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backdraft-bimbo · 3 years

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rule number two

After years of avoiding his trauma, Bucky finally confides in Sam.

Words: 2893; Chapters: 1/1

James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson; Episode: s01e02 The Star-Spangled Man Coda

ao3 link

“Why don’t you get some shut eye, Buck? It’s gonna be a long ride home.”

Bucky glances at Sam from his makeshift cargo perch across the fuselage. The bags under his eyes must be getting bad. Leah gave Bucky the impression last week that he needs concealer for his skin or something. But he’s a 106-year-old ex-assassin; who the hell is he trying to impress at this point?

After a few seconds pass, Bucky notes that he should probably respond instead of just staring blankly, because that’s what people do, right? They talk to each other, they share, and they trust so easily. It’s such a simple question, but Bucky’s urge to deflect any possible social interaction has decided to rear its ugly head tonight. Sam can’t be a fan of it either, since he’s the charismatic one of the two of them. He’s not the guy with the staring problem.

It’s just… Bucky doesn’t have normal conversations without being reminded of the restored freedom to speak his mind. The habits HYDRA drilled into his brain incite an unpleasant knee-jerk reaction– don’t speak or they’ll beat you –but Bucky has gotten better at managing the vestiges of his trauma. At least now he’ll be able to defend himself if his careless mouth puts him in hot water. And maybe he could just be honest with Sam; it wouldn’t hurt anything. But that almost kindles a burst of laughter in Bucky: the concept of himself not hurting somebody. What a world that would be.

Don’t get him wrong–Bucky used to like talking to people. He used to be good at it. But that was a long time ago; far longer than anyone should be able to recall. Even now, Bucky’s early 20th century days as a staff sergeant feel like a distant dream. He almost misses the wartime; when everything was simpler. Sure, it was bloody and violent and horrible, but at least Bucky knew how to fucking talk to people he considered friends. When it comes to his loose tongue nowadays, there’s an ugly history waiting to make an unwanted appearance; bared teeth and all.

“I don’t,” Bucky answers finally, his voice trembling a fraction more than he’s comfortable with. He doesn’t think he can do more than two syllables right now. If Bucky somehow musters up the courage to tell Sam about his nightmares, he won’t make it through a single sentence without bursting into tears like a twelve-year-old.

The fact that Sam could somehow see Bucky’s eye bags across the shadowy fuselage does not convince Bucky that Sam didn’t hear that slight embarrassing waver in his voice. But even if he did, the guy doesn’t comment on it. Sam has been laying in a supine position on the flight seats for the past hour, drifting in and out of sub-consciousness, and really, he’s the one who looks damn tired. It’s been a long day for both of them; they’re bruised and achy after their loss against the Flag-Smashers–more proof that Bucky shouldn’t bother Sam.

But this is here and now. The sky is starless as a humming inky black abyss, the RS-834 cruising about 40,000 feet above sea level, far beyond the stratus clouds, and everything feels tranquil in that seldom gentle way it does sometimes. It’s as if the world consists only of Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes, and that illusion is a tremendous comfort to the ex-assassin. When it’s clear that Bucky isn’t going to elaborate, Sam lets his neck muscles relax, drooping his head back to face the opposite wall that reflects the drowsy slur of his voice.

“C’mon, man...I know at least three percent of your body is metal, but that don’t mean you never sleep.”

Bucky pauses. Tries not to glance at his left arm. He has to be careful; guys like him have a tendency to overshare when it’s late. It’s just that something about the night brings a facade of protection, as if anything he says can be written off as a dream, so he can bare himself to the bone in front of anyone he wants. It doesn’t matter since it will be forgotten in the morning. The night is unreliable, thus Bucky uses that to his defense.

“Aren’t you worried I’m gonna like...”

“Kill me?” Sam snorts, a bit of energy returning to his voice. “I think if either of us really wanted to kill the other, one of us would be lying in a heap by now. Just saying.”

Bucky can’t argue with that. Like Dr. Raynor so elegantly puts it, it is so sad, but Sam is probably Bucky’s only real friend at this point. Add that with the fact that he doesn’t really want to kill anyone anyway, and someone who doesn’t know better might call what Sam and Bucky have a “healthy relationship.” Bucky swings a hand around Sam’s vicinity, willing his voice to level out this time.

“Are you tired? You should go to sleep.”

A deep sigh resonates out from Sam’s dark corner. “Man, I forget sometimes how good you are at that.”

“What?”

“Changing the subject.”

Oh.

Bucky wonders which part of him that came from: James “Bucky” Barnes, or his HYDRA-conditioned brain. Perhaps it was just a defense against people trying to crowbar their way into his thoughts. As long as he can distract them, he’s safe. Bucky exhales a heavy breath, combing a hand through his greasy hair.

“Look, I just... I’m not the most pleasant person to sleep with.”

A moment of unwonted silence passes. Bucky’s gaze wanders away from his hands and toward Sam. By the time his eyes have adjusted, the guy has propped himself up on his elbows, teeth shining through the dimness in a quiet grin. The suggestive phrasing of Bucky’s words finally catches up to him. His cheeks redden. Well, if Sam decides to take it that way… Bucky technically hasn’t gotten laid since the 1940s. From what he remembers, it hadn’t even been very good. But hell no–that’s the kind of mental rabbit hole Bucky isn’t in the mood for. He coughs and slaps his thighs.

“We have like three more hours. Go to sleep, Sam. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Now you gon’ make me feel bad about it,” Sam smirks. “Shame on you, Barnes.”

Bucky ducks his head in exasperation. “You’re an idiot. What, you want me to sing you a lullaby?”

Sam visibly brightens at that. “Ooh, for real? You know any?”

Great , so now Sam is standing up, walking toward him, the grin on his annoying face widening. And because Bucky is a fucking mess, his tongue gets tied up in about fifteen knots before he gets the chance to open his mouth, and he’s already forgetting what he was going to say. Hell, if Sam smiled any brighter than that, he’d be the fucking sun.

“Uh, well, y’know,” Bucky says eloquently. “HYDRA was kinda lacking in that department.”

Sam laughs again, making himself at home on the red seats adjacent to Bucky’s perch, and Bucky feels a miserable sort of swell in his chest. Why is Sam purposefully gravitating toward him? Who the hell wants an ex-HYDRA assassin in close proximity?

“You gettin’ shy on me, Buck?” Sam tilts his head slightly downward, gazing up at Bucky with his big brown eyes and thick eyelashes, and what the fuck. “You ain’t gotta look so shook up; I don’t bite.”

“That’s a surprise,” Buck replies weakly, trying to force his face to cool down. There’s so much spit caught up in his throat right now, and Bucky knows it’ll look weird if he swallows in front of this guy, like he’s some nervous teenager with a school crush. Sam just laughs softly, the corners of his cheeks tightening, his lips curling up in a way that is too fucking charming to be on the face of a man sitting right across from a mass murderer. But honestly, Bucky can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed anymore; any time Sam laughs because of him is a win.

God, maybe I am good for something.

An overlay of silence reigns over the two men, and the white noise hum of the plane almost makes Bucky want to doze off. When he blinks himself awake for the fifth time, Sam’s familiar cadence cuts through the air like a knife to warm butter. He sounds wide awake.

“Nightmares, huh. So that’s why you don’t sleep.”

Bucky pales a shade, shifting atop his crate in discomfort. He supposes he wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was being. Sam lifts his hands in a placating gesture, his voice much more benign now. “I used to get ‘em sometimes too. Hell, even nowadays I do; service will do that to you. Not tryna say I completely understand what’s going on in that big cyborg brain of yours, but…I get it, to a degree.”

Bucky wonders if Sam behaves like this whenever he’s talking to veterans in his therapy group, or if he’s reserved this for Bucky alone. He finds himself craving the latter to a degree that is both confusing and hopeless. “I…” he mutters, pointedly not looking at the other man. The miserable swell from before is morphing into something much more sad, and Bucky doesn’t know what to do with it.

You’re alone. You have no friends, no family.

The harsh words bounce around Bucky’s head like a game of Pong, contrasting starkly against Sam’s kind and gentle tone. A spark of indignation thaws the insides of his chest. It’s not fair, it’s not true; Bucky’s got proof right here. Fuck you, Dr. Raynor. Despite all you think, at least I’ve got this dumbass with me.

Sam speaks again, leaning back in his seat. “Look, you ain’t gotta tell me anything you don’t want to. I’m just lettin’ you know that you ain’t gotta fight this alone.”

Bucky hates tip-toeing around his trauma like it’s some massive landmine. Part of him just wants to lay it all out; explode with everything he’s never willingly told another soul; reopen his wounds and expel all the ugliness in the hopes that maybe he’ll heal up properly this time. He wants to scream to Sam that he never got a fucking break; it was abuse upon abuse. HYDRA buried him alive just to water his grave in guilt and horror and self-hatred. There had never been the option of peace for the Winter Soldier. He was the asset, the weapon, the tool, the plaything, taken out of a dusty closet any time somebody wanted a turn with him.

“It was never a fight,” Bucky whispers. “They never gave me a chance.”

Sam looks slightly taken aback, as if he wasn’t expecting the ex-assassin to actually respond. Bucky would be surprised too if he didn’t feel so utterly lost right now. Instead, he settles for staring past Sam’s shoulder into the back of the fuselage, trying to find answers in the dim blue lights blanketing them. Despite how hard Bucky tries not to see it, Sam is shifting, his face crumpling into...something. He can’t put his finger on it but hopes to God it’s not pity. Steve used to give him that look, always catching himself doing it, and then getting all guilty about it afterward. So before Bucky can stop himself there, let his words fester in comfortable ambiguity, he’s taking off and nothing is going to stop him.

“So yeah, Sam,” Bucky continues, gritting out the words, “I get nightmares. I remember every single human being I murdered with this stupid fucking metal arm, and now I have to deal with it for the rest of my ‘overextended life.’ Is that selfish? Is it selfish of me to say that I wish I died in that fucking ravine when I was supposed to? I don’t belong here, Sam. Just the fact that I’m alive in this era is unnatural. But I’ve gotta make amends with my laundry list of everyone I hurt, because dying just isn’t going to cut it. ”

Bucky still isn’t looking at Sam by the time he finishes, snapping his mouth shut like an animal being muzzled before he can bite anyone else. Even though Bucky can’t tell what Sam is thinking, can’t see how his expression has undoubtedly contorted from pity to hurt, Bucky is overwhelmed by instinct. He doesn't know which side is currently winning over: the Soldier’s desperation to submit before his handlers put him through “corrective treatment,” or Bucky’s longing to apologize to Sam for hurting him. Make amends, make amends, don’t hurt anyone. Rule number two.

The latter ends up taking the tug of war, and Bucky whispers out a choked, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Sam, I–”

“Hey.”

Sam is standing close beside him, their shoulders almost level while Bucky is slouching. He can’t suppress the shiver that shoots through his body like lightning as a hand carefully grips his flesh arm. “Hey, man, look at me,” Sam says–somehow firm and gentle at the same time. His thumb brushes over the fabric of Bucky’s sweater, and Bucky wants to let his hand come up to clench Sam’s, but hell if he doesn’t know how that’ll end. It’s been so long since he’s been touched in a way that doesn’t end in bruises.

“Hey, hey… Listen to me, man. I hear you,” Sam says warmly, burnishing the chasm where Bucky thinks his heart used to be. “And it’s gonna be all right. You may not think it yet, and I should’ve said something earlier, but…” Sam trails off, pauses, then nods to himself. “You’re a good man, Bucky.”

A tight, burning ember of anguish flares up in Bucky’s throat.

A good man.

The Winter Soldier seldom got oral approval from his handlers, and even when he did, it was for chaos and carnage disguised as HYDRA’s regurgitated “gift to mankind” bullshit. To James “Bucky” Barnes, praise was a concept he never considered, since he’d have to be deserving in order to get any. Goodness is reserved for people , and Bucky crossed the line of humanity a long time ago. He isn’t a person anymore–just a monster.

People who fall under the category of “good” are the ones like Steve. Like his sister Becca. And like Sam Wilson specifically, standing here next to him with the true mantle of Captain America; a man so much damn worthier of that title than Bucky is, and he thinks Bucky is good . The same guy who has killed more innocent people than he has fingers and toes. And that’s not counting the unnameable ones–the collateral damage–caught in the crossfire.

Just the thought of all he’s done makes Bucky want to fervently deny Sam; to prove him wrong; to show Sam his track record with big red letters at the bottom of the page emphasizing that Bucky isn’t good . In the memories of hundreds, maybe thousands of people, he’s the cruel, terrifying mercenary with a history uglier than most want to comprehend. If Sam saw all that Bucky had done, would he change his mind? Would Sam look at Bucky the way he looks at himself in the mirror?

Sam is saying something now–maybe his name. But Bucky can’t hear him. He doesn’t know when the tears began, so he quickly ducks his chin so Sam can’t see them streaming down his face. God, it’s so fucking cold. Sam lets out a soft hum–not sad, but caring–and Bucky knows he’s failed at hiding again. Sam’s hand brushes up his arm and around his shoulder, pulling him gently against Sam’s warm body. Eventually Bucky leans into it, shutting his eyes tight.

“Been a while,” Bucky mutters, almost a whisper; it might just be a vivid thought.

“Yeah, I know, Tin Man. I mean it, you’re a great guy. And before you start, I know you don’t believe me, but I’m gonna keep reminding you till you do.”

“Yeah,” Bucky sniffles, voice muffled as he buries his face into Sam’s shoulder. “Thank you, Sam.”

The words, the touching–it’s all too good to be true. It has to be too good to be true, because if it’s real, then Bucky might just have a bit of hope left. And if he has hope, then he can’t jump into battle without care for his own life anymore. He’s going to have to exist correctly this time around. So if Sam means what he says, if he really thinks Bucky is a good person, then Bucky is going to live up to that image or die trying.

Once they pull away, it’s felt like hours. The plane is still going steady through the early morning, the lights still that calming shade of blue, but something has shifted in the air, something neither Sam nor Bucky can seem to put their finger on. It’s a certain kind of rawness; an ache Bucky is thoroughly familiar with; a feeling that always comes with the moon and foolish amounts of trust. Bucky mumbles a flustered apology for the wet spot now stained into Sam’s sweater, but the guy just shakes his head and grins in a way that makes Bucky fall in love with him.

“Anytime.”

#sambucky #tfatws #sam wilson #bucky barnes #fanfiction #angst #hurt comfort #winter soldier #ptsd #ao3

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heymistercory · 4 years

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7 Tips To Obtain New Inventors Believing Like Effective Developers

Specifically, as a more recent financier, try to keep in mind that slow and stable success this race. Don't rush anything; your perseverance will certainly pay off as long as you are careful.

Investing in each action of the invention procedure reciprocates in both the short term (your first patent, and so on) and the longer-term (an understanding of exactly how this process is repeatable). Also find out InventHelp Crunchbase

1: Do Not Tell The World Concerning Your Invention Suggestion...

I received an e-mail lately that appeared like it was from Wal-Mart. Become a fraudster seeking to turn me into a target.

In 2015, my bank card was reported as utilized in Florida when I remained in New York City-- for $4,000.

There was even a Vice President at one of my old businesses who took my idea for an analytics reporting system and also shared it with the entire company as his very own.

What's the point of these tales?

The world has lots of people seeking a shortcut or an easy way to get rich.

They are probably heartless contrasted to you; predators.

Don't let somebody take advantage of your idea-- who recognizes, it could be a million (or billion) buck idea!

The last point you desire is to see it on the shelf understanding it was your brainchild, however, you do not obtain a cent in royalties for it. So try to keep your suggestion under covers, specifically in the early stages of the invention process.

2: Study The Need For Your Item Idea.

Eventually or one more, we've all had great concepts ... or so we thought.

In 3rd grade, I would have vouched that a double-sided toothbrush was going to save the globe about 25 seconds of their morning.

That was till I damaged a toothbrush as well as glued the head to the back of an additional full toothbrush. When I stuck it in my mouth I understood that I was mostly brushing (or stabbing) the inside of my cheeks.

I handed down that, thanks - It was better to enjoy the various other children explode volcanoes full of food coloring at the scientific research fair.

I was lucky though.

The study it took me to understand my intention was not possible was just about 10 minutes.

The truth is, if you want your invention idea to appear, you'll need to spend time and also resources in investigating the concept to identify if there is a market for your product.

Here are just a few of the concerns you'll wish to respond to when you're starting.

What problem does my item resolve?

Has this issue been addressed before (or tried)?

Just how will my item be made use of?

Will my product sell? (Exists industrial stability?).

To whom? (Target audience?).

Is it like anything else in the marketplace? (Elaborate on this, certainly - what fads are taking place in the market? Just how jampacked is it? Are people spending essentially on products I might take on? What're the social networks buzz around my specific niche?).

What marketing difficulties might I encounter?

A lot of innovators avoid this action as well as I completely comprehend why they do.

Two factors.

It can be lengthy.

It can seem (or be) costly.

I get it. You're delighted concerning your product so you feel like the world will certainly be delighted - certainly, there is a requirement, you're fixing a problem!

All that time and all that money invested in research study as well as answering concerns will only confirm what you already know, best?

Not always.

The successful ones are the ones that do their research.

Those who fail to spend ahead of time are supplying the typical death penalty to their invention. As a financier, you require to comprehend if the market demands your service You can also check https://www.wikidata.org/wiki/Q64627233

3: Record WHATEVER.

From the minute that suggestion precipitates, it's paramount to monitor every facet of the concept.

No matter if your concept changes a hundred times over, you always want to be the proprietor, the owner, of every idea that went into the invention as well as ultimately became the product.

So, specifically, what should you be recording?

Every thought and suggestion that at all concerns your invention (I uncommitted if you dream it ... PAPER IT!). You can always return to these notes, repeat on them, incorporate them in brand-new means, and so on. Much more notably, if anything is ever doubted, you have proof that the suggestion is yours.

All information that you can think about that helps you explain the invention.

Usage instances. What is your product for? What does it do? What problem or difficulty does it address? That will be utilizing it?

Where do you think it could be sold? What kind of shops? Is it part of something that currently exists?

How will it be made? Out of what?

Just how will you construct a prototype? Will you require aid?

To find full-circle right here, simply DOCUMENT EVERYTHING! I do not know if I can pierce this in any additional:-RRB-.

Why you ought to record your invention.

At some point in the invention cycle, you might need to prove that you are the proprietor of your suggestion. You may also need to confirm that you thought of a particular element of your invention.

Taxes! That's right - you can use your notes as well as files on costs for tax deductions.

Maintaining solid, systematic documentation of every idea you have and also every action you take allows you to take advantage of in-depth research and examine your work in the future so you can obtain innovative as well as build even more on it.

You're taping every little thing regarding your invention so you never forget also one thought you had regarding your idea.

4: Look For Professional Assist With Patents.

If you are new to investing, you'll intend to discover as high as you can around licenses (in addition to trademarks and also copyrights, yet that is a later lesson).

A research study ought to be an everyday activity for you.

Patents are a vast topic; it's the ocean of the invention procedure.

It's additionally a subject in which oceans of information are offered ... and also not all of it is true.

If you don't do your recon, it's a type of simple to get misguided or, also worse, capitalized on. As well as all of us recognize misaligned folks are plenty.

One terrific resource is constantly the United States Patent & Hallmark Workplace (USPTO). Nonetheless, in full disclosure, their site can be rather difficult to navigate and follow. It might befit you give some people there a call to ask certain concerns (though I'm not exactly sure the length of time delay time gets on their call center).

Another thing you can do is talk to a patent lawyer.

Below's a free life hack for you, some patent advice you probably won't find in other places:

Provide out concerns you want to ask the initial one. With those responses, try to ask smarter, much more enlightened questions to the 2nd one ... and so on - you get me.

5: Learn Exactly How To Present And Pitch (yes, I indicate OFFER!).

When I watch Shark Storage tank, I always keep a close eye on the instance each individual makes to the Sharks for their invention or product.

There are specific qualities I search for and also in my head, I generally rank each business owner weak or solid on each (or, in some cases, simply terrible).

The characteristics fall into 2 categories:

The speaker.

The discussion.

The owner of the suggestion or invention, the speaker, ought to show some innate top qualities if they intend to be perceived as a person a Shark can do service with. Before I provide those qualities, I simply want to mention "innate" ... meaning, some individuals are natural at specific points.

What I wouldn't condone is attempting to entirely be something you aren't.

If discussions, as well as sales, aren't your strong suit, I suggest training.

I've recently added an article regarding pitching your concept, whether it's to a shark or other investor, to a business, or a prospective partner.

To me, the best presenters are positive.

They make eye call, talk eloquently, and rely on their words.

When you do that, when you control the space fearlessly, you start to regulate the audience to pay attention to what you're stating.

As soon as you've "hypnotized" them, you can start to throw off Subliminals (such as a nod when you desire the possible buyer, investor, or Shark to believe "yes" in their head).

If you present self-confidence as a presenter, your distribution will constantly go from a 6 to an 8, specifically.

An additional quality of a wonderful presenter is going to hold your horses.

You work out persistence by paying attention, taking in, as well as analyzing things as you are offering your presentation.

Don't quickly look to be listened to; you'll get your chance.

Slow down, listen to what a prospective investor is stating, as well as see just how you can empathize.

The toughest presentations need to be tales, computer-animated by utilizing the brand name photo, look, and also really feel.

Stories have a beginning, middle, and end, as well as they always have a point.

Props must be utilized as required.

I when saw a person who developed a canteen that opened up on both sides (for far better cleansing). It was geared towards the athletic neighborhood as well as sporting activities gamers.

When he came on Shark Container, he had Costs Walton as his mascot - what a mind-blowing concept! (Particularly if you take into consideration that Mark Cuban is a Shark ... as well as he got a handle him).

If you have an invention and you wish to sell it, simply remember that you eventually need to sell it in some way.

You'll require to pitch the suggestion probably numerous times before it begins to materialize. Function on that lift pitch and also never stop boosting it from there.

6: Learn About Appraisal, Equity, Accountancy, And Organisation Money.

You wish to be fiscally responsible with your invention idea. I can't claim it any less complex than this.

As the proprietor of an invention, you definitely must know what the invention is worth.

Know your numbers.

As well as when you do, you sure better understand why it's worth that.

I have discussed research many times in this post, and also it's a popular string throughout this website for a factor: If you're not knowledgeable, you can pretty conveniently end up on the wrong side of a bad deal.

I recommend you do some analysis regarding bookkeeping, personal financing, company valuation, and various other financial subjects.

If time is way too much of a commodity, find out exactly how to take in info various other means - podcasts could be an excellent technique.

You'll intend to be a master of numbers.

It guarantees you aren't taken benefit of.

Second, when you do go pitch this concept or invention to investors, you'll likely be prompted on-the-spot to chat numbers. You better understand them. And when a person starts to make a deal, you wish to ensure the numbers they are offering are in the array you valuated your invention or business.

The evaluation of inventions is vital when identifying the general value.

Yet valuation is a pretty complicated subject; this is hardly introductory to Assessment 101.

And the truth is that evaluation can come down to a mix of complex calculations, extensive projections, and a peppering of ordinary old intestine instincts.

If you can confirm out that your invention fulfills an unmet demand or gets over a typical obstacle that appears to bug a big number of individuals, after that you can make a fairly strong situation for an economic benefit (and a good one for buy-in from investors) ... however, that doesn't suggest a real worth can be established.

With gray areas, the best point a brand-new investor can do is develop their abilities on the financial side of points. Math ninja would certainly be excellent.

7: Be Reasonable. You, Will, Requirement To Invest Time & Money To Make Money.

It takes a lot of individual financial investment to succeed as a capitalist.

That investment is available in several means: You'll be investing time right into establishing your suggestion; initiative into your patent; money right into your model; personal room and/or family time to make ends satisfy ... you get it.

This isn't a very easy roadway. Nothing beneficial was ever that easy.

And also as much as you're an optimist, be open to the potential of not making it, specifically with your initial invention.

It's OKAY to stop working.

A fantastic capitalist as soon as claimed "A creator can fall short 999 times, as well as if he is successful once, he remains in. He treats his failures simply as method shots.".

#InventHelp #patent #ideas #inventions #prototype #innovation #Wiki #Crunchbase

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thedistantstorm · 4 years

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Tribute: A Kalluzeb Story (pt 2)

Fandom: Star Wars Rebels

Pairings: Kallus/Zeb (kalluzeb)

Chapter: 2 of 3?? (still TBD, apparently I have a lot to say...)

AO3 Link Here

Summary: Zeb works on a gift for Kallus, to replace something he’s lost. It’s a gateway to a conversation Zeb wants to have in the future, but there’s something a bit more urgent they need to talk about first.

Notes: Thank y’all so so much for your lovely comments and likes and reblogs, they seriously make my day. All you kalluzebs out there are the nicest freakin’ people I’ve encountered in fandom and I’m having such a ball writing these two for us. Not to mention getting to explore Hera’s relationship with them is something I’ve wanted to do for a hot minute now, so please excuse my self-indulgent hurt/comfort.

<< Previously // Next >>

Kallus enters the grounded Ghost to a beeping, ornery droid and the sound of the exhaust fans roaring. It's just shy of daybreak, and Yavin 4 is alight with parchment colored skies and fog that creeps silently through the trees. The temperature is cool at this hour, good for working outdoors. The morning shifts here start early.

He catches the faintest hint of lacquer, some protective finish he doesn't entirely recognize. It's stronger outside than inside the Ghost, and it only takes a quick glance around to understand why. Something had been on the crates sprawled across the cargo bay, the ones that became tables for anyone who ate away from the mess hall or seating that they'd drag outside for an impromptu fireside debrief in the dark of the night, since the smoke keeps bugs away. Whatever it was, it's not there now, though he does see his suspected culprit.

"Garazeb," He says, careful not to speak too loud. It's still early, and his voice has a tendency to carry. Off to the side, he sees Hera curled up on an old weapons crate. He isn't sure how long she's been there, but she'll likely be sore. He rounds a makeshift worktable to see Zeb sitting on the floor beside her, slumped over on himself, chin lurching closer to his knees before he tries unconsciously to right himself.

Chopper quietly rearranges some of the crates to help Kallus, commenting that they're his problem now. Somehow, he doubts that very much, but he knows better than to argue with this particular droid, regardless of his opinion.

Judging by the way Zeb's sitting, angled with one shoulder against the crate Hera's using as a bed, there's a good chance he'd attempted to wake her, and in his attempts not to frighten her, fallen asleep himself. Orrelios was a good liar, and bags didn't show under his eyes. Still, Kallus knew Zeb wasn't sleeping well.

He crouches and places one hand on both their shoulders. Zeb only seems to relax further, clearly recognizing him by touch or maybe smell, his senses are far keener than a human's. Hera's chuckle is thick and sleep-laiden, but she blinks her eyes open at him.

"Looks like we've been caught," She grumbles without malice, nudging Zeb in the back with her boot. He jerks awake immediately, only for Kallus to change his hold on the Lasat's shoulder to a palm on his cheek, preventing him from bashing their heads together. "I thought you were going to carry me to bed," Hera accuses.

"Yer the one who said 'five more minutes, I'm finally comfy,'" He mouths back, tilting his head away from Kallus's hand to look at Hera, "If he's here to yell at us, it's on you."

Hera rolls her eyes. "I don't think he's here to yell. I think he's going to send us to bed."

"Bwah, buabahba bah!" Unconcerned about his volume, Chopper insists that somebody should. Whether he means that in regards to yelling or sending them to bed, it's anyone's guess.

"General," Kallus holds his arms out, indicative that he will be the one to lift her, seeing as Zeb's eyes are already drooping again.

"He-ra," She reminds him with a firm poke to the chest. He hums something agreeable, though he doesn't bother to oblige her by calling her only her given name. He's coming off a week-long mission. It's hard to switch off the work part of his brain, though it gets easier all the time.

"Draven pushed back our debrief to noon. Should give us all a decent lie in," He looks down to Zeb, already snoring.

"Great," She exhales, as Kallus scoops her up. He turns them sideways to navigate the doorway. Wryly, she asks, "You gonna carry him to bed too?"

This time, he does drop the formalities. "Hera," He warns, voice low. He's too in control to let a blush cross his face, but his lips quirk uncomfortably.

She looks up at him, as if transitioning from asleep to fully awake with a single blink. Realizing she's made him uncomfortable, she says, "You can put me down."

"Is that an order?"

She sighs. They treat her like glass, and it's annoying. "I can walk by myself."

"I suppose you can, but," He looks away. He's an eloquent man, but the lack of required restraint (no matter how many times they encourage him to say what's on his mind, to be human, imperfect), always makes him hesitate.

She smiles, just a little, and yields, "To be honest, my foot's asleep."

"Ah. Best if we proceed as is," He says aloud. It's a weak excuse and a blatant lie, but he doesn't question it.

"He didn't leave his work out, did he?"

"It did not appear so, no," Kallus whispers. To speak any louder in the silent ship would be like yelling. Chopper is already waiting for her, her cabin doors thrown open. "If you wouldn't mind, Chopper-" He begins.

The droid runs into his good leg, though not hard enough to hurt, and begins fussing over Hera as he lays her in her bunk. He catches a salute as he steps back. That means Chopper heard about the rescheduled debrief, and that he's grateful enough to come get him later, should he oversleep.

It hasn't happened yet, but one of these days, it might. Kallus is exhausted. He still has another sentient to drag off to bed, and despite Hera's quips, he very much doubts he could carry Zeb the same way. All things considered, it would be an uncomfortable, logistical nightmare, even though he'd likely be capable of the actual lifting.

He makes it back to the hold and pauses, taking the scene in for just a moment. If his heart clenches with something fond and he watches his fellow rebel breathe deep and slow for more time than necessary, no one will know. He steps over the threshold, footsteps light across the durasteel.

"Garazeb," He calls, reluctant to disturb him. Once he's close enough, he leans down to put a hand on his shoulder, shaking. "You shouldn't sleep here."

Whatever the reply is, it's muddled and incoherent. Kallus exhales. He knows if he sits down on this crate, he'll fall asleep on it like Hera, and it certainly won't reduce the kink Zeb's going to have in his neck from twisting himself to use the crate as a pillow.

"That cannot be comfortable," He comments with mirth.

"Wha?" Zeb's eyes are unfocused, and it takes him a second to focus on Kallus. "Hera?"

"Tucked in. Come along, Garazeb."

Zeb shuffles to his feet, Kallus close enough to steady him. "Mission go okay?"

"Yes," He breathes. He's alive, so he counts it as a victory. His identity as Fulcrum may have been compromised, but he still has a bit of a wide reach, and now, a potential successor, but Zeb won't retain any of it, so he doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he asks, "Have you finished your project?"

"Mmm," Zeb agrees muzzily.

Their journey through the vessel takes longer than it had for him to whisk Hera back to her bunk, but Kallus is happy to help the larger man stumble along. In the weeks since returning from Lothal, he’s found Hera, but more frequently, Zeb, asleep in a myriad of strange places.

Grief is… tricky. Kallus cannot say he does not wade through his own on a near-daily basis, but he feels like this is something he can do, something valuable and worthwhile. He will see Zeb and Hera through this. He’ll check on Sabine through cryptic messages and make sure Chopper does not fry his circuits keeping tabs on their remaining crew. He’d have done it even if he didn’t know Kanan or Ezra personally, even if he hadn’t felt indebted to them. When he’d realized it, it felt like a weight he hadn’t registered shaking itself loose. It was something he wanted to do for those who remained, because he cares for them. Not that the dead or the lost do not matter; He thinks of them often. Jarrus’s steadfast calm, his otherworldly compassion and understanding. Ezra’s unyielding hope, his fierce resolve, and his courage. For someone so young to have made the decisions he had, to carry on despite everything pitted against him… well, Kallus can admit to himself that he could only aspire to be that strong.

The door to their shared room opens. That is a recent development, but Kallus is a nomad amid the Rebel base, with scarce few belongings, all of which (sans spare clothes, which are standard issue) are carried on his person. He holds a hand out to spot Zeb as he takes the boost of the small but sturdy ladder to the top bunk. The Lasat had been sleeping there ever since…

Well, Kallus had reasoned, at the time, Ezra did say it was his again…

“Got someth’n t’show ya, later,” Zeb murmurs, voice almost a rumble.

Kallus can’t help himself, reaching a hand out to cup one side of Zeb’s face. The two of them are quite the pair. War-torn and jagged, sometimes barely holding themselves together. They’ve lived through enough to know that there’s only so much they can hold back. To the rest of the galaxy, of course, there isn’t much that would make them seem less rigid or frightening, certainly nothing that could make either of them less dangerous adversaries. But to each other, to a comrade who understands, to a friend who walks a similar path…

Zeb presses his face into Kallus’s palm, the fine fur there soft and velveteen against calloused skin. “I’ll come for you after my debrief,” Kallus promises, endeavoring not to wake him later when he rises to meet Draven with Hera. “Get some sleep.”

Yellow-green eyes open for just a moment, something warm and unspoken in their depths. A large, four-digit hand covers Kallus’s, squeezes his fingers tightly when he begins to pull away. “You too.”

Once their hands separate, Kallus discards his jacket and belt, toes off his boots. He hears Chopper heading down the hall towards their room, sees the door crack a few centimeters in the center as the droid checks on them. He dips his head in a nod and Chopper retreats. He turns off the lights and takes the three short steps across the room to his bunk. Zeb is already snoring softly, the sound infinitely soothing to the ex-ISB agent. By the time his head touches Zeb’s old pillow, Kallus is already asleep.

#kalluzeb #zeb x kallus #garazeb orrelios #alexsandr kallus #star wars rebels #swr fanfiction #sw rebels fanfiction #which tag do i use? idk all of them??#my writing #sw fanfiction #rebels remembered #rebelsremembered 2020

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mslanna · 4 years

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This Is The Best Day Ever

I started a modern day Witcher AU and I don’t think it’ll go anywhere. So have a start if you like. Jaskier has an emo punk band and Ciri drags her dad along as chaperone to see them...

"Dad!" Cirilla wailed in indignation. "I am almost fourteen! I can go to a concert on my own."

"Over my dead body." Geralt crossed his arms. The he looked his wife. Yennefer's grin said clearly that she would not be the one accompanying Ciri.

"Alright. I'll get us tickets."

"You will only embarrass me," Ciri objected.

"He won't," Yennefer assured her. "Your dad is too tall to stand in the first row with you. So he will be a good boy and keep at the side."

"Are you sure?" Ciri was not convinced.

"Or we all just stay at home," Geralt offered.

"No." Ciri decided instantaneously. "Oh my god, I don't know what to wear! I need to call Dara right now."

Geralt watched his daughter rush from the room, hand already groping for her mobile. "I hope you know what you are doing," he said to his wife.

"Of course I am." Yennefer smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "After all it is not I who is going to an emo punk concert with our daughter."

Geralt grunted. She had him there.

* * *

Looking over the crowd streaming into the venue, Geralt was regretting his decision already. There was way too much black for a crowd that age and way to few parents. As soon as he had made sure Cirilla know hoe to signal to him to get her out of the crowd, the girl had run off. Now and then he could see her blonde curls bopping up in the crowd trying to squeeze three hundred people into the first row.

Had he known what kind of music Buttercups, Almost Dandelions made, he would have taken steps to ensure Cirilla did not get into that. Now he and Yennefer had to put a foot down to keep her from dyeing her hair black.

There was nowhere to get a drink and nowhere to sit down either. Grumbling Geralt stood at the side of the hall, leaning against the bare wall. The noise wasn't as bad as expected. The supporting act was doing okay taking into consideration that the whole hall was full of people who had come to see somebody else entirely.

The moment the lights went out in anticipation of the main act, the noise did turn out unbearable. No more concerts without era plugs, Geralt decided. He would have to think of a way Ciri could not remove them though. He grunted. Something to occupy his mind with for the next hour.

If one could think over this noise that was. A single spotlight had come up, raising the pitch of the screaming at least one octave.

Then a sliver of a person stepped into the light and caused the noise-death of the universe. It was probably Mr Buttercup himself. Again, Geralt would have expected a little more yellow on the guy. With his elaborate outfit, he would have been at home on any gothic ren fair. Dark hair hung into his eyes, black outlined the eyes heavily.

The general screaming slowly converged into a coherent chant of 'Jaskier'. The man on the stage smiled slightly and stummed a minor chord. The hall fell silent in a heart beat.

"Hello," Jaskier smiled into the microphone, lips almost touching the metal. His hand came up from the guitar, cupping the microphone with the plectrum between his index finger and thumb. "How are you feeling tonight?"

It was an invitation for the maelstrom of noise to return. Geralt prodded his right ear, trying to hold on to a shred of his sense of hearing. He needn't have bothered. A lazy chord later the stage lit up with more spot lights, revealing the remainder of the bouquet and the music started for real.

If you wanted to call it music. If you could actually discern any of it from the tapestry of screaming it was fighting against. Geralt hoped Cirilla had better acoustics in the front row with fewer screaming teenagers between her and the band. He doubted it.

Jaskier knew how to handle a crowd though. Even if it was a crowd of hormone-addled teenagers. The singer managed to quite them all down for a slow number about lonely white wolves. Quite a feat. Ignoring the occasional howl imitation.

Geralt could have done with a few more ballads. The hall was almost bearably noisy and Jaskier actually had an agreeable singing voice. He was admittedly difficult to hear above the roaring crowd.

Geralt wondered how Ciri was doing in the squash zone. But so far she hadn't signalled for extraction. She was probably so high on hormones that reality would take a day or two to get back through to her. Such was life. Adolescence happened only once. Something to be grateful for, no doubt.

The concert dragged on. Geralt did his best to no peer at his watch. He certainly didn't stop tapping the beat guiltily with a foot. Taking the overall youth music scene into consideration, this could have gone a lot worse.

The last song came on. Geralt applauded because it was finally over. The audience disagreed vocally. Waves of noise broke against the stage, taking bodies with it. Medics kept pulling people from the crowd. The lights did not go on. With a sigh Geralt resigned to the encore. And the second encore which led to the crowd howling the song about the wolf again and which got them a third encore.

Geralt peered at his watch after all and had to realise he hadn't lost as much time of his life as he had thought. The crowd was bouncing in unison, accelerating towards a shattering crescendo. He didn't wait for that when a familiar figure was lifted over the heads of the fans, drifting towards the medics. Long blonde locks trailed behind her.

Getting to the front of the hall, even at the very side was difficult. Small bodies blocked the way and there was no way to push them aside without risking serious damage. Cirilla was carried away to the other side of the stage, too. Cursing, Geralt reversed direction. He was just getting to where he had been on the other side of the hall, when the lights did come on. That did not actually convince the audience to scatter appropriately or make his way towards the stage any easier.

By the time he reached the barricade, all medical personnel had vanished. Reaching out, Geralt grabbed the next stage hand passing by. "Where are the children?"

The stage hand understood without needing further encouragement. He pointed to a door a little further down the hall. But when Geralt started to move in that direction, he did try to stop him. "You can't go backstage," he said valiantly.

"Yeah?" Geralt tilted his head. "Watch me."

To the horror of everybody watching, he climbed over the barricade, storming off to the indicated. A security man approaching him was grabbed by the arm. "Good," Geralt growled. "You know the way to medical. I want my daughter. Now."

After a few turns, Geralt suspected that this was not the way to the medical part at all. Shoving the security guard away with a frustrated grunt, he stormed back down the corridor. Signs would have been helpful. Maybe they had been taken down again already.

Judging from the steps speeding up behind him, the security guard had decided to take up pursuit. Geralt stepped it up a notch, turning around a few corners in the hopes of finally finding the medic and maybe losing the tail.

A door opened and another small black figure stepped into his path. Geralt pushed it away. At least he tried to, only to find his hand taken hold off, trapped neatly on the chest it had pushed against.

"Now if that isn't my song come to life," Jaskier said agreeably. He waved the guard away lazily giving Geralt a second once-over.

Geralt snorted. "Where is my daughter?"

"I have not taken on any daughters," the singer replied easily. "But when we find her, I might be open to a few grateful words."

"Useless," Geralt growled, barely keeping from rolling his eyes.

"Says the man with a hammer to the screw," Jaskier said.

"What do you want?"

"I?" The singer laughed. "It was you who barraged into my place, laying hand on me. Let's get that correct for starters."

"I am only looking for my daughter." Geralt freed his hand.

"And if you stopped your boorish behaviour for just long enough to let me take the lead, I am certain we would have arrived where the medics put up care long ago." Jaskier began to walk slowly, giving Geralt time to make up his mind. "You realise there is a central information point in front of the hall where you can get escorted to you daughter if she's in medical care, right?"

Geralt grunted non-committal.

"Of course this is the much more scenic route," Jaskier kept the conversation going as if Geralt was actually participating. "You get to see me after all. A much more charming company than a medical escort."

Another snort.

"You are most eloquent. A pity that our journey shall soon come to an end. Allow me to write a song about it."

Geralt stopped short, forcing the smaller man to take a step back under the force of the index finger rammed into his chest. "Don't you dare." Taking a deep breath he stepped back. The only thing worthy of song way Cirilla and his wife. But he would certainly not encourage the obnoxious. fool.

"You're right." Jaskier puled at his black shirt. "I'd never get all those elaborate grunts right."

Geralt took another deep breath and forced a neutral expression. "I will now get-"

"Your daughter, yes yes," Jaskier interrupted. "She should be here any moment now. I had sent for her."

"You what?"

"It's my place for tonight." Jaskier winked. "Has to have a few perks."

At that very moment, light footfall became audible down the corridor and around a corner.

"Ciri?" Geralt called ignoring Jaskier who was still explaining something.

"Dad!" Cirilla bounded around the corner towards her father.

He softened visibly. Seeing his daughter well and happy brought a lenient expression to his face. The love for his Ciri was written over Geralt's face in warm, fuzzy letters of insurmountable size.

At his side, Jaskier fell silent.

In the corridor, Cirilla stopped in mid-step. "Dad?" Her eyes wandered from her father to the singer standing next to him, a whirlwind of emotions crossing over her whole figure.

"Well, the family resemblance is obviously," Jaskier squinted, "somewhere."

"Dad?" Cirilla asked, the question dripping from her gaze into her tone.

"Oh, that, yeah." Geralt shrugged. "He ran into me when I was looking for you. Can't shake him." Geralt chose to ignore the indignant gasp from Jaskier as well as the unbelieving one from his daughter.

"That is-" Ciri couldn't finish.

"Yeah. Oh, right." Geralt put on the barest minimum of manners. "Jaskier, this is my daughter Cirilla. Ciri, this, well Jaskier. Does he have a last name? Do you have a last name? Do we need that?"

"Pleased to meet you," Cirilla got out.

Jaskier took the offered hand with a bow indicating a kiss on the back of it. "I can see your father passed on all his eloquence and manners to you."

Ciri blushed and caught between the urge to hid behind her father and bravely stand where she was, clutched at his side. Geralt dropped a protective arm over her shoulders automatically.

"We must leave," he growled pointedly.

"Oh, there you are again with no manners at all." Jaskier huffed. "Tell you father that this is very bad manners indeed, Cirilla. We have only just met and there he goes leaving already. Is he always impossible like that? I bet he is."

Ciri nodded a teenagers awareness of their parent's inherent cringyness on her expression.

"Her mother is waiting for us."

"Oh and now he is blaming it all on you mother." Jaskier lowered his tone consiprationally. "Does your mother know he does that?"

Ciri giggled and nodded.

"Well, that's probably okay then. And we will not leave her waiting. You go to the entrance," he waved in the general direction behind him, "and I'll be there in a moment. Decide on the take-out you want."

"We will certainly not have take-out for dinner or with you." Geralt put his foot down. It helped that he did not see Ciri's face.

"Rude," Jaskier replied.

Ciri nodded and took a brave step away from her father. "But he did buy me a guitar," she finally said, after fishing for a redeeming trait.

"So you are playing the guitar?" Jaskier asked Cirilla. "We must have a jam session then!"

"It is half past ten," Geralt cut the idea off.

"True." Jaskier's shoulders slumped shortly before he brightened suspiciously. "We will have to do that another time then, won't we?"

It was most dirty manoeuvre Geralt had ever seen. But the way Ciri's eyes lit up at the mere thought of playing guitar with her musical hero. Who would have the heart to quench that light?

"Take out is still standing, though," the singer said taking Cirilla's hand. "What do you feel like and where do you get it in this city?" When they reached Geralt, Jaskier just took the tall man's hand as well and kept walking. "As I said, wait at the entrance, security is informed. What do you think about Italian?"

"Why not." Ciri looked up at her father.

Geralt was a walking storm cloud, held in check by nothing but his daughter's elation. "I do not think that will help with me being upset."

"Maybe it will do something about you being so depressing?" Jaskier took a step backwards, putting Cirilla's hand into that of her father. "I'll be only a moment."

A few steps later, Cirilla had found the joke and started laughing.

"I'll call Yen and give her a heads up," Geralt rumbled, knowing he was beaten.

#the witcher #the witcher fic #modern day au #it was fun while it lasted #geralt of rivia #jaskier

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gotmattitude · 7 years

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it’s a fucked up world ❖ nyada players audition

WHO: Matt Rutherford, NYADA Players.

WHAT: Matt auditions for the players.

WHEN: September 12 2017.

WHERE: The Echo Chambers.

WARNINGS: Racism, islamophobia, biphobia, misogyny, murder, death, child death, child murder, violence, war, blood, Donald Trump, general oppression, both in the songs/videos and internal monologue. Nothing too detailed, but feel free to ask me about any specifics.

INSPIRATION: F.U.W. by Jussie Smollett and this 2CELLOS cover of They Don’t Care About Us by Michael Jackson. For choreography this live performance in Munich.

He was waiting for his turn, and he swore he wasn’t a restless guy, but his leg was shaking almost on its own, and his fingers found themselves running across the crocodile tooth necklace he’d worn for the occasion. He really needed the good luck. Shit, he’d never performed in front of anybody before. Whatever. He’d be fine. Completely fine. Probably.

Fuck, had it been a good idea to go with his usual hoodie and running shoes rather than a more thought out outfit? Matt looked down at the strings dangling from the hoodie and adjusted them until they seemed even, reminding himself of his logic. The song was about daily struggles; this was his daily life. A button up and fancy-ass shoes wouldn’t feel like an every day thing.

Music was an every day thing, but not necessarily mundane or predictable like his clothes were. It was about taking that familiarity and making something of it, something memorable and something to react to. He wanted to bring that through Jussie’s lyrics and what would hopefully be a halfway decent performance, despite what was probably a clumsy arrangement--thank Aether for the band. Plus it would be easier to dance in these slightly worn out jeans than anything elaborate.

When the time came for his performance, he breathed out, dried his (allegedly) sweaty hands on his pants, and made his way to the stage. Once he was there, he froze for a second before waving at the audience. Or judges. Or whatever they were. In most of his audition video binging, the person auditioning shared who they were. “Uh,” he started eloquently, “my name’s Matthew Rutherford and I’m gonna be auditioning for the Players.” Obviously. “Uh, I think this speaks to the struggles of most people across the country. And the world,” he added hastily. “So that’s why I chose it. Yeah.”

Matt pointed towards all the bright lights. “Could we dim those?” He turned towards the band and gave them a thumbs up before rolling his shoulders and sitting at the edge of the stage. The music started softly, mostly Jussie’s arrangement with a hint of Michael’s percussion, and he swayed from side to side, nodding his head to the rhythm as he tried to let go of his nerves.

Grown men killing babies Who am I to say, you can make them nameless Another hashtag today, yeah

Matt could feel his posture was still stiff, so he turned to the side and shut his eyes. This was the world he was living in, where if a murdered kid was lucky, they got to be remembered on social media.

Why should we care 'bout that lady from somewhere, a far place A covered face, tell me this

A world where ‘why should I care,’ was a legitimate excuse. Why should I care about someone else’s pain that isn’t my own. The lines came out with some anger, something he had tried to hold back on during his rehearsals; Jussie’s performance was more about pain. Fuck it, though. He wanted to make this his own.

Why are we back in the past? It's the same script, different cast All of these alternative facts Catch me outside how about that? Why is it so hard to keep hope?

The last line was rough. He didn’t have time for hope, he thought, as he pushed himself to his feet and walked backwards to the center of the stage.

Who got that popular vote? Was the whole thing just a joke? Was the whole thing just one big joke?

He remembered the day of the election. The anger, the helplessness, the fear. Maybe if he’d been able to vote things would’ve been different. He gestured with his arms, frustrated and partly surprised by how deeply he was feeling everything.

All I wanna say is that They don't really care about us All I wanna say is that They don't really care about us

As the music led to the other song he marched lightly, crossing his hand to place on his opposite shoulder. The sound was softer than Michael’s original, slower, for better flow, but it didn’t take away from the awfulness of it all. Nobody gave a shit when it came down to it. Nobody in power. Nobody who could change shit easily. They had to fight for it. When the song built towards the chorus, he switched to bouncing on his toes, punctuating the rhythm with one of his hands in the air.

It's a fucked up world (yes it is) Here we are in it I ain't going nowhere Til' we're finished It's a fucked up world Here we are in it I ain't going nowhere Til' we're finished

Matt pointed to himself and shook his head, saying the last two lines one more time in his spoken voice during the instrumental break before beginning vocalizing. He took the panting breaths in the original song as loudly as he could, and he dropped to the ground heavily, both hands going up to his head.

Drivin' me insane We play a good game Baby we still can't win

He mimed his head exploding, and a bitter smile pulled at the corner of his lips. Would it always be like this? Trying twice as hard and getting half of the reward? Or worse; punishment?

Let's cover the surface Try to be perfect But look at the president Hurting me inside, cause it feels like we walk a million miles Losing momentum, losing, you win some You better get it out now

At the middle line about the president he gestured backwards with his thumb and rolled his eyes, taking advantage of the last long note to jump back onto his feet. He slid into a moonwalk, trying to illustrate the walking, and for a second he had to hold back a smile; practicing all night had led to something, at least. He came to a stop with his back towards the audience.

All I wanna say is that They don't really care about us All I wanna say is that They don't really care about us

He turned back slowly with the marching step, pushing his head upwards to mirror Michael despite the difference in his version.

It's a fucked up world (yes it is) Here we are in it I ain't going nowhere Til' we're finished It's a fucked up world Here we are in it I ain't going nowhere Til' we're finished

The last of the chorus in F.U.W. felt like it had been ripped from his chest, leaving traces of blood on the corners of his mouth, and his throat raw and sore. More emotional somehow.

Tell me what has become of my rights Am I invisible because you ignore me?

And fuck, did he feel invisible sometimes. Too much of a witch for LN. Too LN for witches. Didn’t even know he existed. Using ‘bi’ as a stepping stone to admitting he was gay. Not really trans. Just confused. He remembered being homeless, sitting on the sidewalk, hoping somebody would spare him a dollar, a drink, a glance. Not invisible. Just unseen.

Build a wall It will keep us from loving each other You write the laws It won't keep us from loving each other Build a wall (Build a wall) It will keep us from loving each other (never gonna build a wall)

Literal walls. Figurative walls. He wasn’t a guy to advocate for loving everyone, but as far as he was concerned... people needed people. Not some barrier separating people based on the big guy’s way of classifying the little guy. With a disappointed shake of his head, he thought of how some could say even NYADA was those walls for LN students.

All I wanna say is that They don't really care about us All I wanna say is that They don't really care about us

He repeated Michael’s hook three final times, each time quieter than the one before, as the soft, but military-like percussion faded, leading to the final notes of Jussie’s song. He went back to the edge of the stage and sat down, his legs hanging down.

We exist, We exist, We exist

We exist. We’re here. We deserve to be heard.

We exist, We exist, We exist

You will not break us.

We exist, We exist, We exist

We are here to stay.

He stayed silent for a long few moments, taking a couple of breaths to steady himself. Shaking off the restless energy in his body, he stood again, thanking the Players before heading out. He realized something as he exited the Chambers. He really hoped he could make this thing work.

#//i know nothing about music this might not work but it was fun!#nyadaclubs #nyadaplayers #para: self #para: all #para: it's a fucked up world #para: 003 #tw: violence

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superkaralovesfanfiction · 7 years

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ESP, Extranormal Soulmate Partnerships, by Cat Grant

ESP, EXTRANORMAL SOULMATE PARTNERSHIPS, A SOULMATE FINDING AGENCY, BY CATHERINE JANE GRANT.

This spiralled out of control very quickly, and honestly, I love the outcome. I hope you do too. Let’s just say, Cat has… well, no. I don’t wanna spoil it, enjoy.

Rating: T+, I know, I didn’t start this expecting that…

——-

Kara had seen this a few times now. Odd little notes or envelopes, always with Cat’s eloquent handwriting of a name or sometimes more than one, always with her own signature in the corner. Cat had made it a point to not get involved unless Cat so asked of her, to deliver one or retrieve another, and didn’t mess in whatever ESP was. It was Cat’s, clearly an important project. And while Kara certainly was curious, and knew for a fact that it didn’t have anything to do with Catco Magazine, this had been going on for months, she didn’t but in. But now, seeing the name Supergirl beautifully written on the envelope… well. It gave Kara pause, just as anything regarding Supergirl did.

Kara looked it over, somehow it had landed on her desk in it’s way, no doubt, to Cat’s office. Kara wanted to look inside. Really, she did. But she knew how suspicious that would look. So she put it in her stack of mail for Cat, among folders and files and emails and similar info, and went back to her job proofreading an interview piece with a celebrity Cat had been to two days ago. That envelope was none of her business. Well, no. Technically, it was. It was Supergirl’s business. But Kara had to maintain her secret, and therefore, ignored the fat Manila envelope. That was harder said than done, but Kara didn’t touch it again.

Kara was half way through said interview proofread when Cat came out of her fishbowl office and asked if anyone had seen her ESP envelope. Kara found it odd that Cat would ask about it so casually, but lifted it from her stack and handed it over immediately, barely looking up as she did so. “Here you are Ms. Grant. It landed on my desk and I was just going to finish this interview reading before I brought your files in so you’d have them all at once.”

“Well, thank you, Keira, you may continue.” Cat said curtly and took the envelope, sashaying back into her office. Kara wanted to ignore it, really, it was none of her business to be peeking into Cat’s private projects. But then again… Supergirl was written on it… so… technically… Kara looked over, pretending to look at a notebook she had open on her desk, and peeked up from under her lashes, using her X-ray vision on the envelope quickly, just to peek at it, too see the inside contents as Cat carefully flickered through them with deft fingertips.

Pictures.

Kara spun back to her laptop quickly, gasping just a bit, and adjusted her glasses out of habit, focusing back on her reading. Cat had a stack of pictures, of her as Supergirl, smiling, fighting, posing. Holy fuck.

“What’s going on?” Winn asked gently, more than aware of her when she acted like this. “I thought you weren’t going to do that X-ray peeking through Cat’s desk anymore…”

“I never did that!” Kara defended with a shake of her head, her cheeks flaming, which told Winn she had done exactly that in the past and she knew it. Winn also knew why, but wouldn’t elaborate. It was Kara’s business if she occasionally xray visioned Cat when she came in wearing a prime suit that was buttoned with no shirt beneath and no bra. Kara’s thing.

“I… she has pictures. Of me.”

“Naked?” Winn asked, and Kara glared at him. He smiled and focused back on his computer screen, messing with her.

“Winn! No, as Supergirl. Fighting. Flying. Posing. What the hell do those mail packets mean?” Kara whispered.“how did she get Supergirl pictures?”

“How many have you seen now?”

“5. She… I’ve seen names. Big names. Alien superhero names. I didn’t think, it’s Cat’s thing. Her private project. I have no point messing in it. But now it’s me. I just need to know what ESP means.”

“Erotic superhero portraits?” Winn muttered… and then shrugged it off, laughing.

“What did you drink last night?”

“Nothing you need to know of. But whatever Cat is doing, it’s not linked to Catco, though, so I can’t assist. Can’t hack it outside the company, that’s Cat’s private work at home. I could get arrested for that.”

“I… I need to come back after Cat leaves. Find it. Figure it out.”

—-

Kara did come back. She came back after midnight to an empty office, telling the doorman that she had forgotten a file and showing her keycard, and headed up quickly, to Cat’s office. It wasn’t that unusual, considering how closely Kara worked with Cat, and she often did return for files in the evening. He just smiled and let her up. Easy as pie. And besides, she brought Angus coffee so he knew her well. He was the sweetest doorman in the universe.

Kara slipped into Cat’s office and placed her bag on Cat’s cream sofa, slipping in behind her desk on weightless feet, and slipped open the bottom left drawer of her desk, where Cat kept all her most important things, her lexapro, her spare fountain pens, expensive jewellery, and a picture of Carter, delicately framed. But no envelope. Hmm. Maybe she’d taken it home?

Kara spent the next five minutes searching the office for it, even xray visioning the desk to no avail, and was about to leave in defeat when she noticed the bottom drawer of Cat’s white bar counter just sticking out a bit. Barely, unnoticeable to human vision. Thankfully Kara wasn’t human. Though Kara had this nagging feeling that if Supergirl were human, she wouldn’t be written on that envelope.

Kara crouched down and pulled the drawer out, gasping when she found the envelope on top of 4 others, all the same, all perfectly written, all perfectly aligned. Kara sat down cross legged on the floor and pulled out the one with her name, and carefully opened the edge, sliding photos and notes into her palm, wondering what all this was for.

Kara looked over the photos, reading the notes, some Kryptonian symbols littered here and there. Hmm. It had to be connected.

All this was still okay though. So Cat had a curiosity in Supergirl. Who didn’t? That was all fine. What frightened Kara was the incredibly detailed astral star charts neatly folded with it, the detail, and accuracy of pinpointing Krypton, and it’s neighbouring worlds, and the insanely detailed DNA threads of what Kara could only assume was her own DNA and some others beside it, though all except hers were crossed over with a red pen.

Kara folded everything back as it was, slipping it back into its place, and pulled out another, thinner one, finding much the same. After an hour of careful perusal, checking hers multiple times, Kara finally left and decided this required Alex’s help.

—-

“She has the what now?” Alex asked curiously, her brows furrowing with the news.

“Star charts. They look DEO quality, Alex. And DNA. How could she get fragments of my DNA?”

“Okay, relax.” Alex said, pasting a panicked Supergirl on the shoulder as she stood from her own seat. “DNA is everywhere, in a nailbed, in a strand of hair, in an errant skin cell. I don’t know how she could have gotten it, but she did. It doesn’t make this any more of a panic though. Even if she has your DNA, there’s nothing there that can lead her to you, and she has no reason to suspect you anyhow, does she? I mean, I realize your panic, but she can’t do anything to out you with the info she has. I just wish I knew why she’s collecting the info. Just 4 envelopes?”

“So far, just the 4, and this afternoon, mine came along. There’s Superman, me, Barry Allen, which is weird in and of it’s own self, and then a Bruce Wayne, somebody. There’s a bunch of names on each, and multiple DNA strands that she’s crossed out, and others with question marks, and the Bruce Wayne one has one with a check mark on a strand in that folder. I need to know what they are, and why she’s cancelling out so many. She’s looking for something…”

“I wouldn’t worry too much, Kar. She’s obviously got a hobby of some sort here. It’s not on the mark anywhere, there’s nothing linked to her name that’s curious, in this way. It’s a private thing, so it seems. Go home. If we find anything, we’ll let you know.”

Kara stared in silence as Alex walked away, not looking back, and then turned to look at Hank, who just shook his head and turned to follow Alex, saying nothing. What?

———

“She knows.”

The text came late, but it had Cat smiling still. Alex Danvers, agent mulder as well, both confirming that Kara suspected something about that envelope, and that she had in fact snuck in to check them in detail. Cat sat and thought about it for a moment, a long time really, and sighed when she tapped out her return message. Yes. It was time to reveal this. She suspected certain things about what would happen, but then again, Kara’s Birthday, or, her Kryptonian birthday, was in two days. And her Earth Birthday was in 3. This would be a perfect gift. Cat just hoped that her vision of what Kara really wanted was accurate. Her Stars claimed it was, despite being from different worlds, and Cat hoped that all these calculations were true.

The tests she’d done on everyone else, as proof, and with permission, said yes, these numbers were telling the truth. Superman had a mark with Lois Lane, much to their relief and happiness, and so did all the others she’d done these proof tests on, 3 in total. Then she’d tried Supergirl, with an errant hair strand she’d managed to rummage off Kara’s desk one evening, and had found her star cycle and everything else, and been set.

Then she’d done as suspected, she felt things pointing towards this, and tested herself. And surely enough, her stars and Kara’s were a match. Which meant, in any universe, that Kara was her soulmate.

“Deal with the others. This agency is a good thing, even if I started it mostly to find out Kara’s star alignment. There are soulmates who deserve to be found, and all that. It’s good for you guys too, as an alien assistance tech. I’ll deal with Kara. It’s time she ran into the Cat Grant folder, and I’ll see if she’s brave enough to ask about it. If not, I’ll drop by the party tomorrow. I’ll give her the ultimate gift.”

“Everything is in placement for you. We’ll keep her in the dark for now, she seems calm about it, if edgy. How are you dealing, realizing that she really is your one?”

“I’m pleased. It’s gonna be odd. But I feel her constant presence to me. I guess I always suspected, it’s nice to have it confirmed. Let’s go forth as we are. Just keep her calm, and if I don’t text you tomorrow, by 7, then set up the party as planned, in secret, for her.”

“Will do.”

———–

And nothing happens. Kara seems curious, but she hands over the fat Manila envelope and walks away like it’s nothing new, and truthfully it isn’t. But Cat catches the glance. Towards the drawer.

Cat waits patiently for Kara to ask, Cat can sense she wants to, but the day runs it’s course and nothing.

Naive girl, she’s way too soft and sweet, and naturally Cat should be disgusted with that, such a sweetheart demeanour. Cat suspects on anyone else she would be. But on Kara, because Kara is her soulmate, Cat loves it. Because Cat has loved Kara for a long time, forever, perhaps, and Kara might be exactly the softness she needs against the hard sharp outer shell Cat has built for herself. Maybe Kara is the balm for this, and that makes Cat one happy person, indeed.

When Cat drops by the next day, happy to find Kara in her suit for this whole party, clearly she just came back from some crime fighting, she has smudges of dirt on her forehead and cheeks, but she looks… beautiful. It’s Kara’s stare at Cat in her doorway that has Cat nearly laughing.

Her pure shock, the look in her eyes, the way she’s staring blatantly, unsure what to say because she’s just been caught and has no escape, and Cat has to step forward and gently bring her hands to Kara’s, pulling Kara’s messy dirty fingers into hers and holding on tightly as she speaks softly. “It’s okay, I know it all.”

——–

“What?” Kara asked in shock, still scared, shaking, looking at everyone around her as if they knew something. And of course, they all did. Even Winn, James, even Maggie, they all had planned this.

Cat smiled and released Kara’s hand, and pulled something out of her bag, a thin pale blue Catco envelope, and handed it to Kara, who took it with shaking fingers.

“Happy Earth Birthday, Kara. This gift you’ve deserved for years, I think it’s time.”

“What?” Kara asked again, her voice incredulous as she looked around again, then back to the envelope. “How do you…?”

“You’re sister helped me out with something a few weeks ago, and we started planning this. She told me everything, young Kryptonian girl. Open it already.”

Kara stared for a moment, her eyes flitting suspiciously to Alex, mouthing her name, and then focused back on the envelope before finally slipping the edge open and slipping her fingers beneath, pulling out a barely there two sheets of paper. “Is this my…? Cat?”

Kara pulled out her resume, her Catco resume, and stares blatantly at the bright red written over it in Cat’s handwriting. Reporter. Kara stares for a long minute, staring blatantly, and Cat would swear she was trying to X-ray the paper.

“You deserve this, Kara. I knew you would be a reporter from the second you walked in, and so I hired you on the spot, gave you the position you wanted. I saw something familiar inside you even then, something I recognized.”

“What?” Kara asked, meeting Cat’s eyes with her own, happy tears threatening to fall.

“Me.”

For a minute Cat wondered if Kara would faint, hoping not, because there was another envelope to be opened. I smaller, fatter one. Cat hoped she wouldn’t faint when Kara opened it.

“And there’s something more. Now I hope you’re okay with this, but I kinda looked through your horoscope and Stars. I hope that’s alright, I didn’t mean to pry, but I was too curious to see my suspicions come true.”

“Suspicions?” Kara asked, taking the envelope softly when Cat handed it over, and slipped the edge open after a long moment, recognizing the fat envelope immediately, watching as Cat pulled out the one with her own name, and opened it as well.

Cat pulled out her black chart, thanks to Winn, and her DNA strand print out, and watched as Kara pulled hers out, staring curiously, and gave hers over to Kara as well, smiling.

Kara stared at them both for a while, unsure of what she was seeing, and then the star graphs, and the double streaks crossed through them with Cat’s signature red fountain pen, and the fact that they were the same.

“Kara. Our DNA is a match, it’s the same, except for your Kryptonian parts, and we’re a complete identical match. Our stars are the same, the same stars were rising and falling when both of us were born, regardless of what world it was on. Kara, we’re soulmates.”

“Cat… how?” Kara asked, staring at the papers, and Cat smiled, pulling Kara into a tight hug, one Kara eased into immediately, smiling brightly, still unable to believe it fully. But then again, she’d always felt something, she’d just ignored it.

“I sensed it. It’s what ESP is. It’s a dating agency, Kara. For soulmates. I’ve helped dozens of aliens in this city. Forgive my curiousity, but I had to see your results, and then I couldn’t resist testing myself. Kara, if you don’t like it…”

“I love it.” Kara said after a shake of her head, leaning in to hug Cat again, smiling and crying at the same time. “I love it, Cat. I always suspected, I could feel it, but I never dared to hope for it.”

For a long few minutes, everything was silent, and the party went on, Cat finally kissed Kara, just softly, though she wanted it to be nothing but soft, and the party started up again, the cupcakes brought out, the cake, the drinks, and Cat smiled as soon as Kara took one and bit into it. God, what had she gotten herself into.

For a moment, Cat just watched, Kara settled into the crook of her arm with her treat, and Cat swiped at the icing too, much to Kara’s laughter, and smiled until Maggie decided to come up and speak.

“Can you do something for me, Cat?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you test me and Alex? Because I think I feel that thing too.”

Cat looked over at Alex, who stared at Maggie with a gasp, then walked over and hugged her closely, so much so that Maggie seemed to have trouble breathing through it. Cat laughed, so did Kara, and everything was good, and then Winn stood up with Lyra and raised his hand in invitation and Magan did the same, and Hank brought a hand to his forehead in laughter.

This would be epic.

#sc week #supercatweek #day 6 #soulmate dating agency #haha this was too much fun #supercat with mild SANVERS and Winn and Lyra and hank and Meagan and who else is there?#scweek3

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beyondthetemples-ooc · 7 years

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Hey, it's Marce. Remember Jade? Well she's having kittens and I'm skdjnfksjfmsjfne any advice??

OH MY GOSH! 8O Congratulations, Jade and Marce!

(i had a really long, eloquently written version of this written up, but I pressed the right-arrow key to edit something, and... the.... browser..... moved to the next page of the inbox........ and two hours of typing is gone.......... i don’t have the attention span to be thorough and elaborate anymore.)

So, checklist style! (I hope I remember everything.)

Momma cats will do just about everything for you, as far as feeding, cleaning, and teaching the babies goes. Cats are pretty independent, and are usually very, very good parents. Your main role is to watch over them and make sure everything is going well.

~ Pregnant+nursing momma cats need more protein! More food.

~ She might be temperamental or flighty. She might just lounge around all the time. Pregnancy hormones can shift their personalities.

~ She will seek a nice place to birth them at the end of the pregnancy, usually somewhere dark with high sides that feels secluded and enclosed. (You can try offering a box with a blanket, but don’t be offended if she picks somewhere else entirely.)

~ Birth can take a long, long time for the whole litter. I’d recommend watching to make sure the babies come out breathing and start moving soon after, momma keeps breathing, and she’s attentive and grooming them shortly after birth.

~ She might eat the placenta(s) after birth, which looks strange and gross, but helps her recover and keep her healthy.

~ Make sure the babies are breathing and have a heartbeat, if/whenever you can.

~ If you’re comfortable with doing it, I recommend either looking up, or better yet, having a vet demonstrate to you, how to do kitten CPR, just in case. It’s just a teeeensy bit unrealistic to ask a vet to come supervise the birth, the moment you notice she’s having them. (Most cats give birth at night, for some reason? In my experience.)

~ Checking their weight twice a week and recording every weight for every baby lets you know if somebody needs extra feeding, or taken to a vet. Smol creatures are best weighed on a gram or ounce-specific scale! (If needed: The only formula that should EVER be given to a baby kitten is KITTEN SPECIFIC. Please don’t use any substitutions, ever. They need a LOT more nutrition than egg mixed with cow milk provides.)

~ Some mommas pick and choose exactly who they want to allow around their kittens. But the whole “if you touch them, they’ll stop taking care of their babies” thing is a huge ridiculous MYTH. Mommas care more about their babies than that.

~ Sometimes momma will randomly carry the whole family to a new place entirely. (If you see her biting the back of their necks, it’s usually for this reason. She’s trying to pick them up.)

~ I recommend keeping the kittens contained in one room, because they get into EVERYTHING. Preferably with a baby gate, because they learn that Doors Open to places they Want To Go.

~ Small litter boxes! For the first week, momma will clean and potty them herself, but once they learn to walk and explore, they learn to use the litter. Shorter sides that are easy for them to climb into are best, and for 4+ kittens, I’d recommend having two smaller ones around, somewhere close by.

~ If you can afford it: Spay and neuter them as soon as they’re mature enough. (Especially males; once they mature, they tend to start spraying and marking. They’re also easier to find homes for if they’re already altered.)

And for finding homes in the future: I highly recommend asking people you know if they want a CAT, specifically. (You say “kitten”, and people forget that kittens grow up. People don’t know that kittens often lose their playfulness, or their personality may change completely by age 2. A truly depressing number of people keep kittens around, but when they grow up, they put them outside, give them to shelters, even leave them behind when they move! Always make sure they don’t just want a KITTEN, they also want a full-grown CAT.)

If nobody you know is a good match: Check your local phone book (or yellowpages.com), vet office, community billboards, or run a Google search for local shelters that might take the babies. Personally, I’d ask for a tour so I can make sure the babies are going to a good temporary home. Be aware that most shelters will ask you to pay a fee to take them, but around here it’s no higher than $30 for a cat, maybe $120 for 5 or 6 kittens.

PetFinder (which has some kind of deal with PetSmart that gives new adoptions a care package; I recommend asking about that?), eBay Pets, and CraigsList are all good ways to put them up for adoption yourself.

You do reserve the right to interview prospective owners! I’d ask:~ Have they ever had cats before?~ Do they have any other pets?~ Are there small children that might hurt the cat, or get hurt?~ What’s the pet policy at their home? (Apartments especially!)~ Do they have a veterinarian lined up? Who is it? (I’d look into this.)~ Do they intend to declaw? (I would never send a cat to somebody who values their inanimate objects over an animal’s health.)~ Do they ever plan on letting the cat outside? (I’d strongly advise against these homes.)

I think I had more originally, but for now that’s all I’ve got! If you have any more questions, I recommend partnering up with a good vet, because I can help you with the general care stuff, but only a vet can tell you if something is definitely wrong or not, and my brain doesn’t hold the specific-data-oriented information, like exactly when to get shots or surgeries done. Best of luck with them! Ahhhh, I’m so excited for you guys, watching a momma animal take care of babies is always an amazing experience. I hope there will be pictures!~ {8D

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