off and have sex tomorrow.”

“No, but she could. What if she puts in a tampon and she likes it and suddenly thinks she’s ready for sex and gets pregnant at twelve?!”

“Okay, now you’re reaching. Do you even hear yourself right now?” Waverly looked at her wife in concern. “You and I both used tampons way before either of us had sex. And we started masturbating even way before then. She should get to know her vagina at her age, and at any age really. It’s healthy. If boys are able to get comfortable with their genitals at a young age, I think girls should too. Just because everything is more hidden and taboo with girls doesn’t mean we should be any less knowledgeable about it. It’s just another body part, and if she wants to use a tampon, or pads, or even a menstrual cup like me, then who are we to stop her.” She blew the piece of hair out of her face that had fallen during her passionate speech.

Nicole nodded before letting all of the air out of her body. “I know, you’re right. And I agree with you. It’s just so hard when it’s Noelle. She’s growing up so fast and I’m trying to be okay with it, but it seemed like just yesterday she was our little girl. And now she’s a moody, bra-wearing pre-teen who is almost thirteen and now she’s menstruating and I don’t like it.”

Waverly stood up from the bed and hovered over Nicole as she wrapped her arms around her shoulders, and Nicole hugged Waverly’s waist and rested her cheek against her stomach.

“Remember when she used to live in here.” Nicole sighed, remembering the days of Waverly being pregnant.

“Yeah, she would kick me all the time. She’s always been the energetic type.” Waverly chuckled. She looked down and lifted Nicole’s head to look up at her. “But that was twelve years ago, and she’s not a fetus anymore. She’s almost thirteen, and she’s going through puberty now. So buy her the damn tampons so that she can at least have some control over her period, because cramps and mood swings are already enough of a pain to go through every month, and she’s about to deal with decades of it.” She kissed the top of Nicole’s head before walking out of the room.

“Fine. But I’m buying her pads too!” Nicole called out as Waverly looked over and smiled back at her through the opened door before turning the corner and going back downstairs.

———

As soon as Nicole walked through the automatic doors of the store, she swiftly grabbed a basket and headed straight for the aisle she had been down a thousand times before. She knew what she usually used, but scanned the boxes for something a little slimmer since Noelle was a beginner. She chuckled to herself, imagining if she were a dad having to buy tampons and not knowing any of this stuff. She’d probably pick a box of super plus, not knowing any better.

After finding what she was looking for, she dropped the box into the basket before grabbing a box of pads as she left the aisle.

“Haughtstuff!”

Nicole smiled, instantly recognizing the voice as that of her sister-in-law, and turned around to see the dark brunette carrying a bottle of whiskey. “Hey Wynonna. Is that for you, or Doc?”

“Me. Had a rough case today.”

Nicole looked at her sympathetically. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“S’alright. Comes with the job. I’ve been a social worker for seven years now, so it’s not like it’s anything I haven’t handled before.”

“I’m sure it’s still tough though.”

Wynonna pursed her lips as she slowly nodded her head. “Yeah, it is. Which is what this is for.” She smirked as she held the bottle up and shook it a little before dropping it back down by her side. “So, what are you shopping for?” She peeked in Nicole’s basket. “Ah, shark week. Glad I don’t have to deal with that shit anymore since I got a hysto.”

“Yeah well, it’s not for me.” Nicole shook her head.

“For Waverly?” Wynonna asked in confusion. “Did she ditch her menstrual cup?” She shifted her eyes over towards the basket before looking back at Nicole. “For tampons and pads?”

“Nope. Not for Waverly.”

Wynonna’s eyes widened. “Noelle?!”

“Yep.” Nicole nodded as she smiled. “She started today.”

“But, she’s my little niece!”

“I know. I’m having trouble believing it myself. She’s growing up way too fast.”

“It only gets worse from here. Doc and I had to have a serious talk with Alice the other day about how important it is to use protection, and to not let Matt convince her to let him get away with that whole ‘pulling out’ bullshit.”

“She’s having sex?!” Nicole’s jaw was practically on the floor. “She’s way too young!”

“Well, she’s sixteen. How old were you your first time?” Wynonna looked at the redhead with a quirked eyebrow.

“I…okay, I see your point.” Nicole nodded. “When you’re that age you feel like you’re ready for pretty much everything. But it’s so different when it’s your kid. They still just seem so young.”

“Yeah well, Doc wanted to forbid her from having sex until she was at least thirty, but I told him that would only push her to want it more.” Wynonna chuckled. “I kind of wish she was still dating that girl though. It was easier to handle the thought that she might be having sex with a girl than with a boy.”

“It’s nice to not have to worry about pregnancy, from both sides of it.” Nicole winked.

Wynonna chuckled as she gave a friendly head nod. “Well, I’ll let you get back home. Let me know if you need any tips, mom to mom.” She winked as she patted Nicole on the shoulder while walking past her.

“Will do. See ya.” Nicole smiled. She looked down at her basket with a sigh, and looked at the tampons. “Actually, there is something I wanted to ask you.”

Wynonna turned around with curiosity in her eyes. “Shoot.”

“Did you let Alice use tampons when she first got her period?”

“She never asked,” Wynonna furrowed her brow in thought and shook her head. “I don’t think she started using them until maybe a couple years after? But I don’t see why I’d say no or anything.” She shrugged.

“Ha, yeah. Me neither.” Nicole chuckled awkwardly, suddenly feeling silly for being so against it earlier.

“I guess in some cultures girls aren’t allowed to use them because they think it means they’ve lost their virginity or something, which is a little ridiculous if you ask me.”

“Yeah, totally. Absolutely ridiculous.” Nicole quickly nodded her head. “I was just curious.”

“Well, if you’re worried about it hurting her, she can always use some lube to help, you know…” she clicked her teeth and pointed her finger upwards, “Pop that sucker in. assuming you and Waves have some.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks for the advice.” Nicole gave a tense smile, suddenly feeling extremely uncomfortable about the word ‘lube’ being used in a sentence talking about her daughter.

“Anytime. Tell Waverly to stop avoiding my calls.” She waved goodbye.

“Have a good night.” Nicole smiled and nodded at the brunette before heading for the checkout line.

When she got home, she threw her keys in the bowl that was sitting on the table by the front door and set the bag down in front of Waverly, who was sitting at the dining room table eating a couple of the vegan chocolate chip cookies Nicole had baked earlier.

“I got both tampons and pads. You were right earlier, I was being an idiot.”

“You weren’t being an idiot, Love. You just don’t want our daughter to grow up. That’s normal.” Waverly smiled reassuringly.

“Yeah, but still, you were right.” Nicole sat down beside the brunette. “I bumped into Wynonna at the store, by the way. I told her about Noelle since she saw what I was buying. Hope that was okay.”

Waverly shrugged. “I don’t mind that you were the messenger this time.”

“She also said to stop avoiding her calls.”

Waverly dramatically rolled her eyes. “I’m not avoiding her calls. I just can’t pick up every time she has something to vent about. She calls me like twenty times a day.”

“Hey, I’m just the messenger, remember?” Nicole winked. “How’s Noelle doing?”

“She’s been quiet. Probably sulking some more.”

“Think giving her the tampons will cheer her up?”

“It’s worth a shot.” Waverly nodded. “But before you go up there…” She picked up the box of pads that was sitting beside her on the floor in preparation to show Nicole.

The redhead quirked an eyebrow. “I’m confused.”

“It’s the backup box we keep in the closet. Look inside.”

Nicole opened the box and drew her eyebrows together. “There’s only four in here.” She looked up at Waverly with her eyebrows still scrunched. “Have we really used that many?”

“Out of a box of 72? Nope.”

“Something doesn’t add up.” Nicole shook her head. “You think she was just practicing? You know, like making sure she knew how to put it on right?”

“That many times? Doubt it.”

Nicole sighed as she stood up from her chair and grabbed the grocery bag. “Are we talking to her together again?”

“You can talk to her this time.” Waverly smiled. “I’ll talk to her later.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. You both need to learn how to communicate a little better.” Waverly winked as she picked up her cup of tea and playfully spanked Nicole’s backside before walking into the living room.

Nicole chuckled and shook her head before slowly making her way up the stairs. After knocking and asking to come in like she always did, she opened the door and pulled the computer chair close to the bed. “I got you some tampons.” She held the bag up, and smiled when Noelle excitedly sat up in the bed.

“Really?!”

“Yeah. I wasn’t being fair to you earlier. And Mama talked some sense into me, so do something nice for her, okay?”

“I will. Thanks Mom.” Noelle grinned as she opened the bag and pulled out the box of tampons. She was eager to finally be like her friends.

“I also got you some pads, just in case.” Nicole paused for a moment before adding, “You know, since the box in the closet is almost empty.”

The brunette froze as she continued to stare down at the box. She swallowed, and Nicole could tell that she was getting nervous.

“This wasn’t your first one, was it.” She asked in a sweet tone of voice, not wanting her daughter to be scared to talk to her. She wasn’t mad. She was a little hurt that Noelle didn’t come to them right away, but she knew it wasn’t always an easy thing to talk about.

“No.” Noelle replied as she continued to look down, avoiding eye contact with her mom.

“When did it start?”

She sighed before looking up at Nicole with a look of shame on her face. “About five months ago.”

Nicole nodded and exhaled deeply. “Honey, why didn’t you tell us?”

“I don’t know. It was easier not to? I didn’t want you guys to make a big deal about it. And of course today everyone made a big deal about it.” She rolled her eyes as she thought about stupid Colt.

“You really are just like me.” Nicole chuckled in amusement. “I didn’t tell my mom at first either for that same reason. I didn’t want it to be a big deal, because I felt like it wasn’t. But I eventually told her, and I felt really awkward the whole time. But sweetheart, you could have just told us that you didn’t want us to make a big deal and we wouldn’t have. You know we’d never doing anything that makes you uncomfortable if we can avoid it.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Noelle apologetically raised the corners of her lips. “Are you going to punish me for punching Colt in the face?”

“Well, Mama and I agree that you’ve been through enough today. But no more hitting people, got it?” She pointed a stern finger in her daughter’s direction.

“I won’t.” Noelle nodded.

“Good. I love you, Nugget.”

“Yeah yeah, love you too.” Noelle smiled briefly before lifting up the box. “Can I go try these now?”

“Sure,” Nicole smiled as she watched the brunette jump off the bed and rush towards the bathroom. “Let us know if you need any help.” She only heard the bathroom door shutting in response and shook her head as she let out a short, breathy laugh.

#wayhaught #fanfic #first period #Wynonna Earp #oneshot #1k followers

[crushimaginesandsuch]

Enough

been a while lmao i swear i’ve been trying to keep up, but we’re in the middle of a big move and whoopsies

I’d never considered myself “boy crazy.” I mean, I had, of course, had my fair share of ill-advised and slightly obsessive crushes, but I’d never thought I crossed the line separating crazed and captivated. Two months ago however, I’d began to wonder just how accurate that was. 

C/N fell into the seat next to me, pressing his side against mine. It was a thing he did often, a way to calm himself, I knew. Though he liked to pretend it was because he had to compensate for not being able to kiss me. 

Maybe it was both. 

“Hey,” he smiled at me. A smile I fell for every time he used it. 

I kissed his cheek, widening both our grins. “Hi.” 

As the lunch table filled up with our friends and conversation lifted to matters not really concerning me, I let myself remember two months earlier. 

I had had two major “crushes”--C/N and James--both frighteningly different. For one, C/N had the whole “asshole who cares” thing going for him, while James was just an ass. Plain as that. And then there was my “type”. I’d only ever found myself interested in unbearably attractive guys, and James was possibly the most maddeningly perfect boy I’d ever laid eyes on. Warm honey hair, bright blue eyes, a smile that could end wars. And don’t get me started on his athletic build... 

C/N, though? Well, he wasn’t exactly ugly. He had a great smile, bright eyes. Tall and strong, he was just a head above me. But he wasn’t anything special, really. Completely average--in fact, some people might call him under average. At least, compared to James. 

I had no idea why I was so attracted to him and why all I ever wanted to do was sit with him. Talk to him. Be with him. The only theory I could muster up was the way he could tease me endlessly, but still cared about the smallest things that might hurt me. .  

So, when C/N asked me out one day as we were leaving school, with little hesitation I agreed. And our relationship had only grown from there.  

C/N’s hand covered mine under the table, drawing my attention up to his vivid eyes. “You okay?” he whispered to me. He was smiling, leading off of some stupid joke the others were still chuckling at, but his eyes were concerned. I could tell. 

I pushed my side closer to him, not bothering to contain my grin. “I’m great, thanks.” He squeezed my hand. 

“It’s cause I’m holding your hand, isn’t it?” C/N smirked. 

“Eh...” I shrugged and bit my lip. “No. Not at all.” 

He raised his eyebrows, feigning shock. “Wow, you don’t hold back do you?”

“Nope.” 

With a few chuckles, we both joined the group’s conversation. 

The lunch hour passed quickly, carried by light conversation and inside jokes. As I threw out my trash and prepared to walk to my next class with C/N--we were lucky to have three classes together--I felt a light hand on my shoulder. I was surprised to see the person behind me.

“Hey, Y/N.” James tucked his hands into his pockets. He wore his signature smile.

James and I had mutual friends, but he had never really sat with our group regularly enough to be considered a part of it. Pair that with my deathly fear of attractive men and you can easily imagine how awkward the following conversation went. 

“Oh, hey.” 

My feelings for James had disappeared after just my first date with C/N, but it was still oddly exciting talking to him. He was, after all, the closest our small town had to a local legend.

But truthfully, I hadn’t had a thought about him in weeks. 

“How have you been?”

“Good...” I paused. “You?”

“Great. The season’s going amazing.” 

I offered him a small smile, nodding. “Great.” 

“Yeah.” 

Why did he come up to me? It wasn’t like we had some unresolved conflict or any past that might warrant this. So why? 

“So I’ll see you soon, yeah?” He offered with a shrug. 

“Um, yeah.” I suppressed a chuckle at how awkward the interaction had been as James walked away and as I joined my boyfriend back at our lunch table, I knew I was happy how those two crushes had turned out.

---

Two weeks had passed, and James had formed a pattern of coming up to me just as I was cleaning up my spot at the table. Our conversation, though still shallow as hell, had fallen into a comfortable rhythm and I had come to enjoy the small chat we made by the trash can in the school cafeteria. 

C/N hadn’t mentioned anything about it to me, but he had begun waiting for me at a table closer to us. And I caught him glaring at James a few times, but every time I brought it up he’d smile, shake his head, and promise me it was nothing. 

So one day, when James had been especially friendly, even bordering flirting--though I quickly shut him down--and went in for a hug after the conversation ended, C/N was right there to grab my arm and lead me away. 

“Sorry, man, we gotta go.” C/N said, his forced smile nearing a sneer pointed in the other boy’s direction. He brought us into the hallway outside of the cafeteria, into a solitary corner. 

“C/N!” I almost laughed at how ridiculous he was being. “It’s fine, calm down.” 

He let go of my arm, not that he had been gripping it tightly, and ran a hand through his hair. “He was making a pass at you, Y/N.” 

“I know.” He shot me an annoyed look. “But I wasn’t reciprocating it!” 

“Do you think that matters to him?” C/N threw his hands up in the air, almost frantic. “All he cares is that you let him do it.”

“I let him do it?” I scoffed. “C/N, I never ‘let’ him do anything. He was flirting with me, I didn’t flirt back. However he takes that is out of my control, but I didn’t give him anything to say it was okay.” 

He stared at me, silent for a moment. “So don’t get mad at me when I tell him it isn’t.”

---

C/N and I didn’t talk much for the rest of the day. We’d decided as we walked to class that it was just a fight and nothing to let come between us. And though we both agreed, we were still a little annoyed with each other. 

But as we were walking out of the school in silence and James came running up to me I knew there was more to come of the topic. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he smiled at me, “C/N.” The two exchanged curt nods. 

“Hi, James.” I offered a small smile. 

“So,” James stepped forward. Closer to me than I liked. “do you need a ride home?” 

“No. She doesn’t.” 

James rocked back on his heels. He shot a glare at C/N. “And why don’t you let her answer for herself?” He bit his lip as he turned back to me. “Y/N?”

I shook my head. “C/N’s going to take me home.” 

He smirked. “You don’t have to go with him though, babe. I’m sure I’m much more fun.” More fun? Oh my God how sleazy was this boy? 

C/N took a step forward, nearly coming in front of me. But I stopped him before he could. “Actually,” I glared up at James, much shorter than him but hoping my stare was at least somewhat intimidating. “I’m pretty sure you’re not. So if you could leave us both alone from now on, that’d be great.”

James frowned, his lips turning into a snarl. “You weren’t that hot anyways. Too fat.” 

I rolled my eyes, grabbed C/N’s hand--his hand that was about to slug James in the face-- and walked us to his car. Once we were both seated and the heat running, C/N turned to me. “I’m sorry.” 

I grabbed his hand. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have been as nice if I knew why he was talking to me.” 

He shook his head. “No, no. It’s not your fault. I should have trusted you could take care of it. I mean that out there was...”  He chuckled, shaking his head. 

I smiled and squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. I’m sure if there was a girl trying to jump your bones I’d be pretty worried too.” 

C/N shook his head. “No, you would have trusted me. I should have trusted you. I just got scared.” 

Scared? “Of what?”

He sighed. “It’s not a big thing, okay? We don’t need to talk about it.” 

I shifted forward in my seat. I was nearly sitting on the center console of C/N’s car, my face close to his. “I want to, though.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to”--

“C/N!” I laughed, grabbing both his hands in mine. “If you apologize one more time for opening up to me I will kill you. And then I’ll never know what you’re scared of.” I paused. “Plus I’ll probably end up in jail which would be unfortunate.” 

He rolled his eyes teasingly. “I hate you.” 

With a soft smile I brought his face to turn to mine. “What’s wrong?”

“Look...” he pulled his hands away from mine, running one through his hair. “I know I’m not the most attractive guy”--

I frowned. “C/N”--

“Y/N, if you don’t shut up I’ll have to kill you.” He smiled at me, endearing and oh-so-captivating. 

“Fine. But know that I find you intoxicating so shut the hell up.” 

C/N chuckled and grabbed one of my hands. His thumb traced patterns in my palm absentmindedly. “There are guys more attractive, funnier, kinder, and just better than me in every way. And James is one of those guys. In fact, there are plenty of those guys at this school which is just annoying.” He chuckled again, but quickly sobered up. His eyes were focused on our hands. He was afraid to meet my gaze. “I... I guess I was afraid that you would see James was interested in you and...” C/N’s eyes flicked up to mine. His face was beet red, and he looked so small in this moment. “realize you could have him instead. Have anyone instead.”

It was at that moment I shook my head, unlocked my car door and walked out. 

“Y/N? What are you”--

I marched over to C/N’s door and threw it open. I climbed inside, straddling his waist as I sat. Throwing my arms around his neck, I pulled him close to me. 

“You, C/N, are not a placeholder for me. I’m not with you because I’m waiting for someone ‘better’ to come around or because I’m bored. I’m with you because you make me happy.” 

“Y/N, seriously. You don’t have to do this.” C/N’s eyes looked red, as if he might cry. I personally was nearing tears.  

“I want to.” I sighed. “The truth, C/N? James is attractive. There was a time before we got together I was interested in him. In fact, if he gave me half this much attention three months ago I’d probably be a ‘wooed’ mess lying on the floor.

“But that didn’t happen. He didn’t notice me. And I couldn’t give a crap if he does now. Because two months ago, you asked me out. And may I tell you I’d had a thing for you for a while too, so don’t go thinking this” I swung a finger between us “started because I was bored. We’re together now because you make me laugh and you can make fun of me when I’m being stupid and can tease me while still loving me. We’re together because I love you and if you were to leave me, I’d be a mess. I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to. And that’s the end of my ‘you’re great’ rant so shut the hell up and fricking kiss me.” 

C/N didn’t hesitate to crush my lips with his. We’d kissed many times, but this was different. We’d never had so much passion, so much tension waiting to be cut.

When we’d decided air might be essential to our survival, we finally broke apart. 

“I love you so fucking much,” C/N whispered against my lips. 

“You better,” I chuckled against his. 

--

Not my best work but I think the ending’s cute so 

#love #crush #crushimagines #loveimagines #imagines #headcanons #oneshots #jealous #insecure #1d #5sos #harrystyles #niallhoran #louis tomlinson #zaynmalik #liampayne #lukehemmings #michaelclifford #calumhood #ashtonirwin

[sovoidstrawberry]

Safe Haven (Sirius Black Fan-fiction)

TW: I guess talks of the WW

Part I

The Wizarding War brew with a new certainty in the summer of 1977. As Death Eaters and Aurors alike resorted to new tactics to hunt down each other, the tensions of the war cracked under pressure and people were slipping through the cracks. Sons and Daughters of either side were being captured and held as bait. Many Hogwarts students had nowhere to hide in this mania. And where there is a demand soon will come a supply. A haven was set up for all who needed refuge between the academic years. No person was too dangerous to hide out at the long-abandoned Murphy’s second summer home. The home was charmed to be larger than it looked, as it appeared only to be a small stone manor with vines climbing up the side due to lack of upkeep. The manor was a large place but not large enough to comfortably fit 33 people, so the haven members had long been forced to double up to save space. The haven had also been charmed to be one of the safest places outside of Hogwarts itself, using many of the same charming methods the school had. But it had one fatal flaw. While it had at one time been a booming plantation, it had been decades since any Murphy had step foot in the place. The haven lacked enough food to feed their escapees. 

"Will it work?" 

"How am I meant to know?"

"How can we send them on a suicide mission?" 

"Look we don't have time for this, we can't keep smuggling food from stores to feed everyone. We're too big for that. This is our only hope."

 The hushed voices discussed the fate of the camp. The mission now was to find a food source for the rest of the summer. There was still two months left till everyone left for Hogwarts again and there would be no point in hiding from the Death Eaters if they all starved instead. The camp held 33 people who had nowhere to go over the summer, be it that their families died in the war or were trying to recruit them into the war, many hid out at the Irish farm. One of the few implicit rules outside of safety protocol was the lack of judgment at the camp. Anyone who thought too highly of themselves would quickly get shot down as everyone at the camp were equals. The pure blood mania would not taint them. The mission plan was simple: request Kylie’s parents for some help. The Murphy’s were wealthy business owners who ran a chain of muggle fashion shops within the wizarding world. With the amount of food that they wasted at the end of their weekly parties the family could afford to feed them all for three more summers. Getting to the Murphy’s would also be the most convenient as they were the closest to the camp by far. However, the Murphy’s agreement would not be an easy feat.  Despite the fact that their second youngest daughter ran the haven, the family was well known in the wizarding world for being a completely Gryffindor bloodline. Until Kylie that is. Kylie had found herself sorted into Slytherin at the beginning of her seven years at Hogwarts, her family had been quick to voice their displeasure with her and since then favored the other four siblings over her no matter how hard she tried to be the perfect daughter. It also did not help that her perfect days were long over, and she rarely conversed with her parents and siblings as her rebellious phase in her fifth year had driven a wedge between them. Kylie knew now that she was the one at fault for the coldness of her family, but she still had yet to fix the matter, seeing as she was busy at the haven for the summer. 

“I don’t see why it is that we didn’t just floo here.” Chase Matthews stated as he looked around the Murphy Manor patio. 

The trip had been a painful one involving four portkeys and a pair of broomsticks that the two had sat upon for far too long. Kylie didn’t bother responding seeing as Chase knew fully well why they “didn’t just floo here." Chase simply enjoyed complaining. 

“So, ready to be home, Murphster?” Chase continued, messing with one of the many lion statues set on the front porch of the Murphy Manor. 

“More than ready, but we both know there’s still the better part of two months till we get there.” Kylie rang the doorbell, which gave off no sound the first, second, and third time she pressed it. “Guess this broke while I was gone,” she mumbled to herself as she took her fist and rapped onto the dark wood door. 

There were a couple seconds of silence before Chase began to speak again. “You know maybe we should-” the door swung open. 

Waiting behind the door was a young brunette with long brown hair wearing a short gold dress. Elia. Elia Murphy was Kylie’s younger sister and her arch enemy, seeing as Elia had all that Kylie had ever wanted. Elia was immediately placed in Gryffindor upon being sorted and never knew the jealousy Kylie secretly harbored since they were kids. Elia being the youngest got all that she ever wanted and had been spoiled beyond belief. She now was dating a year up into her sister's year. The infamous Sirius Black. Who now stood behind the gorgeous Elia in the living room, and beside him was James Potter. Elia’s big blue eyes widened at the sight of her ‘long lost sister’ and she immediately went in for a hug. Despite the jealousy for Elia’s normal life, Kylie loved her sister more than anything and was quick to return it. 

“Where have you been this past month, we’ve all been worried sick.” Despite the polite words seeping from her mouth, Kylie knew the we meant she.  

“I’ve been safe, don’t worry about me.” Kylie’s soft yet vague words left Elia feeling frustrated with her sister. “Is there a party tonight?” Kylie questioned, stepping into the manor and instinctively removing her tennis shoes. At this Chase quickly followed suit.

“No, just dinner with the Potters.” Elia replied shortly. “Kylie seriously, I thought you had been kidnapped by Death Eaters, you know you shouldn’t hang around the crowd you do. It’s dangerous.” 

Kylie was not surprised to see few changes to the old living room, the fire place roaring as always. She waved at James and Sirius politely, muttering a “hey” to her childhood friend and his new friend. She walked in her mismatched socks over to the fireplace to crouch down and gain some color back before seeing her parents. 

“I’ve been with friends, the crowd I hang around is fine, though sometimes I question yours.” Kylie’s darted over to the infamous Sirius Black who she knew to be a massive playboy. “But, I did come here to do more than play catch up,” she stood, her face now red from having been so close to the fire, “I’m here to see Mom and Dad.” She explained as she turned to face her shorter sister.

“Why?” The response was curt and frustrated.  

“Why does any black sheep wish to see their rich parents? I need money.” Kylie’s response is intentionally misleading as in every situation she seems to wish to put up a front rather than explain herself. 

“You can’t just show up and ask them for money! Are you insane?” Elia’s rage would be something to worry about on any given day, but nothing was going to stop Kylie from helping the haven. 

“I can, and I will, there’s never any harm in asking.” Kylie frustration intertwined with each word as her eyes scanned the room for any indication of where her parents may have gone. 

“You Slytherins really have no shame, do you?” James Potter questioned, standing up, about to deliver a monologue on his hatred for the house. “No shame and no honor-” 

“Shut up.” It was at that moment that Kylie snapped. She didn’t know why it was that hearing her longtime friend disrespect her for the thousandth time was so awful. Maybe it was because she was in front of one of the haven members, maybe because she still yearned for the respect of her family, but this time she couldn’t bite her tongue.  “Do you know what I find shameful? I find it shameful that you dare speak of honor when you have none yourself. You have spent the last six years avoiding and ridiculing me to your so-called friends, so you could show off that you didn’t care for me anymore. As if you were never scared of exactly what happened to me. As if I never helped you with your insecurities. As if we had never spoken. And you dare insinuate me shameful? I am not the one who dropped you when you didn’t get placed into my house! I am not the one who judges an entire group of people based on prejudice. Do you know who I am now, really? I am a leader. I am a friend. I am a protector. I am everything you said I would become. No thanks to you.”

#sirius black #sirius x oc #harry potter #sirius black fanfiction #james potter #marauders era #marauders era fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction

[dangertomyself]

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄:

“What do you mean, you don’t have anything done?”

My shoulders merely shrugged, the answer clear… What had been even more clear was the pinched look of careless indifference upon my face. We sat opposite one another within my main living room; only a single glass coffee table separated us as we lounged upon plush sofa cushions. While our critical situation may have been similar, our stance was utterly different. I, the man of the hour, had been relaxed with no urgent care for the critical matters at hand, while my personal manager Phil Goldsworth was alive with petty irritation. His hands shifted through the paperwork that splattered the table, shifting through the notes as if to discover something that was missing.

“There has to be something here that you can work with, Luke. Some bullshit that you can put together to give to the label by the end of the fucking week.” As the last words spit out, Phil’s hand flicked in anger, tossing papers onto the ground. Some had been business notes while others had been of my own creation. Lyrics, mental spewings… Anything to get my mind off of things.

I knew none of it was satisfactory enough for Phil. My manager sorely wanted a song; a concrete message to give to the record label to say that Luke Lennox was back on the bandwagon, ready for urgent action to be put out onto the world again. The pitch they were proving to exchange was rainbows, flowers, and bullshit. A lie fabricated and forced together with an elegant bow. Phil seemed inevitably to have stupidly forgotten one defiant message: I would under no circumstances be anyone’s Goddamn present.

“If you don’t like what I’ve suggested to you, Phil— I suggest you get out of my apartment. Go sell your bubblegum bullshit to someone else. If they don’t like what I have—”

Phil cut me off short, “You wouldn’t have this apartment if it were not for the label! Did you forget about that?” The shorter, nearly balding man, stood abruptly, nearly taking the table up with him in his brisk rampage. I looked to him in astonishment.

My manager continued: “What you have to give is the bullshit, Lennox. Or should I refer to you as Lucas Johnson? The poor piss of a kid that you were back in Missouri? Because that is what you are not. The same fucking waste. Only this time you’re strung out on pills and alcohol... Can’t even write a single word to save your life...”

As the comments mingled together, Phil struck the table as he walked impatiently past me and towards the door. Several more papers drifted to the ground. My sunken eyes fixated upon words I wrote as they drifted aimlessly through the air and onto the wood flooring— time for only a single moment managing to stand still long enough for me to pick up on a few particular words: waste of space in a faceless crowd. Isn’t that what I was in contrast, after all? If not for the fame, the money, the fortune… I was Lucas James Johnson. A waste of space in a crowd, with no distinctly outstanding talent except for that of an unhealthy ability to consume immense amounts of alcohol in short periods of time.

“I expect something by tomorrow morning, or you are done, Lennox. I swear, I mean it this time. You are cut. Done. I don’t care what happens to you, you will no longer be my problem to take care of.” Phil slammed the door forcibly closed upon exiting, the frames upon the wall shook uncontrollably in its wake. One nearly crashed to the floor in the violent aftermath, yet I produced no mind to it. My fixation lingered upon my calloused hands, balled into violent fits within the center of my lap. The skin of my palms ached as fingers pressed into the burning flesh. Hot flashes of anger distorted my vision like a black burst of lightning. One by one, the spark of darkness crashed through my gaze.

Each flash seemed to awake a new memory in my mind, like some valts unlocking with the twist of a key. The truth of each hidden safe was brought to the surface, glaring me right in the eyes. If I could not write a single word worth the approval of my recording label, I would be trashed. Even more so of a joke to the world than I already had been. I knew what people had thought of me— cruel malicious words that I already knew about myself ten times over. There was no one thing that I did not read on the internet that had not crossed my mind at least one or twice. A washed up star, someone better off alone, or the best… Someone not worth caring for at all. People would write cruel things about me daily at the expense of their own amusement, and for many nights, I knew they had been right. I was not good enough to write a song anymore. The only thing I was good for was drinking, snorting lines, and having a good time. The music, the joy, the bliss of giving people something to look forward to… That was all gone now.

The explosions of empty darkness seemed to ease, long enough for me to realize that my hands had been bleeding. Clenched into fists, my nails ripped through the surface of my skin and created little cuts. I could not even feel the pain— it felt empty to me now. There had not been a single time in the last eight months on my own that I had felt something worthwhile. Was it possible anymore? Or had I fried every cell within my brain like people would scream at me on the streets passing by? The empty feeling that knotted up into my throat was enough to make any normal person, man or woman, cry. Yet, there were no tears in my eyes. I couldn’t bring them even if I wanted to. This feeling was not something new— it was a friend— a loneliness that normally would have been eagerly accompanied by a bottle of Jack Daniels. The mere thought of it was like the opening of a window in a dark room, a stream of sunshine into my brain that I welcomed to desperately.

But I couldn’t go there again. I promised myself this time… It would be different. It had to be.

Without thinking, both hands still dripping in light trickles of blood, my hands of large proportions reached out to grab hold of the single paper that I had noticed earlier. My mind was drawn back to those little scribbles of words that I had thrown together days before. Waste of space in a faceless crowd. My mind began to put together more, and without question the words slipped from my vocals:

“Waste of space in a faceless crowd…

Tell me what I have to say…

If you know what’s right then you’ll walk away.”

What could I say to myself to get through that I had to put away the temptation of drinking? Of drugs? It was time to close that chapter of my book; the novel in that part of the series was well more than written. I knew how it ended if I did not finish what I started from the beginning. To take another drink, no matter how hard the temptation grew, would be that final end to everything I had ever built. The dream he once wanted as Lucas Johnson would have been for nothing. There were two parts of myself that seemed to always be at battle: the outer version the world saw, and the true man I was within. Two very different angles within the same reflection. I could only ever be one or the other. The hellion born to die, or the man that rises from the ashes of hell to meet my fate.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎:

“ I can get there on my own,

You can leave me here alone.

I'm just tryin' to do what's right...

Oh, a man ain't a man unless he's fought the fight. ”

Sitting in a four cornered room surrounded by three gentlemen, all looking at me as if I was a useless piece of meat for the eating was before them instead of a remarkable man. I pondered why I was there-- knowing full well that I could have walked gracefully into any recording company in the whole city of Los Angeles and gained myself an exclusive deal. It would have been effortless; anyone would have loved possessing me… As loud as the confidence was that rang in my heart like a beating drum, the whispered words of doubt managed to scream louder. This may have been my final shot at proving myself. Phil may have been right-- after all-- look at me now. A nearly thirty male with far too many wicked demons in my past than any one my age should. Doubt remained the driving factor leading me there with a guitar in hand, and a song significantly unique than anything else produced in my name.

“ I could never point you out...

Waste of space in a faceless crowd.

Tell me what I have to say,

If you know what's right then you'll walk away. ”

It was only myself and a melodic guitar now; stripped and vulnerable in a private room of careless men that did not give one single damn about me or my well being. To be sober enough to produce money for them had been enough of a factor to remain persuading the musician until he was at his breaking point. Nearly everyone in the cruel world knew I had reached my breaking point on more than one critical occasion. To listen to the words that poured from my mouth, anyone would discover the truth behind the song than I had written. It was a short, few cords ofy battle, my temptation with the few solitary things in life that I loved more than myself most days. A personal reflection of emotional pain, of forgotten truth… My truth. I had to walk away from the past, and start something new for the better. If not, I forever remain a waste of space in the miserable world for whatever numbed days I had left.

“ When the walls come down… ”

In a short period of over three minutes, I eased the strumming of the guitar out with the silence of the air and met the waiting eyes of the men sitting before me.

“This is all that you have?” Phil, my manager was the very first one to question. Breaking the silence with his curt comment. I did not know what they would say— their reactions possibly being anything under the sun. Yet Phil’s word’s did not surprise meat all.

“This is what I have for you. This… Or nothing.”

Phil scoffed, nearly opening his mouth to say something more, when the head of the company cut him short. “Rebranding. That is what I will call this. A new direction from someone who had been working with us for a very long time. A lot of artists branch out every now and again-- this is your chance. Your rebranding.” Mike Hardenburg was a thin man of nearly sixty years in age. He had watched me grow from the young boy I was when I first started until now. Hardenburg knew exactly what route to take in order to get the absolute most that he could out of me. To pass me up to the world would have been a mistake on his part… Therefore he had to turn what the musician brought him into something he could work with. Rebranding.

“I guess that is what we will call this…” Phil added, almost reluctantly. The two other men in suits nodded at his words. After all, Mike’s words had been the final say.

“We will go over this and get back to you as soon as possible, Mr. Lennox.” A man named Stephan added, turning to his boss Mike to add a few short words under his breath. The entire transaction was the epitome of a classic business exchange. Nothing personal or full of drive… A money wheel spinning at its finest. Simple short nods and goodbye’s were exchanged as the men all turned to leave. I thought that I was going to be the only man left in the room as I stood up from the four legged chair with my guitar when one of the men approached him.

Stephan Lewis gave me a warm handshake, but even through the touch I could feel the snake like scales of his reptile being underneath. Stehan was a money hungry mongul, someone who would sell out the likes of myself in a heartbeat if that meant he could further himself in any way. I hated people like him; the tux wearing, Audi driving, bully type, to push people down in order to get to where they needed to go. Squeezing my hand once in a firm grasp, I pulled mmy hand away and put it in my pocket. Meanwhile, the snake made his way over towards the opposite side of the room, slithering towards the open bar and pouring himself a single glass of Scotch. The fumes took over the air… Even if I was standing several feet away.

“I’ll tell you, Mr. Lennox… I was surprised at what you brought in for us today. A little… ” Pausing, he took a slow drink, eyes fixated upon me the entire time. The taller man’s eyes never faltered from a singular spot on the floor just where Stephan stood. I could not look to the man directly; to look at him would be to acknowledge the temptation. The snake was testing him. “Softer than what you’ve done in the past.”

“I don’t think there is anything wrong with a change.” I was quick to add, never faltering for a second.

Stephan gave a curt, almost cruel laugh. Suddenly, the distance between them grew shorter. The tail of the snake weaved his way back over to me… Drink in hand. Oh, how I wanted to strike. Attack the animal before the cobra could get me first. Seconds turned to hours as the suited reptile approached. I knew that i could not avoid the fear of what I wanted most forever. Without warning the lamb morphed into lion— facing the snake with power and dominance. I could feel the strength in the way my back stood straighter— shoulders pushing out to expose gallant chest muscles. The musician stood tall, but most of all, unafraid.

“Oh no, there isn’t anything wrong with it…” Stephan stood only a few inches away from me. The smell of the alcohol burned through my nose, nearly lighting my bloodstream on fire. I knew exactly how it would taste against the tip of my tongue, and the electric feeling it would give me just to give into the temptation only once. It would solve the anxiety I felt, cure the sleepless nights, and the aches of mybody after a long day. Alcohol wasn’t just a drink-- in many ways it had been the only thing that was there for me in my life. The only dependent thing to keep me going. “I just think change some times can be a little overrated. Especially when there are… Certain things in life that are familiar. Certain things you should stick to.”

Next to the chair where I had been originally sitting while I played was a lone table. Stephan’s hand with the glass reached out, setting the Scotch down right beside me, as if for me to take… I watched his movements the entire time, swallowing slowly.

“There are certain things that some people just do best,Luke . Don’t take it personally. We all have our calling.” Turning on the back of his heel, the reptile in a suit made his way towards the exit door before calling over his shoulder: “Be back here again next Friday. I’m interested to see what you’ll have for us then. I’d like to hear… Well, a little of the old you if I’m being honest. Have a good night.”

[moonbeambucky]

The Guardian (Part 2)

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader (Demon AU) Word Count: 2698 Warnings: **Suicide**, Violence, Torture, Body horror (I guess like medical experimentation & stuff), mentions of animal abuse ***The suicide is heavily implied so if anyone is uncomfortable by this topic but you want to know what’s happening in the chapter msg me and I can give you a trigger free run down!

Summary: Someone has been watching over you throughout your life. His intentions are bad, that is until you remind him of his past. Can you save the soul of a demon?

A/N: I hope this doesn't suck. If you like it let me know! :) Gif not mine, source (x)

PART 1 | THE GUARDIAN MASTERLIST

If his heart could still skip a beat it certainly would have. You had unlocked the door in his mind that had been shut for so long. The memories overwhelmed him, bits and pieces of a puzzle scattered on the floor waiting to be put together. He started slowly with his name. Bucky. He repeated it over and over again, furrowing his brows together with frustration.

“There’s more. Bucky… urgh!” he huffed, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes. He sounded out different letters until he thought he found the right one.

“G-George. No, James. James... Barnes. George was my father,” he said slowly connecting the pieces.

He pictured a man, with striking blue eyes and dark brown hair that peeked out from under a flat-topped straw hat. His cream buttoned down shirt was tucked into brown trousers, cuffed at the bottom to display his oxford shoes. Bucky smiled remembering his father, caring and selfless, who would always give up his last dollar to anyone that needed it. He was a hard working man who loved his wife Winifred. “Winnie, darling!” he would say, coming through the front door of their humble home.

George worked long hours as a banker but during the weekends he was a true family man. He took James and his younger sister Rebecca to the park. He watched James play baseball with some local boys, smiling at the nickname they gave his son as they eagerly called Bucky up to bat. Rebecca rode a merry-go-round, waving to her father each time her wooden horse passed the bench he sat on. He loved his family with all of heart. The accident that took his life was tragic, and Bucky never felt worthy enough to fill the large void left in its wake.

His country needed him during the war, there was no question but Bucky hated the idea of leaving his mother and sister. He wrote to them when he could during training and was lucky enough to receive their letters when he was overseas.

He slid down the wall, unseen by the humans that casually pass him by, as the horrors of the war replayed in his mind. Then he remembered the explosion on the cliffside and his biggest regret, living. He fell, hitting the snow covered ground with a huge thud. Every bone was surely broken, he groaned in agony and yet he felt numb. Hot tears stung his eyes as thought about his mom and Rebecca. He didn’t want to leave them, he was the man of the house, he needed to protect them. But there was nothing he could do except shut his eyes and wait for death to take him.

A blurred figure came towards him, calling out his name. A fellow soldier? No, it was an older man with a wrinkled face and dusty blond hair. “Bucky.” His smooth voice kept him from slipping out of consciousness. “Bucky, I’m here to help you.”

The man introduced himself as Alexander, Bucky’s spiritual guardian. “My wh-what?” Bucky’s weak voice murmured.

Alexander offered to save him, heal him enough to go home so he can see his family as long as he promised to work with him as a guardian when the time comes. Confused and close to death Bucky accepted the man’s offer as his eyes shut.

Bucky woke up, groaning as his body bounced with every step the men who were carrying him on a stretcher took. “You’re lucky to be alive, soldier!” he heard a voice say before slipping unconscious again.

Sometime later he opened his eyes, recognizing he was in the medical tent of the barracks. He groaned feeling a terrible ache throughout his body, which was expected after his tremendous fall, except he felt different. His eyes widened with horror seeing the absence of his left arm. A medic heard the commotion and rushed over to him, explaining that his arm was lost from the explosion. He looked down to see a small stump wrapped in gauze, just a few inches remained of his once strong arm. His injury would be sending him home though as soon as the papers were processed.

Bucky reflected on his thoughts, vaguely remembering the man, his guardian, who promised him a chance to see his family again. He didn’t realize the cost, nevertheless he was happy, he served his country honorably and he was headed home with a smile on his face.

Winifred sobbed mixed tears of joy and sadness as her son walked through the door. She was prepared for his injury but it didn’t take away the pain she felt for her boy.

“Son!” she cried, sobbing into his chest. Bucky wrapped his right arm around her back, “Ma! It’s okay. I’m okay,” he said hoping his words would alleviate her woes.

Winifred took him into the kitchen, having prepared a casserole, after a long time away she needed to make sure her son was well fed again. Bucky missed her cooking, even with the restrictions from food rationing, she was always able to turn anything into a delicious filling meal.

She sat beside Bucky tending to his every need, refilling his glass before it was half empty, wiping food from the corner of his mouth. Bucky held his tongue, just because he lost an arm didn’t mean he couldn’t take care of himself, but he let his mother take care of him; she almost lost her son after all.

Rebecca came home a few hours later looking unrecognizable from the last time Bucky saw her. Her hair usually styled with intricate curls was covered in a dusty headscarf, her dress was traded for faded blue coveralls. She had taken up work in a local factory, like most of the women in the country who took over the jobs of the men who left to fight.

Her face lit up when she saw him, with a bittersweet smile tugging on her lips as she noticed the flat empty sleeve on the left side of his jacket.

She was happy to have him home, they were all happy to be together again.

Later that night after their mother had gone to sleep Bucky and Rebecca were able to speak frankly. His heart felt heavy, wiping tears away as he relived the terrible things the war required him to do. Bucky told her mostly everything, only sparing her from the gruesome details he did not want his little sister to imagine. He also left out the part of the man, Alexander, the supposed guardian that saved his life, though he was half convinced this was a hallucination.

Bucky pushed open the door of his bedroom and gasped, not expecting to see the figure standing there waiting for him. His jaw hung open as he stared at Alexander who was very much real. He was a few inches shorter than Bucky but stood with towering confidence. “Surprised to see me?” he asked.

Bucky nodded, unsure of what words to say as he tried to quickly accept the existence of his spiritual guardian.

“About the arm,” he nudged his chin towards Bucky, “It was the best way to get you home.” Bucky cleared his throat before speaking, “Uh yeah, thanks, thank you. I’m just glad to be here.” He tripped on his words, smiling quickly before returning to his nonplussed state.

“How’s mom? She good?” Alexander asked with a curt undertone. Bucky nodded in response. “And sister?” A chill ran down Bucky’s back and he shivered before silently nodding again. “That’s good. I’m sure you said goodbye then.”

Bucky’s face twisted in confusion, “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Alexander’s lips pulled up into a wide devilish smile. “Our deal boy. The time has come.”

Bucky sputtered out words, trying to reason with that he’s been home for less than a week. Alexander didn’t care, though he never stated the full terms of his agreement Bucky never asked. He accepted his help and he was quickly learning that his actions had consequences.

“Kill yourself,” Alexander snarled, smirking.

Bucky felt disgusted by his words, he refused. He could never.

Alexander cocked his head, closing the gap between himself and Bucky. His smile dropped, “Your mother and sister are on a train right now,” he calmly stated.

Bucky shook his head in confusion, “What does that mean?”  

“I’m a man of great influence and power,” he spat, popping the sound the word he took so much pleasure from.“They are sitting in the first car and when I derail the train they will die, painfully so,” he smirked, “Unless…” he threatened.

Bucky felt nauseous, the thought of his family dying burned a deep pit within his stomach. “I thought you were my guardian angel,” he naively questioned.

Alexander dropped his head back and laughed with a twisted sense of delight. He turned towards Bucky revealing his eyes, now covered by a deep blackness that replaced any trace of humanity he once appeared to have. “I’m far from angel.”

He raised his hands up and the furniture in Bucky’s room began to shake. The desk broke in half, with all objects once neatly displayed sliding towards the center, the dresser toppled over, photographs dropped from their place on the wall. Bucky jumped out of the way as his closet door opened, his clothes were violently strewn across the room. He could not believe what he was seeing.

Alexander looked at a mirror and it shattered, its jagged pieces fell to the ground in front of Bucky. “You know what to do.”

Bucky bent down, apprehensively picking up the shard of glass. His teary eyes pleaded with Alexander but he showed no signs of faltering.

“What happens if I do this?” his shaky voice asked. “Th-they’ll be safe? No tricks?” “They won’t be harmed. I’m a man of my word. You do this and then you work for me. Go on son.”

Bucky shut his eyes not wanting to face Alexander. Son, the word stung in his mind. Bucky thought about his father, the honorable and good man. Would he do this? No, his father was a better man. He wouldn’t have made a deal with the devil. That’s what Alexander had to be. George would have seen through something that was too good to be true, he would have died with honor on that blanket of snow. All Bucky wanted was to see his family again, to protect them. Now he was left with a horrible choice and no way out. He had to save them, the family that would forever be plagued with unanswered questions. Why? Why did he do this?

Bucky choked on a lump in his throat as the tears traveled down his cheeks. He gripped the shard, feeling the sting of glass cutting into his hand. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, knowing the people who needed to hear his words never would. He brought the shard to his neck while Alexander watched.

Bucky woke up on the hard ground, looking around he saw nothing, just blackness that felt like it was slowly creeping towards him despite his vast surroundings. There was a cold chill that blew through him yet he choked on the air, heavy with humidity making it difficult to breathe. Wait, could he even breathe?

He was alone and scared. He sat bringing his knees to his chest, going through the motions of crying without being able to shed tears, as he regretted the choices he made from the life he’ll never get back. Alexander appeared in front of him, pulling Bucky to his feet.

“You work for me now,” he spat. “And my soldiers aren’t weak.” “Soldiers?” Bucky questioned, “Alexander, I…”

He was cut off again. “You call me Pierce and I am not to be questioned. I’m not your friend. I own you. You’re gonna go up there and corrupt souls. Manipulate people, like I did to you,” he said with a sinister smile.

Bucky tried resisting at first, thinking since he was already dead that no more harm could come to him but he was wrong. Pierce brought in his trusted associate, a man formerly known as Brock Rumlow.

Rumlow was a twisted from an early age, torturing animals, slicing them open just to see what would happen. He became a surgeon, determined by his sickness to hurt people. It wasn’t enough for him to perform the surgery he was required to do. He lied to his patients, telling them the procedures he performed were life saving and necessary just so he could mutilate them.

He found a like minded assistant, Grant Ward, and together they abused countless victims. Operating without anesthesia, the relished in the sounds of screams as they experimented removing body parts, or attaching foreign objects within. Then men were caught and executed but they continue their work now as demon’s with Pierce’s full support.

Bucky had learned more about Pierce, the devil’s right hand man, a powerful demon who was building an army with plans to fight the angels in Heaven.

With the snap of his fingers Pierce made it possible for Bucky to experience pain again. Rumlow smiled as he began his torture. Minutes felt like years, years felt like centuries. Bucky had felt immeasurable amounts of pain. He tried not to scream knowing each time he did it only fueled Rumlow’s enthusiasm. He was carved with every tool imaginable, grinding his teeth as he felt the sting of each slice, only to have his body healed and prepped for the next round of torture.

Rumlow was fascinated by Bucky’s arm. He opened him up, removing what was left of his bone and replacing it with different objects. He settled on a metal arm, cast from the armor of a great demon, once a rogue knight who slayed countless villages during the Middle Ages.

Bucky knew how to end the torture, he held out for so long but he was weak, physically and mentally. He felt broken and so he conceded, accepting his fate. He hated himself for giving up. He carried out Pierce’s orders, being assigned to a variety of people all over the world; it didn’t matter who they were, only that they be influenced negatively to corrupt their souls.

One day Bucky was assigned to a new mother. He reluctantly went to the hospital with the intent on whispering thoughts to induce postpartum depression. He materialized in the hospital room, pushing past the flowers and balloons, not making himself known to the happy people who crowded around the woman. He stopped in shock as he saw his sister holding a baby swaddled in blue cloth.

“James, after my brother,” Rebecca said. “James Barnes-Proctor.” She wiped tears away as she smiled lovingly at her son. Bucky stood there in shock, seeing his sister and the man he assumed was her husband caressing the forehead of the sleeping infant. He scanned the room for his mother but she wasn’t there. He wanted to stay, to talk to Rebecca and tell her everything but he knew he couldn’t.

He left feeling determined, feeling strong like the man he should have been. He refused to do this any longer, resolving that he would rather be tortured for eternity than hurt anyone else. Pierce blinked a few times, silent in response to Bucky’s defiance. He simply smiled, snapping his fingers as a cloud of black smoke wrapped itself around Bucky. He struggled against the force of energy but wasn’t able to break free. The black cloud entered through his ears and fogged up his mind. Pierce locked away Bucky’s memories, wiping him to create the perfect demon, brainwashing him into fighting for his cause without disobedience. A soldier once again, ready for orders.

Bucky struggled to lift his heavy head, weighed down by all of his memories, guilt and pain. He wiped away fresh tears as he looked around. You had left, a while ago it seemed. Bucky wanted to find you. He wanted to undo some of the damage he’s done. Thanks to you he remembered who he was, he needed to do some good for a lot of people but he wanted to start with you. He tasted the salt on his lips before realizing the unfamiliar sense. How was he able to cry?

His thoughts were interrupted by the image of Pierce calling him back. Bucky wiped his eyes again, bringing his expression back to something neutral as he faced Pierce.

“Mission report.”

PART 3

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[lipstickfurby-blog]

The Top 6 Men's Wooden Beard Comb

The most dexterously-liked haircuts for men insert some renowned styles from last year, as dexterously as some newcomers. The timeless pompadour leads the list in most in force and popular haircuts for men this year. Coming in contiguously astern are slicked put happening to Wooden Beard Comb, side parting, the undercut, and the taper fade. Let's then not forget the importance of the beard in totaling to a signature men's hairstyle this year check website: hairtrimmerli

Pompadour

Though the pompadour originated as the dominant hairstyle in 18th century Europe, Elvis and James Dean gave it the pop behind more the depth for men's hair once they made the classic pompadour their signature style in the 1950's. Today, male celebrities are rocking the pompadour hairstyle back again, and they are muggy to Justin Timberlake, Johnny Depp, Bruno Mars, Adam Lambert, David Beckham, and Robin Thicke. The pompadour impinge on is as well as an important ingredient in additional men's hairstyles such as side parting and the undercut.

The unbiased pompadour haircut upon peak should be in the midst of rushed sponsorship and side lengths clipped rushed but not for that defense immediate that the scalp is too exposed. Some tapering in the region of the edges will appear a stronger be wrong along in the middle of for the pompadour, as dexterously as emphasizing the Wooden Beard Comb. For men with a rapid or long beard, this is a habit to take possession of a rugged and masculine style. For those taking into consideration longer faces, a bit more length can be kept through the sides to accentuate the shape of the incline and meet the expense of description surrounded by the sides and the depth. This haircut is not for the indolent. The styling period and upkeep for the pompadour hairstyle are significant because this style is tall money. Be ready to use some effort to acquire your daily styling just right, and you may nonappearance to go further to the stylist completely few weeks to have the style cleaned taking place.

Side Parting

The retro styling of a conventional side parted haircut can be seen most prominently in the AMC TV series Mad Men. Don Draper demonstrates this classic and masculine style as a consequence effectively, as for reach the land of the crew of the TV series. The side-parted variation is easy to doing-stroke for those by now a sleek hair scratch style by tallying a deep side allocation. This hairstyle is pleasing for any environment, and it is formal ample even for a wedding. Celebrities new than Don Draper who style their hair gone aside allocation insert Zac Efron, Leonardo DiCaprio, and George Clooney.

The Undercut

The first few months of the year gave rise to a supplementary haircut for men: Wooden Beard Comb. And undercut hair graze feels as cool as it looks which is absolute for the heat of summer. All you obsession to realize to achieve this see is ask your barber to trim the side beyond the length upon peak, avoiding acid the hair too curt in areas where you have a cowlick. To style, the see for those once than skinny hair simply brushes it previously subsequently a blow dryer and a small-tooth comb. For those following thicker hair, you can ask the stylist to use a flat iron and pomade to serene it beside. This scrape will verify you unfriendly all summer because it eliminates all the length except upon peak, desertion when you the choice of giving the peak a messy, spiky, or sleek style. Celebrities pretentiousness this new hairstyle complement Brad Pitt, Bruno Mars, David Beckham, Johnny Depp, and Adam Levine.

Taper Fade

The taper fade style has been popularized by celebrities as soon as rappers Drake, Ludacris, and P. Diddy, as adeptly as Shemar Moore. This haircut has been popular for an even though now because it is one of the haircuts that can be created at the estate, but that is not recommended. It is valid that all you exaggeration is an electric hair clipper and appendage guides that offer you direct more than furthermore to the scrape to achieve approaching a taper fade. But if you are looking for a tidy, professional clip subsequent to lithe lines, we suggest you agree to the barber or hair stylist manage to pay for you the clip. Celebrities previously Drake, Ludacris, P. Diddy, and Shemar Moore tolerate the hairstyle experts obtain their magic, and you can see the tall air results in their cuts.

Slicked Back Hair

The slicked establish hairstyle has been totally popular since last year, and it appears to be continuing to go hermetic for men considering thick, wavy, and curly Wooden Beard Comb. Men in addition to profuse hair benefit from the high degree of clipping and this style are guaranteed to continue through this year as a popular hairstyle for men. This style is same as the undercut style in that it features a shaved uphold and sides, giving it the tidy campaigner see men nonexistence this season. Celebrities who hug the slicked guidance hairstyle supplement going on occurring Alec Baldwin, Adam Lambert, Daniel Radcliffe, Brad Pitt, Ewan McGregor, David Beckham, Ben Affleck, Tom Cruise, Elijah Wood, Zachary Quinto, and Joseph Gordon-Levitt.

The Beard

It must be mentioned that men's hair trends this year highly put in facial hair. If your point of view is skillful to mount happening a thick, full beard, plus we meet the expense of advice you grow it. If your beard is thinner, the hair is finer, or the color is lighter, later a beard will with taking steps for you, but in these cases, you should retain your beard groomed to 1/8" or shorter. You may in addition to the lack to invest in a product that softens the beard and prevents itching. Celebrities keeping the bearded style pile up Ryan Gosling, Seth Rogen, Jeff Bridges, Keanu Reeves, Justin Timberlake, Drake, Chris Pine, Jason Sudeikis, Matthew McConaughey, Russell Brand, Ryan Reynolds, Rob Pattinson, Lenny Kravitz, Jake Gyllenhaal, and Paul Rudd.

How To Achieve These Exciting Men's Hair Styles

You compulsion an environment hair styling product to achieve these styles. The Grey Helmet lineage of men's hair products has the complete level of hold from the mega-mighty 50 Caliber Styling Spiking Glue to the 357 Magnum Wooden Beard Comb. Grey Helmet is specifically formulated for the unique needs of men's hair. Go to the Grey Helmet Online Store to profit the highest quality and best value in men's hair care products. Men everywhere are acquiring the tactical advantage of the Grey Helmet style arsenal. Get your helmet upon.

#Wooden Beard Comb

[lilozzy99]

Love Letters and Last Words

The time had come when Henry was absolutely disgusted with the sheer amount of papers crowding his office. He wasn’t even quite sure how it had gotten to be this much in only six short months, but now he just had boxes upon boxes of old manuscripts, research papers, news articles, magazines, mail, and mountains of other miscellaneous papers piled high from floor to ceiling. It was a wonder how he was able to maneuver his way to his desk every day.

He flickered on the light, blinding for a moment when pitch black became a well-lit room. The boxes were almost intimidating with how high they were piled. Henry’s brother next to him let out a low whistle at the sight.

"Christ, Henry, don’t you ever clean in here?” he asked, staring up at their workload ahead of them. Henry simply shrugged as he picked up three boxes, tucking the top one under his chin and keeping his hands below the bottom to keep them stable in his arms. He stepped out into the hall to set them down somewhere else so he could sort them later.

“Cleaning was never really my thing.”

“Your poor wife really had it rough.”

“Watch it, James.”

James shook his head and followed Henry’s suit, picking up three more boxes and following his brother into the living room. Photographs of Henry and his wife decorated the walls, from when they first met, got married, bought their house, and many other memories captured neatly inside a pretty frame. James took a moment to peruse them before his brother’s impatient grunt sent him back to the task at hand.

By evening, the two had already gone through most of the boxes and set the papers into two piles labelled “save” and “discard.” Currently, Henry was going through a small handful of old letters that had been buried under three boxes filled to the brim with manuscripts from early in his career that never made it to publishing.

As he flicked through the letters, mostly junk, a small handwritten envelope caught his attention, and his heart began to thump hard in his chest. He recognized the handwriting - of course he would. Henry could spot Cecile’s handwriting from miles away.

But how? Henry thought to himself, his throat already raw with sobs he tried desperately to choke down, Cecile’s been gone for months now.

“Henry? What’s up?” James came closer, having noticed that Henry had stopped working, and glanced over at what he was looking at that had him so shaken. James’s eyes widened for a moment, and he placed a hand gently on his brother’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual, "why don’t you go take a break in your office for a few? I’ll finish sorting here.” Henry managed a curt nod before practically running back to his now empty office, save for the desk, the chair, and the bookshelves that lined the walls. He sat, willing the sudden nausea to go down, and swallowed harshly.

He opened the envelope as carefully as his trembling fingers would allow, not wanting to ruin Cecile’s beautiful work. Shaking hands drew the papers from inside and held them gingerly, as though holding them any harder would cause them to disappear. His eyes, blurred with tears, tore through the letter’s contents, pouring over the elegant script, only slightly faded with age. The gold band on his left ring finger burned his skin as he read:

 My dearest Henry,

                  It is with my sincerest apology that I write this letter to you. If things were as I willed them to be, I would still be by your side, each night and each morning, trading coffee-flavoured kisses and soft caresses as we have every day until now. Alas, it could not be so, and now I find myself here, in your private office, at your desk, pen in hand as I try my very best not to weep onto the page.

Today is October 23, 1997. Do you remember this day? It marks ten full years since we first met. It was on this fateful day ten years ago that we met in that park by my old apartment in the city. You were there to do some research for your next novel, and I was there to take a walk after my classes had ended. I don’t think I could ever forget this day. I’ll always remember the very first moment I locked eyes with you, and you got down on one knee, and without a ring or even flowers, you asked me to marry you. Me, some stranger you had never even laid eyes on till that very second! I thought you were crazy, absolutely mad, proposing to a stranger without even asking her name, but I suppose I must’ve been even crazier since I said yes. We married exactly one year later, in that very park. It was the happiest day of my life.

These past ten years that I spent together with you have been nothing but blissful. You’ve made me the happiest woman alive, you know that? Thank you. I hope I’ve made you at least a fraction of how happy you’ve made me these past ten years. I love you, Henry.

But the time has come that I must apologize to you. We’ve always known that I was ill, and that eventually, this illness would kill me. That, try as we might to ignore it, forget it, even deny it, it would win eventually. That the road ahead of us would someday diverge, and the path that I am destined to follow would be very much different from yours. That, no matter how hard we tried to fight fate, we would never have our happy ending. Not together.

I’m sorry, Henry. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry that I can’t be with you anymore. I’m sorry that I’m leaving you behind. I’m sorry that my time on this earth is so much shorter than yours. I’m sorry that our forever is being cut short because of that. I’m sorry that I couldn’t even bear a child to leave you with, if only so you wouldn’t be alone. I’m sorry for being such a failure for a wife in that regard. I’m sorry that this letter is all I can leave you with, besides all the beautiful memories that we’ve created together.

Henry, thank you for loving me as you have so sincerely all these years. You were all I could have asked for, and so much more. I don’t know where I would be without you. I love you. My God, I love you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. This illness is nothing when I have you by my side. You’ve made me stronger, and better, and so, so happy. You made me feel alive again. I can’t ever thank you enough for that, but I can try. Thank you, Henry.

I promise I’ll watch over you from heaven, just as you have for me all these years by my side. Try to keep the grieving short, okay? I don’t want to see you so sad. You’re much more suited to that silly, toothy grin of yours. And don’t forget to eat, because I know you tend to skip meals when your deadlines are near.

I hope you’re still happy after I’m gone. You deserve all the happiness in the world. You’re amazing, you know that? Absolutely, positively amazing.

I love you, Henry.

                                                                       Yours,

                                                                                Cecile

Hot tears fell freely onto the papers, clutched tightly in closed fists. He rubbed at his eyes furiously, breathing deep to still the sobs that wracked his chest. He set the papers down gently, waiting until, finally, he was calm and could speak.

“I am,” he said aloud, hoping Cecile was listening and could hear him from wherever she was, “I am so happy, Cecile, because you gave me enough happiness to last a lifetime.”

#short story #love letters and last words #death mention