#it was fun to dig up the old snippets that i knew i had somewhere

[remyfire]

Fic ask meme!! A, L, and/or Q <3

Fanfic Ask Meme A: How did you come up with the title to [insert fic]?

Ahh, Rosie, you didn't give me a specific fic title, so I'll go general!! —54% are song lyrics —6% are prompt-based —40% are completely random, just what came to mind when I considered the content of the fic

I go for song lyrics more frequently nowadays but I also do not have as modern or expansive of a music library as much, so I do a lot of repeats of the same songs!! I'd love to start using poetry as well, but I still am having trouble digesting poetry with my focus disorder. Work in progress.

L: What’s the weirdest AU you’ve ever come up with?

I still think traphawkahy seminary incubus AU—with or without the optional addition of B-girl content—is probably the silliest possible title at this point. Notably I am not responsible for all of it—shout out to @hesgomorrah—but I'm very fond of it so I am putting at least a wee bit of claim on it.

Q: Do you have any discarded scenes/storylines/projects?

I have the very very very bad habit of entirely deleting scenes that I edit out rather than saving them in another doc for possible later use, but I still have a few moments from Scratching The Itch kicking around. Multiple ones, so they're unedited under the cut for anyone curious.

When I was brainstorming how to get to the massage/sex scene in chapters 4 and 5, originally I had Hawkeye playing a little bolder and BJ meeting him competitively in the middle and overruling him. It ended up not working for my purposes, and I appreciate getting to go the more tender route with BJ especially. iirc correctly, this snippet was going to take place directly after Freddie's departure, with Hawk teasing BJ about how hard he is and how he's refusing to go take care of it. But you can see the thread that I carried over into the actual shower chapter itself.

"I've done without for this long," BJ drawls, lips quirked in that hint of a smile that teases what California sunshine must look like. "I can last a little more."

"But why bother?" Hawkeye tucks one finger in BJ's belt loop, just barely fitting between the smooth leather and the rough fabric, and gives him a tug. "We don't want a Sunday pot roast, Beej. The longer you let that sit and stew, the more tender it's gonna get, and how's that fun for anyone?"

BJ puts his hand square in the middle of Hawkeye's bare chest and gives the gentlest nudge, and Hawkeye is so taken aback that he lets him, lets BJ walk him backward one step at a time. Those lips turn upward just a hint more as blue eyes sparkle down at him like the sea and the sky have swapped. "Because the first time that you make me come," BJ murmurs, "is going to be when I'm fucking you."

Hawk's eyes widen so far they feel like they might bulge out of his head. It's not the first time he's felt BJ's hand on his skin, but there's intentionality here beyond just pulling him to sit beside Beej on a bench when they're 8 straight hours into surgery, beyond the way BJ's fingers would find the slim gap between Hawkeye's shirt and pants while they stumbled laughing back from Rosie's.

Those beautiful fingers are a weight on him—but a grounding one.

The back of his knees hit the bed and he tips into sheets that still smell like sex and sweat, and suddenly he's desperate to know how BJ's pheromones are going to mix.

"That's what you want, isn't it?" BJ's voice is barely over a murmur. "You want to know what it feels like to be as full as you've made all those pretty girls your whole life." BJ lifts his eyebrows, wrinkles spreading across his forehead. "You want. To be. Fucked."

Finally the words creep in fully through the post-orgasmic haze, slithering around his brain, squeezing, ready to make a meal of him. His blood goes cold and leaves goosebumps along his entire body.

BJ is a prankster. He's as mercurial as the god that word is named for. He takes delight in teasing, needling, but never in a cruel way. Right? Has BJ ever been cruel to him—intentionally, sadistically, curving his wrist to make a bleeding gash in Hawkeye's heart? Suddenly he can't recall, can't be perfectly sure. Those glimmering eyes are waves crashing down to drown him.

"I-I..." Hawk fights to find the light he had in his chest only moments ago.

And these are assorted bits of dialogue that ended up not being used, originally used regarding Freddie and in the shower scene respectively.

"I think the war's aged me fucking fifty years. Jesus. You're gonna laugh, but I'm so tight, I think I almost pulled something just from fucking her."

~~

"You're telling me this because if I ever said a word about you and Peg being open, you'd be able to take me down with you."

"I'd never take you down over anything, Hawk. But if that's what you need to believe, then go ahead."

This is the original ending of the R&R scene in chapter 6, right before the pivot back to camp. I wrote this before doing anything else with chapter 6, and then when I started from the beginning, I realized BJ had a lot more rage and grief regarding how his attempt to be domestic with Hawk (has BJ done this before with men? Has it worked? Is Hawkeye special?), so I couldn't use it, and again, I prefer how it ended up moving, even though it left a lot up in the air for me to play with when I circle back. (notably I had also forgotten I gave them three days of R&R, so I couldn't send them back that easily anyway when they still had a full day left to go hfdkd)

BJ clicks his tongue against his teeth. "You've been touching me this casually since I puked my guts up in front of you and nobody's said a word." When he glances over his shoulder, the flatness is gone. "Yeah. Of course it'd be casual. What else would it be?"

Hawkeye opens his mouth, shuts it again, and forces himself to think before he speaks. "I'm, uh, glad we're on the same page."

BJ chuckles and pats Hawk on the cheek just a little too firmly. "Can we head out before they leave without us?"

"Oh, sure, sure," Hawkeyes drawls. He goes to grab his own bag in turn. "I'm in such a hurry to get back. I wonder if they're serving liver or liver tonight in the mess tent."

"At this point, probably sewage soup."

Hawk laughs. "Perfect meal for denizens of a swamp."

[qlala]

Every time you casually mention in your tags another coldflash wip that you have started writing years ago and might not finish...like ever, I swear I break out in a cold sweat. Because is it just like GRRM's writing pace, or...? Is there an option where I give you some money and you allow me to read through your drafts? 🤣🤣🤣

On a more serious note, it always makes my day when I get the notification that you've posted a new fic. And each time I re-read some of your stories it hits me just how special your writing is. I rarely get this feeling while reading fanfiction, so thank you so much for this ♥️

addjsjfjd unfortunately it is not a GRRM writing pace situation and is instead a “70 hr/week job” situation, so i don’t have a lot of time for writing! because of that i tend to do it for enjoyment first and publishing second, so i hop from project to project based on what’s fun to write in that moment!

a lot of times that’s a new idea, sometimes it’s digging up an old idea i never finished, and then occasionally i finally hold my nose to the grindstone and make myself finish something kicking and screaming (because i love sharing fic! it’s like interactive storytelling where i go “what if these guys did this?” and other people can comment like “wow what if they DID do that?”)

but i DO feel bad for always chatting about stuff that’s not even in the publishing pipe, so here, have a red string of fate coldflash snippet that’s been abandoned in my drafts for a while! this is one of my favorites at the moment <3

Len never thought much about his string, only ever had to try to put it out of his mind when the occasional pluck came down the invisible line late at night. So he was unprepared for what lay ahead when he was leading the Rogues in a cursory scrap with Team Flash, pointing the cold gun at Cisco with a grin. Both of them knew it was a feint—he wouldn’t fire until Barry got between them with that cold-resistant tripolymer of his.

Cisco made a grab for the gun anyway, his glasses flickering to life with a blue glow. Len was ready to dodge him, but Cisco only got halfway through his lunge and then froze as suddenly as if Len had hit him with a blast after all. He stared at the gun, then looked behind Len, then back at the gun. His mouth was agape, and Len frowned as he watched him fumble to pull his glasses off.

“Somewhere else you need to be?” he asked, slightly testily, as Cisco’s wide eyes tracked over his shoulder again. He hefted the gun pointedly, but Cisco only looked at it and laughed, a strangled, hysterical sound.

“Oh, my god. Tell me you know,” he said, and then scrubbed a hand over his forehead, looking abruptly overwhelmed. “Tell me he just… You don’t. Oh my god. You don’t know.”

Len scowled. “Not one of your better distractions, Cisco.”

To his bewilderment, Cisco turned his back to him, walked to the pile of crates nearby, and sat down heavily. Len stared at him. Had someone hit him in the head during the fight? He enforced a firm no-contact rule against the members of Team Flash without enhanced healing, but clearly someone needed a reminder.

Cisco only sighed at his bemused look, and patted the crate next to him.

Len gave him one last look of confusion, then turned his back on him to rejoin the fight. 

It was all but over. Barry had noticed the oddity of what was happening between him and Cisco and pulled up short. He was still just long enough for Peek-a-Boo to get the jump on him, and she stepped smoothly into place to trip him as he jumped into action again.

The resulting crash was a big enough distraction that Len signaled for Shawna to take the loot and go, which she did with obvious relish. From there, it was just a matter of staging a strategic retreat, and getting clear before Team Goodie-Two-Shoes realized the art was already gone.

He’d just gotten his bike snarling into life when Wally West appeared in front of him in full Kid Flash regalia, looking bemused. “Uh. Hey, Cold. This is…weird, but, Cisco needs to talk to you?”

“Sweet of him. But I don't think I'll be—”

“Uh, no. Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to sound like a question.”

Len knew he didn't have time to unholster the cold gun, but he reached for it anyway on principle. 

A few seconds of unpleasant whiplash later, STAR Labs snapped-dragged into place around him, and Wally made the wise decision to be halfway across the Cortex by the time Len got his bearings. 

Barry blew in with Cisco a moment later, but he pulled up short when he saw him.

“Snart?” 

He pulled back his cowl—an absent, stupid show of trust—and then looked at him with his head cocked, hair wild. The familiarity of it had Len brushing aside the errant glimmer of fondness it kindled in his chest.

He had a line ready, the antagonism between them as worn and easy as that old STAR Labs shirt Barry favored in his down time.

But Cisco stepped between them, Vibe gloves and goggles both lit up, and the grimace on his face wasn’t promising.

“This is gonna feel a little violating,” Cisco said. He reached his hand into the open air at about waist height, closed his fist around nothing, and pulled.

Leonard had spent his life learning to have complete control over his movements; control was what he did. But nothing, nothing could’ve kept him from staggering when he felt the pull. His string hand was yanked forward, harder than any of the light plucks he’d ever felt on the other side of the line, and he staggered forward after it, caught utterly off balance.

Across the room, Barry’s arm jerked up at the same time, and he took three stumbling steps towards the center of the room before steadying himself.

Leonard had been ready to pull the cold gun on Cisco for the stunt, humiliation flashing up the back of his neck and transmuting just as quickly into anger, but his thoughts spun out as the implications of Barry’s shocked, coltish stumble began to register.

He raised his eyes to Barry’s. It took Barry a moment to meet his gaze, expression wide-eyed and betrayed where he was looking at Cisco, looking as violated as Len felt. But finally, the thought must have caught up to him, because he glanced at Len, a brief sympathetic frown before returning his attention to Cisco, and then he went rigid.

The green eyes that met Len’s were wide and too full of shock to read any of the emotions that might’ve been behind it.

“You do both wear gloves a lot.”

Leonard started guiltily, the way he’d never done when actually caught mid-heist.

Cisco was regarding them curiously, head tilted with academic interest. “Still,” he continued, “Three years. You’d think you would’ve touched at least—“

“Cisco,” Iris cut him off, quietly, without even looking toward him. For all her wide-eyed alarm, she was looking at Barry with a sort of alert empathy, watching carefully for a sign of how to react to… this. Leonard was having a hard time saying it, even in his mind. The words were lodged somewhere impossible and refused to surface.

The pieces fit together, but the final result was incomprehensible.

Piece one: Cisco, thanks to whatever Vibe powers he possessed, could see people’s strings. Touch them, even.

Piece two: Standing exactly midway between himself and Barry, Cisco had put out a hand and yanked on Len’s string. Leonard tabbed this one in his mind; he needed to remember to ice Cisco’s hand off for it later.

Piece three: When Cisco had pulled on his string, he’d obviously pulled on Barry’s as well.

Barry, who had one hand wrapped around his other wrist and looked like he might plan on phasing straight through the floor rather than even look in Len’s direction.

[silverpaintedstars]

How the Son of Shadows was Cast Out--Chapter 2!! Next chapter’ll get fun. I had fun with scenes here. @bookdragon1811 and i’m not sure who else wanted to be tagged lol. 

Prologue | Chapter One | 

Chapter Two: Cade’s Caravansary

Inside was a cacophony of what could be defined as chaos--but Elliot wasn’t quite sure. He followed Reaper around inside like a lost puppy--but he felt like one. 

The shack was wooden with few windows, and a set of old stairs led upstairs. There were tables scattered with no apparent order at all throughout, and a random company occupied the chairs, snippets of conversation floating towards Elliot’s ears. 

He pulled his dripping hood over his head, wanting to melt away from all this, feeling terribly uncomfortable. Reaper, however, seemed completely comfortable here, which didn’t surprise Elliot. He seemed like the type of person who would just--fit in anywhere he wished.

Unlike Elliot.

His cloak dripped onto the rickety floor as he walked through the door with Reaper. When he carelessly let the door slam shut behind him, everyone immediately stopped what they were doing and looked up at them. After a second of pure silence but the rain beating against the side of the building in the background, of being scrutinized by everyone, they were left alone again, just two more travelers to spend the night away. 

“Welcome to Cade’s Caravansary,” Reaper said to Elliot. “All permitting we can stay here until weather permits us to continue on.” He swept a look across the room. “Hopefully by tomorrow.” 

Elliot took a second to try and figure out whether that was the actual name, or simply another one that Reaper mused up, until he saw the sign posted on the wall. Long-ago scratched words on wood: Cade’s Caravansary. He didn’t know what a caravansary was, but he guessed it was here. 

Reaper walked up to the small corner desk where a man sat, boredly flipping through a large, weathered book that looked like some sort of logbook. Reaper stood in front of the man a second, before clearing his throat and getting the man to look up. 

“Reaper!” the man said, closing the book. He didn’t see Elliot yet, which was understandable, seeing as Elliot still had his sopping hood over his face and was standing behind Reaper. 

“Cade,” Reaper said, not quite matching the man’s level of hype, which Elliot got, seeing as they were tired. That could be their excuse. 

“Here for the night?” Cade asked, digging out an ink pen. 

Reaper took a second. “If there’s space available, I suppose we might as well, seeing as this storm doesn’t appear to be letting up anytime soon.”

Cade paused. “We?”

Reaper stepped aside, letting the pale light of the lantern on Cade’s desk wash over Elliot. 

“Ah,” Cade said, sweeping his oily hair over his forehead and opening the same book, running his finger over the messy writings. “We have two rooms on the third floor--small ones, but rooms nonetheless.” 

“That’s fine,” Reaper said, digging into a pocket and placing (NOT A COIN WE CAN DO BETTER) on the table. Cade scooped it up, placing it in a box with others. He then dug two wooden keys out of a drawer with tags attached and handed them to Reaper. 

“Enjoy your stay,” he said as Reaper turned and handed Elliot one of the keys. It was roughly carved, and the little worn tag read 46. 

“The rooms are upstairs,” Reaper said. Oddly enough he seemed like in some sort of hurry that Elliot didn’t understand. He only nodded, having barely said a word since arriving. As they walked across the room to the stairs in the corner, he kept his head low, avoiding eye contact with the others in the room, but as he moved his head, he locked eyes with one for a second.

A dark figure in the darkest corner, with a hood low over their face, but oddly enough, it seemed they had glowing eyes. That or they had a lantern in there. In that split second, Elliot felt a cold wash over him, like the person was reading deep into his soul. He broke the contact and dashed towards the stairs. 

The room was dark when Elliot swung the creaky door open. Reaper had gone straight into his room across the hall with barely four words and leaving Elliot alone. He couldn’t shake that strange feeling he’d gotten from that stranger downstairs. He didn’t really know what had happened, but whatever it was it had felt really--weird. 

The room was on the third floor, the highest one. Elliot crossed the room and opened the moss-eaten curtains where the dark, desolate landscape spanned across. He could see barely nothing, the shadow from the caravansary’s light going much further than the light did. He turned from the window and to the small table where a lamp and a small pile of matches were. He struck one and lit the lamp, letting the flame flicker and cast a soft glow over the room. 

Cade hadn’t been wrong, the room was small. Barely room for the single bed, an even smaller nightstand, the lamptable and an empty wooden shelf. Exhausted, he locked the door and took his damp cloak off. He ran a hand through his hair, sitting on the edge of the bed. He wasn’t really sure what to think or do. 

He could start with sleeping, but he knew that if he tried to, his brain would still lie awake. But he didn’t exactly have energy to think now. It couldn’t be that late, either, though there was no clock in the room to confirm that. A small part of him wanted to go ask Reaper questions in hope he had the answers, but he had seemed pretty tired, and Elliot didn’t want to disturb him if he was sleeping. 

So he sat there in quiet a few moments, rubbing his hands and looking around the room. Then the flicker of the lantern in a mirror caught his gaze. But he hesitated. Did he really want to see how his father had scarred him? Did he want to see his weathered, beaten self? 

The answer was yes, he wanted to see what others saw. Wanted to see what Reaper had seen that made him want to make sure he was fine. Wanted to see what others saw if they judged him. 

Gingerly he slid off the tall bed, his boots making the floor creak underneath. Crossing the room to the mirror, he didn’t look directly at it just yet--readying himself. 

Then he looked. 

A jagged scar now ran down under his left eye to his jaw, rough and healing. His eyes bore a new sort of pain and readiness that wasn’t there before--and oh, that old nervousness and scaredness was still there. But he seemed a tad more burdened now. His hair hung in damp clumps over his forehead, the reddishness more muted in the light. The peaks of his Elf ears could be seen under them. 

It wasn’t as terrible as he had been expecting--but it was, at the same time. It was different, and changes are always hard to navigate at first glimpses. But he doubted that scar would heal completely--it would always be there, a reminder of what had happened and that fatal day. It could have been yesterday--or a week ago, depending on how long he had been out. He did look more frail, but that could just be from strain. Or from not eating for a week or two. 

He shook these thoughts off and staggered back to the bed, flopping back down with a defeated sigh. It wasn’t a very comfortable bed, but it was better than cold ground. Before he really realized that he was, he had slipped into a deep sleep.

The light of dawn woke him early, lying on top of the bed in his dry-er clothes. Sun streamed through the window--the kind of filtered sunlight that comes after a storm, but sun nonetheless. Elliot groaned and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He felt rested, which was a good thing, he supposed. Sleep was supposed to do that. He slid off the bed and shook off the few last drops of water, the rest having dried overnight. 

Elliot walked over to the window and peered out, the lamp having burnt out through the night. The same landscape he and Reaper had come though in the wet last night was now sunlit and glistened with dew, a few low-lying clouds dotting the horizon. 

He heard a soft knock at the door and started, softly walking over to the door. “Wh-who is it?” he asked, not being able to see through the wood. 

“Reaper,” he heard through the door. It sounded like him, but Elliot grabbed a stray cane that had been left by the door and slowly opened it. 

Reaper pushed it open the rest of the way, walking through and closing it behind him. “You’ll need far more training before you can properly use something like that,” he said to Elliot, who was still holding the cane.

He set it down in confusion. “T-training?”

Reaper ignored the question, locking the door. “Well, today we go on to Holden,” he said instead. He wore the black eye mask again. 

“Right,” Elliot said, his tone not really excited or ready for that. 

“There are a few things you may need to know beforehand,” Reaper continued. “Do you recall what I mentioned before with people not quite sympathizing with elves?” 

Elliot nodded, perching on the bed close to the window. 

“Well, that is how it will be there. I would doubt we could find anyone to take us in if they knew. It is like that here, but luckily no one saw anything last night. You will need to conceal your Elvish features at all times.”

“Oh.” Elliot knew he needed to add more words to that sentence but he couldn’t quite find them. They couldn’t find some other place?

“And I would avoid anything to bring you--or me--to a place like that,” Reaper continued, “but you need somewhere proper to sleep and medicine in your condition, and we could only find that in Holden. So we’ll go there for now.”

“Will-will I stay with you there?” Elliot asked. 

“I do not have a house there,” Reaper answered, “but I would not leave you alone until you have figured out what you will do and how.”

Elliot doubted he would do that but he stayed silent.

“Now, we do need food, which they will have downstairs,” Reaper said, casting a glance around Elliot’s small room. “Do you have your cloak?” 

Elliot pointed to in front of the bed where it lay in a damp and messy pile. “Er, yeah.”

Reaper frowned, picking it up and shaking it out. “It’s dry enough and you’ll need to wear it,” he said, tossing it to Elliot who scrambled to catch it. He slid it on, and while it was dry, it had that strange smell cloth tends to pick up when it dries in a pile on the floor. 

“I think that was it,” Reaper said, placing a hand on the doorknob. “We will go downstairs to get food provisions and then we will leave.” He unlocked the door and opened it, pausing before stepping out and turning back to Elliot. “Are you ready?”

No, he wasn’t. That was the answer he should have gave, but instead he responded with a very unsteady “Yes”. 

Reaper nodded. “Alright then. Off we can go.”

Elliot followed Reaper out of the room, looking back at the room he spent one night in, his first night out of Orlem, free within limits. Then he closed the door and walked behind Reaper, down the hall. 

What he didn’t see, however, was a dark, hooded figure peering out of their own door. 

Elliot and Reaper walked down the stairs in silence, Elliot slipping his hood over himself before they entered the main downstairs, remembering Reaper’s words. He didn’t really want to experience firsthand the judgment and unfriendliness that he’d mentioned. That was one hand he could deal without. 

They walked out of the cramped staircase hall into the still-dim dining hall. It wasn’t as crowded as last night, but there were still a good bit there, considering it was half hour after sunrise. Reaper payed no one there any attention, briskly walking across the room and weaving around tables to the far side of the room, by Cade’s desk, where no one sat behind it at this early hour. 

“We get food--where?” Elliot asked, confused, clumsily following Reaper around. 

“At the back,” Reaper said, walking around the desk, Elliot following. There behind the desk was a small wooden shelf nailed to the wall with a few baskets of random assorted food. Apples, breads, and other messily packaged things. 

“Now, the reason we are up so early,” Reaper said as he threw things into a bag, “is yes, for the fact that we will arrive in Holden sooner, but also so that Cade does not witness us taking his food supply.”

“W-wait, we’re stealing it?” Elliot asked, looking around nervously.

“He’s lending it to us,” Reaper said, turning back to Elliot, drawing the bag closed. “And he doesn’t yet know it.”

Elliot wasn’t really sure how he felt about this, but he was hungry so he didn’t really argue. None of the few other peoples in the room payed them any attention as they stepped out from behind the desk and towards the main doors. Reaper tossed Elliot the bag of food, who fumbled to catch it as he opened the door and they stepped out.

There was that leftover smell of dampness that comes after a rainstorm, which Elliot didn’t mind at all. The ground was still wet and soggy, and squished under their feet as they walked, past the Caravansary in silence. 

Elliot opened the bag of food and dug out a slice of bread, nibbling at it. He’d half expected it to be stale or along the lines of that, but it was actually in edible condition. There wasn’t really any conversation between the two as they walked. 

About half an hour in, they stopped to rest on the crest of a hill, looking down into the valley, where through the mist that settled down there, could be seen buildings. 

“You see it?” Reaper asked, pointing down. “That is our destination. Holden.” 

[sleepless-rain]

Seijoh’s graduation trip plans

Translator: Leo | Sleepless-rain | Leoppii Editor: Troy  Esaki | Kahluaplusmilk

“Continue on unwaveringly.”

Those were the words that Iwaizumi Hajime had said to Oikawa Tohru, who had stopped to turn back and look at him. It was fall at the time.

“You’re my partner and an utterly amazing setter.”

On this day, Aobajousai High School had lost in the semifinals at the Miyagi representative game of the spring volleyball tournament. And starting from that lost match, the third years were to retire.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa weren’t only the captain and vice-captain of the volleyball club.  They had been together through junior high school and elementary school, more than half of their lives—up until now— was spent together on the courts as partners.

Iwaizumi’s words were blunt, unembellished and held no lies.

“Even if this team changes, that will not change. When the time comes I will take you down.”

Oikawa straightened himself and accepted Iwaizumi’s words of passion and friendship head-on.

“…Bring it on.”

And this story takes place a few months later.

TRANSLATORS NOTE: Please do NOT repost this translation ANYWHERE. If I see the whole thing elsewhere I will stop translating novel chapters and delete this one as well. Sharing small snippets are okay but not the whole thing. Please link back to this tumblr post if you want to share it.

  “I want to eat curry… So how about India?” said Iwaizumi, wiping the sweat off with his arm.

“You serious?”

“The bar is suddenly set way too high.”

Matsukawa Issei and Hanamaki Takahiro grimace, sweat dripping from their chins.

It was followed by, “But I like naan.”

“I totally get you.”

“When you want to eat naan, you drop by the curry restaurant.”

“I don’t get you.”

A stream of consciousness about curry overlapped with one another until Hanamaki cut in, wringing out his towel, “But you know…Hawaii would be good. How about we go snorkeling?”

“That sounds good, ‘specially in this situation. Deciding between curry and the sea, the latter sounds far better,” Matsukawa answered, ceaselessly wiping his sweat and wringing out his towel.

Iwaizumi, who had suggested India clicked his tongue, “Tch.”

It was hot in here.

Actually, rather than hot it was boiling hot. Yearning for the cool blue sea over a curry filled with spices was no surprise.

As to why they were in a highly acclaimed sauna.

                                                            *** 

In their third year of high school, winter.

With no classes to attend and it being a long time since retiring from club activities, the former volleyball club third year members of Aobajousai High School, Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa were left in a daze, and with so much free time they made their way around to various large bathhouses.

After making a big fuss over the electricity bath* with a waterfall feature* they headed into the sauna together. While sweating, the brainless discussion of “where would you go for your graduation trip? Assuming that money wasn’t an issue” blossomed: a way to occupy their free time.

“But you know I’d like to go to Las Vegas.”

“Because you want to gamble?”

“But it’s only fun if you actually have money.”

“Ah, there it is: the forbidden word,” Matsukawa pointed out in response to Iwaizumi’s frank reply, but he thoughtfully considered an alternative.

“If it isn’t a casino… there isn’t really any other place I’d want to go there. Okay then… hmmm, ah. Pandas. A tour of the panda’s homeland, China.”

“Well, if its pandas,” Hanamaki replied to Matsukawa’s panda suggestion, clapping his hands together. “Did you know there’s a whole tonne of pandas at the Wakayama Zoo? I saw it on TV recently.”

“Wakayama?”

“Oh, I bet you don’t know where Wakayama is, Iwaizumi.”

“Shut up.”

Wincing at Iwaizumi’s lack of affection, Hanamaki pulled himself together: “Anyway, even my towel has gotten hot so I think it’s about time to get out.”

“Same here, I can’t stand it anymore.” Matsukawa stood up, “What about you Iwaizumi?” he asked.

“I’m staying.”

“Okay, don’t push yourself.”

“Cold bath?”

“Cold bath.”

The two friends agreed whilst pushing open the heavy wooden door and exiting.

Left alone in the sauna, Iwaizumi crossed his arms, staring at the thermometer on the wall. There was nothing else to do.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, sweating buckets until he muttered, “Las Vegas, huh?” before taking his towel and violently wiping his face and his head. “I guess I really am a bit like a kaiju.” He said to himself, standing up and leaving the sauna drenched in sweat and in search of water.

                                                               ***

 After enjoying the baths and the sauna, the three tired boys found themselves in the large tatami room. Lined with tables and sitting cushions the room doubled as both a resting and a dining area.

An old fan swung its neck unsteadily, blowing a breeze in their direction. There seemed to be a TV somewhere in the room, as the sounds of the golf match commentary could be heard faintly. There were people watching the TV with a few beers, people lying down reading the comic books provided, and children playing the games they had brought.

Everyone in this bathhouse resting area was relaxing and doing as they pleased. And as for these three boys, they were testing the limits of their stomachs.

Of course, it didn’t start off as such a vicious scene. It was meant to be a light meal but there was a reason as to why it turned into a bloodthirsty battle.

After getting out of the baths and slipping into the jinbei* resembling pajamas, the three ordered a light meal, curry, and ramen, while resting. The place ran on a self-serve system, where you went to get your food from the counter when the number buzzer you were given went off. However, the pork cutlet curry Matsukawa had ordered still hadn’t been called out.

“You two eat first, or it will get cold and soggy,” Matsukawa, who was lying on the ground reading manga, told Iwaizumi and Hanamaki who had gone and returned with their curry and ramen.

“Then I’ll dig in.”

“Sorry.”

Without holding back the two took their spoons and chopsticks in their hands and began eating.

“I knew it, curry is the best.”

“That’s not even Indian styled curry! You’re okay with that? ”

“Yeah, because it’s curry.”

The boys continued to talk at the table, and everything was still alright. The trouble was yet to come.

Slurping his ramen Hanamaki called out to Iwaizumi beside him, “You were in there for a real long time.”

“Hm?” Iwaizumi responded with the spoon still in his mouth.

“You know, in the sauna.” He replied.

“Oh that. Isn’t that amount of time normal?”

“Are you serious?”

Their conversation ended there. Both of them focusing on the curry and ramen before them. It was just a meaningless conversation however someone reacted unexpectedly.

“Normal, huh…?”

It was Matsukawa, lying on the tatami.

Matsukawa couldn’t let their conversation – Iwaizumi’s “normal” - slip from his ears.

 “‘Normal’ he said. Doesn’t that mean that the two of us that left earlier are weaker than normal?”

 At that moment his buzzer went off beeping.

Matsukawa got up, “Oh, it’s finally done.”

Hanamaki eyed him whilst sipping the ramen broth from his spoon and asked: “Yours is the only one that took so long, what did you order?”

“Me? Pork cutlet curry.”

“Oh, one of those things that take time to fry… wait, that’s not something you eat after getting out of the sauna!? Your stomach must be strong.”

Upon hearing that Matsukawa glanced at Iwaizumi who was drinking water. And as if he were waiting for it, a smug smile crossed his face, “You think so? Having pork cutlet curry is pretty normal.” He taunted, picking up the beeping number buzzer to get his pork cutlet curry, ambling towards the counter. Someone glared at the figure strangely overflowing with confidence.

“‘Normal’… you say?” It was Iwaizumi, spoon in hand. “Normal? Then me eating plain curry means I’m weaker than that?”

The golf commentary from the TV, the manga, the faint breeze blowing intermittently, the curry and ramen, all of it relaxing and warm. This heaven-like peace enveloping the resting and dining area unfolded into a sudden battlefield.  

Iwaizumi stuffed the remainder of his curry into his mouth vigorously before slowly standing up. “I’m going to get extra gyoza,” he said.

Taken aback by the sudden dangerous aura emanating from Iwaizumi, Hanamaki winced “S-sure…”. His hands stopped over his ramen, the atmosphere created by former ace Iwaizumi could have easily been mistaken for the middle of a match.

And soon after Matsukawa returned with his tray of curry.

“Huh, where’s Iwaizumi?”

“Mm? Oh- uh seems like he went to get some gyoza.”

“…I see.”

Seating himself leisurely onto a sitting cushion, Matsukawa took his spoon in his hand and sighed, “Facing off pork cutlet curry with gyoza, pathetic.”

“What? What are you talking about? Both of you have been acting really weird since a while ago! Is this some kind of inside-joke?”

Hanamaki put down his chopsticks without thinking and upon noticing change in Matsukawa’s attitude Iwaizumi had returned with a “hey.” The clear plastic container in his hand contained eight gyoza. On top of that, another box stuffed with 200grams of chicken karaage. Seeing the extra meat, Hanamaki just feigned a smile.

“Hey, I know you went to all the trouble of buying that but I’m full from the ramen, I can’t eat that.”

Iwaizumi didn’t even spare Hanamaki a glance, staring down unblinkingly at Matsukawa who was eating his cutlet leisurely in declaration of war, “All of it is mine.”

Matsukawa stared back, putting down his fork and rising to his feet to accept Iwaizumi’s challenge, “Bring it on.”

“What is it with you guys!? Matsukawa, why are you standing? Sit down!”

The downside of war is that there are always innocents who get dragged in. And without listening to the confused Hanamaki, the pointless battle began.

Thirty minutes had passed. After eating his pork cutlet curry, yakisoba, grilled onigiri, Matsukawa now sat with what he claimed ‘dessert’, slurping down tapioca filled milk tea.

An exhausted Hanamaki asked: “Isn’t tapioca made from some sort of potato, doesn’t that make this more of a food than a drink? Why are you eating little balls of potato after a meal?”

“Because they were selling it.”

“Even if you want to look cool drinking that, you don’t.”

“I’m not trying to look cool.”

“You are! I heard you when you said ‘pathetic’ and all that other stuff. ”

While Hanamaki and Matsukawa were going back and forth, Iwaizumi returned with another plate piled high with freshly made fries.

“Potatoes! More potatoes! Why are you both eating piles of potatoes!? It’s practically another meal! What’s with you two?! My stomach hurts just watching you. I’m begging you both, please stop!”

The bystander Hanamaki had given up and Matsukawa, who was probing for pearls with the end of his straw, and Iwaizumi, who was throwing a handful of fries into his mouth, stopped. They looked at each other and nodded.

“Let stop it here then since you’re insisting.”

“Right.”

“You’re pretty strong.”

“Same to you.”

Hanamaki glanced at the two shaking hands over the good showdown they had had, clutching his stomach and rolling on the tatami groaning, “The damage runs deep…”

Having mercy on Hanamaki, who suddenly gave in, and having come to terms with the power they both held, both of them turned back to the table. Instead of eating at top speed they ate at the pace they pleased, sipping tapioca and munching on fries. This peaceful scene is what you would have called a warriors break.

“I think I ate a bit too much.”

“It’s because we haven’t been exercising recently.”

“I guess so.”

“How about we show our faces at club practice tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

After eating and drinking until they were full, they leant against the wall, satisfied. It was a warm, comforting moment. Taking a hot bath, unwinding in the sauna, eating a good meal, the fan gently carrying a breeze towards them— It was a moment of bliss.

Eyes closed and exhaustion finally settling in, everything was disrupted by music playing loudly through the speakers in the resting area.

“Huh? Seems like something’s starting…” an almost asleep Hanamaki woke up, startled.

“Look at that…!” Eyes wide, he pointed out at the open area outside.

Iwaizumi and Matsukawa stood up to look over.

A low stage had been unknowingly set up, a group of elderly people who had just gotten out of the baths and enjoying a beer gathered around it, microphones held gleefully in their hands. The sound of unknown old men singing enka songs roared through the resting area.

“I didn’t think they’d have karaoke here.”

“I can’t sleep like this.”

“This blows.”

For these three high school boys with little life experience, and it was a little too early to be battling it out in enka songs. Slipping past the old men excited by songs of mountains and waterfalls, death and killing, the three boys shuffled out of the resting and dining area, leaving it all behind.

                                                              ***

Escaping the enka hell the three boys, wearing the indoor slippers, stumbled upon an arcade.

“Oh, they have the alligator game.*”

“Ready for the hunt.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit cruel to hit their heads?”

“That crane game has a PS4 in it.”

“There’s no way you could win it.”

Familiar sounds and music filled the room. The three wandered aimlessly around the to all the old crane machines until Iwaizumi suddenly called out, “Oh! Let’s play this! Have a showdown!”

In front of the eager Iwaizumi was a punching bag machine. But Matsukawa wrinkled his brow at the effort of it all, “No way, I hate these power type games. You’re going to thrash us anyway Iwaizumi.”

“There’s no winning or losing in punching. It’s to test yourself.”

“You said showdown before.”

It seemed like they were about to break down into another fight but Hanamaki, blue-faced, cut in, “Sorry… but I… the moment I use any force I think I’ll have ramen spewing out of my mouth.”

“Don’t wanna see that.”

“If that’s the case, how about we head home? Since we’re tired.”

It was when the three went to check the time that they saw it.

“Oh.”

Hanamaki pointed to the back of the arcade.

“Damn, air hockey!”

“Huh?”

“Oh, it really is! Air hockey! Air hockey!”

At the back of the arcade was an air hockey machine, old and clunky like the rest of the machines.

“Oh crap! How long has it been since we played air hockey?”

“I haven’t played since junior high!”

“Hurry up, let’s play! How much is it?”

“I won’t lose!”

“Who versus who for the first game?”

Wanting to spew ramen from his mouth, whether someone was going to win or lose, all of that was forgotten as the three hurriedly rushed to stuff one hundred yen into the machine. And thus the first round of the air hockey tournament began.

                                                               ***

 “The bathhouse was unexpectedly interesting.”

“We’ve discovered a great place.”

“Right?”

They had eaten to their heart’s content, played around like children before heading into the baths once again to wash off the sweat. With satisfied faces, they headed home on the free shuttle.

“I didn’t even think it would be this interesting.”

“We spent all our money on the air hockey machine though.”

“We exchanged for so many coins.”

After reminiscing the day using only the words “sick”, “seriously”, and “fun” they eventually quieted down. Whether it was the swaying of the bus, the fatigue from the baths, their full stomachs, or the soft orange light of the setting sun filling the bus that had the three nodding off, no one was sure.

 Staring blankly out the window Iwaizumi mumbled, “... If only he had come.”

Upon hearing those words Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s eyes flew open, despite almost falling asleep.

“Huh, by ‘him’ you mean… Him?”

“If you say ‘him’ there’s no one but him.”

“Him… yeah him…”

The three of them exchanged glances nodding in agreement “Him”, “yeah him.” And bursting out into laugher but it only took a moment before they stopped.

“No, it’s better that he wasn’t here.”

“I guess.”

“It would be pretty wild if he were.”

“But he definitely would have stolen the microphone out of the old lady’s hands.”

“Gotta do a duet I guess.”

“And then he’d get a tonne of candy and mikan.”

“Definitely.”

Right in the middle of their heated talk about ‘him’, the phone in Iwaizumi’s pocket rang out.

“Hm?”

Iwaizumi glanced at the notification, letting out an “ugh” and leaning back, the other two asked what it was and Iwaizumi showed them his phone.

“It’s from him.”

It was a message from him – Oikawa Tohru.

“Really?”

“Hell, he might be hiding in here watching us.”

“Surveying us huh.”

Of course, it would have been unlikely, but perhaps it wasn’t with the person called Oikawa. You could say that he was mysterious, or rather incomprehensible, whichever it was he was inexplicably terrifying.

After looking around the windows and the bus to confirm that Oikawa wasn’t there, Hanamaki let out a sigh, “So what did he say?”

“He just asked ‘Whatcha doing?’ Doesn’t he have anything else to do?”

“Tell him we’re in Las Vegas, send ‘In Las Vegas now’.”

“Idiot.”

“That’s stupid.”

While they bantered they took a photo, bathed in the setting sun, and sent it a message along the lines of “Coming back from Las Vegas with Matsukawa and Hanamaki”. And a reply came back immediately, obviously addressed to all three of them.

“Here we go, ‘ Is this Las Vegas at Naruko Hot springs*?’. Why Naruko hot springs? Is it the kokeshi? ” Hanamaki laughed before his expression changed, “Wait how did he know we went to the baths? Is there a place called Las Vegas in Naruko?”

Both Matsukawa and Iwaizumi replied immediately with serious faces, “Of course not.”

“Oh but hot springs sound good too,” Matsukawa added, stretching in his seat.

“Hot springs, huh…That means table tennis and not air hockey.” As Iwaizumi smirked his phone rang again.

“No fair! I want to go!” came another message from Oikawa.

This time Hanamaki replied, “Air hockey warrior Iwaizumi was seriously something.” and a reply from Oikawa came immediately.

“He said, ‘I’d beat him no sweat’. What are you gonna do Iwaizumi?”

“As if I’d lose.” Iwaizumi replied casually, but his fighting spirit burned deep in his eyes.

“This is going to be serious.”

“Yeah.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa looked at one another.

Would there really be another round of the air hockey tournament? Who knows?

 The three of them thought about the days ahead of them on the swaying bus.

For the three years of high school, if not the years of elementary school and middle school, the boys that had spent more time bonding with their volleyball teammates than their parents or siblings, were now about to walk different paths. Away from their schools, their hometown.

 “God, I’m getting bus sick,” Matsukawa said blue-faced and Hanamaki laughed.

“You’re so weak… wait I don’t feel so good either.”

“Don’t look down, look outside!” Iwaizumi pointed, putting his phone away in his pocket.

“What are you going to do about Oikawa?” Hanamaki asked, “You still haven’t replied to his ‘I’d beat him no sweat’ comment.”

“Just leave it.”

The other two laughed at the blunt reply.

“Amazing, he’s not even here and he managed to barge in.”

“His presence is too strong.”

“That’s why it’s a good thing he isn’t here with us.”

As they laughed amongst themselves the bus approached the station. They knew it well, this twilight town they always walked through together. The bus winded through, this small journey was almost coming to an end. As each small journey ends, the days slowly pass by. The match ends, retiring from club activities, graduating from high school.

The time to part ways will definitely come, but this won’t be a problem for them. The time spent together, the sweat and tears they shed, all of it is part of their bodies and souls. Along with the things that they built up together, their strength, technique, confidence, and trust, all these things make up their bodies. And each of them will walk a new path to a place they haven’t trekked.

As all roads are connected, although separated, for now, they will surely meet again. And so for the when they meet again so that they can hold their heads high and laugh, they will continue to take on each challenge.

 How about you?

Are you moving forward?

 A motivation that can only be gained from friends pushes them onwards through fatigue. If friends are what keeps one going when they’re apart, then not having them by their sides will be all right.

 “Continue on unwaveringly.”

That’s all they needed.

                                                               ***

  While the three began to head their separate ways home after hopping off the bus, Oikawa was hunched in the corner of the clubroom staring at his phone, “Why did they leave me on read? Damn it!!”

   TRANSLATION NOTES:

Electricity baths: Pretty much a bath that has panels running down the sides that shoot electrical pulses into the water. I’ve been in one and it’s kind of tingly at first but it feels kind of like a massage if you get used to it. It’s not all that common in Japan so even then it’s a sort of novelty to Japanese people.

Waterfall feature: I didn’t know how to translate this but it’s basically a pipe at a height where the hot water comes out. You can sit under it to hit your back and it’s basically like a waterfall/massage.

 Jinbei: Traditional Japanese top and bottoms. The kind you see babies wear to summer festivals (I guess like a two-piece, yukata top and pants). Made out of a thin material and made particularly for hot weather.

 Alligator game: in English, this game is Alligator hunt, but in Japanese, it’s called (ワニワニパニック) waniwani panicky, alligator panic, Matsukawa follows with a “What a panic” to finish Hanamaki’s sentence but I changed it a bit so English readers could get the reference.

Naruko hot springs: One of the most popular hot springs in Miyagi is also known for their wooden dolls, kokeshi. If you ever go to Miyagi, Naruko is beautiful in fall!!

As a small disclaimer:  I have taken some liberties in translation to make the  novel read smoothly. So please don’t quote specific words as canon. that being said I tried my best to stay faithful to the original.  For this reason I will not allow translations into another language using this as the base text. I apologise to anyone who is keen on sharing it in another language but please do so using the original Japanese text.

Anyway, if you enjoyed this chapter please consider supporting Haikyuu and buying a copy of this novel (volume 11) ! I may consider doing more novel translations in the future!

I do have a Ko-fi so if you do feel like it, please donate!

[north-peach]

WHO WANTS A SNIPPET OF A MEGS/OP FIC I ALMOST WROTE ALMOST TWO YEARS AGO?

plus some notes because, like I said, almost wrote it

also, trigger warning for brief mention of rape, nothing explicit 

murder too? kinda mild violence? 

Also it’s more Megatronus/Optimus Prime....plus, slight time travel.

When Truth is Shattered (hope is built once more)

There's an Uprising, as there always is in a universe such as this. The rebellion is orchestrated by Megatronus being the kickass he is, poet, philosopher, warrior, slave and leader. 

Prime is a title passed down via a fancy relic thing referred to as the Matrix of Leadership, but it's not merged with a spark, it's strung on a chain and worn, or usually displayed somewhere. It signifies the authority invested in someone, either individually or a group of individuals.

The Matrix also acts as an activation key for a great many forms of highly power technology that is rumored to have been created by Primus himself for the Original Thirteen Primes to use.

There's a really old bot called Alpha Trion who bestows it, takes it back and is generally the one who handles it, in between the periods of a new Prime or Council of Prime ascending. He's always been there, he's like super old so no one really questions him, his decisions, his impact on their society or anything at all. 

Primus is thought to be something like a myth, Unicron as well. Most of their history of the early days of their civilization is a bit spotty, but their current level of technology cannot compete with what they possessed in the beginning and now lack the ability to craft or use.

That’s why the Matrix is a symbol of leadership as it can activate the technology, including the planetary shield, almost all offensive capabilities, several buildings that manufacture everything from basic building components to extremely energy intensive upgrades.

It is acknowledged history that there were thirteen Original Primes, even though only about half of their names are remembered. However all of their greatest deeds were recorded. So you had the Prime of This and That, when their names were lost to time. 

So, save for the ruling few, the nobles, the first class and a majority of the second class citizens, things are bad. 

Caste system, energon shortage, bad working conditions, (all of these unnecessary, used only as a means to control the populace because tired, hungry and illiterate people don't raise armies to overthrow the government) abuse of rights, those in power staying in power, inheriting power from family members and corruption running rampant through the levels of government. 

Megatronus, former slave/miner turned gladiator, poet, philosopher and revolutionary raises his army and storms into Iacon in order to demand change, or put himself in charge. That is his end goal, but he's absolutely going to throw everyone in power into a deep dark hole somewhere if it's the only thing he manages to do. 

The Prime in power, arrogant as all get out, challenges Megatronus and loses his head over it entirely. So Megatronus- who is absolutely an “if I can make god bleed” kinda guy, yanks the Matrix from the corpse, throws it down and swings his sword down on it as hard as he can. 

Miner, yes? Gladiator, yes? Yes? Very strong, we appreciate his strong, Matrix is strong enough to survive a very long time, but Megatronus is fueled by righteous fury and the rage of a thousand murdered slaves.

Alpha Trion screams in anguished horror as it shatters into fifty thousand itty bitty pieces. No more Matrix of Leadership, no more cheating to get around the systems lock on technology only meant to be worked by a Prime.

Sad day.

That's when everything lights up like the American’s fourth of July and from that light, a large mech in blue and red appears. Nice sleek lines, brilliant paint, very pretty, we also appreciate this. He's very confused, understandably, looking around in shock, bewilderment and some dawning sense of terror. But then he sees Alpha Trion. 

Instantly he leaps to his pedes and reaches towards the old bot.

"Alpha Trion? Where- where am I? What- what is going on?" 

Alpha Trion gets emotions, surprising for a bot responsible for so much suffering, the way he screamed shocked a great many people.

Megatronus and his high command all decide to observe because a new player has entered the equation and while everyone’s attention is on him, it gives Megatronus a chance to move more people into a better positions. 

Optimus is understandably very upset. He yanks his servos out of Alpha Trion’s grasp, ignoring as the bot’s voice turns cajoling and pleading for him to calm down. 

Alpha Trion stands before the new mech, servos grasping onto his and gently starts explaining some of the positives of the new Golden Age but that it's been a while since Optimus walked the planet and this is another Golden Age set a lot of Ages after the very first Golden Age.

And Alpha Trion carefully and quickly explains that Optimus was opposed to a thing that the rest of the thirteen primes were going to do and Megatronus decided to remove him because he was standing in the way of their glory, in the way of the greater good of Cybertron. He did not tell the others and ambushed Optimus-

"Megatronus! He- he," his voice dissolves into a static-y keening, digits digging harshly into the undamaged plating of the cover of his spark chamber. "He stabbed me? My spark? My- He?"

(Megatronus and company trade looks and swift messages) 

-to which, Alpha Trion stresses, they were all very upset and Megatronus was duly punished-

-and buried his sword into his spark chamber. The others were alerted when Primus intervened to ensure Optimus’s spark didn’t return to Him. But his frame was badly damaged and extreme measures were taken to ensure his survival.

Optimus doesn't take this well and decides to use his optics and turns and starts looking. He's standing in a place that is lavish and incredibly luxurious. There are dead people around him, in shiny and glimmering frames, and then there's a crowd of dirty, misshapen, mismash, ragtag, thrown together bots and he quickly jumps to the correct conclusion: the people are revolting against a corrupt leadership and- 

It’s Alpha Trion, shining and dazzling in the soft lights. Alpha Trion who was not a Prime but was granted a similar though lower security level and was treated like family. True, he was fashioned to be an assistant, a helper but this? Sitting in a throne at the right hand of the front of the room?

Optimus jerks his helm around and make optic contact with the largest mech, the one who stands in front of all the others at the head of the revolution. 

There’s power in there that- that- reminds him...

Alpha Trion continues talking though and he's explaining that the rest of the Primes came together and fashioned a stasis orb to keep him alive while his frame repaired and his spark recovered. It was expanded and everything that was his was placed inside and then shrunk.

“Why? Why am I alive?”

It hurts that Alpha Trion looks wrecked at the very idea that Optimus shouldn’t be alive, right before rage crawls over his face plates and vibrates the air with the force of it.

He then starts to explain the people that stand behind him- but-

They’re terrorists and murderers, thieves- Megatronus the Name-Thief, who stole the name of the Betrayer who slaughtered the greatest of them!- liars and rabble raisers who started a war for fun, for profit and glory, to tear down the peace Alpha Trion so carefully crafted all these eons. 

Megatronus feels denied his right place, demands more resources, more people, more space, more energon that simply isn’t available! He would take what he wanted from the more deserving to fuel his army! 

Optimus can’t help the desperate look he makes as he turns back to take in the whole of these ‘terrorists’. They’re all starving and wounded, clearly the forgotten and abandoned and his optics harden as he turns back to Alpha Trion. 

“They do not know their place! They should have remained in their caste, they are not worthy to be acknowledged even as third class citizens! They will ruin all I have built!”

That the matrix- which was composed of tech that kept Optimus’s Prime spark and frame alive and well and provided the required security clearance of a Prime to non-Primes so they could operate the tech meant solely for Primes. To some degree anyway. But after such an amount of time, every bit off eeway was explored to its fullest.

To Optimus Prime, this was a horrific abuse of the power that was entrusted in the Thirteen Primes, to govern and observe but never to oppress and destroy their society to this extent!

He opens his intake, but he cannot speak, even as he stares at this mech he once knew, once called friend.

His spark throbs.

Optimus turns once more to- to M- the one who calls himself Megatronus- a mech who bears the name of his murderer, his betrayer, his brother and says nothing. Surely everyone can see the devastation written all over his faceplates.

Alpha Trion makes a noise, clearly intending to speak, but Optimus silences him, overriding his vocal modulator with brutal efficiency. He’s never had to do that before and something hurts. 

Megatronus gives a quick rundown of everything that Alpha Trion left out. The hard, cold truth of the matter. Starvation, oppression, murder, the rich get richer and the poor die alone in the dark. The third class citizens are taken and put to work, denied to ability to speak, rights stripped and designations deleted, forgotten until all that was left was a mindless drone, whose sentient mind retreated deep inside.

Sparklings are taken from carriers who were forced from a higher rank of citizen and neither was ever seen again. Sparklings who were considered the property of their higher ranking parent until they reached an age old enough to take an aptitude test to determine what caste they were joining.

Second class and above never moved unless they offended someone on a higher level. The Primes remained Prime until they died or another was chosen.

Cybertron was built on the bodies of the abandoned, those who had no designation and barely counted as citizens, from third class servants, and janitors, to second class traders, scribes, artists, ect, to first class, the rich, privileged and blessed.

Then the Nobles, the elite, the shining jewels of Cybertron, right below the Primes, the rulers.

Optimus feels numb with horror.

He stares and stares and his optics burn even as Megatronus’s blaze. He turns, only last time, one more time to face Alpha Trion. 

He allows him to speak in his defense- but- but. 

“This was for the greater good, Optimus, my friend, my lord, in order to keep the best and brightest alive, to ensure we would survive as the years passed and we faced a great many challenges. The survival, the endurance of our race, our species was entirely dependent on our ability to unsure what we had went to the most deserving!”

Alpha Trion looks so very sincere, he is entirely genuine in his ever present affection for his long lost friend, but Optimus can barely speak but for the pain in his spark.

“Surely you must see,” Alpha Trion beseeches, “We did it for you, Optimus.”

Clearly expecting his confession to ensure Optimus is firmly on his side, Alpha Trion takes a single step forward, reaching out from the only true Prime left.

Something shatters in his spark chamber and Optimus rises up, slides back and pulls. The Star Saber materializes in his servos in a boom of light and noise, the voice that leaves his intake is terrifying as it thunders through the great hall and echoes throughout the entire city-

“Freedom is the right of all sentient beings!”

It’s wretched out of him, this undeniable truth that seems to have been forgotten so long ago. There is betrayal on Alpha Trion’s face, heartbreak and disbelief.

He doesn’t understand, he did this for you.

Optimus weeps even as he raises his sword.

Of course, this is being recorded and watched across the entire planet because the Iacon nobles and government were absolutely going to use Megatronus's failure and subsequent death as more incentive to keep your helms down, but that really backfired because okay, wow, real Prime- Original Thirteenth Prime who is supporting a Mech named for another one of the Original Thirteen. The Betrayer at that! 

Clearly unexpected, but that’s what you get when the nutjob shadow ruling your planet since almost the beginning of time lies.

I also imagine Optimus with glowing optics and sigils on his frame. Maybe communing with Primus and easily manipulating the AllSpark or something, ect, ect.....

Megatronus will not be understanding Optimus at all. It’s like if the Devil came out of Hell and realized all his demons were running amok and starting crying and killing all of them while asking to borrow your couch because he lives in Hell, not Earth.

(and someone forgot to tell you he was pretty)

[sinakakyralih]

It had been a good idea. For her, if for no one else. And they didn’t look like they were doing poorly without her - not that she had ever doubted that. She left someone responsible in charge; someone she watched mature and rise and fall and rise again; they’d be fine. They were fine.

The Keeper smiled as she leaned on the bridge’s railing with her chin in the palm of one hand, her grey tail curling up fondly as a Lalafell threw open the doors of the Mare Tranquilitatis -- er, Shady Boughs -- with an armload of gardening implements. The young woman gently kicked the door shut behind her and dodged around the table on the front porch, maneuvered down the stairs, and dropped the lot of tools in a semi-organized manner on the edge of one of the garden plots in the front yard, made a show of rolling up their sleeves, tugging the brim of their hat into place, and diving in to dig out the weeds and tend for whatever crop they had coming in. 

The sunlight felt good. The breeze off the lake and the sound of the little waves upon the shore were relaxing, tranquil, and she closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of Lavender Beds, of home, though she made no move towards the house across the waters. This feeling was different than before, where home felt like the night, the wind rushing across the roof, the cacophony of the waterfall behind their little cottage; the shouting, the running, the friends bursting in at all hours. Back when they couldn’t afford their own houses. Then, they were constantly in each others’ hair and business and lives. … but those friends were gone now, moved on with their lives and their own adventures, and she’d been trying that too, lately, hadn’t she?

The first to drift had been Kel; it hadn’t been long after moving into the larger house in a different district - this district - that he had taken up semi-permanent residence in Ishgard, setting in motion what would eventually become the Ishgard Restoration Project. She’d seen him once or twice around the city - they had had tea once, but he was a busy man now and while she had thought his talk a little technical before this undertaking, now it was overwhelming. Not in a bad way - in that… well, that nostalgic Kel sort of way. 

Next had been… Cae. Cae had always been the “mom friend”: strong and driven and organized and strict with her expectations, and welcoming, caring, people-oriented. She was a caretaker and a fierce friend and she missed having her influence in her life, but somewhere along the way they had drifted, and while Cae had continued to count herself part of the Pretty Guardians for a long while after, she felt it was more for nostalgia and loyalty than for that feeling of connectedness. She had moved on - she met new friends, started an amazing and flowery business - she was a full-time healer, now, and wandered to collect the best herbs for both her medicines and her tea; her place was very pretty, very soft and pastel, and very much Cae. She seemed happy, and she was glad for her. And for Kal, and L’uana; she didn’t often have a reason to visit Shirogane these days, but she always made a habit of stopping by when she was there, and when the big-hearted owner wasn’t home, she doodled in her guestbook.

During that time was when their influx of new recruits really started to grow; at first, it was just one or two, like in the old days: just picking up strays that needed a home, like Alannah and Kel; but over time their registered numbers really started to climb as individual members started picking up one or two adventurers that needed an affiliation for safety, even if they didn’t really stick around the house all that often. She had been happy to give that: the Pretty Guardians were there to help, even if it were just to lend their name and a hand to their members when necessary. Some, however, stuck around, getting close with everyone, even as the old guard started fading away…

Alannah got married to that rascal Nine from the neighbourhood around their first Free Company cottage - their story not exactly typical in any way beyond ‘they were somewhat neighbours’, but that was their story; she was happy for their happy ending, even though it was sad to watch her move out of Lavender Beds and into a charming little cottage in La Noscea. She wasn’t around as often after that, not that she could blame her. She had a baby, Ash, that she brought back for meetings and playdates with her “aunties”; the little girl was adorable and was fun to teach things to that Alannah may not have exactly wanted her to learn so quickly, but that’s what she got for their free babysitting services. Alannah was still there, welcoming in new members, keeping track of the day-to-day goings-on, connected to the house through moogle mail and linkshell while not there in person. She entrusted her with everything.

But it had always been Adelpha and her that were the fixtures of the house - its caretakers, trainers of new recruits, calling shots, and organizing FC activities, but…

Adelpha’s retirement had been unexpected. She wasn’t that far away - she was back in Gridania, having taken a steady job as a researcher, going into the family business after her father had suffered a fall. She knew her father - they had met through her father; but what she was doing wasn’t just being noble or making a sacrifice for her family, it was what she wanted to do. They had been friends for nearly a decade; she had dragged Adelpha clear across Eorzea and beyond, had pulled her into the Scions, thrown her into dangerous situations and jumped in right after. They’d had fun; they were each other’s backup. Adelpha was her playmate, her grumpy, easily-aggravated-on-the-outside, clearly-enjoying-acting-that-way-on-the-inside best friend. … but adventuring forever hadn’t been her dream. 

It was Sinaka’s. 

And maybe that was what she needed to realize, and to let go of. All of her original friends had moved on, left their adventuring in their twenties or early twenties, and settled down into the occupation they wanted to have for the rest of their lives: occupations that made them happy and fulfilled, callings that they had found and fought for, and while that didn’t align with the dream they had shared nine years ago, it didn’t make that dream any less real. The time they had spent together had been real, and special, and something she wouldn’t forget for the rest of her life, and had to believe that they would never forget, either. 

But still, Adelpha leaving had led to a period of loss for her: the end of an era, and the idea of facing it while still running operations for the new recruits -- a reference she really had to stop making, seeing as how it had been years since most of them had joined now -- left her feeling hollow, unable to give the same lively performance they were used to, so she took time off to travel, to reflect, to see if adventuring was still her calling or if she had been hanging on out of duty and nostalgia and stubborn loyalty to the people of her past… 

It had been five months since she had transferred leadership to Alannah and left in the middle of the night. She had left a letter, sure, but she could just imagine the face the hyur would have had upon reading it. She grinned, taking in a deep breath that smelled of water lilies, and let it out slowly. 

She wasn’t ready to go back just yet, but she would be.

It was good to see the place was still standing, though, and that the symbol above the door still matched the pin she wore on her lapel, even if the house’s face had changed drastically from when she had seen it last. She didn’t know how Alannah was dealing with all the flowers, but it looked nice. 

The Pretty Guardians were okay.

And she was okay. 

She’d be back.

Idk if those mentioned would want to be tagged ^^’ But yeah, feeling nostalgic for the “old days”, of 2012-2016, and when this definition came across my dash this little snippet fell into place and I feel like it explains not only character feelings and development and what’s been going on with Sinaka (wow I haven’t written for her since Heavensward? Waow XD (btw I had headcanoned years ago that her Path Companion, Sol, had traveled not 5 years into the future but to a different shard and man did shadowbringers bring me glee in letting that be a storyline I could wrap up hahahah)) but also give me a little moment to say...

Thank you.

Thank you Cae, and Adelpha, and Kal and Kel and Alannah (♥ still here with me, heehee) and those friends who weren’t part of the FC but were there for me back then (Sieg!). Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for logging so many hours with me doing stupid stuff like racing around zones and playing hide-and-seek and having hours-long hot-tub parties where we did literally nothing productive, just chatted about anything and everything in a basement hot tub through the text chat box. Thank you for the memories and the companionship and the silly stories. 

Thank you for being there.

[third-rail-vip]

the wanderers

*nervous laughter* yeah so it’s been a really long time since i did this, but i wrote a little early dynamics kind of intro for Mac and Ivy to warm up for the fluff prompts.  

[words: 2171]   [read on AO3]

The road out from Cambridge felt like it dragged on forever through the quiet backwaters of the commonwealth that MacCready had never really bothered with - never enough caps out here to make it worth the trip.  That morning the sun had shone and he’d thought it might be nice to wander out into what the ‘wealth thought of as wasteland, but he’d not counted on how damn hot it’d be slogging uphill for hours on end.  Weren’t winters meant to be colder the further north you went?  It was November and his hat was sticking unpleasantly to his forehead.  He was bored, irritable and parched, and for once he wasn’t complaining at the boss’s habit of carrying too much water.

Ivy had been out of sorts all morning, barely noticing even his worst jokes, the ones that would usually send her into fits of giggles before she admonished him for making her laugh at something so bad.  

A last minute stop at Valentine’s Detective Agency had left her deflated.  It’d only been a week since they’d rescued the detective, hardly enough time for him to dig up any leads on the mystery man from her vault.  But there they were at the crack of dawn, MacCready still bleary-eyed and yawning into his sleeve when Valentine had opened the door with a sorry shake of his head at the sight of them.  He had nothing more to offer them than coffee and an apology that nothing had turned up yet.  

Mac held his tongue for the boss’s sake - no point in throwing any more spanners in the works - and the detective at least seemed decent enough.  For a synth.  From what he could tell, finding Valentine was supposed to be some kind of big break for Ivy, but they were headed back with nothing to show for it and it was weighing on her. 

By the time they hit the shadow of the old Corvega factory he’d stopped bothering to try and make conversation.  They settled into a heavy silence.  Even the local wildlife seemed to have taken the hint, with not even the buzzing of a bloodbug breaking the wasteland stillness, only the sound of their laboured breathing as they continued to climb.  

Usually travelling with her was fun, something MacCready wasn’t used in the merc business -  bosses tended to want you to shut the hell up and get the job done - but not her.  Everything was new to Ivy, and he had to admit to being entertained seeing his world through her.  She always left herself an open book, every emotion easy to read in big brown eyes.  

One thing he could never guess was how she was going to handle one day to the next; some days she stuck so close to his side that they might as well be glued at the hip, all skittish like a radstag doe at the slightest sound.  

But then there were days like the Library, when she got the giggles from the damn greenskins trying to tempt them out of hiding.  “But Mac, they said it was a treat..” “No.” “Aren’t you even curious?” “No!” “Ugh, knowing my luck it’s probably an overdue book fine from 2076.”  And after all hell broke loose, she even managed to find a working camera in the wreckage and went limping over to one of the remaining protectrons - already sniggering - to try and persuade it to take a picture of them.  Like some kind of pre-war tourist.  It was her calling it ‘officer’ that broke him, left him doubled up with tears streaming down his cheeks.  

That camera was still somewhere in her pack, and waiting to be developed were some sure to be dreadful pictures of him blinding them with the flash.  It had been a good day.

But now she wandered ahead, blank and unreadable, leaving him stuck with no conversation, nothing to shoot at, and no idea whether it was going to get better or worse by the time they got to the settlement.  

“There’s a trader up ahead.”  MacCready started, trying his best to make it look like he’d been scanning the horizon for danger - and wondering how long he’d been wandering without actually looking.  “I thought I might just nip in and see if she has anything they might need at Sanctuary, if that’s alright with you?”

So this is why she picks up so much crap.

“Fine by me, boss.  Just don’t make me carry it all.”  He glanced past her to the brow of the hill where a large sign declared the Drumlin Diner was ‘open 24/7’.

If you ignored the broken windows and the occasional two hundred year old former patron - who’d thought that a milkshake was the best way to see in the apocalypse - the diner was in surprisingly decent shape.  

They paused for a moment in the parking lot while Ivy struggled to get into her pack without dropping her rifle.  He took pity on her, taking the rifle out of her hands with a sigh and propping it against the outer wall of the diner.  This close she looked exhausted, and now he thought about it, she hadn’t eaten since the night before.  

MacCready couldn’t imagine not eating when there was food on offer, but then again Lucy used to joke that he could eat a whole brahmin and still be hungry - that’s what sixteen years of cave fungus does to you.  

With a grateful smile and a quiet ‘thank you’, her rifle now safely stowed on her shoulder, Ivy headed through the door ahead of him.  The sweet smile that had been missing all morning had been mustered ready to coax a bargain out of the unsuspecting recipient - the same smile that’d somehow knocked fifty caps off his fee a couple of weeks before.  

A stern woman leant possessively on the diner counter, in a way that inevitably meant she had a shotgun tucked just out of sight.  She opened her mouth to greet Ivy but caught sight of MacCready in the doorway.  Turning an icy glare on him, she regarded him with about as much pleasure as she might a junkyard mutt that had just rolled in molerat crap.  

The smile slipped from Ivy’s lips, completely at a loss as to what had caused the unexplained hostility.  She hadn’t been around MacCready long enough to witness how often wastelanders just thought of mercenaries as well-paid raiders.  Although depending on what kind of work they took, they weren’t entirely wrong - his time with the Gunners had shown him that much.  

After the hot miserable morning he’d had, Mac could easily have just snapped, told the old biddy exactly where she could stick her supplies - oh man, did he want to - but for the second time that day, he kept his opinions to himself and slunk back outside, grumbling under his breath and lighting a cigarette as he went.  

--

After a good five minutes stalking around the parking lot, he finally perched himself on a stool, nodding to the skeleton who occupied the counter seat next to him.  Taking a final drag, he snuffed out the cigarette on the countertop, smirking at the way it sank through the varnish, leaving a blackened ring and the stink of burnt plastic.  

He’d been trying to cut back on the smoking, another promise he’d made months before, albeit a harder one to keep than watching his language.  MacCready hated waiting around for no reason - but so was the life of a sniper - so he needed something to keep his hands or at least his mind occupied, and the nicotine took the edge off his restlessness.  

Leaning back on the counter he caught snippets of the conversation he’d been so rudely excluded from.  It sounded like Ivy must have helped out with something the last time she was here and, judging by the time he’d spent in her company, it had everything to do with the blood splattered on the tarmac near to where he was sat.

He let his eyes drift up and down the road, watching for any sign of trouble - actually paying attention this time - but it was as quiet as he expected.  This was possibly the most uneventful day he’d had since leaving his homestead, and while he knew he should be grateful for the peace, he had to admit he was bored.  

A playful elbow to the ribs jolted free of his haphazard guard duty - Ivy was back, her pack looking a little heavier than before.    

“You ok?” she asked, taking in what must have been his utterly zoned out expression while she pressed an almost cold Nuka-Cola into his hand. She gave his hand the slightest squeeze before letting go of the bottle and finally he could see a real smile starting to tug at the corners of her mouth.

“Yeah,” MacCready nodded, flashing her a smirk before taking a long swig of the Nuka-Cola.  He couldn’t deny he was grateful the silence was over, and that at least something seemed to have brightened the boss’s mood.  Although he couldn’t for the life of him think what that woman could have done to cheer her up.  

“Good.” Ivy’s smile broke into a grin, her eyes flashing mischievously as she turned up the radio on her pip-boy.  “Because you are not going to believe this.”  

“What?”

“Just wait,” she teased, tearing into a packet of gumdrops and offering him one before sitting back to watch him as he puzzled over what she was up to.

The last few bars of ‘Orange Coloured Sky’ blared tinnily from the tiny speakers - great, that was going to be stuck in his head for the rest of the day.

“What did you have to go getting that--”

“Truly one of the greatest voices ever, that was Nat King Cole..”

“Who the heck is that?”

“Travis ‘Lonely’ Miles here, bringing you...”

“You’ve got to be shi-- kidding me!  Vadim was right?”  

MacCready stared incredulously at the pipboy where the newly ‘smooth’ tones of Travis Miles drifted from.  Begrudgingly he shifted his gaze up to Ivy, and the smirk spreading its way across her face.  If he didn’t know better, he’d think she’d stolen Christmas.  “You’re pretty pleased with yourself right now, aren’t you?”

Ivy held out a hand, wiggling her fingers expectantly, her smile bordering dangerously on coy.  

“That’ll be twenty caps, please.”

--

Ivy led the way up the hill again, but this time instead of silence, the radio was turned up as high as it would go.  It was like a switch had been flipped and all of that melancholy had been channeled into an obnoxiously good mood.  MacCready wasn’t sure how many more caps he’d be willing to lose if poorly judged bets were what it took to cheer her up, but at least she was back to actually laughing at his jokes again, even the really bad ones.  

Especially the really bad ones.  

She’d been humming along with the radio as they walked, and he chattered, but as soon as Travis introduced ‘The Wanderer’, Mac knew exactly what was coming.  It wasn’t the first time that song had wormed its way into her head, she’d even sing along in the middle of Diamond City -albeit quietly- but in her current mood...

Ivy sang at the top of her lungs, the slight skip in her step falling in line with the drum beat.  It didn’t take long for her hips to start to sway, and by the time the saxophone kicked in she was just dancing like an idiot up the middle of the road.  Occasionally she’d twirl around dramatically to serenade him directly - between fits of laughter of course.  Even out of pocket, he couldn’t resist laughing and singing along in the face of that onslaught.  

“Are you planning on looking out for any trouble, angel, or is that my job now?” MacCready called after her, shaking his head at the ridiculous display, and doing his best to keep the grin off his face when she looked back at him.

“If I remember rightly... and I usually do,” she quirked an eyebrow at him. “You never actually asked what the job was.  Congratulations, you got paid two hundred caps to be my audience.”

She was dead right on that one.  He’d been so desperate for work he’d not even thought to ask.  He probably wouldn’t even know her name if she hadn’t awkwardly held out her hand and introduced herself after their deal was struck.  

He’d got lucky with this one.  It wasn’t often you accidentally stumbled into a decent job without asking any questions - and there were far worse shows in the Commonwealth to be an audience to.  

He rolled his eyes at her.  “Ugh, in that case don’t get too far ahead of me, or I’ll not be able to shoot everyone who doesn’t appreciate your talent as much as you do.”

He got a gumdrop launched at his head for that one.  

[simsadventures]

Alone Time

Summary: You and Thor take a rare vacation, and you can’t get enough of each other.

Warnings: fluff, smut (MUST BE 18+ TO READ THE PART BETWEEN WARNINGS- these will be put in front of the smut, so those who don’t want to read it, won’t have to), light swearing (I really tried you guys!)

Pairing: Thor x enhanced!Reader

Word Count: 1844 A/N: This story was written for my beautiful @p8tn0lish​, who requested it for my 500 Followers Celebration (you can still request yours, if you’re interested). The song being Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood. Hope you guys will enjoy this fluffy Thor smut. Love you 3000 xx

Masterlist

It was extremely rare for you and Thor to have some time together, let alone to go on vacation. That is why you were ecstatic to learn that Thor book a lovely weekend in California for just the two of you after one of the missions. He usually had to go back Asgard, be he told you not to worry about it, that he wanted to do this with you, so, who were you to question it?

The romance between you and Thor fired up during a mission in Columbia, where you had to play the bait, and when Thor saw you in your tiny little bikini, and after weeks of shameless flirting, he knew that he needed to make you his ASAP. Before the stupid guys on the team, who apparently only saw you as a friend realised what kind of woman you were, and you were truly one of a kind.

It has been almost two years ever since that night, but Thor could swear he loved you more every day. Knowing you were his, that you would become his Queen soon, filled him with pride that such woman agreed to stand beside him, in battle and in life. So it really was the least he could do, taking you on this little get-away weekend. He knew it wasn’t much, but at the same time was well aware that you didn’t need fancy hotels with spas and all that shit, that you could do in a cottage hidden in forests, as long as the two of you were together.

Thor snapped out of his mind the second he saw you coming out of the bathroom. You looked beautiful as always, but he had to frown a little.

“You do know that it’s the end of November love and that the weather is no longer as hot as it normally is.” He told you with a raised eyebrow, checking your outfit. You opted for high waisted denim shorts and a long-sleeve t-shirt. He loved when you showed little skin, the Alpha-like side in him marvelled in the thought that all the men around you knew that you belonged to him. But not when it’s like 59F (that’s around 15°C). He himself was wearing long jeans and an old but comfortable sweater.

“Oh, please! Give me a break and let me enjoy these last snippets of summer before we go back to New York where it’s probably snowing right now. C’mon, let’s go!” You grabbed his hand, and no matter his protests, you dragged him out of the room and outside the hotel.

Thor looked up and saw that the sky wasn’t as sunny as when you two woke up and that some kind of storm was coming your way. But you didn’t seem to care.

You decided that because you lived in New York, and you even though you travelled around the world, you didn’t really have the chance to enjoy the beach. You knew Thor wasn’t the biggest fan, especially of public beaches, but after a kiss or two, and very nasty promises, he agreed to take a stroll down the beach.

You were holding hands and walking silently, just enjoying each other’s presence. When you finally arrived at the beach, your whole posture changed, and from that fierce sophisticated lady suddenly you become a giddy little girl. You left Thor’s hand, put your shoes off, and started run-in around the beach, laughing like a maniac, loving the feeling of the sand between your toes. You were even bold enough to try the water, and even though it was a little cold for your taste, you loved how the waves seemed to have wash all your stress away.

Thor was watching you from afar, now sitting on the sand, not really loving how it good to his shoes, but he couldn’t care less about his own comfort, as long you were happy. You smiled at him brightly, the waves washing your feet, and he just shook his head in disbelief that this was his life. That no matter what, you two would stick together.

As more waves came crashing down on your ankles, you realised that you must have been standing for quite some time, your feet now cold as ice. You smiled at the sea, loving its peacefulness, and turned around to run towards your love.

He stood up, and you didn’t slow down until you were comfortably snuggled in his firm chest. Thor brought you even closer, adoring the way your body seemed to fit right into his. He could feel your hands travelling down his chest to his abdomen, and he was about to ask you what you were planning, but then he could feel your cold arms snuggling under his warm sweater and onto his heated belly. You rested them there as if it was the most natural thing to do. And for you, it was. Thor was your safety, your home, and even though you were slightly enhanced, things like cold- na-ah! You weren’t dealing well with that.

And Thor was a God, so he could handle few cold hands and cold feet on his body. Thor didn’t comment on it but bowed down a little, his hands travelling over your bottom, which he squeezed just because, and then to your legs. And of course, he found them as cold as the freaking Frost Giants!

He slapped your ass, and you squeaked a little. “I told you to wear something warmer, Y/N! Here, wait a second.” He said and gently pushed you away, which made you pout because he was the primary source of your heat now, but he was only gone a second, and only to pull the warmed up sweater off, and put it on you. You smiled thankfully. “You’re the best boyfriend ever, you know that?”

“Hell yeah, I am! But only for my best girl. C’mon, it’s too cold for you here, and I have million other ideas how we can warm each other up, once we’re somewhere alone.” He smirked, and you couldn’t help but grab his neck and pull you down for a heated kiss. He followed your movement, and held you by the neck as well, pulling you closer to him, taking your breath away in the process.

You took a step back, still panting. “Yeah, I think that would be a good idea.”

You pretty much raced to your hotel, full of desire for each other’s touch, taste, feel. You couldn’t get enough of Thor. You were basking in the smell of him and couldn’t wait till it wasn’t just his smell.

Warning: smut starting

You ran up the stairs, Thor hot on your heels, slapping your ass here and there, earning heartfelt laughs from you. As soon as you were in the room, however, your laughing died out, and you were looking at Thor seriously. You loved when you two had fun during sex, a giggle here and there, but you wanted this to be different. And you had a feeling this would be different indeed.

Thor took two steps to stand in front of you, caressed your cheek and bowed a little to capture your lips in his. The passion was still very much present, but now it was much more about mutual love and adoration. You let him undress you slowly while still kissing you until you were standing completely naked in front of him. He touched your curves, enjoying how you melted after every little squeeze and nip. He couldn’t help himself, so he gave your now swollen lips a little peck and let his eyes drift towards your curves.

Your skin was flush with desire, waiting and calling for him to touch you, to taste you. And he happily obliged. He nipped at your jaw, bit your ear a little because he knew just sensitive you were there. He continued his sweet assault on your neck, while his right hand was playing with your right nipple, and his left hand was tracing your belly to get to the most prized possession. He touched your clit lightly, and you immediately made push your legs further apart to give him all the space he needed.

He dipped one of his fingers in your heat, only to find you completely soaked and ready to take him. He pumped his finger lazily in and out while swallowing all your silent moans and whimpers from the pleasure he was giving you.

And because you also wanted to give and not only get, you reached into his bowers, and pulled his very hard cock out. He hissed into your mouth, and you smirked. You loved the effect you had on him. It was the most empowering thing you’ve ever experienced. You stroked him with the pace in which he was thrusting now two of his fingers into you. In no time you were both panting whimpering messes, ready for your releases.

Thor gently placed you on the bed, keeping your legs apart easily, making space for his own pelvis. He kissed you again, each kiss telling you just how much this God of a man loved you. You were drunk in love, and you never wanted to stop.

His cock gently nudged your entrance, and he looked at you for approval. Instead of talking and destroying this beautiful silent move that was happening at the moment, you kissed his neck, right on the jugular, because you knew how much he loved it there.

He didn’t wait for anything else and slowly sank into you. Once he was sheeted in your warmth, he stilled and let your body get used to the intrusion that his cock certainly was. Once he felt you grinding against him, and mewling like a cat in heat, he slowly pulled out only to thrust back in. He sat up a tortuously slow but hard pace, hitting all the right spots in you, so you were sure you wouldn’t last long.

You lifted your pelvis a little, to get a new angle, and started moving towards him, setting a pace for the two of you to reach your orgasms in no time. It took only a few more minutes before Thor could feel your heels digging into his ass, your nails scratching his back, your mouth biting his neck while also whimpering and crying silently in pleasure. He pulled away just enough to see your face, and that did it for him.

You were so damn gorgeous like this: sweat forming on your forehead, your eyes all glassy, your face contorted in ecstasy. He came with your name on his lips like it was a prayer. He wanted to pull out and let you clean up, but your arms where tightly winded around his body.

“Not yet, I like the feeling.” You whispered, and he had a lot to do not to get hard again. He lovingly kissed you all over your face, and when he looked out the window, he realised that it started pouring outside.

Marvel Taglist

@waiting4inspiration​ @voltage-my2dlove​ @kneel-begyourpardon​

Thor Taglist

@owlyannah​

Forever Tag:

@eileenalone​ @sasbb23​ @p8tn0lish​

[winterune]

Since Before I Know You

A Persona 5 Fanfiction

Word count: 3397

Rating: T

Summary:  What if Ren and Ann had met briefly when they were children? Set in a childhood AU, Ren was playing in an arcade game center when he noticed a certain girl with natural blond hair and bright blue eyes playing by herself.

A/N:  This story is set in a childhood AU headcanon I have had in my head for a while now that I have yet to write - which I will write one day, hopefully.

Also available on AO3. 

~*~*~*~*~

It was a rare summer day when he was 10, when he had no cram school and his father was away on some business trip. In the late morning when he went to the kitchen to grab something to drink, his mother was still there, fixing breakfast. She glanced at him from the stove where she was stirring some pot of miso soup and threw him a bright smile.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” she said.

Ren mumbled a g’morning before taking a seat by the counter and poured himself a glass of water. Through bleary eyes, he noticed there were two sets of steaming white rice in front of him, with some grilled fish and rolled scrambled eggs. There were also empty bowls for the soup his mother was cooking.

Absently, Ren grabbed his chopsticks and picked one scrambled egg to chew on.

His mother glanced at him over her shoulder again. “Simple breakfast since dad’s not here,” she said. Ren mumbled something incoherent with a small nod of his head. He watched his mother turn the stove off and ladle out the soup into the waiting empty bowls. 

Afterwards, she joined him on his other side and the two of them held their hands in prayer. “Thank you for the food,” he murmured before digging into his meal.

“Since dad’s not here,” his mother began, “do you want to go somewhere today?”

Ren glanced up at her. “Where?” he asked, scooping some rice into his mouth with his chopsticks.

“The park, maybe?” she offered. “Or…how about the arcade?”

Ren’s ears pricked at that.

“Didn’t you want to go there with your friends?”

He did, but his father hadn’t allowed him, even though his cram school wouldn’t have started until the afternoon, because Ren should be using that time to study instead of wasting it by playing around.

Ren looked up at his mother and nodded enthusiastically—until the image of him playing a shooting game by himself while his mother stood on the sidelines cheering him on interrupted his thoughts.

The enthusiasm left him as he asked, “You don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind?”

Ren shrugged. “Because…you’d be bored. And it wouldn’t be fun anyway just playing by myself.”

But his mother just grinned. “Who says you’re playing by yourself?”

***

It had never occurred to him that his mother would be playing a game with him, let alone an arcade game. All the times he had spent with his mother usually consisted of either strolling in the park or reading a book. Quiet activities. But now here they were, an hour or so later, in a local arcade before one of the shooting games, and for once, he saw a rare smile on his mother’s face.

“I haven’t played one of these games for so long,” his mother said.

That managed to grab his attention. “Did you play arcade games when you were a kid?” Ren asked, because the image of his mother’s younger self in a game center with her friends was beyond his imagination. She had never talked much about her childhood. All Ren knew of his mother was the big traditional house she had lived in and being raised as a lady of a prestigious family. Her past-time activities had included reading a book, flower arrangements, and tea ceremonies. 

“Sometimes,” his mother said, and with a glance and a grin, she added, “when your grandfather wasn’t looking.”

Ren found himself grinning at that. This was also his first time playing an arcade game, and he might have had reservations playing one with his mother, but it turned out she was a good and fun competitor. Ren had to admit it. He never would have thought his own mother, someone he had only ever seen arranging flowers or doing charity works, even knew how to play video games.

As it was summer vacation, even on the weekdays, the arcade was packed with people. By noon, it had only gotten more crowded. They were playing one of the basketball ones when Ren’s mother said she was getting tired. She’d look for a seat somewhere, but if Ren still wanted to play, then he should continue playing. However, the place was getting a little too cramped and his stomach was growling again, so Ren told his mother that this would be his last game and asked if they could find something to eat. 

His mother complied, but on their way out, something caught their interest—a lone girl by the crane games. If it were any other person, they would probably have blended in with the background, but even if Ren had tried, he probably still wouldn’t have been able to ignore her. Because the girl had blond hair that looked natural and a face that appeared foreign. She was clearly not Japanese, and in a small town such as this, that would certainly draw attention, though she seemed completely oblivious to it.

The girl, in a white t-shirt and pink skirt, was playing one of the crane games. Ren paused just in time to see the claw machine picking up some kind of figurine and it was already halfway up when the figurine dropped back into the pile.

The girl huffed in irritation, hands on her hip, before fishing a coin from some pocket in her skirt and inserting it into the machine. She moved the claw again, reached down, but this time, she failed to even grab the toy. Another irritated click of her tongue and from her reflection in the machine’s glass, Ren could see the scowl set deep on her face.

That was when Ren noticed the young woman standing slightly behind her, with dark hair tied to a ponytail and a simple set of dark blue clothes. Her back slightly bowed by the waist, Ren could just make out her murmur, “Ann-sama, please, your grandfather waits for you. Let us go.” The woman’s words surprised Ren because she had spoken to the girl in perfect Japanese, which meant the girl also understood Japanese.

Ren’s guess was right, because when the girl whipped her head toward the woman, the word she uttered was in perfect, fluent Japanese. “But—” And Ren was quite amazed. It was rare to see a foreigner who could speak the language so well. 

“And you are not the only one who wishes to play the game, Ann-sama,” the young woman added quietly.

The girl could see that, now that she wasn’t fully focused on the game machine. More people had gathered around her. Her eyes swept through her crowd of spectators, before quietly resting on him. A heartbeat passed, then two, and, as though suddenly realizing her situation, Ren saw the flush slowly creeping up her neck. The girl ducked her head and tugged on the woman’s sleeve, mumbling something Ren couldn’t catch.

The woman nodded then grabbed the girl’s hand and led her away. With her gone, the crowd slowly dispersed and Ren heard snippets of conversations, wondering who the girl was—if she were a tourist or someone famous or rich, having an attendant like that. But Ren watched as the girl’s small back receded away and he couldn’t help but think how lonely it seemed.

He looked up at his mother, who was already tilting her head and smiling softly, as though she knew what he had in mind.

“Can I borrow some coins?” he asked.

It took him three tries to get the figurine he saw her trying to win—a female character of an old anime he used to watch, in long brown hair and a black suit. He was amazed they still had these. He was even more amazed that the girl had managed to spot it among all the other toys.

“I’m going to look for her for a bit, mom,” Ren said over his shoulder.

The woman had said something about her grandfather waiting for her. Had she gone home? Was she still here? What if she’d gone here by car? That was not impossible, if that woman really had been her attendant. A rich young girl was the first thought that came to mind. This was the second floor of the game center building. Judging by how much time had passed, his only hope was that she was still somewhere near. 

Clutching the figurine in his hand, Ren quickly rushed down the stairs and checked the entire ground floor for her, but he found no one who looked like the girl or her attendant. Then he burst through the glass front doors. Sunlight blinded him momentarily before a pair of voices reached him from somewhere up ahead. He looked up, and there they were, the girl with the blond pigtails and her reluctant attendant, walking side-by-side about to the turn around the corner.

Ren ran up to them. “Hey!” he called. What was her name again? Ally? Annie? A—

“Ann!”

The girl stopped, then turned, and Ren found himself looking into a face that didn’t seem as foreign as he had thought. He could see some traces of Japanese ancestry there. Except for her eyes, which were brilliant blue. And she seemed to be his age.

Ren pulled himself to a stop, catching his breath.

“Do I know you?” the girl asked.

She looked wary. He didn’t blame her. He would think himself weird. But, what was he supposed to say anyway? I saw you wanted this, so I got it. Here.

That sounded stupid even to him, but that was exactly what he did anyway.

He held out the figurine of the female anime character on his hand. “I saw you having trouble getting this, so…I got it...” For you. He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. 

He stared at her as she continued to watch him carefully. Her gaze made him squirm, but Ren wasn’t backing down. Who was he anyway? Why did he go so far as to win the figurine with his own money for some girl he had never met? She had no reason to trust him. She had no reason to stop and listen to him. But he had glimpsed of a loneliness in her small back, and if this figurine could somehow ease even a fraction of it, then it was worth it.

The girl, Ann, finally looked at his hand, and Ren could see her eyes widening around the edges, her mouth opening slightly in a silent gasp.

“But that’s—”

“Take it,” he said.

Ann looked at him, then back at the figurine. She pursed her lips, and even though she looked like she would gladly trade her world for it, she held herself back, and said, “No, you won it. It’s yours.”

Ren furrowed his eyebrow. “No, I don’t want it.”

“Then why did you get it?”

“Because I wanted to give it to you.”

That made Ann pause, and Ren could see pink tinging her cheeks. Her attendant quietly said, “Take it, Ann-sama. It’s a gift.”

“A gift?” she echoed, as though she couldn’t quite believe it. She looked up and met Ren’s eyes and he saw confusion there. “But...I don’t know you, and I have nothing to give back or trade or—”

Ren grinned. “That’s all right,” he said. He grabbed Ann’s hand and put the figurine on her palm. “Just a thank you will be enough.” He let go of her and took a step back.

Her palm fisted around the figurine and when she finally let herself look at it, Ren saw how her eyes wavered, as though it was the most precious thing in the world, and a small smile slowly spread on her face.

“Thank you,” she said, and she looked at him again with a smile that had bloomed into a beautiful, ear-to-ear beam that made his heart skip a beat. Ren probably would have stood there, not knowing what to do or what to say, if he hadn’t heard his mother call for him.

He looked back over his shoulder. His mother was just outside the game center building and was waving him over. Talk about perfect timing. Maybe she had even witnessed the whole interaction. The thought made his cheeks burn.

He bid them goodbye, ducking his face and hiding away the embarrassment, before quickly making his back down toward his mother.

***

The first time he met her, he hadn’t realized it was her. How could he? They had been ten years old. She had seemed like a traveling foreigner. And that had been the only time he saw her. Not that he constantly thought of her, either, because after his father returned from his trip, it had been nonstop cram school or studying or other kinds of activities his father deemed “worthwhile” or “necessary”.

And yet now here he was, six years later, living his life in Tokyo as probation for something he didn’t do. He probably would have believed his father that he was a failure and a disappointment and be trapped in a spiral of self-hate if he hadn’t met the Phantom Thieves. But now he had friends who believed in him, people who supported him, and even a girlfriend who had always stayed by his side since the beginning.

“Ah! You’re so close!” Ann was shouting by his ear as the chocolate bar Ren had managed to catch with the claw dropped back into the pile near the chute.

An after-school date sometime in early autumn, Ann had asked him to stroll around Shibuya when she suddenly pulled him into the Gigolo Arcade. “I’ve always wanted to win one of these,” she had said, dragging him to one of the crane games that, of course, contained various kinds of chocolate bars. He should have guessed. “I’ve only ever gone with Shiho and none of us are good with these.”

“Not many are,” he had teased, and Ann had playfully hit his arm. Good thing he was kind of good with it—or, at least, he hoped so. He’d rather not make such a claim and then failed. He would rather see the surprise and joy on her face when he finally managed to grab the chocolate bar and drop it into the chute.

But two tries in and still he failed. “Third time’s the charm,” he said.

Biting his lip, Ren set on maneuvering the claw machine with the stick and buttons. It’s not that he had played this game countless times before. He might have sneaked to the arcade to play some games when his father hadn’t been looking, but crane games, from which you would bring some kind of prize home—assuming you won something—was out of the question most of the time. He would rather not have his father asking what he had and how he’d gotten it and where he’d been. But he had played enough times to know how the game worked and how to win it.

Ren nudged the chocolate bar closer to the chute and, positioning the claw in such a way, he dropped the claw and grabbed the chocolate. Praying it wouldn’t drop halfway, he managed to bring the chocolate safely over to the chute and dropped it.

“Yay!” Ann exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air as Ren bent down to grab the chocolate bar. “Thank you, Ren!” she said when he gave it to her. Her lips were stretched wide in a bright smile for a chocolate he knew they could find in any convenience stores, but then he wouldn’t have felt this sense of accomplishment of making her happy.

For a moment, Ren was reminded of the time when he first won the game and gave an anime figurine to a girl he didn’t know. This sense of accomplishment—it felt familiar.

“You’re welcome,” he said with a smile of his own.

She met his gaze and before he could prepare himself, she had thrown her arms around him and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Ren felt his back stiffening, his heart skipping a beat, and when he saw that radiant smile from up close, he couldn’t stop the butterflies from wreaking havoc in his stomach. She still had such an effect on him, even when they had been dating for over a month.

Ann extricated herself from him and, looking at the chocolate bar in her hand, her smile turned nostalgic. “You know, when I was a kid, I used to come to Japan in the summer,” she said. “I’d stay at my grandfather’s home. I didn’t have any friends, except Sayoko, our caretaker. This one time, we went to the game center, and I saw this crane game that had this anime character I really loved. I told you right? That bold, confident, sexy female thief?”

She had. Ren nodded, as bits and pieces of his own memory started to resurface, of the only time he had ever played an arcade game with his mother. Of playing the crane game for the first time in his life and struggling to get that figurine out because the girl had wanted it and she had seemed lonely and sad and he had wanted to ease her pain.

“The moment I saw it, I knew I had to have it. I even spent a lot of money trying to get it but I always failed, and Sayoko had to pull me away because a lot of people were waiting to use the machine too.” She chuckled. “I was so upset because I wanted to have that figurine! But then suddenly—”

“A boy came up and gave it to you?” Ren asked.

Ann looked at him in surprise. “How did you know?”

Ren stared at her, stunned at his own realization. “Because...I think I was that boy.”

It surprised him, as much as it surprised her, because even though he didn’t remember the person herself, winning the figurine and running around in search for her was still engraved deeply in his mind. And he had wondered what had happened to her, or if he’d meet her again. He had wondered if he’d meddled too much or done something wrong. 

And to think the girl from back then was Ann.

“You’re kidding!” she said in astonishment.

Ren shook his head. “If you mean the figurine of the woman with brown hair and black suit then, no I don’t think I’m kidding,” he said. 

“Yeah, this figurine here,” she said, opening up her phone and scrolling through her gallery to a photo of a figurine of that same female anime character he had gotten from a crane game all those years ago, standing atop what seemed to be her desk. He nodded to confirm that yes, it was indeed him, and Ann squealed. “I was cleaning up my closet when I found this, and it brought back so many memories. This was one of the best gifts anyone has ever given me. I loved it so much! I thought I’d lost it. And to think you were the boy from back then? Thank you, Ren!”

Ann was smiling and grinning like a child on Christmas day and it was then that Ren realized just how precious his “gift” had been to that girl. That maybe he hadn’t meddled too much, and a random act of kindness from a stranger really could do wonders in a person’s life.

Ren bent down and brushed his lips against her cheek. It was instinctive. He didn’t even realize he was doing it until he was doing it. 

He loved her. She might never understand how much he loved her. This kind and sweet girl, who had seen him for who he was even when the entire world was against him. He wanted to make her happy. He wanted to see her smile. He wanted to drive away all the lingering sadness and loneliness she had felt growing up. He had always wanted to since before he even knew her. 

When he pulled back, he noticed that her face was beet red, her fingers reaching up to touch where the kiss had lingered. He had actually made her speechless. 

Ren grinned. “Come on, we still have two more chances in this thing,” he said, nodding toward the crane game. “Let’s get more of those chocolates.”

~ END ~

[themonkeycabal]

Okay, so a million years ago I posted a snippet of a fic about the Garage, and how Darcy found that Howard stored some of Bucky’s things there. 

And so here’s what was in Bucky’s trunk:

"Yay! Pin-up girls! I had my fingers crossed. Not disappointed." Darcy pushed the corner back of the poster on the inside lid, the tape giving way after 70 years. A blonde woman in short shorts and a red, faux military jacket, saluting the viewer and sitting seductively, yet demurely, on the wing of an airplane. "She looks patriotic."

"Doesn't she just." Bucky laughed and pulled out a bundle of cloth, wrapped in brown paper, a laundry stamp on the top. "Why the hell did Howard keep my laundry for 70 years?"

"I doubt he paid attention," Darcy said, lifting another little folded poster. "He just grabbed it all, shoved it into storage." This pin-up had her long and shapely legs kicked high, laying back on a beach in a very short sailor's uniform, looking over her shoulder. Darcy wolf-whistled and set it aside. "I say we frame these and put 'em on the walls here."

Bucky gave her a skeptical look and pulled out his old army cap, tossing it aside. Darcy grabbed it and put it on. It was big on her, but that just meant she could have it fashionably and rakishly cocked on her head. She was not above a little pin-up modeling. And Bucky definitely looked, his cheeks even went a little pink. Most adorable brainwashed assassin ever.

He pulled a green, battered notebook out of the trunk.

"What's that?"

"Sniper log."

"Cool." She snatched it out of his hand and flipped through the ballistics charts and messy scrawl of targeting calculations, while he shook his head. "What? I've got binders with my artillery worksheets."

"I used to think you were just yanking my chain about that."

"We've got computers for targeting, but dad made me learn how to do it by hand. Slide-rules, plotting wheels, and graph paper." She lowered her voice to mimic her father's, “'Because, Darcy, if we don't understand what the computer's doing, how can we make it better?' I might not be a sniper and a crack shot with a rifle, but I can hit a teacup from twenty miles away. So there."

"Sure, you'll take out the teacup, the building the teacup's in, and the building next to that. What did the teacup ever do to you?"

"I'm sure it had it coming."

She set aside his notebook and leaned over to dig out a Stars & Stripes paper, and something called Yank; which turned out to be another Army paper and not something more amusing. Boo.

"Why were you hoarding papers?"

"Two isn't a hoard. Somebody probably just shoved 'em in the locker when … you know, when they packed up. Like the laundry." He shrugged and pulled out a cylindrical, olive green can. "Your granddad, the idiot. Most of this is junk. Who wants an old scope case?"

"Rifle scope? Oh, me." She caught it when he tossed it her way. "Vintage military stuff."

"It's a beat up old case." He shook his head and pulled out another pack of laundry. "For cryin' out loud." Muttering to himself, he tossed that pack aside, too.

"Hey, clean clothes. Come on."

"They've been in a box for seventy years; there's nothing clean about them. It's just undershirts and socks or whatever." He shook his head and pulled out a long, flat, black box. "I can't believe he kept this stuff."

"What's that?"

"Think it had a bayonet. Empty. More junk for you to collect."

"Yay!" She cheered and caught the case when he threw that her way, too. "Honestly, whatever you don't want or need, we'll toss. I mean, I feel pretty sure I can find twenty other scope cans in storage somewhere."

"Yeah, and those will probably have their scopes in them."

"True. But none of them will be yours."

"So what?"

"Oh, Bucky." With an amused smile she patted his shoulder. "So old, so innocent. Wait until you read your own biography."

"My … what?"

"It's decent." As a history, the biography wasn't great, it really wasn't, but it wasn't horrible either. Pretty light, but at least not full of speculation or bullshit — there was one crap book about the Commandos published during the 80s that claimed he was a Nazi agent all along. She didn't remember the details, she'd only heard about it third hand, but his grandnephew sued with Howard's backing — maybe Peggy's, too.

Bucky Barnes was Captain America's best friend, but he wasn't Captain America, and he didn't garner the same attention or detailed study. However, there was a period, during the Vietnam-era, when Captain America wasn't so popular, and Bucky Barnes somehow became a weird counter-culture figure; a symbol of both friendship and youth sacrificed on the alter of state ambition. Boomers raged against their Greatest Generation parents by co-opting one of their heroes. She honestly had no clue how he'd feel about that.

Not great judging by the horrified look on his face.

"I don't want to ever see that," he said in a tone that was both serious and panicky.

"I swear I will never make you look at it." And she wouldn't. "Though," she continued thoughtfully, "Colonel Phillips wrote the definitive book on the Howling Commandos during the war. It's really good. Steve liked it. They made a movie based off it a dozen years ago or something like that. Not bad. The book's better, of course."

"You meet Phillips in '46?"

"No, sadly. He was in D.C. doing whatever retired Colonels do when they're still scowling and supervising spy organizations."

"Magazine pouch." He handed her the faded khaki holder. It clanked when she took it and she opened it to check the clips still inside. Empty, thankfully. She didn't want to deal with 70-year old munitions. "Canteen cover. Gun belt. I ditched this stuff when we got folded into the SSR."

"I've always noticed your uniform wasn't exactly uniform."

He considered that for a moment, then shrugged. "Maybe not, but since we weren't all even US Army, and then they stuck us in the SSR, what did it matter? Geez, we were going into battle with a guy dressed like the flag. Nobody had any room to complain."

"So touchy. It was a good look on you. Again with the stupid gratuitous buttons, but still. I think you should adopt the leather gaiters again." She leaned forward and peered in the trunk again. "Do you have any in here?"

"Probably not." He pulled out a thick book. "My bible."

That felt like a weighty subject she wasn't sure how to comment on, but she spotted an out and gratefully fell into the tendencies born of her DNA and cracked a joke.

"Is that your bible, or is this your bible?" Darcy reached past him and lifted out the booklet titled How To Get Along With Girls. That was so good, she almost couldn't talk past her amusement. "Oh honey. Did you need the help?"

Bucky sighed the sigh of a man who knew he was about to get shit and there was no way out. "One of the guys was a joker. I don't remember which one it was."

"I feel like this was a Morita gift."

Bucky smiled appreciatively, like he was relieved that she could know that, and nodded. "Probably. Should've given it to Steve."

"I think he could still use it," she laughed, and flipped through the book. "Oh, a quiz. Sort of. How to pick your right girl. 'Do you have similar tastes in most things?'"

"Yeah."

"Explosives, weapons, bar-keeping. Check, check, check. Next: Is she a good sport? Well, duh, yes."

Bucky snorted and pulled a card out of his actual bible. Darcy was trying not to snoop, and a bible seemed extra personal, but she peeked — a prayer card for a soldier. Oh, Bucky.

"'Is she a flirt? Does she make you jealous?" Darcy made a face at the book then made one at him. "I don't play that game. Besides, you do that all on your own."

"Mostly I'm teasing you."

"Only mostly. You've gotta get over the Steve thing."

He grumbled and pawed through a handful of loose odds and ends at the bottom of the trunk — buttons and boot laces and candy wrappers. "Next."

"'Does she tell lies? Do you mind?' Oh, that's a minefield. Spy! I'm a spy! Of course I lie! And I'm awesome at it. So, as a skill—"

"I appreciate it. And I don't think you've ever lied to me."

"No, I don't think so, either. Because that's not a great foundation for a friendship or partnership or whatever-this-is-ship. And, that's bitten me in the ass hard, in a not fun way. Oh, wait, when we met, I said my name was Stark."

"Not really a lie."

"I didn't feel like it was, but in the interests of being honest about lying." The next question sent her eyes rolling. "'Is she a nag?' Do I nag? Sometimes? I don't mean to nag. I think it's a boundaries thing. I blame my father. I'm working on that."

"You do it lightly, I guess. You push, and then you back off. So, that's not really nagging."

"You nag, too."

"Yeah. More stuff in common, huh?"

"'Is she quarrelsome?' You love it."

"You're not that kind of quarrelsome. One of our neighbors, Mrs … damn. I don't remember, she lived right next door. Steve might know. Anyway, boy, you could hear her laying into her husband a block away, about every damned thing under the sun. Then he'd bellow back and my ma'd pound on the wall for them to shut up."

"Fun."

"Yeah. So, you're not that sort."

"Glad to hear it. 'Has she tried to boss you?'"

Bucky laughed and shoved away from the trunk. And then he kept laughing. She scowled. "There's a little bit in parenthesis after that question — it says 'maybe you need a boss'. So there."

Bucky grabbed the book out of her hand and scanned down the list of questions a fellow ought to ask himself before giving in to that irrational monster called love.

"'Does she expect you to support her in a definite style?'"

"You'd better believe it, buddy."

"'Would she go to work if necessary?' Christ, could I stop her?"

"No, you couldn't." She sniffed at him and pulled another book out of his trunk. "My grandpa says idle hands are the devil's workshop."

"Your hands, definitely." He tossed the booklet into the trash box and she squawked in protest and scrambled to dig it out. "Gotta meet your other gramps. Sounds like a good guy."

Darcy took the booklet and put it into the save pile for Steve. "You'd like him, for sure. Steve says I talked him into going home with me for Thanksgiving that one time, but it was actually grandpa Jim. I wasn't getting anywhere, because he thought he was imposing for some reason. So I called grandpa and handed the phone to Steve. He was all 'Steve, son, I've got an extra fourteen pound turkey I won at a raffle. You don't want that to go to waste, do you?'"

"That would've done it," Bucky agreed.

"What's this?" She pulled out a leather case with a zipper across the top.

"Shaving kit."

Shaving razors and foam weren't the only thing in the kit, and she snickered as she pulled out a small cardboard box. "Condoms, Sgt. Barnes? Pharaoh brand. Oh la la."

He tried to snatch the box out of her hand but she moved quicker. Which would have impressed them both if she hadn't been laughing so hard at his mock pout, she really just tripped backwards out of his reach.

He rolled his eyes and threw the kit into the trash pile. "Hey, do you know how many damned health films we had to watch?"

"So many?"

"By the time we got to Europe, I was ready for the Nazis to shoot me."

Darcy kept laughing and tossed the box into the 'keep' pile.

"It's junk," he protested.

"It's vintage design. Somebody put a whole lot of effort into the illustrations on that box." A fellow in a pith helmet in front of the Pyramids with palm trees and a belly dancer. "That is a work of art. Like, you know exactly what's in it, but it's all classy and exotic, too." She patted his hand. "Way to be health conscious, soldier."

"You're a weird broad."

"That's true," she agreed. "So … French girls or English?"

"None of your damned business," he said, but he was chuckling with her, shaking his head and pulling a couple more books out of the locker.

He handed her one, and she thumbed through it, her skin rasping against the strange, pulpy paper. Just like every other industry, wartime rationing hit the publishers, too, lowering the quality of bindings and the paper itself. The spine cracked like a dry twig when she opened it, and the pages were decidedly yellow, but they weren't yet brittle, and the book was still legible.

"Raymond Chandler. Good choice."

Bucky's eyes lit up and he leaned towards her. "You like Chandler?"

"I love me some hard boiled fiction, Sergeant."

"Well, what do you know," he murmured, looking a little adoring.

She felt a touch breathless herself. "I bet you never saw 'The Big Sleep'. Classic. Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall. We'll have to watch it."

"Sounds like a date."

"Sounds like it might be."