#the forehead pressing is a reference to the original book

[binah-beloved]

Hough… learning sign language with queequeg… even if the middle has taken her speech you and her find other ways to comfortably communicate… it makes her feel less bound to them.

it's a mix of by-the-book sign language and your own signals. the signals come easily if you're working on a ship. you're often on opposite sides and catch each other's eye. the words are learned at night, when everyone else is asleep and you're sitting in Queequeg's lap by only the light of a lantern. you both hunch over an old, tattered book, gradually picking up how to position your hands for words and letters. she adjusts yours if there are any errors, her tattooed hands gently grazing your skin. occasionally she simply holds your wrists loosely, allowing you to run your fingers over the scars and ropes wound around her arms, and the silent, imposing harpooner has never looked softer and more at ease. here, she doesn't have to worry about her tongue failing, only about making sure you don't accidentally fall asleep

she picks up a habit, often using sign language for any words. but not your name- never. Queequeg always says your name aloud, the word falling from her lips in a slow, tender cadence. it's something precious to her, the name of someone she's come to love and adore. you can always tell when she's going to call to you, her hands slowing their movements until they're still and a small smile on her face. she whispers your name, over and over again, when it's dark and freezing cold, her forehead pressed against yours and your hand on her braids as she holds you close against her. carefully she laces her fingers with yours, her free hand signing three words, and Queequeg brings your hand up and presses a kiss to the back of it, then the palm, then your fingertips, then every line and valley until you brush a thumb under her eyes and she lets out a soft hum and one last murmur of your lovely, wonderful name

[gorgeous777]

I Own, Fred Weasley x G/N Reader

You're so beautifully overwhelming

A/N: Sorry if this is kind of out of character guys. 😓 I reference a poem, it is not mine. All credits to the original author of it.

Enjoy!

_________________________

Getting alone time with Fred wasn't an easy feat. That with the strict rules surrounding the dorms and his mischievous lifestyle, he found it hard to work privacy into your relationship.

But, every so often he managed. Today was the prime example of that. He snuck you into his dorm room while all his mates were out doing Merlin knows what. It was a risk, but pleant nonetheless.

The two of you were sat on his bed, you reading a book while he held you from behind. Boredom slowly ate away at him as more time passed. He had his cheek pressed to your shoulder with his long arms wrapped lazily around your waist. He loved holding you, but this was just plain dull. The silence save for the repetitive sound of you thumbing through page after page of your book.

Deciding he had enough of the monotony, he tightened his hold around your middle and suddenly laid back with swift force. You let out a shriek, instinctively trying to pull away. To no avail, as his strength won over yours. "Fred!" You struggled, earning an amused chuckle from him.

"What? Can't a bloke enjoy his sweetheart properly?"

"I mean yeah, but a warning would have been nice!"

He chuckled again, nudging the side of your neck with his nose. Excepting defeat, you begrudgingly closed your book and set it aside. He hummed in approval when you did a 180° in his arms so that you two would be chest to chest. In his most humblest opinion, this kind of silence was a whole lot better than the same as moments ago.

His large hand came to the back of your head, playing gently with your hair. The peace however, was shortlived as he gave into his intrusive thoughts. His hand slid down your back and stopped at your bottom: giving it a squeeze. "Fred!!" He let out a bark of laughter.

"Something the matter love? 'M just squeezing the bum I own"

A scoff of disbelief left you as you jerked up into a sitting position; straddling his torso. His hands came up to your hips, resting on them lightly. "Own it do you?" He grinned with a nod. You bristled at his agreement. Thoughts about getting him back swirled about your head. A poem you red a while back vaguely made its way to the front of your mind.

You slid down to sit on his lap rather than his stomach, placing your hands on his chest. A thoughtful hum escaped the back of your throat as you gazed down at him. He still wore a proud smirk, much liking the new placement of your seat.

"Fine. Then I own.." Lifting your palms so that only your fingertips touched him. Slowly, you dragged them down his chest as you continued, "The moondust in your lungs."

His eyebrows raise in mild intrigue with eyes following your hands. You press your thumbs to the outer corners of his eyes, making his curiosity grow. "The stars in your eyes" He let out a slightly nervous chuckle, anxiousness inching up his spine at the untethered romantic rooted into your words.

"You can't be that cheesy"

Ignoring his comment, you went on checking off your mental list. Gingerly, you took his hands in yours and lifted them up. He felt himself grow smaller inside. "The Amortentia in your fingertips," as you spoke, you kissed his fingertips. He swallows lightly, watching you with warming cheeks. You lowered his hands, your own coming to his messy locks and running through them.

"The sun in your hair," His eyes fell shut when you did that, enjoying the touch. There was a familiar tight ache forming in his chest. Almost like butterflies. "The wonders in your mind," You kiss his forehead, then his lips.

"The mellifluous in your mouth," When you pulled up, his eyes peel half open. Soft with affection and indescribable anxiety. Finally, a kiss to his chest right where his heart lay buried in his chest. "And, the the world within your heart."

He's quiet for a few moments, his gaze nowhere in particular as he took in the weight of your words. It was beautifully overwhelming in the best kind of way. When his eyes finally trail back up to you, he felt a bit breathless. A smile broke on his lips, accompanied by a scoff and a shake of the head.

"You cannot be that ridiculous"

"Ridiculous?"

"Yes, absolutely," He pauses, his expression growing soft once more. "But, I'll bite." You raise your eyebrows at him. He sits up, slow and careful to keep you on his lap.

"You own an awful lot of me, love"

"I do"

"Tell me then, what parts of you do I own?"

"You tell me."

He falters. There was no way in hell he could even begin to dream of matching the level of romance in the things you said. He could try sure, but it wouldn't be anything short of a poor or failed attempt. His tongue slips between his lips, wetting them before speaking.

"I-I'm not sure where to start"

"Technically, you already have"

He chuckles at your cheek. Banter was nice. It helped relive some of his tension, but certainly not all of it. "Right. Uhmm.." He glazes you over, trying to find something to own. Why he owned it. He pauses at your lips.

"I own your smile. It's the first thing I think of when you come to mind. It's uhm, it's nice"

Him saying that caused a warm smile to pull on your lips. The ache in his chest grew tighter at the sight.

"And your body. All of it. I'm a very.. Touchy person. I like to feel you. It's grounding, in a way I guess. Like a reminder I'm not alone, even when I feel all hollow inside. I have you"

The look on your face must have been surprised because he suddenly held a guilty expression. His gaze flickered away, and his shoulders slumped slightly.

"Sorry, I'm not too good at this huh?"

"What? No! No, Fred, you're great. I like it, I promise. Please," You brought a hand to his cheek, gently turning his head so he'd look at you again. "Keep going."

Feeling encouraged by your reassurance, he reluctantly went on. "Okay. And uhm.. I own your heart. It's only fair, yeah?" He presses his forehead to yours, your eyes locking in a deep and intense hold. His voice lowers into a hushed tone.

"Since you so mercilessly stole mine away"

"I'm never giving it back"

He lets out a small laugh, a smirk forming on his features.

"Didn't think you would. You can keep it anyhow. It likes you"

"I like it too."

There's a pause between the two of you. He still felt slightly overwhelmed, but you served to calm him as well. A certain intensity hung thickly in the air. Love, easily. If nothing else. After a few more beats, he spoke back up.

"I love you, my Y/N"

"I love you too, my Frederick"

[uwmspeccoll]

Wood Engraving Wednesday

Here are four wood-engraved allegorical figures by American artist, illustrator, wood engraver, book designer, and fine-press publisher Barry Moser (b. 1940) from his magnum opus Holy Bible published in 1999. This production includes 232 original wood-engraved illustrations by Moser. These images come from the first Viking Studio edition, which is a reproduction of the two-volume, limited Pennyroyal-Caxton fine-press edition which we also hold. Shown here are:

The Destroyer, the divine agent of God's judgment from Exodus 12:23: "When the Lord goes through the land to strike down the Egyptians, he will see the blood on the top and sides of the doorframe and will pass over that doorway, and he will not permit the destroyer to enter your houses and strike you down."

Wisdom from Proverbs 9: "Wisdom has built her house; she has set up its seven pillars. . . ."

The Man With the Inkhorn, part of a vision where this man, along with five others, goes through Jerusalem to mark the foreheads of those who grieve over the city's wickedness, from Ezekiel 9:2: "And, behold, six men came from the way of the higher gate . . . and one man among them was clothed with linen, with a writer's inkhorn by his side. . . ."

The Angel of the Apocalypse, refers to the 7th and final angel in Revelation 10, who commands John to eat a book he is given: "He said to me, 'Take it and eat it. It will turn your stomach sour, but in your mouth it will be as sweet as honey.' . . . Then I was told, 'You must prophesy again before many peoples, nations, languages and kings.'"

These images from the Viking trade edition are the same as the original wood engravings in the Pennyroyal-Caxton edition, except for The Angel of the Apocalypse which is represented by a different illustration in the limited edition. We like the Viking rendition better.

Our copy of the Viking Studio Edition bears Moser's signed presentation inscription to our library on October 11, 1999, the official date of issue for this edition.

View other posts from the Moser Bible.

View more posts on works by Barry Moser.

View more posts with wood engravings!

[wordsarelife]

pairing: slytherin!group x fem!nott!reader, enzo berkshire x fem!nott!reader

summary: a mysterious love letter turns up in the slytherin common room and suddenly everyone thinks its for them... all while luna lovegood is simply trying to record everyones interview for the student papers

warnings: cursing, sexual references, mattheo being horny asf, ooc slytherins, me yapping, slow burnnnn

note: what if i just left this here? what then, huh???

"good gracious, woman, you're looking dashing today." mattheo said when you walked into the slytherin common room in the morning.

you narrowed your eyes at his weird behaviour. "are you—" your frown deepened. "—are you flirting with me?" you crossed your arms. "stop it, it's weird."

"is it really weird when i'm just trying to tell you how beautiful you look?"

your eyes darted across the room as if to search for something that would explain this very twilight zone experience. or maybe your friends were trying to get a rise out of you once again.

"it's ten in the morning, so if you're doing anything else than shutting up, then yeah, it's weird." you walked up the stairs to leave the common room and walk into the direction of the great hall, mattheo still hot on your heels. "also it's saturday. you normally sleep in until two or something."

"i was waiting for you."

"waiting for me?" you repeated. "are you sick?" you froze in the middle of the hallway, worriedly pressing a hand against mattheo's forehead.

mattheo pushed your hand away with his own, trying to interlink your fingers with his in a smooth gesture.

you pulled away quickly. "handholding?" you took another step back. "what has gotten into you, mattheo?"

"nothing," mattheo shook his head and fluttered his eyelashes at you— you guessed that that was supposed to look cute, but it send shivers down your spine. "i just had a visit from a little friend called armor."

"sure" you nodded unimpressed. "tell you friend to take his medicine."

"your sarcastic energy is killing all the positive feelings." he gestured between the two of you.

"good" you smiled.

"ugh." mattheo groaned. "i'll leave you to it for now, but i'll be back and hopefully you're ready to accept my undying affection by then."

"yeah, hopefully." you rolled your eyes. "i know that i told you to stop doing that, but maybe you should get beaten up to get whatever is loose in your head back in it's original place."

"just love" mattheo muttered, before he turned around and walked back in the direction of the common room.

you looked after him in confusion, before you shrugged, deciding to forget about the thing. it was probably part of some screwed up plan mattheo had cooked up once again. nothing to get angry about.

the great hall was filled with nearly the entire school, loud chattering echoing off the walls as students sat longer than normal, as they had no classes to attend.

"morning," you muttered, sitting down in your usual seat beside pansy. theo and blaise were studying a book about quidditch and draco was pointing out something in the papers for pansy to look at.

your friends returned the greeting.

you reached across the table and grabbed the jam, before you put a big scoop onto your bread.

"very interesting morning so far" theo muttered under his breath and you quirked a brow at him. "did mattheo catch you?"

"oh" you said surprised. "yeah, he did." you averted your eyes, not really keen on talking about the weirdest conversation you had had in a hot minute.

"was muttering something about your eternal beauty." blaise laughed, "some idiot he is, if you ask me."

"eternal what?" enzo asked, just arriving at the table.

"oh, just my sister's eternal beauty that is suddenly so actively talked about." theo muttered with a sharp tone. "any input?"

"uh. y-yeah" enzo nodded, quickly choking down the piece of bread he had started nibbling on. "it's uh- it's there."

"how dashing, enzo," blaise rolled his eyes. "really smooth. i see she's already taking off her shirt—oh, no, sorry, she isn't."

you shot blaise a deadpan look, "you know, blaise, if you spent as much time with your head out of the gutter as you do in it, you might actually be a decent human being."

"touché," blaise raised an eyebrow, smirking, before he returned to his book.

"looks just like me, doesn't he?" your gaze wandered from blaise to draco, who was pointing at a picture in the newspaper— oh no, that was definitely one of pansy's magazines.

"the male model there?" pansy repeated with disbelief.

draco tried to mirror the expression on the model's face. "do i look like him now?" he asked, his eyes jumping between pansy and you, since he had noticed you watching.

"well, you're definitely looking like... something." you winced, a little uncomfortable.

"draco, you don't even have the same hair color as that guy," pansy said unimpressed. "let alone those abs."

"want me to prove it?" draco let go of the magazine and unbottuned the first two buttons of his shirt.

"draco? what the hell?" theo shook his head, chucking the last piece of his bread at the blonde's head. "the fuck you're doing?"

"proving that i'm just as hot." his eyes narrowed at pansy. "if not hotter than this wanna-be model."

"i'm not sure he's just a wanna-be model." enzo corrected, now studying the abondened magazine. "this text here says that he is the highest grossing model of the last year. and that world wide."

theo stared at the magazine in disbelief. “wait, so he’s not just playing dress-up? he actually does this for a living?”

enzo shrugged. “seems like it. and apparently he’s ‘the face of global campaigns’ or whatever.” he paused, squinting at the page. “i mean, who knew?”

pansy’s lips twitched into a smirk. “yeah, draco, not just a wannabe. maybe you should take some notes.”

draco rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort something, but was promptly interrupted by blaise.

"yeah, sorry mate, you look nothing like this guy." he turned his head to inspect the image further. "although, i have to say that he looks a bit like me, don't you think?"

enzo shook his head slowly.

"well whatever." draco closed the magazine with a quick movement. "i look much better than him anyway."

"well, i don't see anyone paying money to take pictures of you too." you giggled, enjoying the way you could rile draco up with a simple comment, as he frowned at you.

"really smart, y/n" draco exclaimed with a roll of his eyes, before he stood up. “come on, pansy”

pansy furrowed her brows in confusion, but reluctantly got up, as draco made no move to leave without her.

“very weird morning so far” you mumbled, watching after your friends.

“hey, by the way,” enzo said, steering your gaze back to him. “i wanted to ask you if you could help me with my project for herbology. i had a problem with taking care of that plant.”

“that plant?” you repeated with a smile “you mean the roses we’re supposed to help grow faster?”

“exactly”

“sure” you nodded, reaching for the jam once more. “i’ll help you”

“oh, darling would you mind helping me with that very easy task for divination?” blaise fluttered his eyelashes at theo, who got the hint immediately, lifting his voice to mimic yours.

“you mean the one with the tea cup?” he smiled brightly, weirdly even looking a bit like you. “of course, my love”

their smiles vanished simultaneously and blaise turned in your direction. “this is how the two of you sound by the way”

“hilarious” you muttered, matching theo’s normally flat tone perfectly. “hey, mate, later i’m gonna make sure to smoke a whole pack of cigarettes and if i have time i might drown myself in the lake after that”

“sure” enzo nodded, his voice wavering and even picking up an octave to match blaise’ melodic tone. “i might order a few new gucci scarfs and after that i’ll watch that muggle movie that’s been on my list for ages” he dragged out the end of the word dramatically.

“and scene!” you grinned, turning in blaise’s and your brother’s direction. “and this, is how you sound by the way”

STUDENT INTERVIEW #183 — MATTHEO RIDDLE (take one) — by luna lovegood

camera turns on. mattheo sits in a very relaxed, almost offensively smug position, one leg thrown over the armrest of his chair.

mattheo riddle: so when i came down the stairs this morning, i found a mysterious letter on the table in the middle of the common room—

luna lovegood (leading lady of the student papers, behind the camera): actually you should talk about—

mattheo riddle: (frowning slightly) i wasn’t finished, goldilocks! anyway, i found this letter—

mattheo holds up a folded piece of parchment, camera zooms in.

mattheo riddle: —and surely we all know who wrote this.

mattheo unfolds the parchment, reads

mattheo riddle: ‘my love, i write this letter to tell you about my undying affection. i like everything about you: from the way you do your hair, to the way you carry your books. let me know if you feel the same. all my love, yours truly.’ no name. y/n was probably scared her brother could find this.

luna lovegood: y/n nott?

mattheo riddle: (grinning) well, obviously, she’s been in love with me for ages, hasn’t she? now my time has come to corrupt theo’s innocent little sister. if you’ll excuse me—

he stands up, takes off the enchanted mic and hands it to luna behind the camera. luna and colin creevey (cameraman) look after him in confusion.

"okay, i have to get my books and then i'll meet you in the greenhouse, you go ahead." you told enzo, who nodded dutifully and walked out of the common room without another word.

you fetched the needed school books from your room quickly, walking back into the common room only mere seconds later. you studied the books shortly, pushing them into your bag, when you noticed an abondened piece of parchment laying on the table in the middle of the common room.

your eyes darted around the empty room. no hint of anyone. was that there already, when you came in a few minutes ago? you had no idea.

"whoops" you muttered, pushing the parchment off the table and bending down to pick it up. you unfolded it, your eyes flying over the words quickly.

"i like everything about you?" you repeated confused. "shit, enz" you shook your head, throwing the parchment back onto the table and leaving the common room.

STUDENT INTERVIEW #188 — Y/N NOTT (take one) — by luna lovegood

the camera flickers on, revealing y/n sitting across from luna. she looks skeptical, arms crossed, clearly regretting agreeing to this interview.

y/n nott: (tilts head) right. the letter. (pauses) well, obviously, it’s not mine.

luna lovegood: this is not— (sigh) no one said it was.

y/n nott: (ignores her) but if it was mine—hypothetically speaking—i’d have to assume it was from enzo.

luna lovegood: why enzo?

y/n nott: (shrugs) who else would write something like that? i mean, it’s way too nice to be from draco, mattheo would probably set it on fire before writing anything remotely romantic, and blaise—well, blaise would’ve signed it ‘from your future husband, blaise zabini’ and included a self-portrait.

luna lovegood: that’s very specific.

y/n nott: yeah, because it’s true.

luna lovegood: but you really think it’s enzo?

y/n nott: …i mean, maybe? probably? he’s always so nice to me. and the letter said something about liking the way i carry my books, and he notices that sort of stuff.

luna lovegood: that’s very observant of him.

y/n nott: (deadpan) yeah. suspiciously observant. what if he’s planning something?

luna lovegood: (cheerfully) like asking you on a date?

y/n nott: okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

luna lovegood: but would you want it to be from him?

y/n nott: … (groans) next question.

luna lovegood: there are no other questions.

y/n nott: fantastic.

the camera lingers on her vaguely distressed expression before cutting to black.

"i've done a lot for my body this past semester, you know?" draco smirked, throwing an arm up. "wanna feel?"

pansy furrowed her eyebrows, but complied, reluctantely pressing down on the blonde's biceps.

"wow, that's great" she nodded, smiling unsurely. "what are you showing me this for again? i mean any particular reason?"

"just letting you know." draco shrugged, as if it was obvious. "buffed and available" he pointed to himself.

"right" pansy nodded slowly.

"hey guys, you have time for a quick interview?" luna lovegood's voice interrupted the weird conversation between the two. draco shook his head and opened his mouth, ready to decline the offer, but pansy nodded, pushing the boy forward.

"actually, draco would love to"

STUDENT INTERVIEW #192 — DRACO MALFOY (take one) — by luna lovegood

the camera flickers on, revealing draco sitting with his arms crossed, looking like he’s being forced to attend a disciplinary hearing. luna, unbothered, gives him a pleasant smile.

luna lovegood: so, draco—

draco malfoy: —it’s from pansy.

luna lovegood: (sighing)…the letter?

draco malfoy: (nods, very serious) obviously.

luna lovegood: and you’re sure because—

draco malfoy: (leans forward, steepling his fingers) because she’s in love with me.

luna lovegood: interesting. and what proof do you have?

draco malfoy: she always sits next to me, she always compliments me—

luna lovegood: really? what’s the nicest thing she’s ever said to you?

draco malfoy: (thinking hard) … she once said, ‘draco, stop talking.’

luna lovegood: that’s not really—

draco malfoy: (interrupts) because she was overwhelmed. with emotion. also, it was obviously meant affectionately.

camera zooms in behind draco. pansy is leaning against the wall, slowly shaking her head.

luna lovegood: so you’re convinced she wrote the letter? i mean what if it wasn't her?

draco malfoy: (laughs, leans back) oh, luna. sweet, naïve luna. (pats his chest) denial is a river in egypt..

luna lovegood: you know how that quote ends?

draco malfoy: no?

luna lovegood: figured.

the interview ends with draco smugly running a hand through his hair, completely convinced of his theory.

"so just put it in there now?" enzo questioned, motioning the powder towards the rose in front of the two of you.

"right." you nodded, watching him gently shake the package until the powder had settled onto the entire plant. you studied the book in front of you. "now we have to wait about ten minutes, before we can continue"

"great." enzo nodded, dropping the empty package into the bin.

"great," you nodded with a tightlipped smile. you quickly continued talking, trying to keep the awkward energy to a minimum. "so how's everything going? i feel like we haven't talked in ages, i mean just the two of us. alone." you turned away shortly to fill a bucket with water. 'just the two of us'? you repeated to yourself, not sure what had gotten into you.

enzo, who was not noticing any awkwardness, smiled at the question. "totally." he grinned. "well, herbology has been a pain, but apart from that, everything's great. thanks again for your help."

"anytime," you nodded. "but you know i'm not that good in herbology myself. why didn't you ask theo?"

"well, for starters, he isn't as pretty as you." enzo smirked confidently, at the same time as all your facial features completely derailed.

"what?" you repeated in something close to a screech.

enzo's smile died down. "sorry, i didn't want—"

"no, you know what?" you grinned uncomfortably, trying to safe the situation. "it's fine—, oh ten minutes already?" you checked your invisible clock, before you pushed the water bucket against enzo's chest with a little more force then necessary. "water it!" you instructed between clenched teeth.

"o-okay" enzo nodded immediately, confused by your sudden mood shift.

STUDENT INTERVIEW #199 — BLAISE ZABINI (take one) — by luna lovegood

blaise sits in his dorm, his arms crossed, looking effortlessly cool.

blaise zabini: alright, let’s not waste time. that letter? clearly about me.

luna lovegood: are you sure?

blaise zabini: luna.

he gestures vaguely to himself.

blaise zabini: have you seen me?

luna blinks. colin adjusts the focus on the camera.

blaise zabini: "i like everything about you"—obviously referring to my impeccable fashion sense. "the way you carry your books"—have you seen me carry books? it’s graceful. regal, even.

luna lovegood: …do you have any idea who wrote it?

blaise zabini (smirking): i do, but it wouldn’t be fair to ruin their fun.

colin creevey (cameraman): (deadpan) so you don’t know.

blaise zabini: they’ll come forward when they’re ready. probably in a grand romantic gesture involving candlelight and expensive wine.

luna lovegood: you’re a minor.

blaise zabini: and yet, so emotionally mature.

the camera zooms into the background of the room, the entire wall is adorned by photos of blaise in various different poses.

"what do you think?" blaise asked, holding up two almost identical looking shirts. "this one, or that?"

theo looked up from the book he was reading. "i couldn't care less, actually."

"this is important, theo." blaise pleaded. "come on, mate."

theo sighed, marking the page of his book and closing it, before looking up at his friend once more. he studied both shirts for a few seconds, before he shrugged. "they look the exact fucking same."

blaise groaned, throwing himself down on his bed and staring at the ceiling. "i'm surrounded by idiots."

"what was that?" theo perked up, trying to catch blaise's gaze.

"nothing." blaise said quickly, not about to ruin his face by getting into a brawl with theo he would lose anyway.

"you sure?" theo raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the moment of confusion.

blaise let out a dramatic sigh, pushing himself off the bed. "whatever, i'm wearing this one," he muttered, pointing to the shirt he'd already decided on.

STUDENT INTERVIEW #204 —THEODORE NOTT (take one) — by luna lovegood

theo is standing in the hallway, with his back leaning against the wall.

luna lovegood: so, theo, we're here to ask you about—

theo nott (skeptically eyeing the camera): this is not getting published, is it?

luna lovegood (confused): well, it's for the student paper—

theo lets go of the microphone that flies back against the camera. he steps around it, walking away. the camera zooms in on his retreating form.

"you're acting weird." enzo noted softly as he watched you walk circles in the greenhouse.

"i'm acting weird?" you asked with a pointed look. "what about that letter, huh?"

"what letter are we talking about exactly?" enzo furrowed his brows in confusion.

you opened your mouth, ready to answer, when the door to the greenhouse swung open and mattheo walked inside.

"there you are!" he grinned, pointing at you.

"oh, great," you muttered, pressing a hand against your forehead.

"i've got about a million condoms with your name on them, darling." mattheo revealed a row of condoms from his pocket, that unrolled itself until it hit the floor.

"ew, no!" you called loudly, looking absolutely traumatised.

"what the fuck?" enzo had asked at the same time, looking baffled as his head swung back and forth between mattheo and you.

"what the heck are you doing?" you asked, walking to mattheo and trying your best to fold up the row of condoms, but failing.

"i'm being responsible," mattheo shrugged simply. "i would suck as a father."

“you would suck as anything” you whispered between clenched teeth.

"you'd have to have sex for that first." enzo noted with a mutter.

"right," mattheo nodded, obviously satisfied that someone pointed out the obvious, and then leaned forward, pressing his lips in your direction.

you quickly swerved to the side and mattheo opened his eyes, confused after simply kissing the air.

"not happening." you shook your head.

"you don't have to be so tasteful, love." mattheo wiggled his eyebrows. "if it's about enzo, i'm sure he'll leave us alone."

"oh, gladly." enzo nodded. you didn't miss the hint of anger in his voice. "if that’s what you want," he said to you, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"no, it definitely isn't." you pushed mattheo away from you. "enzo stays and you leave."

"come on, baby," mattheo pouted. "don't be like this."

"you heard her," enzo said, sounding much more menacing than intended. "i’ll help you find the door."

mattheo paused for a moment, staring at enzo like he just realized something. "wait... are you jealous?" he asked, suddenly smirking. "oh, mate, i didn’t realize we were competing."

"oh, trust me, you're not," enzo shot back, his voice smooth as butter, but there was a definite edge underneath it.

"he’s right, you know," you muttered under your breath, crossing your arms. "you’re not really competition for anyone, mattheo."

"ouch," mattheo made a dramatic face, rubbing his chest as though wounded. "i thought we were friends, y/n."

"well, clearly that’s not exactly what’s on your mind," you said, pointing at the condoms still clutched in his hand. "unless you think friends sleep with each other."

"you can call us whatever you want," mattheo shrugged with a grin, clearly unbothered. "just not boyfriend and girlfriend. that’s actually what i wanted to talk to you about. i’m not big on relationships, but an open one? that, i’m interested in."

"i'm not sure in which way i ever indicated that this—" you gestured vaguely between yourself and mattheo, "—was ever happening."

"oh, don't be daft, love," mattheo shook his head. "you don’t just leave love letters lying around without meaning something."

"love letters? wait you think i wrote that letter? and to you?"

"of course. who else could it be from?" mattheo scoffed.

"enzo wrote it." you answered without properly thinking.

"w-what?" enzo mumbled confused.

both mattheo and you looked at enzo.

"well, i surely didn't write it." mattheo recounted. "and if neither of you wrote it, then that leaves…” he trailed off.

"oh god." you realized. "that's why draco has been acting so weird all day. he thinks pansy wrote it. for him."

"isn't pansy currently hooking up with that ravenclaw?" enzo asked confused.

"exactly!" you nodded, quickly opening the door and walking out of the green house, mattheo and enzo close behind you.

you found draco and pansy in the slytherin common room. pansy lounged on the couch, unimpressed, while draco paced in front of her like a dramatic protagonist in a bad play.

"i can’t believe you would betray me like this!" he finally burst out, spinning to face her with all the flair of a soap opera lead.

"oh," he added in surprise, noticing the three of you stepping inside—mattheo still holding an alarming amount of condoms.

pansy turned her head to look at you. “fucking finally.” she sighed. “could please someone of you tell draco that i didn’t write that stupid love letter?”

“you didn’t just write it!” draco corrected. “you wrote it for me!”

“that’s where you’re wrong, young padawan!” a voice interrupted dramatically. everyone turned to see blaise and theo descending from the stairs, blaise throwing his arms open like a victorious gladiator. “the letter was clearly for moi!”

theo crossed his arms, sinking into the armchair. his facial expression hinted at how uncomfortable he felt. "more importantly—who the fuck do you need that many condoms for?" he asked mattheo, eyeing the absurdly long strip still hanging from his hand.

“well, your dear sister—“

“i did not write that letter” you said between clenched teeth.

“yeah. neither did i!” pansy bluffed, crossing her arm and staring at draco, who was clearly not believing her.

“it’s unimportant who wrote it!” blaise corrected. “it’s important that it was written for me”

“sure” draco nodded sarcastically. "if it was so clearly about you, then tell me—what hair were they talking about? because i see none on your head."

blaise inhaled sharply, clutching his chest as though he'd been stabbed. "how dare you," he whispered, scandalized.

chaos erupted. everyone—except theo, who remained as indifferent as ever—began shouting accusations, arguing over who wrote or faked the love letter.

the shouting match came to an abrupt halt when astoria greengrass strolled past you all, plucked the letter straight from draco’s grip, and smiled.

“hey guys!” she smiled. “i have been searching for that, thank you!” she grinned.

“you wrote that?” draco muttered stunned.

“yeah, it’s for a guy i like” astoria admitted sheepishly. “could you guys please not tell anyone? it’s kind of embarrassing.”

you all exchanged glances, before theo, who was the only one with a clear enough mind to think, nodded. “we’ll keep your secret” he assured the younger girl, who smiled gratefully, before she walked back to her dorm.

"well, that was—" you started, but mattheo promptly cut in.

"disappointing," he sighed dramatically, flopping onto the couch. "would've been fun to rub it in theo’s face."

"to rub what in my face?" theo raised an eyebrow.

"unimportant," enzo said quickly before mattheo could answer.

"well, now that that's been discussed. how about a round of chess?" pansy suggested looking at you and you nodded with a smile.

the rest of your friends settled down too, returning to either their homework or an abondened book they still wanted to finish.

STUDENT INTERVIEW #211 — LORENZO BERKSHIRE (take one) — by luna lovegood

the camera flickers on, revealing enzo sitting stiffly in his chair. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply.

luna lovegood: so, the love letter mystery has been solved. any thoughts?

enzo berkshire: (dryly) yeah. turns out we’re all idiots.

luna tilts her head. colin zooms in slightly.

luna lovegood: you didn’t seem very surprised when astoria took the letter.

enzo berkshire: (smirks lightly) no, i wasn’t.

luna lovegood: why?

enzo hesitates, looking off to the side. he exhales sharply through his nose, then looks back at the camera.

enzo berkshire: because i asked her to do it.

colin creevey: wait—what?

enzo berkshire: (shrugs, looking mildly uncomfortable) i wrote the letter.

the room goes still. luna blinks, tilting her head.

luna lovegood: for y/n.

enzo rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking anywhere but at the camera.

enzo berkshire: yeah. (clears throat) it was… it was for her. but i—i don't know. it didn’t feel right. just leaving it for her to find. it just— i wanted to tell her myself. face to face. not in some anonymous letter she’d spend days overanalyzing. but by the time i realized that, i couldn’t just take it back, so…

luna lovegood: (softly) you asked astoria to pretend it was hers.

enzo berkshire: yeah.

colin creevey: so… are you going to tell y/n?

enzo breathes out a laugh, shaking his head.

enzo berkshire: i don't know, maybe. but not right now. she seemed overwhelmed when she thought it could possibly be from me. i want to wait, make sure she wants it.

luna studies him for a moment before nodding in understanding.

luna lovegood: i think she’d like to hear it from you. eventually.

enzo berkshire: yeah. i think so too.

the camera cuts, leaving a black screen.

luna and colin were both sitting in the classroom where the school papers were edited, overlooking the material, just having watched enzo's interview.

luna smiled as she remembered enzo's confession and turned to look at colin. "delete the video." she said softly. "it's not our secret to tell."

colin nodded, already having thought the same thing, before he deleted the video and made sure nothing of it was still left on the camcorder.

luna watched the screen go dark, then turned to colin with a small smile.

"besides, it's more fun to let them figure it out themselves."

TAGLIST:

@mehrsdigitaldiary @swaysister @shyamanuensis @mattiesgf @shari-berri @the-lurking-await-you @marikajhaha @livia7137 @idiotussupremus @catiwinky @deepeststarlightmoon @ahead-fullofdreams @jjsblueberry @genterom903 @diakirstein @missgorldafirst @sagestack @fawningfrey

let me know if you want to be added!!!

[jeaanmoreau]

[kevin drabble] queen

and nowwwww a birthday present for my beloved @queenkevindays inspired by your url <3 HAPPY BIRTHDAY! hope you enjoy our beloved little history nerd kevin making some life-changing decisions <3 📚 read it on ao3

"Chess originated in India as chaturanga, where the piece equivalent to the queen had limited movement. However, as the game spread to Europe during the Middle Ages, the role of the queen expanded dramatically, reflecting the growing recognition of the political and military capabilities of queens in the real world. By the late 15th century..."

The words swam around the page and Kevin Day's fingers twitched around the bottle of whisky he was holding, more for comfort than any real desire to drink. To know he could if he wished to. Shifting his legs on the couch, he pressed his foot flat against the end and flipped the page until the words 'the king' cut through the haze of learning and Riko's manic grin flooded his vision.

It was usual for his breath to hitch whenever he thought about Riko and the ravens, but this time it was more quickly replaced by the quiet roaring anger that had been simmering all year with the help of the homicidal, suicidal idiots he surrounded himself with on the daily, and he shoved the thought off his mind determinedly, returning his attention to the page.

"—while the king remains crucial, his limited movement in chess can be seen as representing the burden of sovereignty—whereas the queen, free to act decisively, epitomises the adaptability and strategic advantage that many real-life queens wielded to secure their dominions."

At this, he paused. Shifted again and flicked his eyes back up the page.

The queen, free to act decisively.

Riko again, the number one on his face taunting him, prodding at him. "Say it," he demanded in his head. "Call me king."

The words swam in front of his eyes as wild, manic notions flooded his thoughts.

Free. Adaptability. Strategic advantage.

He went back over the previous paragraph with hunger behind it now.

"This historical dynamic finds a striking parallel in the game of chess, where the queen is represented as the deadliest and most powerful piece on the board."

The deadliest piece on the board. Kevin dropped the bottle onto his side and sat up, hands trembling with nervous anticipation as he started rummaging around the desks for a marker, something he hadn't done in years. Not since he was a child. Making his way to the bathroom, he lugged the book with him and held it up next to the mirror for reference as he carefully, focusing hard on keeping his left hand steady, traced over the mark on his face, splotchy and not very accurate, until it was altogether concealed behind the very recognisable shape of a chess piece.

The marker clattered onto the sink on top of the book as Kevin leaned closer towards the mirror, letting his forehead drop onto the cool surface of it and his breath shook as he drew it in slowly. Determination coursed through his blood as his fingers dug into the sink.

And privately, just to be sure, just for himself, he opened his eyes to face his new reflection and whispered, "Call me queen."

[allzelemonz]

Repression: Micah Bell X Male Reader

Pronouns: he/him, Reader referred to as ‘man’ and ‘boy’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut, language Warnings: This is self indulgent, Micah’s gay awakening, Reader being a guide into gay, Micah being a repressed homophobe, use of homophobic slurs, period typical homophobia, kissing, grinding, cumming in pants, verbal consent is important, fighting Summary: Micah is a homophobic asshole, until he’s looking down at you pinned underneath him and he realizes something about himself.

The annoying fly that is Micah Bell has made his rounds through camp a few times now. He picks on the weakest he sees and moves along to the next once he’s discarded. Snide, carefully chosen words, cut him down and he smiles as they’re spoken, loving every second that he’s burrowed into someone’s peace of mind. For you, he sits and stares before he speaks.

“Ya gonna sit around all day, sissy boy?”

You move your eyes from your book to look at him. “Real original, Bell.”

“Cocksucker like you ain’t worth the effort.”

You sigh, closing your book. “You really don’t have anything better to do, do you?”

He stands, hands supporting him as he leans forward on the table. “I’m just tryin’ ta get all a’ the parasites ‘round here ta pull their weight fer once.”

“I’ve seen the ledger, Micah.” You say, standing. “You don’t contribute all that much.”

As you walk away, Micah follows just a few feet behind you until you’re covered by the trees. You turn on him and land a solid punch to his face. He bounces back and shoves you into a tree. Your breath is gone for a second before you rush at him and tackle him to the ground. He rolls, forcing you under him and he puts his weight on you to keep you down. He wrestles you hands down, pinning them in the grass and leaving you only able to struggle against him.

A second passes, a second where you expect him to punch you or call you a slur again, but he doesn’t. He leans down and presses his lips to yours. You lay there, stunned as he kisses with a softness you would never attribute to him. A few minutes ago he was shaming you for these actions, he always has. His hands squeeze at your wrists where he holds them as he stops for a moment, resting his forehead against yours.

“Cocksucker.” He mutters.

You can’t help but huff a laugh. “I’m not the one sitting on top of a man in the woods so he can kiss him.”

“Shut up.”

Micah resumes his kissing with the same questionable gentleness as before. He releases your wrists so he can hold either side of your face. You’re still not sure what to make of it all but Micah’s lips are shockingly soft and his actions aren’t ones that could be faked. There’s something behind them, a drive that you recognize. So you bring your hands to tangle in his hair as you close your eyes and kiss him back. Your reciprocation reassures him, he kisses you a little rougher. He seems more like what you expect. Then he stops, saliva connecting you in a string. Your heart is beating out of your chest and you can’t deny that he looks different in this light. Sourly repressed, face red and hair tousled. He doesn’t look like Micah.

“What do you want, Micah?” You ask the question, still not quite sure of which way he’ll go.

He might retreat, call you a slur again and pretend this never happened. He might wrap his hands around your throat or attack you. He might lean down and make your lips as sore as his look. And it doesn’t look like he knows what he wants either. He’s still, his hands still holding your face and his weight fixed squarely on your waist. There’s not much you can do if he chooses to attack you other than try and get him off.

So it’s a relief when he rolls off of you.

He lets himself fall into the grass beside you and you don’t say a word for a moment. This might be his realization. As cruel as Micah can be, he deserves to get through this just like anyone else. Plenty of men have this crisis, plenty of them hate it because it’s what they are. Maybe Micah’s figuring that out for the first time as he lays in the grass next to you. His chest rises and falls quickly, he’s panicking. Everything must be washing over him. You watch him closely, a need for solidarity driving your kind actions now. If Micah is like you, there is a certain care you want to give him.

“I ain’t sure.” He finally says.

You try to think of how to respond, how you would’ve wanted to be guided through this. “Did, uh, did you enjoy it?”

“Fishin’ fer compliments, cowpoke?”

“I’m trying to help you.”

Micah’s quiet again as he stares into the sky. “I did.”

You take a moment, thinking. Micah enjoyed kissing you, you enjoyed kissing him despite him being him. “Do you want to do it again?”

Micah chuckles to himself. “Do you?”

“It’s not about me.”

“Yes it is.”

Micah sits up, grabbing at your shirt and pulling you into him. His lips are less soft now, as if he was chewing on them and the skin is torn. He pulls you back with him so you’re over him. You press into the kiss as you sit on his waist, switching the circumstances from before. Now you can feel it, the desperation Micah is putting into kissing you, the stiff appendage pressing against you. You pull back to look at him but he moves his hand to hold your face.

“Don’t stop.” He mutters.

“You have to be specific, Micah.” You say, brushing his messed hair out of his face.

It’s not a teasing demand, it’s a genuine question. As far as you know, this is new to him. Kissing a man, having one holding you down, it can be a rush and you want to be sure he knows what he’s doing. You’re not going to do anything he doesn’t ask you to, even if you want to and you very much do. But you can’t imagine being so rushed and handled without any care in a situation like this.

Micah groans, likely not used to care. “J-just…” He trails off, frustrated.

“Want me to touch you?” You ask, voice soft.

“Yes, get on with it.”

You press your lips to his again and slowly move your hand down to palm him through his pants. He groans at the feeling, his hips bucking into your hand. You go slow, letting rut as much as he wants while you give him a solid hand. You focus on kissing him and keeping the pace slow. When Micah’s hips stutter you grind your hand down, feeling the warm spot that he stains his pants with. His mouth falls open in a noiseless cry and he squeezes his eyes shut. You have your own problem and Micah’s pleasure filled face doesn’t make it easier.

“Breathe, Micah.” You instruct as he comes down.

He takes shaky breaths, his thumb stroking your cheek as he opens his eyes. He looks nice like this so you press a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Let’s clean you up.”

“Wait.” His hand grips at your shirt. He pulls you in and he’s gentle again. He’s slow and intentional.

“No one has to know if you don’t want them to.” You whisper.

Micah nods. “Dirty little secret, cowboy.”

His snark is coming back and you smile, pressing your lips to his again.

[readyforthegarden]

Eternal - Part Seven

A vampire!gvf multi-part dark romance AU (Josh Kiszka x reader, GVF x reader)

Warnings: 18+ Only Minors DNI. Mentions of blood, death, vampirism.

WC: 2721

AN: I know, I know, two chapters without smut, I get it!!! I promise next chapter your wishes will be fulfilled, I'm giving you backstory, lore, building you up!! It's all worth the wait, I promise! Also I'm giving yet another shoutout to @joshsindigostreak bc the lore in this chapter is one of the first ideas I had and she hyped me up and helped me expand it, and found the PERFECT reference art on her pinterest and I love her she's amazing and the best!!

You ended up staring at the wall for a few hours. Somewhere in the room, a clock dutifully ticked the time by, but you didn’t care to look for it, to see how little or long you’d been disassociating. Jameson had settled in your embrace after a while, softly purring against your chest. His tawny fur had lines drawn through it, where your fingers dragged through it in an attempt to self-soothe. 

“What did I get us into, Jamesy?” you whispered. The cat opened his ice blue eyes, blinking up at you before stretching out his front paws with a soft trill. You gently scratched his forehead, just between his eyes before sitting up. There was no way you were sleeping after everything that had happened. Not without help, at least. Slipping your shoes back on, you crept towards the door, peeking out into the hallway and slipping through once you saw the coast was clear. Surely Danny was somewhere, and he had to have a tylenol pm, a melatonin, something.

As you stepped down the hallway, you took your time to take in your surrounds. Old, patina’d paintings lined the walls. While you weren’t in the slightest an art expert, some of them looked like the could be the original works themselves. One you stopped to look at. It was three young men, cards on a table in front of them. One man had his back turned to the painter, cards hidden in his hand behind his back as the one across from him debated his move, their friend trying guide him.

“This was based on my brothers and I.” you jumped out of your skin, turning to Josh who was standing stoically next to you, taking in the portrait. “Caravaggio was brilliant. I have Judith and Holofernes down the hallway as well. Beautifully violent. But this one is called The Card Sharps.”

“Card sharps, huh?” you looked at Josh out of the corner of your eye. Josh rolled his eyes at you, before pointing one of this long fingers towards the painting.

“The one in yellow is based on Samuel, our youngest brother.” Josh informed you. “The other playing cards is Jacob. And the one trying to tell him Samuel is cheating is me.” 

“Samuel does seem to have a knack for pressing your guys’ buttons.” you hummed. “I’ve only known him a few hours and even I can see that.”

“He’s only gotten more precise over the years.” Josh agreed with you. “Can’t sleep?” you shook your head. “Come with me.” Josh began to move before pausing, extending his hand to you. “Please.” you took his hand, letting him guide you down the hall. The room he led you to was familiar, and you realized it was the bedroom you’d woken up in a few weeks ago. In your rush to get dressed and leave that morning, you hadn’t noticed the small bookshelf or writing desk against the far wall. His bed was neatly made, save for the indent of where his body was, an old book resting next to it.

“So this is your bedroom?” you asked softly, stuffing your hands in your front pockets. Josh nodded, gesturing to the bed, and you took a seat at the foot of it. Josh moved to his desk, leaning against it and watching you take in the dimly lit room, a theme you were finding throughout the home. 

“You’re surprised I don’t sleep in a coffin?” his eyes danced with laughter he refused to let out, only letting his lips curl slightly. 

“Not at all,” you replied, a light chuckle on your voice, looking back to the bed. “What book were you reading?”

“It’s an old one, called Utopia.” Josh answered. You gasped, picking up the tome and holding the old bindings in your hands.

“Shut up! That’s a real book?!” you gingerly looked through the pages.

“Of course it’s real, why wouldn’t it be?”

“I really had no idea, there’s this movie, called Ever After,” you looked up at him, eyes wide with awe. “it’s like a retelling of Cinderella, and in the beginning, her father gives her this book after being away for a long time. He goes away again and on his way he has a heart attack, and it’s all she has left of him as her stepmother and step sisters take over the house. There’s this horrible scene where the actual mean stepsister throws it in a fire, it’s…it’s absolutely devastating.” Josh watched the journey on your face as you relived the movie in your mind. He cleared his throat, gesturing to the book.

“You may have that,” Josh told you his face softening as he spoke. “If you wish.”

“I-Thank you.” you smiled. The act felt strange, a real smile not having crossed your face in a few days. “Maybe you should hold onto it for me, though.” you held out the book out to him. Josh stared at it a moment, before carefully taking it from your hands. “I’m not always as careful as I should be with things like that, I wouldn’t want to ruin it by accident. Plus you weren’t finished with it.”

“I’ve read it many times,” Josh replied quickly, as if trying to be rid of the book he still held towards you.

“Then you should have no problem reading it to me.” he faltered, understanding that the book was now not just an apology from him for the situation, but an olive branch between the both of you. Setting the book on the dresser near him, he spoke;

“Do you mind if I change for bed?”

“We’ve seen each other naked, Josh.” you deadpanned. “I don’t mind.” Josh sniffed at your reply, but opened a drawer of the dresser all the same, pulling out some clothes. The silence between you grew, and you stared at a still life painting as something clawed at you. Josh picked up on your anxiety, glancing over to you again.

“You seem to have a question on your tongue, love.” Josh undid the buttons of his shirt as he stood by the dresser, you still sitting on the edge of his bed. “Ask.”

“How did…how did you become vampires?” you asked quietly. Josh’s hands left their task unfinished, stopped halfway down his shirt, leaving his chest exposed. You took his pausing for offense, and immediately apologized. “I’m sorry if that was rude to ask.”

“You’re a curious one.” Josh gave you a small smile. “I was turned by Jacob. And I turned Samuel. Jacob’s story is more interesting. When we were still humans, our family ran merchant ships across the ocean. Spice trades, and so on. On one particular voyage, our dear Jacob found himself caught in the call of a siren’s song.”

“A siren?” your brows furrowed, and internally you were begging that other than vampires, there were no more mythical creatures out there in the world.

“Yes, they’re like a mermaid that sing out to the sailors on ships, luring them to their death as their ships turn in search of them, and run ground amongst jagged rocks hidden under the oceans surface.” Josh explained. “Those, I’m sad to say, are not real. Mermaids would be a hell of a creature to see, though.”

“So, it wasn’t a siren, then?”

“Her name is Nerine.” Josh sighed, as if the memory was tiresome to expound upon. Perhaps it was, thinking back to what started their lives as creatures of the night. “She’s one of the oldest vampires I’ve ever known of. She has…a twisted sense of humor. Nerine would pose as a siren in those days, luring foolish mortals in with her song. It’s how she would feed and stay clandestine. Jacob and his men were unlucky enough to fall for her song.

“She killed his men and spared my brother. I have no idea as to why, and when I’ve asked, he hasn’t given the slightest inclination he knows. But every so often, he leaves town and comes back smelling like he’s bathed in nothing but salt water and kelp.” 

“She spared him because she fell in love with him.” you murmured, causing Josh to scoff with a laugh that echoed in the quiet room. 

“Love hardly had anything to do with it. Rarely does with our kind.” he rolled his eyes at your inane notion. “Lust, more likely. The fact that Jacob knew his way around a maiden or two could’ve been the factor. Nevertheless, she spared him, but turned him. He came back, and when he told me, I wanted the gift he was bestowed, and he turned me, and then young Samuel. We’ve never looked back.”

You sat quietly with the story, feeling as if Josh had left some details out with how quickly he wrapped the story up in a neat bow. You weren’t going to push him now, though, at least regarding himself and his brothers.

“You call me love, and your love,” you began quietly, feeling his eyes hone in on you as paused, waiting for your next words cautiously. 

“A pet name.” Josh simply sniffed, continuing to undress. His shirt was fully unbuttoned now and pulled from his pants, the buckle and top button of his pants undone.

“A pet name indicates some form of fondness.” you retorted back, studying him as he stiffened at your callout. Josh regarded you carefully, stepping towards you slowly. He bent himself at the waist when he was in front of you, looking directly into your eyes.

“I will not imply that there is not a fondness between the two of us.” he murmured softly, eyes dancing over the rosy skin of your cheeks as a blush crept its way from your chest and up your neck. The proximity of his face to yours was overwhelming and you swallowed roughly. “But if you feel you are mistaking my fondness for your blood and flesh as love, I will be more than happy to end your suffering.” it took every ounce of your energy to shake your head, even the near indiscernible amount you did. “I must rest. I’m sure Daniel is awake by now, you can go find him and start your day.” you nodded, standing up quickly and brushing past him, closing his bedroom door behind you with a soft click. 

“You look flushed, pet.” your head snapped around, seeing Sam walking down the hall, presumably to his bedroom, giving you a smirk as he graced you with his own name for you. “Have some blood to spare?”

“Mm, I don’t, but I think there’s a squirrel or two you could go feed on outside.” you shot him a look as he laughed, turning the doorknob in front of him.

“The scared little kitten has some claws.” Sam raised an appraising eyebrow, his lips pursed in amusement. “I wonder if she bites, too.” he tossed you a wink. Instead of replying, you rolled your eyes and turned your back on him, walking towards the staircase. Once you were sure he was in his room and wouldn’t give chase, you rushed down the steps, eager to get as far away from the bloodsuckers as possible.

“Hey, where’s the fire?” you nearly shrieked when you ran into Danny, colliding with his solid, broad chest. His hands came down to rest on your upper arms, holding you as you jumped back, and studying your face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m just…”

“Not used to living with the constant threat of death hanging over your head?” you nodded and breathed out a light laugh. “If it’s any reassurance, if any of them wanted you dead, you would be already.”

“I’m sure one day, that will make me feel much better.” you gave Danny a shaky smile. “Is there any coffee?”

“We could make some.” he nodded. “The sun will be up in about thirty minutes.”

“Good.” you sighed. “I never thought I’d be so happy to see a sunrise in my life.” you followed Danny down the hallway, entering a large kitchen. The spacious countertops were a bright, white marble, a stark contrast to the rest of the home. It looked stage, like a house redone and for sale, with a stand mixer in the one corner, cookbooks resting against it, a french press near the stove, and a few canisters for cooking and baking ingredients. Danny went around the large, square island in the middle of the room, opening a low cupboard as he crouched and rustled a few things around.

“They prefer the french press, but it’s too annoying for myself.” Danny explained, pulling an keurig from the cabinet. “Jake would kill me if he saw this, says it’s a mockery to coffee. I however, don’t care as long as I get to drink some and wake up.”

“That’s fine with me.” you complied, leaning against one of the counters and rubbing your hands over your tired face. “Is there cream and sugar?”

“I keep a little on hand.” Danny smiled at you, plugging in the machine.  “I have regular cream, and some vanilla, I think. Sam drained me out of hazelnut the other day, I’m going to have to go to the store and get some…”

“I could go with you.” you offered. Danny’s smile faltered slightly as he took a pack of single-use coffee pods out of the drawer in front of him.

“I would love the company, but I don’t think you’re allowed to leave, remember?” you sighed at his answer, nodding. Danny watched your face fall, and set the box on the counter, coming closer to you. “If it were up to me, I’d take you. I don’t think you’re in any danger during the day. But I also don’t want to take the risk and you get hurt.”

“Yeah, no I get it.” you nodded again, forcing a smile. Danny reached up, but froze, he looked like he was going to say something, touch your face, but decided against it, turning and starting to make the coffee. “Where are the mugs?” Danny pointed to a cupboard by your head, and you turned, picking out two plain white ceramic mugs and bringing them over.

You both waited in silence for the water to heat, the hissing sound of it pulling through the tubes in the machine filling the gap. As soon as the first drops of coffee started sputtering from the spout, you inhaled deeply. The scent was always comforting, the warmth already spreading through your bones as you thought of the first sip. Danny gently slid the first cup to you, going to the large, stainless steel fridge and taking out two bottles of cream. You opted for the vanilla, thanking him quietly and pouring it into the mug, being sure to leave room for the sugar Danny was handing you a spoon to scoop, nudging the canister towards you.

The two of you drank your coffee in quiet for a bit, before Danny spoke again.

“I could use some help when I get back, though.” he mentioned. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“What else do I have to do around here but mope?” you deadpanned, giving him a look.

“Right,” Danny chuckled. “Well, I typically have some household chores I have to do. I’d be able to get more done with some extra hands.”

“I’ll help.” you took a long sip of coffee, watching Danny’s smile reach his eyes. “I’ll do everything but scrub toilets.”

“Got it,” Danny laughed. He drained the rest of his coffee and moved to the sink, rinsing out his mug and setting it in the basin. “You can start with hiding the coffee maker again and washing the mugs when you’re done.”

“I’m on it.” you gave the tall man a salute. Danny moved towards the doorway, turning back to you with a crooked smirk.

“After that, you might wanna go and try to take a nap, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“A nap after I drank coffee?” you scoffed.

“I gave you decaf.” Danny winked at you, and you felt your cheeks redden, though you weren’t sure whether it was at his flirtatious smile or annoyance at the fact he gave you a less potent coffee.

Taglist:

@joshsindigostreak @lvnterninthenight @allieisacrybaby @xserenax-13 @sarakay-gvf @shutupdevvie @myownparadise96 @watchingovergvf2 @gretavanfleetposts @sacredthefran @josiee-gvf @highdefkiszka @ascendingtostardust @joshkiszkatoothgap @andeejoness @gardensgatedaisy @kkdarling @demonrat444 @teddiie @writingcold @dannyandthekiszkas @gretavanbestie @lightmylove-gvf @tearsofbri @paleshadow-ofadragon @gretavanslut @like-a-woman-in-a-dream @starshine-wagner @objectsinspvce @josh-iamyour-mama @mountain-in-springtime @cal-a-bungaa @capturethechaos @earthlysorrows @sunfl0wer-power @jankandjonch @gvfpal @allybjt @hippievanfleet @weightofbrokenbells @joshkiszkasbadussy @malany-gvf @ruby0antlers @samofthedawn @sacredjake @aim4thedoublee @diditallforyouu @gvfmarge

[thefinalcinderella]

Tsurune Book 3 Chapter 1 - Eccentrics (Part 1)

Translating this chapter gave me flashbacks...everyone get your kyudo glossary out, you’re going to need it (I should really figure out a better balance for what to keep in Japanese and what to keep in English)

Also, please pray that I get book 3 by the end of this year

Glossary here

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. Binzuru-san is the “Japanese embodiment of Pindola Bharadvaja. Pindola is an Arhat, one of the spiritually accomplished followers of the original Buddha, who asked them to remain in the world for eternity to propagate the Dharma, or Buddhist law.” Billiken-san is a charm doll made by an American teacher. Apparently there’s a statue of one in Japan where people rub its soles for good luck

2. Seiya refers to the Japanese saying “ 右に出る者はない “ which means “being second to none” and refers to the custom of the rightmost seat being the seat of honor

3. I don’t actually know what this word “下座心” or gezashin means. I guessed that it had something to do with being humble since 下座 means “lower seat” or “getting down from your seat to prostrate yourself”

4. These are changed references to real Japanese snacks. “Tocchan Ika” is “Yocchan Ika,” (a type of squid snack) “Baby Moon ramen” is “Baby Star ramen,” and “umainbo” is “umaibo”

5. This took forever to look up but I think it’s a reference to a kyudo song/chant? Basically it means “practice as if you’re in a tournament and act like you’re practicing when you’re in a tournament”

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“E-Excuse me, Narumiya-senpai, can we touch your forehead?”

“…Huh?”

Young maple trees announced the arrival of spring. Brand-new rubber bows were piled up on the shelves of Kazemai High School’s kyudojo.

Narumiya Minato’s hands were on the cord of his hakama. He couldn’t understand the words of the jersey-clad new student.

The first-year, Kanbayashi, was reservedly smiling and nodding next to his friend, but his eyes were blinking at high speed.

“Um, what’s with this all of a sudden? Is this a punishment game or something?”

“No, it’s not. We asked Kisaragi-senpai what we should do to become better at kyudo, and he told us to pat Narumiya-senpai’s forehead.”

Minato glanced at Kisaragi Nanao, who was talking with Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo. Nanao, who sensed his gaze, held up three fingers and waved them with a “Merha.”

“Nanao, you’re telling people nonsense again.”

“Don’t make that face, Minato. I didn’t lie. I just told them my personal opinion. Come on, you have to listen to the request of your adorable kohai.”

Hearing this, Ryouhei’s eyes sparkled.

“Me too, me too! I wanna get better!”

Ryouhei quickly went in front of Minato and started patting his forehead. Imitating his senpai, Kanbayashi also rubbed Minato’s forehead. Minato was speechless as he stared at the two, who looked satisfied from accomplishing their goal. Pressing his hand against his bangs, he stepped back and bumped into something.

It was Seiya.

“I heard that it’s the head that makes you get better.”

Next to him, their coach Masa-san, a.k.a. Takigawa Masaki, was also there.

“Seiya, that’s not true. You have to touch the soles of his feet, not his head, for your wish to come true. C’mon, Minato, put out your foot. Thank you, thank you.”

“Stop it! I’m not ‘Binzuru-san’ or ‘Billiken-san’!” (1)

Despite Minato’s shouts, Masa-san had his hand to his mouth, chuckling. Just as he was thinking about grabbing his hair whorl and rubbing it, another new student stepped up to him.

Keyaki had thick, strong-willed eyebrows and large, dark eyes with a sharp gaze clearly indicated where he was looking.

“Senpais! Please stop fooling around and start practicing!”

Kaito also spoke after him.

“Keyaki’s right. Masa-san, what are you doing?”

“Fufu, sorry, sorry.”

Masa-san clapped Kaito’s shoulder.

Minato and the others had become second-years, and the Kazemai High School Kyudo Club welcomed twenty-two new members this year. There were ten boys and twelve girls. Among them, two of the boys and three of the girls had experience. Kanbayashi Hikaru had experience, and Keiyaki Keima was a first-timer.

Practice began.

The kyudo glove, the “yugake,” was put on the right hand.

That hand took a “hitote,” or two arrows, and the left hand held the bow.

Kaito, Ryouhei, Seiya, Nanao, and Minato stood at the entrance.

Kyudo was a type of budo, and it was the art of shooting a bow. Budo was the way of the warrior. Eugen Herrigel called kyudo “the warrior’s way of shooting,” and Miyamoto Musashi taught that “a warrior is simply one who has a taste for the way of death.”

For competitions, there was “kinteki” (short-distance) and “enteki” (long-distance), and they did the former. They shot arrows at the thirty-six-centermeter diameter kasumi-mato at a distance of twenty-eight meters. At Inter-High, each team consisted of five people called a “go’nin-dachi,” and each person shot four arrows called “yotsuya” for a total of twenty shots.

At “honza,” the archer bowed and stepped forward. If they sat on their heels at the shooting line, turned to the side, stood, performed ashibumi, and shot, that was called “zasha.” If they remained standing at the shooting line and performed ashibumi, that was called “rissha.” The left and right hands were called “yunde and mete” or “oshide and katte.” The process of shooting an arrow was divided into eight steps and given names. This was called the Eight Steps of Shooting (Shahou Hassetsu).

The Shahou Hassetsu was as followed.

First, Ashibumi (Stance) – The feet’s position. Determining the position of the target and self.

Second, Douzukuri (Set) – Preparing the foundation for shooting. Readying the body. Adjusting it.

Third, Yugamae (Bowset) – Nocking the arrow on the bow. Prologue to the confrontation with the target.

Fourth, Uchiokoshi (Set up) – Lifting the bow and arrow.

Fifth, Hikiwake (Drawing) – Pushing the raised bow evenly from both sides.

Sixth, Kai (Fulldraw) – Unification of the target and self. Drawing the bow to its limit.

Seven, Hanare (Release) – Letting the arrow go. Releasing it. Setting it free.

Eighth, Zanshin (Follow through) – Following through to the end. Fully extending yourself.

The five glided into the shooting area, lined up in front of the targets and began shooting in order starting from the front. When the bow with nocked arrow were raised up high and pulled to its limit, bow and archer completed a beautiful cross. After the other four finished shooting their haya and otoya arrows, Minato was the only one left in the shooting area. When his right hand flicked back, a pleasant matooto (sound of arrow hitting the target) was heard.

They went to collect the arrows and bring them back. On the arrow-collecting path, they walked with the arrow feathers pointing at the lawn.

Tommy-sensei spoke.

“Now that you seemed to have learned that the fundamental forms equal taihai, let’s continue with the rubber bows today.”

Just because you joined the kyudo club, it didn’t mean that you would be able to immediately hold a bow and arrow. First of all, you had to imitate the action of shooting a bow without holding the tool, which was called “empty-handed archery.” It was like air kyudo. Tools such as rubber bows were lent by the club.

One of the girls spoke up.

“Coach Takigawa, could you take a look at this?”

“Okay. Seo-san, will you help me?”

Seo and the others corrected the girls’ shakei by putting their hands on their arms and backs in accordance with Masa-san’s observations. Shakei referred to the form.

When practice ended and Tommy-sensei and Masa-san had left, Keyaki let out a big sigh.

“Onogi-senpai, when will I be able to hold a bow? Stretching, taihai, empty-hand practice, rubber bow—that’s all we’re doing. We can’t even wear hakama.”

“Don’t whine. That’s how it is for beginners.”

“Beginners?”

“When I started kyudo in middle school, all I did was collect arrows, paper the targets, and shout ‘Yes.’ It wasn’t until the third-years retired that I was able to stand in front of the targets. The first thing we learned was how to clean the kyudojo.”

“When exactly are you talking about? It’s very old-fashioned to start with cleaning. It is inefficient and meaningless. The common sense here is questionable.”

“Cleaning is a basic part of life, you know? What’s inefficient about learning the basics. Even chores are a fine job.”

“You’re obedient, aren’t you. People like that who only do what they’re told without using their brains will only be used by others. If something is necessary, those who are in charge should be the ones to take the initiative.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. Budo begins and ends with etiquette.”

“To be honest, I’m disappointed. I thought that a team with only first-year students had adopted a revolutionary training method since they won second place at Nationals, but Coach Takigawa just has the female members correcting the shooting forms of the newcomers.”

“Hah? That’s enough, you.”

Seiya cut into their conversation.

The smile on his face made those who have known him for a long time freeze.

“I understand Keyaki’s desire to draw a bow as soon as possible. The empty-handed practice and rubber bows are a program for you to learn the Eight Steps of Shooting. If you suddenly pick up a bow and arrow, it is dangerous because you might hit your face with the bowstring and hurt yourself, or the arrow might fly off to somewhere else. It’s a practice method designed to minimize injuries and accidents.”

“I know the Eight Steps of Shooting from watching the video sharing site ‘Yotube.’ What I lack is practice and experience.”

“Have you learned how to move your feet?”

“There’s sashinutai and kashinjoutai. When advancing, you move your left foot first, and when moving backwards, you start from your right foot. Or, when moving forward, you start with the foot closest to the shimoza, and when moving backwards, you start with the foot closest to the kamiza.”

“You seemed to have read the textbook thoroughly. Just like the saying ‘There is no one who can appear on the right,’ (2) in Japan since the olden days, the right is the upper seat and the left is the lower seat. In other words, the Minister of the Right is more important than the Minister of the Left.”

“Isn’t it the other way around in international etiquette? Everything needs a change. Aren’t kyudo uniforms too conservative, like using white only for tournaments? Aren’t you just sitting back and doing nothing by using the word ‘tradition’ as a shield? If you do nothing, you won’t fail or be beaten.”

“I think it’s hard to draw a line between which colors are okay and which colors are not. If everyone wears the same color, it would be difficult to see the economic disparity between them. Apparently, the kendoka of the Imperial Guard wear white dougi and white hakama, originally for hygienic reasons. Keyaki, you’re aware that you lack practice and experience. I think sometimes you don’t understand the meaning and reason of things unless you try doing them. It’s shallow to assume something in this way before you try it.”

“I’m not making assumptions.”

“If you think you can start a revolution by yourself, you’re being too arrogant. Do you have any like-minded comrades who agree with your words and sometimes admonish you? Kazemai’s leaders are always updating their information. When coaching, they always do their best to keep men from touching women—unlike in the past.”

Next to the silent Keyaki, Kanbayashi’s gaze wandered around.

Minato raised his voice.

“Wait, Seiya! Even if it’s obvious to us who have been in the kyudo club since middle school, there must be a lot of things people who pick up a bow for the first time in high school don’t know about. I think this is due to a lack of communication. Before, Onogi got angry because ‘I didn’t hear any of that!’, right? He said we hid things from them because we didn’t trust them. ‘Please understand’ doesn’t tell people anything. I’ve watched you, Seo-san, and Masa-san having discussions until it’s late. I know you bought new rubber bows from the small budget of the club.”

Seiya took a breath and ordered everyone to clean up. People scattered. Keyaki, perhaps frustrated that he was backed up by the person he had told off for messing around, didn’t even make eye contact with Minato.

After checking up on Keyaki, who had gone to get a mop, Kanbayashi ran up to Minato and Nanao.

“I’m sorry, senpais. This is all because I got excited over something that had nothing to do with kyudo before practice… Keyaki is just impatient. He wants to draw a bow as soon as possible.”

Nanao answered.

“Mm, I understand. Kacchan’s always like that, and Seiya isn’t angry either.”

“He’s always like that?”

“Yep, that’s normal for him. Seiya’s slightly sadistic, and Kacchan’s an extreme masochist. I’ll talk to Tommy-sensei, so don’t worry about it. Do you wanna touch ‘Minahead’ one more time?”

“Minahead?”

“Minato’s forehead.”

Both Kanbayashi and Minato blinked at the same time.

---

The silhouettes of five boys and their bicycles stood out cleanly against the backdrop of the setting sun.

Minato was in front of a candy store by the bus stop. Usually, he commuted to school by bicycle and ran to the supermarket to get groceries after club activities, but on this day, everyone was making a side trip together. A sweet smell wafted through his nose, and somehow his cheeks were dyed red as well. He could hear the sound of children spinning for capsule toys.

Ryouhei snapped the popsicle in his hand into two.

“Minato, I’ll give you half. I feel like my head is full of words today. Um, you step forward with your foot that’s farthest away from the gods, right? I was doing it without thinking all this time.”

“That’s gezashin, the mindset where you do something humbly. (3) The fact you can do it unconsciously is proof that your body remembers it. Ah, this is a nostalgic taste.”

“Isn’t it tasty?”

“Ryouhei, where’s mine?” Seiya urged.

“I always give you one, so none for you for today.”

While he was saying this, Ryouhei finished the popsicle and opened the seal of the next sweet. Tocchan Ika, Baby Moon ramen, and umaibo (4) were put away into his stomach one after the other. Nutritional supplements were essential to his growing body.

The two cousins were sitting on the edge of a flower bed. Nanao was playing with a frog key chain hanging from his bag, and Kaito was stretching himself out.

“A real pain-in-the-ass joined the club.”

“Don’t say that. You’re a pain-in-the-ass too, Kacchan.”

“Hah? That ain’t true.”

“I think it’s good that he’s enthusiastic. But he might also get over-theoretical. It doesn’t have to be so excessive that it’s a revolution, but it might be good to think about improvements. It’s also true that we want as many new students as possible to stay.”

Seiya sensed Nanao’s gaze and smiled. Giving the two of them a sidelong glance, Kaito raised his stretched-out body.

“By the way, the Nanao Fan Club is being pretty quiet even though they’re always so noisy.”

“Apparently, the first-year girl members made it clear to my girls that they didn’t join the club for me. They purely wanted to do kyudo.”

“That’s good.”

“And to tell you the truth, it’s also because we got a great coach here.”

“Oh, so they’re more interested in Masa-san, if anything.”

Nanao followed the clouds in the distant sky with his eyes. The clouds, which looked still, were slowly drifting, like phoenixes crossing the sky.

“Let’s stand on that stage as the five of us this year too.”

“That’s a given.”

The corner of Kaito’s mouth raised.

A bus passed by as the boys talked with their heads together. A red vending machine, a box of popsicles, and a poster announcing a summer festival. The capsule machines were filled with treasures. Rainbow-colored circles lit up in the outdoor lights, and crows cawed from the mountains.

Seiya sent a text message to Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo. The wind blew.

---

A few days later, the members of the kyudo club gathered.

The club president, Seiya, spoke.

“Everyone, thank you for taking the time to fill out the survey. The first-years are now practicing entering and exiting the kyudojo, so today we’ll do rubber bows and subiki, and tomorrow we’ll be facing the targets.”

The first-years were flustered. They hadn’t imagined that they would be standing before the targets so soon.

The curriculum was as followed. The scoring target for long-distance competitions, which was about twelve meters from the shooting position, would be placed. The diameter was one hundred centimeters. After that, they would learn how to use a yugake and try shooting at the makiwara. Running concurrently, they would enter the arrow path and stand five meters, then ten meters, from the azuchi, and finish off by shooting from the shooting position.

Seeing the smiling faces of the new members, Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo shook hands and said, “Alright.”

Tommy-sensei continued.

“We had a class for the general public, but our club was short of weak bows for beginners. Incredibly, the kyudo equipment store gave us five bows. Thanks to Yamanouchi-kun.”

Ryouhei rubbed the tip of his nose with his finger.

“You don’t have to rush out to buy a bow until you’re comfortable with the bow strength, but please come to the store when you’re ready to buy.”

“In three months, you’ll be able to shoot in a tournament format. However, you must be careful to avoid danger and take safety into consideration, and you’re not allowed to practice alone unless you get permission. You may only nock arrows in the presence of the advisor or the coach.”

Keyaki put on a muneate and put on a cotton glove on his right hand. Subiki was drawing a bow without nocking an arrow. The right hand gripped the bowstring, and you drew the bow to its limit and returned it to its original position without letting it go. There was the risk of snapping the bowstring if you let it go without any nocked arrows.

The big target was a great success. It was a bit intimidating to hold up the bow and arrow, but it felt better to actually shoot an arrow than to imitate drawing a bow. The vibration was felt throughout his body, and he was enveloped in an indescribable sense of freedom.

Facing the target. Once you heard the sound of the bowstring, you could no longer escape from the bow.

The next step was to practice shooting arrows at the thirty-six-centimeter kasumi-mato from close to the azuchi. Since there would be people entering the arrow path, the second-years weren’t allowed to stand in front of the targets while the first-years were using it. They concentrated on makiwara practice.

Seeing that, Keyaki pursed his lips.

“Coach Takigawa, we didn’t mean to take away from the senpais’ practice time…”

“Makiwara aren’t just for beginners. It’s a very important practice for archers. Those guys are serious about training their juniors as well. I myself have been invited to Kazemai High School as a reverse mentor.”

“A system in which young people give advice to their superiors. I’m worried about how long this will last.”

“People are anxious about what they don’t know. It’s hard to wait a long time without knowing what to expect. Even if it’s hard, if you know how long it will last, you can be more patient than you think. It wasn’t my intention, but I left the newcomers out of the loop by not sharing information with them. I’m sorry about that.”

“No…I didn’t understand the situation either.”

Masa-san called Seiya over.

“From now on, the club president will contact you every month with the schedule.”

“I want to make things better together. Honest young people are more trustworthy than shady adults who are always laughing.”

“I wonder who you’re talking about.”

“Who knows.”

Masa-san stood next to Keyaki and stared in the same direction.

“There may be one fact, but there are as many interpretations as there are people. The origin of the word ‘togaru’ (to become sharp) is ‘toga,’ and it’s a companion word to ‘togabito’ (criminal) and ‘toge’ (thorn). The ancient Japanese believed that to be ‘togaru’ was a sin, breaking the harmony of the group. So, ostracization and harassment will continue for a long time. Are my opinions guided by someone else? Am I guessing the thoughts of those in power? Did I become arrogant because they were praised? On the other hand, am I harboring resentment because I’m being treated unfavorably? It’s necessary to ask yourself these questions.”

“What should I do?”

“Have fun. Become someone worthy of trust. Increase your amount of experience, carefully examine the information, and increase the number of friends you have. Then you’ll be able to face the true boss.”

In front of Masa-san and Seiya, who had turned away, Keyaki bowed his head and said, “Thank you.”

---

He could hear the awkward cries of a lesser cuckoo coming from somewhere.

A yawatashi was being held at the Kazemai High School kyudojo. The archer was Masa-san, the first kaizoe was Seiya, and the second was Ryouhei. They were respectively wearing lapis-lazuli blue, dayflower blue, and amber-colored kimono decorated with family crests. They were prepared by Keyaki, who apparently collected old kimono under the influence of the Yotube channel, “Yumihiki Douji.”

When Masa-san and the others exited the dojo, Keyaki, seated in seiza, was waiting for them.

“Masa-san, your shooting was full of dignity. Your kimono suited you so well as though it was made for you.”

“Oh, uh, thank you.”

It seemed that the newcomer had taken to him quite a lot.

The five first-year students with kyudo experience were also wearing hakama. They had decided to hold a match within the club. It was thirteen mixed male and female students, zasha, and four arrows for two rounds for a total of eight shots. The order of shooting was two first-year boys and three first-year girls for the first group, the five second-year boys for the second group, and the three second-year girls for the third group.

Kaito was staring at his arrow. He beckoned Minato to him, tapped him on the forehead, and walked away with a face of feigned ignorance.

The match began. The very first oomae was the first-year boy, Himuro.

He was a somewhat mysterious boy, so taciturn that one might forget that he existed, and with his bangs long on one side, it was hard to read his expression. But when he stood on the shajo, the atmosphere changed completely. His eyes, which peeked out slightly, didn’t blink. His bow was raised high in the air. His arrow flew sharply. He hit the target.

Next was Kanbayashi. Although he was a little awkward, it was clear that he wasn’t a beginner. He drew his bow to its limit and the tip of his arrow caught hold of the target. He opened his body up in a broad stance, and the arrow hit the target at the nine-o’-clock position. His first arrow hit the target, and the look of relief on his face was evident.

The three first-year girls followed, and the results ended up being two, three, one, zero, and two hits.

The second group consisted of Minato, Seiya, Ryouhei, Kaito, and Nanao.

Minato spread his legs open. He inhaled the breath of the earth through the soles of his feet and conveyed it through his trunk to the branches and leaves.

The two masters were sitting at the judging table in front of him, but he must not be distracted. I’m just a tree, a big tree. I simply breathe quietly while watching people’s activities leisurely.

He raised his bow. He stretched his arms towards the sun. As he opened his body wide and basked in the sunlight, he could feel his cells begin to dance. After he abandoned himself for a while, he heard the sound of his arrow hitting the target.

Meanwhile, Nanao’s feet hadn’t grabbed hold of the earth. His heart was beating wildly. Where’s the danten again? What’s the center of the body? As he repeatedly answered his own questions, he no longer knew where to release the arrow. The arrow made a dull sound after it was released. After that, only one of his arrows hit, and his shooting became indecisive.

For the third group, the final ochi was Seo. She was the tallest amongst the girls, and her tightened body and dignified form was beautiful. After she released her arrow, there was a shout of “Yes!”

For the results, Seiya was in first place having hit all eight of his shots, and last place went to Nanao with five hits.

Nanao’s back was heavy. As it turned out, there was a large boy clinging to his back.

“It’s rare for you to hit only just over half.”

“I’ve been watching a lot of videos recently and tinkering with some things, so I can’t hit as much now.”

“You’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

“Right you are.”

After lining up, Tommy-sensei gave an announcement.

“I’ve kept this a secret from everyone, but today’s match was actually the intra-school selection for the district tournament.”

Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo widened their eyes.

“Doesn’t that mean that this is a pop quiz?”

“How terrible of you, Tommy-sensei.”

“We were testing you to see if you were practicing the lesson ‘Practice as if you’re in a tournament, and make your tournament into practice.’” (5)

A paper was put up.

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[ao3feed-everlark]

A Reaping of Roses

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/G69saZO

by herondaleproperty

"I can't have you," Finnick whispered, pressing a soft, parting kiss to her forehead, "because you'll always be Snows, not mine."

Rhoswen (Rose) Snow is the daughter of President Snow, who rescued her from a homeless, destitute life in District Four when she was six years old. She has been raised in the Capitol, and is content there until protests arise amongst the districts. Citizens believe Rose should be reaped since she was born in district four. To keep a Civil War from breaking out, Snow puts his daughter in the ceremony. But then things go awry and she's suddenly the female tribute for Four and her mentor is none other than Finnick Odair, a fleeting crush from years ago. What will happen when a white rose is thrown to the wolves? When a mentor becomes so much more? When the poison spreads? Snow must fall. But the question is: Which one? Daughter or Father?

-Covers all 3 books/ movies. -Mature/ sensual content (mature readers only!)

Words: 6977, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, The Hunger Games (Movies)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con

Categories: F/M

Characters: Finnick Odair, Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, Coriolanus Snow, Coriolanus Snow's Granddaughter, Haymitch Abernathy, Mags (Hunger Games), Annie Cresta, Johanna Mason, Effie Trinket, Caesar Flickerman, Seneca Crane, Alma Coin

Relationships: Finnick Odair/Original Female Character(s), Finnick Odair/Other(s), Finnick Odair/Reader, Finnick Odair/You, Finnick Odair & Other(s), Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark, Coriolanus Snow/Original Female Character(s), Finnick Odair & Coriolanus Snow, Coriolanus Snow/Other(s)

Additional Tags: Finnick Odair Lives, Finnick Odair-centric, POV Finnick Odair, Protective Finnick Odair, Finnick Odair Deserved Better, Finnick Odair Needs a Hug, Hunger Games, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, 70th Hunger Games, Pre-Hunger Games, District 4 (Hunger Games), Smut, Fluff and Smut, Shameless Smut, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Angst and Porn, Inspired by The Hunger Games, Hunger Games References, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book/Movie 2: Catching Fire (Hunger Games), Book 3: Mockingjay (Hunger Games), Quarter Quell (Hunger Games), The Hanging Tree (Hunger Games), Evil Coriolanus Snow, Coriolanus Snow Being an Asshole, Hunger Games Tributes

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/G69saZO

[yeoandmoon]

so wrap me in a wedding ring (i swear i’d give you anything) - yeosang x fem!reader

smut + fluff, vampire!yeosang & vampire!reader, very domestic (yeo & reader refer to each other as ‘husband’ and ‘wife’), thigh riding, praise kink (reader receiving), implied dacryphilia, mentions of reader being yeosang’s familiar at one point, implied biting kink? if you squint?

NOTE: hehe hiiiiii, it’s been a while! so i originally wrote this after watching what we do in the shadows, but then ateez dropped the deja vu video this morning! i can’t believe they literally stole my idea :) anyway happy halloween & samhain everyone!!

You’d never understand why Yeosang apologized when he turned you. You never understood why you’d occasionally catch him watching you with a sad look in his eyes, or why he’d sometimes hold you so close; as if you were going to up and leave. 

As if you hadn’t found a home in Yeosang after nearly 150 years together.

You were sick and had been expecting a meeting with the Reaper when Yeosang came into your life. He promised you a life of prosperity and kindness, and you were gracious to share that life with him.

The apology crosses your mind again when you wake to a cold, empty bed. The sheets next to you are rustled, and there’s a mug on Yeosang’s bedside table, signifying he’d been around recently. Hot chocolate was a mortal pleasure Yeosang enjoyed; it wasn’t bitter like coffee (which didn’t have an effect on him, anyway), but it warmed him just the same.

You padded out of bed to search for the warmth of your husband. Your reflection in the mirror shimmers in and out of focus, and you could just make out the small marks that litter your collarbone and peek out of the oversized shirt you wore. Your hand reaches up to your neck, feeling the small pin prick scars on your neck that Yeosang left all those years ago.

You’re quick to find Yeosang in the dark library of your shared house, sitting neatly with a book in his lap on the small couch. It’s an old book, and the only light provided in the room are the fairy lights you had hung up to make the room look more inviting.

Yeosang’s deep voice fills the silence of the room, “Hello, my pretty wife.”

Your face flushes (as much as it can for a dead person) - it had nearly been a century since you had wed the vampire, and even longer since he had been referring to you as his wife, but you’d never get used to it.

“Yeosang,” You smile, stepping into the library, “The bed was cold.”

Your husband’s features are illuminated by the dim light of the lamp you switch on. There’s a small smile on his face, and his dark eyes take in your figure as you approach him. He places the book to the side before reaching one of his hands out, silently beckoning you to him.

“I’m not sure how much warmer I am, Y/N.” Yeosang laughs, hooking an arm around your waist as you crawl into his lap.

You gently cup his cheek, “You’re always warm, Yeo.” You hum, leaning down to kiss him gently.

The first time you kissed Yeosang, you were still human - you were fragile and straying closer & closer to death with every day then, but you were still human. Yeosang’s kiss had ignited a flame in you, and it was a flame that still burnt bright today. Everytime you kissed the vampire, the flame burnt brighter and stronger; you’re so sure one day it will just burn you up from the inside out.

Until then, you were content with kissing your husband and, just for a fleeting moment, feeling like a human again.

Yeosang cups the back of your neck, deepening the kiss as his other hand slides under your shirt to rest on your hips. The pajama shorts you had on were thin, and you felt his touch burning through them.

Your hips gently rock against your own volition, drawing a small mewl from your lips as the friction against your core sends shockwaves through your body.

Yeosang laughs again, pulling away to press his forehead against yours, “What’re you so needy for, darling?” He asks, “Did I not fuck you right last night?”

You shake your head, “N-No, you fucked me good. Always good to me.” You stammer, trying to act like your head wasn’t already empty for every thought except Yeosang.

His eyes darken as he gently moves his other hand to your hip, slowly shifting you to sit on his thick thigh.

“Go on then,” Yeosang’s eyes burned into you, “Show me what you need.” He sat back on the old couch, and you could see his eyes looked nearly black under the dim light.

You frown as you begin to rock your hips against his thigh, reaching for his hands, “I want you, though.” Your voice comes out in a whine, “Wa- Need you to touch me, Yeo.”

He was fighting with himself as he gripped your hips; you could see it in the way his jaw clenched while he slowed your pace against his thigh. Yeosang wanted to touch you, he wanted to feel you come on his cock and he wanted to see you cry but for now, he just wanted to see you come.

“Come on my thigh, if you want to come so bad, darling.” Yeosang tells you, a smile tugging at his lips.

You huff at his words, grinding your hips against his thigh in an attempt to gain some relief against your core. Yeosang lets his hands slowly move up your body until they cup your tits, his fingers pinching your nipples and making you let out a soft cry.

Gasping his name, you grind your hips harder against him. You know your panties and shorts must be getting soaked, and if you were able to think of a coherent thought, you might even be embarrassed about rutting against Yeosang’s thigh like you’re in heat.

“Such a good girl,” Yeosang says, “Always been a good girl. A good little familiar; you always did what I needed of you, and now the prettiest wife. You’re always my good girl, aren’t you?”

Your eyes widened and you nod, feeling a rush of pleasure jet through your body at Yeosang’s words. One of his hands cups your cheek, “You look so good like this, darling. So pretty for me.”

You grip his wrist, grinding down harder and letting out a soft sob when he flexes his thigh, bumping against your clit. He’s smiling while he watches you, his fangs bared.

“Yeosang, baby.” You whimper, “Yeo, I’m so close.”

Yeosang’s eyes trail down your neck, the small marks he left the night before and the small bite on your neck; the mark he left you with many moons before. He nods, looking back up at you, “Go on, darling.”

Your mind goes blank when you cum, and you cry out something that you’re sure sounds like Yeosang’s name if you weren’t so out of it. You feel Yeosang’s fingers running up and down your back as you slowly ride your high out, gripping his shirt tightly in your own hands.

Your eyes flutter when you come back, your eyes focusing on Yeosang’s soft smile as he takes you in. He takes your face in his hands, “Are you okay, darling?”

You nod, smiling at your husband, “I still want your cock, though.” You kiss his palm, keeping your eyes on him.

Yeosang lets out a laugh, one of his hands moving to your neck and running his thumb over your bite mark, “A whole century and a half later, and you’re still insatiable.”

[gabriel-gabdiel]

Fantasy of Evolution Chapter 5: Press Ctrl-Z to Undo

If only it were as easy as pressing Ctrl + Z in order to undo the mistakes you’ve done in your life.

At any rate, Florante is about to deal with his personal Judas Iscariot. His former best friend, Isaiah. 

You can also find more chapters of my original fiction here. Please enjoy.

First | Previous | Next

Back in Fatima High, after Florante Galang dreamed another one of his strange dreams…

In his latest dream, Florante "stalked" his classmate's apartment then they fought as a pair against a shadow monster at Makati's Guadalupe Church.

In the end, although he wasn't hero material even in his daydreams (or night dreams), he still managed to find a way to do something that he could be proud of.

He stopped Mammon's Minion and undid that reality where multiple innocents died, thus saving their lives all at once.

Or maybe he didn't and it was all in his imagination.

Florante Galang shut his eyes and exhaled. Whoopty-doo. He did something heroic in his dreams. The thought made him cringe.

Still, even if it was a dream, the feelings he felt for the dream version of Jenny still made his knees weak. It all felt so real.

If only reality could evolve and match his fantasy. Alas, reality killed such whimsical notions faster than it helped him defeat the immortal crawling chaos.

But it wasn't real. It was all just a dream. It didn't really happen.

Had he really been traumatized by his bullies to the point where he used his fantasies and daydreams to cope with his daily reality of social suicide? Yeah, probably.

If only his dreams were real, then he would've asked Jenny out for a date by now. No, no. He meant he would've asked her more about Mammon.

What was that American(?) white man foreigner's deal anyway? Why'd he sic his Minion at them?

Oh, right. Jenny.

He pressed his fingers on his forehead, remembering that imagined kiss from the bespectacled beauty that was Jennifer Tolentino. The girl next door.

He let out another deep sigh. He really did have it bad for her now, didn't he?

However, he had to remind himself of the obvious. The dream version of Jenny was nothing like the real-life version of her. They hadn't interacted that way at all.

No more stalking of her. Get rid of that photocopy of her number in the yellow pages and that girl that had the same name as her from that yearbook from the 1960s or whatever.

The Mammon from his dream was right about one thing, though. Florante did act like a creep by tracking down Jenny's phone number and address from the phonebook instead of asking her about it like a normal person.

What was he thinking?

Still, once he could write and draw these ideas into an actual novel or comic book though, then that could make his strange dreams worth his while. They were compiled inside his dream journal already. So maybe.

Regardless, he woke up from the… third(?) strange dream/nightmare he'd had as of late. 'I think.'

Once again, the reset button had been pushed. Or the shortcut to "Undo" your last change on the document, "Ctrl + Z" (pushing the "Control" key and the "Z" key on the keyboard at the same time).

So everything went back to normal. No harm, no foul, right?

Still, he should really grow up by now. Abandon his idle, childish thoughts and turn his life around for real.

Soon, it'd be his fifteenth birthday.

He had no girlfriend on sight, no social life to speak of, barely any friends, but life went on, right? Right.

***

Fantasy of Evolution

An Urban Fantasy Story by Abdiel

When you press Ctrl + Z on your Windows machine, you could undo the last action you've done.

Disclaimer: This work may reference copyrighted material, the use of which has not always been specifically authorized by the copyright owner. It is believed that this constitutes a fair use of any such copyrighted material as provided for in Section 107 of the US Copyright Law. All copyrighted material referred to in this work belongs to their respective owners. All rights reserved.

***

Chapter 5: Press Ctrl-Z to Undo

***

It was around dismissal time again, and Florante had time to kill before his school jeepney service came around to pick him up.

He spotted his acquaintances, the Dead Kids, from a distance walking the opposite way as him.

Florante couldn't tell because they usually wore the same uniforms, but whenever it was Casual Fridays at Fatima (when the students were allowed to wear casualwear instead of their daily uniforms), the Dead Kids wore clothes that subtly hinted of designer origins.

By the way, the Fatima High uniform for boys was brown khaki pants, a button-down white collared dress shirt with short sleeves, ankle-high socks, and black leather shoes.

For girls, it was a white blouse with a collar, sash, tie, and pleated knee-high skirt bearing the same checkerboard black-and-white pattern as well as ankle-high socks and black dress shoes.

Not that the "fashion senseless" Florante was any authority on the subject or anything. Sometimes, even on Fridays, he kept wearing his school uniform composed of the button-down polo shirt and long khaki pants with black leather shoes over black socks.

He also had a backpack full of his school books, notebooks, pencils, and ballpoint pens. Like the nerd that he was. However, even he with his bad taste in clothes could tell the Dead Kids were dressed to the nines that matched their remarkably good looks.

Then again, their mesmerizing faces looked so dashing they could've worn dishrags and pulled it off. Nevertheless, it seemed rather appropriate they'd have both money and looks.

The fact that they were unable to mix with the rest of the student body like Florante did somewhat boggled his mind, though. Many of their "haters" called them pompous pretenders at best or braggadocious snobs at worst.

They were mostly called weirdoes, to be honest.

On one hand, their richness didn't afford them any acceptance in Fatima High. Like celebrities being bullied in college by their jealous classmates because they exuded an aura of superiority that rubbed them all the wrong way.

On the other hand, Florante didn't fully believe that the lack of acceptance was circumstantial. The way their group acted indicated that they desired isolation. He just couldn't imagine how any door could remain closed by their halo of beauty.

Meanwhile, although the group of Alonzo Estanislao, Kalantiaw and Dalisay Hidalgo, Jacob Benjamin, and Francisco Celestino did wave back at himwhen they spotted him (though it was mostly Lonzo and Dalisay who did the waving), he himself opted to go alone to the nearby walking-distance mall.

Nirvana Plaza wasn't far from Fatima High. Just walk from one of the rear exits of the school towards the rear entrance near the local Nationwide Bookstore branch and you're good to go.

He felt relaxed going there even though he barely had any money himself to buy anything there, whether it was comic books or food.

He had no allowance to speak of and he had packed lunches more often than not inside recycled ice cream containers turned into makeshift lunchboxes.

He wasn't poor or anything, it was just that he wasn't rich either and private school tuition was expensive.

It was fine. He loved window shopping on an empty stomach. Well, not really, but the mall did serve as his safe haven from his droll and friendless school existence.

He remembered when he first ventured alone into the mall instead of going straight home from his school service. Trips to the mall for his family used to be special events. They had to go to all the way from Pasig to Cubao to eat out, get groceries, or watch a movie.

Now, he could hang out in places like arcades or peek at a few pages of comic books at bookstores to his heart's content instead of staring blankly at a wall, waiting for the school service to pick him up and take him home. Daydreaming of adventures with the Ninja Turtles or the X-Men.

If he could get extra money from his parents, like spare change from buying art supplies or home economics requirements, he could give himself the occasional mall treat.

An ice cream cone here. A doughnut there. Maybe even some supermarket turon (caramelized fried banana rapped in spring roll wrapper).

Or maybe a few rounds of the latest iteration of Street Fighter, with him usually succumbing to the third character during a one-player game. He sucked at versus mode since he couldn't practice at the arcades for too long.

This was what a friendless dork like him had to look forward to, honestly.

Maybe one day, once he had a job and his own money, he'd have a fun-filled day buying comic books, playing games at the arcade, or going to the movies in his lonesome. However, as a student with barely any allowance, this setup wasn't bad at all.

It sounded depressing, but only if he had to share his experiences with anyone else. He actually loved going to Nirvana Shopping Plaza in his lonesome.

However, today, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone kept an eye over him, which made him feel paranoid.

Did his bullies spot him again, like the last time? That one asshole with his girlfriend clinging unto him once smugly asked him if he was on a date after spotting him walking alone near the food court. What a bastard.

He couldn't spot any of his usual tormentors right now though, who had opted nowadays to go with the more passive-aggressive approach to bullying him.

After a few more minutes of being a listless mallrat, he went back to the parking lot and spotted his ride back home, which was his designated school service jeepney.

***

On the eastern border of Metro Manila, the highly urbanized city of Pasig City existed under the cover of smog clouds and the infamously polluted Pasig River, which it shared its name with.

To its south, it was bordered by the cosmopolitan center of Makati. To its north was Marikina. To its west was Mandaluyong and Quezon City (where Fatima High was). To its east were the municipalities of Taytay and Cainta in the Rizal Province.

Pasig was also known for its raging floods during typhoon season, by which it could've gotten its name from. The city had floods that were "Mapagsik" or "Mabagsik" (in English, it meant "Raging", "Fierce", or "Aggressive") which eventually evolved into "Pagsik" or "Pasig".

Usually, the private jeepney service fetched Florante and a couple of others from their private school so they could go home safe and sound on behalf of all their parents, who paid them a monthly fee for the convenience.

However, the jeepney's open-air windows also gave them to get a good whiff of Metro Manila pollution for good measure.

Florante covered his mouth with a handkerchief. No point in getting sick and triggering his asthma again.

The sky remained hazy, its blueness sporting an ashen tinge to it as though muted by the city smog. The wind in his face thankfully disappeared as they went to a standstill.

The classic late afternoon traffic jam in the metro. Only the Bangkok Jam could rival its ubiquitousness in Metro Manila.

His new school was about 4 miles or about an hour away from his home in Pasig City. His former school, which only offered classes up until Grade 6, was instead 13 minutes away or about a mile away.

Thusly, it felt like it took the jeep forever to get him home.

As they sluggish traffic wore on, Florante's mind started wandering.

His mother was the typical strict Filipina mother. Domineering, almost. He could never talk to her about anything. Their relationship was complicated. She wasn't the hugging or healing type of mother. She kind of scared him most of the time, actually.

Sure, she perhaps had her own things to worry about, like how he kept on hearing about her own domineering mother-in-law—his grandmother from his father's side—but he dreaded her wrath as much as she detested his grandma.

His mother also for the most part looked like her sisters or his aunts... of course... while Florante himself looked like one of his cousins or uncles when they were younger. They all shared the same almond skin, black hair, and sharp, dark brown eyes.

She was in stark contrast of his father, her husband, who looked somewhat like he was of Chinese or Japanese (East Asian) descent but was actually a Filipino himself. As strict and boisterous as she was, his father was the exact opposite.

A relaxed and chill engineer who tinkered a lot around the house, doing quick fixes from their pipes to their ceiling to save them thousands of pesos from having plumbers and electricians do their work for them.

By the time the jeepney school service arrived at his home, there was a drizzle of rain. It soon became a downpour when he got inside the house. Just in time.

It was already June, after all. Rainy season. Also, the month of Florante's birthday.

He'd have another birthday spent with his family. He had no friends to invite over the house for dinner. No parties with his compatriots drinking beer either. He never even tried beer.

He had heard that taking in too much alcohol could compromise his breathing as an asthmatic. Not that he'd ever tried.

Besides, he was a minor. Even though he had heard of several of his classmates drinking a bit of the bubbly themselves.

He was used to having a simple feast of spaghetti and a liter of Coca-Cola as his only birthday splurge. Tuition for his private school was expensive and in the Philippines, the school year started in June.

So his birthday had to be as simple as possible during tuition month, which was also his birthday month.

***

After Florante got home to the Galang Residence in Pasig, he went straight to the television set to catch the tail-end of whichever anime was airing in the afternoon.

He hated how as a kid, when "Thundercats" was a big deal, he always ended up seeing the end credits whenever he tried catching it on TV.

Ditto with "Rainbow Brite".

When he finished with that attempt at entertaining himself, he took his bag and went to his room.

Before doing his homework, he changed into a shirt and baggy shorts as popularized by the G.O.A.T. (Greatest of All Time) of 1990s basketball, Michael Jordan. He also read a bit of "Paradise Lost" by 17th Century English poet John Milton for good measure.

And when that gave him a headache, what with his short attention span and the hard-to-read long-form poetry, he had the Cliffnotes version help him summarize and analyze each passage.

At the back of his mind, he chided himself to do as much effort on his math homework as he did with his "extracurricular reading" of this book for the sake of creating his own comic book story.

Nevertheless, while he was wandering around the mall earlier, alone in his thoughts, he thought about Mammon's intentions in his dreams.

As a demon, he obviously tried to tempt him to go all out and transform into an Ophanim, perhaps to the point of becoming a fallen angel and turning into a Minion.

However, for what purpose? To add him to their demon horde? Their "Pandemonium"? What were they trying to achieve, awakening Ophanims and corrupting them to become Minions?

The thought kind of excited him a little bit. He'd been struggling to come up with a plot for his comic book or original story, only for his strange dreams full of his male power fantasies and coping mechanisms to hand him such a plot on a silver platter.

He should really make more detailed accounts of his dreams in his dream journal from now on.

While also making sure never to allow his classmates, especially his mostly male bullies, to know he was keeping a dream journal like a 6-year-old girl still having tea parties with her dollies.

The rest of the afternoon and evening became a blur.

His Dad got home after fetching his two elder sisters from college at the University of Sto. Tomas. Then it was dinnertime. They ate his Mom's specialty of pork adobo (meat simmered in a mixture of garlic, soy sauce, and vinegar).

He couldn't bring up the fact that he was getting bullied at school to his parents, which apparently was typical of bullied kids.

No one wanted to be a victim of bullying or admit to being one.

What would they do to help fix it anyway? Knowing his Mom, she might even blame him for the bullying, bringing up that he was a disrespectful child.

His Mom, bless her heart, was such as stereotypical strict Asian parent. He was also petrified of her more often than not—more than his bullies—particularly when he came home with bad grades.

He didn't get beat up for them or anything, but he did get an earful of lectures from her. The beatings came when he answered back or "disrespected" her somehow, as she put it.

She had quite the fiery temper. Her arsenal of weapons included tsinelas (flip-flops), the nearest wooden spoon, a walis tingting (broom made from the thin midribs of palm leaves), or a walis tambo (broom made from the flower stalks of Tiger grass).

Had he mentioned that he had a complicated relationship with his mother? Because he did. Confessing to her that he was being bullied was the last thing on his mind.

She might somehow make it about him disrespecting her or something. No way did he want to trigger that ass-whupping if he could help it.

In contrast, Dad was more of a congenial fellow. The good cop to his Mom's bad cop. He never hit him and Florante couldn't remember the last time his father became angry or lashed out at him.

He could have heart-to-heart talks with him. It was much easier with him than with his contentious Mom that reminded him more of Cinderella's Stepmother whenever she got into one of her "moods".

However, he also couldn't outright confess to him about the bullying. It was too embarrassing. Shameful. Like he was too old to still not have friends or to still get teased by the boys in his class.

He did mention to him about having to deal with the jerks in class though. So he subtly told him about the bullying without telling him he was being bullied. If that made sense.

***

After dinner at the Galang Residence…

Once everyone in the family settled down and went their separate ways, with his parents going to their room, one sister going to the TV, and another sister going to the phone, Florante planned his approach to his father carefully.

After chancing upon Dad going to the kitchen to fetch a container of cold water to drink, Florante asked his question.

No, not about bullying. It was about the Dead Kids.

"Dad, do you know anyone named Celestino in Pasig? Or Hidalgo…?"

His father blinked at that. "Can't say that I have. I don't even have coworkers named like that. Hidalgo is the national artist, right?"

By the way, Florante's father was a mechanical engineer who worked at a factory for a multinational company. And he meant "Felix Hidalgo" by national Filipino artist and painter.

"How about Benjamin? Estanislao?" Florante pressed. "Back in Makati, did we know of any Tolentinos?"

"Whoa, whoa. Settle down there, kid."

Dad scratched his the freshly shaved stubble that would've formed into a beard.

"I might've had a classmate named Benjamin, but that's his first name. I've heard of Father Estanislao who marched with Jose Rizal during his final walk before his execution. There are too many Tolentinos around to say that I know the same Tolentinos you know."

Florante sighed then smiled. "Thanks, Dad." His father always obliged or humored even the silliest of his questions. He answered them the best he could. 'He really is the best.'

"Why are you asking me this? Are they the names of your friends or something?"

The son awkwardly laughed. "Yeah, something like that."

Dad ruffled Florante's head. "That's good. Make more friends in school, son."

The heartwarming exchange made Florante divulge something he normally wouldn't. "They… the kids… they're a little different. They don't seem to fit in at school." Unsaid, he added, 'Like I do.'

His Dad pulled a seat and sat with him, setting aside the cold water bottle he fetched from the refrigerator for now.

"Did I ever tell you about how your cousin punched a kid who was messing with him at Fatima? He got suspended and the school faculty even called your uncle to the principal's office. But the kid never messed with him ever again."

'If only I had the guts to do that,' Florante thought. He said, "I don't think they'll ever fight back or anything, but it's messed up that they don't fit in. They did nothing wrong. Who cares if they're a little weird?"

Dad nodded. "When it comes to bullies, it's best that you show them who's boss from the start. The more you let them get to you the more they'll mess with you."

Florante then realized his father was subtly giving advice for his own bullying after bringing up his friends.

However, he was so pathetic he could only dream of blasting his bullies to kingdom come, which was even more messed up. Now that he had considered the consequences of such actions, he'd rather just embarrass them a little bit. Like his cousin did to his bully.

Punch them once to have them leave you alone for good. Or even pull a prank. No need to kill them or anything!

Good thing it was all just a dream. Once it ended, he faced no consequences for his actions. Or so he kept telling himself.

Like he'd just hit the reset button on his game console to go back to the main menu or the first level. Or hit the Ctrl + Z shortcut on the family's personal computer, undoing his mistakes on the MS Word document or MS Paint bitmap.

If only he could hit "Undo" all the way to the first day of his freshman year at Fatima, then that would be peachy. Alas, reality didn't work that way.

Backpedaling a bit while also denying he was being bullied, Florante said, "Those guys seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves more often than not. Some of them are my classmates in the Art Club, even."

"So they act just like you, huh?" said Florante's father. "You also keep to yourself a lot. Which is perfectly fine, son. It's a good thing you've found friends who match your personality, Florante."

"Yeah, I guess, Dad. Birds of a feather, am I right?" he said, now wishing to change the subject.

They lapsed into silence before Dad got up, grabbed his water bottle, and said to him, "Good night, son."

He in turn said, "Good night, Dad."

After a little while, Florante himself got up from his seat and went to the TV to watch whatever it was his sister was watching.

He was already sleepy by the time he started on his math homework, which he considered finishing while traveling to school on his school service jeepney.

***

The rest of the week proved uneventful. No new fucked-up dreams about him murdering classmates or battling eldritch abominations with his newest crush, Jenny Tolentino.

No Mammon. No Minions. No Ophanims. Just… vibes. These alien concepts all started fading in his subconscious like dreams and nightmares were supposed to.

He got used to the routine of his classes and being at least civil around classmates that tolerated him at best while whispering devilish rumors about him behind his back.

Oh well. He did promise the Jenny from his dreams to forget all about the angel and demon nonsense to live out his normal life.

However, try as he might, he couldn't forget those fever dreams where he moved as swiftly as the wind and destroyed everything in his path like a U.S. missile strike.

In reality, during P.E. (Physical Education) class, the classmates he got paired up with learned not to pass him the basketball and to step quickly in front of him if the other team attempted to exploit his unathletic asthmatic self as their weakest link.

Florante did his best to get out of their way or serve as an extra body to clog passing lanes when he wasn't being benched for other, more skilful basketball players.

However, he noticed something was amiss.

Jennifer Tolentino hadn't come back to school since the last time he got into contact with her.

It had been a week since he last talked to Jenny. On the phone in real life and at Guadalupe Church in his dreams. Or did both things happen in his dreams?

Every day, he watched anxiously for any sign of her. The hawk-sized butterflies at the pit of his stomach made him wonder if she wasn't able to revive from her untimely demise in his last dream.

Only for him to mentally slap himself and chide that his daydreams or nighttime dreams had no effect on reality. Jenny was probably absent for some other reason.

He'd been hanging out with the Dead Kids again lately, acting as their gopher. Nevertheless, he couldn't get Jenny out of his mind. How could he? She was gone!

It'd be much easier for him to follow her advice and forget about this Ophanim business had she continued going to Fatima High and acting normal herself.

Then he could at least pretend that his psychotic massacre of his classmates and failed attempts at heroism against fallen angels or demons hadn't really happened.

In English class—as headed by the no-nonsense Mr. Benigno "Noy" Borabo—Florante took his accustomed seat at the back of the class, near the windows overlooking the streets outside.

They got a pop quiz on English grammar involving Subject, Predicate, Object of the Preposition, and so forth, which only made him wish they'd do more required reading.

He'd at least watched the film/TV/animated versions of "Tom Sawyer", "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn", "The Odyssey", "To Kill a Mockingbird", "The Great Gatsby", "Lord of the Flies", "Animal Farm", or "Of Mice and Men".

Or read the CliffsNotes versions of such and many other classics. Reviewing grammar rules was as boring as reading the phone book.

Regardless, he felt more comfortable with school lately than ever before.

He had reached some sort of closure or homeostasis (thanks, Ms. Del Mundo's Biology Class) with his nightmares involving classmate murder and choosing between becoming an angel or a demon.

Ha. Closure. He sounded like the family of a missing person that finally found out the grisly fate of their beloved.

In regards to his real-life bullying situation, he had instead reached ennui (thanks, Webster's Dictionary). A feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of occupation or excitement.

Maybe it was this lack of catharsis and boredom—from the impasse he and his bullies had reached since he decided to bite the bullet and snitch on them—that led him to dream such horrid dreams.

By Friday, he wondered about whether or not he should give Jenny a call. He had her number for real, after all.

For all he knew, she had already dropped out of school.

He tried not thinking about the nerdy girl, but he couldn't completely suppress his anxiousness that he'd been somehow responsible for her absence, as absurd of a thought as that was.

Florante Galang slept a dreamless sleep over the weekend due to the soft June rain and even softer thoughts of the bespectacled Jenny.

He might've finished his weekend homework by then but he neglected to read up on Social Studies, leading him to cram at the last minute for the upcoming quiz while riding his jeepney service to school that fateful Monday.

It felt a bit nippy outside so early in the morning at 7:30 AM or so, before the school assembly started.

He got cursory acknowledgements of his existence from several classmates by Monday morning, after getting off his school service ride and making a beeline towards his classroom.

He also dealt with small talk on whether or not he was able to finish the homework before they proceeded to talk to their own actual friends and ignore him in his lonesome.

The morning was cold but at least it wasn't raining. The school assembly proved uneventful. Still no sign of Jennifer though. Was she absent again?

The different classes then headed to back to their respective classrooms in order to proceed with the first subject of the day.

***

Another day, another boring class.

Florante had Araling Panlipunan (Social Studies) for today, as covered by Mr. Neil Nepumoceno. Neil was the jokey type of teacher with a strange goofy charisma to him whose signature outburst was "Aye Caramba!"

Yeah, like Bart Simpson's catchphrase from The Simpsons. Quite the character. Mr. Nepumoceno encouraged debate and rapport with his students during every topic he covered, from the Philippine Revolution against Spain to World War II.

Florante's blood ran cold as he remembered something.

Neil was the teacher that got in his way during his dream massacre of his classmates from First Year St. Francis.

Oh yeah. Galang had turned Mr. Nepumoceno into a splatter on the wall. Like something out of a horror B-movie. Or a Mortal Kombat "Fatality".

He pushed such dark thoughts deep into his subconscious mind. He promised the dream version of Jenny that he'd forget about that dream. Or all his dreams since then. So he would.

With that said, a certain someone—a classmate of his—still didn't give him the time of day. Not that any of them did, but this particular one hurt him the most when it happened.

Galang still felt awkward being around Laura Reyes, but that was to be expected.

His first high school crush remained upset about that "nude drawing" incident when he didn't actually draw her nude! He was using a rough sketch and shapes to construct her body before adding details and clothes, dammit!

He had hoped he wasn't as subconsciously psychotic as he suspected he was, what with him dreaming about killing Laura (albeit in a moment of duress) just because she didn't return his affection and all.

For weeks since the incident, they avoided each other like the plague even though they were classmates. It even got to the point where Florante could've sworn Laura got bothered by him avoiding her before she could avoid him.

Yes, it was ridiculous, not to mention egotistical, to think that he could affect anyone that strongly. It was impossible, even. And yet he couldn't stop worrying that it was true. At the time, anyway.

That little twinge of annoyance from her gave him a small spark of hope that he still occupied Laura's mind somehow, even in the form of a pest.

Better that than be ignored altogether.

However, now Laura was but an afterthought compared to the glasses-wearing girl in Florante's literal dreams.

Florante held his breath at the door, peering here and there of any sign of Jennifer Tolentino, but it seemed she wasn't around. He exhaled and went to his seat.

Jenny then followed him from behind, talking about yearbooks and phone calls or something.

Wait a minute.

"Jenny?" he blurted out.

"Flor!" she said in return. "Oops, you told me to not call you that! Sorry!"

"No, it's all right. I don't mind," he reassured. "What was that about phone books?"

"Oh, I was just askin' why you called me from my house last time," she said with the sweetest smile as she brushed a single lock of hair from her face.

He gulped and explained himself, saying he found it interesting that he found another Jennifer Tolentino in an older Fatima High yearbook, stuttering all the while.

At the back of his mind, he told himself to calm down. This wasn't unusual. Jennifer had talked to him before. She didn't cut all communication from him like Laura did. She'd always been friendly to everyone.

She wasn't friendly beyond logic like the dream version of her that invited him into her apartment after finding out he essentially stalked her though.

Still, he couldn't remember one person where she had beef or drama with in their class.

She lingered by his desk till the bell rang, which left his heart aflutter. She then went to sit by her actual seat while Mr. Nepumoceno finally arrived to start the class.

He considered hanging out with Jenny some more but thought the better of it.

This wasn't the Manic Pixie Dream Girl Jenny. Even a nice girl like the real Jenny might lack tact to let him down gently if ever he became one of those overly friendly boys that hung around the girls a bit too much.

However, as class began, Florante realized he had another problem in his hands.

He couldn't stop staring at Jenny. He tried to be slick about it too, but he knew she knew he was watching her. This made him overcompensate and avoid gazing at her ever for fear for him creeping her out.

What was wrong with him? Dammit. He pulled the same thing the first time Laura rejected him over that misunderstanding with the drawing. With him not staring at her and all. Or ignoring her beyond reason.

Susmaryosep. He wouldn't be surprised if Jenny started avoiding him too.

Anyway, he should pay more attention to class. They were covering the Martial Law years or something. He hoped he crammed about the right topic for the quiz later.

The good news was that Jenny, the real Jenny, had begun talking to him more, like she used to before his unfortunate falling out with her group due to Laura thinking he was a creep.

The bad news, if it could be considered bad news, was that he kind of missed having memorable dreams and fighting against nightmarish monsters beyond human comprehension.

He could deal with those dreams better than his awkward reality of teenage infatuation.

***

Much later, during lunchtime…

As Florante walked out of class along with the rest of his classmates as the lunch bell rang, the air glistened with a light rain. The cold wind bit at his nose. His cheeks.

A light sprinkle fell from hesitantly overcast skies that still shone of daylight. Silvery slivers of water reflected bits of rainbow sunshine as a result.

Dammit. He should've brought an umbrella with him but he forgot again.

Meanwhile, his head got lost in those clouds, wondering how to best approach Jennifer while a part of him screamed at himself to stop making a fool of himself over his newest crush.

Sometimes, discretion was the better part of valor. Sometimes, the only way to win the game was not to play.

"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" Florante heard someone from behind him say, which he soon realized was Alonzo Estanislao. Huh.

Florante smiled and began to nod, but he then hesitated and said, "We'll see. I might skip lunch."

Lonzo kept walking as he spoke. "Sure. No prob. Still waiting for your girlfriend to get back?" he teased.

"Shut up. She's not my girlfriend. Stop being weird," Florante hissed at Lonzo, looking around him for any sign of his classmates. They might overhear and spread rumors again about his crush, just like with Laura.

"Okay, okay. I'm just kidding," reassured Alonzo. "So did anything good happen? You're smiling more."

Gah. Was he that obvious?

"She's back already," Galang murmured it so softly it sounded like an afterthought, hoping Lonzo would miss what he'd say, only for him to cringe when he heard, "Congrats, man."

The drizzle became a squall, and Florante's mood became as soggy as a wet sock The more it rained the soggier it got and the worse his unease grew.

He considered locking himself in the library again on an empty stomach instead of eating with the so-called Dead Kids like the social outcast that they were.

He checked his wallet. He had enough spare change for a soda, at least. And maybe a bag of chips.

He entered the cafeteria, which was on a basement level of a building separate from their high school building. The grade school and high school buildings shared the same cafeteria.

The sun flooded daylight inside the cafeteria basement through a series of chain-link fences that served as the wall that separated the area from the nearby park and the grassy soccer field.

The soft squall made the grass glisten in the sun. During downpours, whole islands were formed on the field amidst the flood of puddles, mud, and sludge. Like a miniature archipelago.

Florante scanned for the Dead Kids' table in the corner of the cafeteria out of habit. Then he froze where he stood.

There were six people at the table now. Excluding Florante, because he hadn't reached there yet.

Huh. Six people.

The usual five were there: Alonzo "Lonzo" Estanislao, Kalantiaw "Kal" Hidalgo and his sister Dalisay, Jacob "Benjo" Benjamin, and Francisco "Kiko" Celestino.

The sixth one was a familiar face, though. It was Jennifer "Jenny" Tolentino.

Florante took out his asthma inhaler and took a puff as soon as he started making those familiar wheezing sounds.

***

Alonzo Estanislao called after Florante Galang after spotting him.

"Yo, Flor!" Lonzo said, which made "Flor" wince. "What are you standing around for? Come over here!"

As Florante did just that, he wondered what was Jenny doing over there.

She'd finally got to school after a week of being absent, but what was she doing with the Dead Kids' table?

Galang looked down and away from the table as soon as Jenny stared at his direction. His ears felt hot. He told himself he had no reason to feel self-conscious. It wasn't as if he did anything wrong, after all.

"What's with Florante?" Florante heard Dalisay ask, which made him finally pick up his pace towards the table before he embarrassed himself any further in front of the one group in the school that hung out with him.

The dainty Dalisay asked once he got there, "You okay, Florante? Do you need to go to the clinic or something?"

Benjo sniggered and needled, "Maybe he's constipated. He needs to take a massive dump!" which prompted Lonzo to smack him upside the head while in the background, Kal harrumphed and called them both idiots.

"You're so gross, Benjo," admonished Dalisay.

He felt his body jolt when he heard Jenny ask, "It's not your asthma acting up, is it?"

Galang reassured her that it wasn't the case, revealing his handy inhaler in his pocket. "Not asthma." He shook his head vigorously. "I'm fine," he reassured, scratching the back of his head. His wheezy breathing belying his reassurances.  

Once his eyes met with Jennifer, he muttered, "H-Hey. Fancy meeting you here."

Jenny smiled and brushed her hair back from her face. "Likewise, Flor. I'm back, I guess?"

Florante smiled in spite of himself. Laughing nervously, he changed the suhject. "I think I'll get a soda today. Any of you need anything?"

"Just soda?" asked Jenny. "It's lunch, not recess. Eat something."

"Aren't you hungry, Florante?" chimed in Dalisay.

"Actually, maybe I do feel a little sick," Florante said, looking at the floor and his dirty shoes. "Um. I mean, I don't have an appetite right now."

Lonzo, who now looked scuffed up from his roughhousing with Benjo, grabbed Florante by the shoulders and sat him down the bench of the lunch table. "Then sit this one out. I'll fetch everyone their lunch and buy your soda."

Florante gulped and nodded his thanks while handing the money to Lonzo, who elected to be the group's gopher for today.

Jacob and Kalantiaw also volunteered to come with him to help out holding the lunch trays.

***

Florante waited for the trio to get their food along with the usually studious Kiko, the wallflower Goth Queen Dalisay, and, well, his classmate Jenny, whom he ended up sitting beside with thanks to Lonzo's prompting.

Damn that Lonzo.

He had nowhere to look and he somehow didn't feel like talking at length to Jenny right now.

Also, when he looked up across the table, he ended up staring at a stern-looking Celestino who looked more like a teacher or a college student than someone from high school.

The studious Kiko barely talked at all, even though he was viewed by the rest of the school campus as the leader of the Dead Kids.

His batch's likeliest Valedictorian or even Salutatorian was this socially awkward nerd. Who knew?

Francisco hadn't even gone to college yet and Florante could already swear he'd become the Summa Cum Laude, if not at least the Magna Cum Laude of his year of college graduates with ease. He just exuded that kind of academically superior aura.

"What is it?" asked Kiko, his eyes meeting with Florante's as he looked up from what he was reading (Advanced Calculus).

"HUH? Oh, nothing!" said Florante. The last thing he wanted was small talk with Mr. Battle of the Brains himself. "Sorry for staring."

For a student supposedly only 3 years older than him, Celestino gave Galang the vibes of a someone much older. Like a college professor. Or a CEO. Or a high-priced attorney. Any full-grown adult with loads of money, power, worldly experience, or influence.

With a raised eyebrow, Celestino returned to his book and commented, "Take the hint, kid."

'Take the hint…?' Florante thought, only for him to realize that Alonzo probably already talked to Francisco to about him and Jenny.

Dammit, you guys. It wasn't that serious! He didn't even remember telling any of them about his feelings for Jenny either! How'd they figure things out?

Minutes later, he got his soda, which he sipped slowly. Or maybe he should sip it faster so that he could excuse himself and leave.

He could even play his asthma up and escape to the clinic for the next hour.

However, he told himself to get a hold of, well, himself. Why should he run away?

To make way for their lunch trays and lunches, Florante took the opportunity to move away and give room to the rest of the Dead Kids, with him sitting on a separate table with his soda.

Eventually, he decided to permit himself to glance beside him. If Jenny glared at him for staring, he'd have the resolve to go to the nurse's office and skip class for the rest of the afternoon.

Or complain about the upset stomach he was literally feeling right now. Like the coward he was.He wouldn't be lying either. He had butterflies in his stomach the size of eagles, it felt like.

He looked up in time to see Dalisay and Jenny laughing at Benjo's antics with Lonzo.

This reminded him of how the Dead Kids charmed him into their group in the first place, actually. They were social outcasts like him, but they chose to be so. They showed him it was okay to be different.

They liked keeping to themselves and didn't care how they looked to others, which Florante respected a lot.

The most abuse Florante got from them was them using him as their gopher or getting his name wrong. Even Benjo, their one member that reminded Galang of his classmate bulies, never went the extra mile when teasing him.

He never felt like any of them dehumanized or degraded him. Or treated him like the "other".

They didn't treat him particularly well or superbly, but even their mere tolerance of him was leagues better than the treatment he got from his own classmates as the resident weirdo of the class.

Florante heaved a relieved sigh at Jenny getting along with the rest of his so-called friends. Or even acquaintances.

His heart twinged with jealousy at the sight too. Made him wish he was closer with both the Dead Kids and Jennifer.

What was he even worried about again?

That he'd ruin another friendship because he caught feelings with Jenny like he did with Laura, so he'd start acting all awkward and creepy around her?

Nah. He had no need to fear. He simply just had to deny his silly crush with Jennifer so they wouldn't end up cold and distant like him and Laura Reyes did.

Even if this was good as it got, he'd be fine with it.

This was his path of least regrets.

If there was an event he wouldn't "Undo" with a magical "Ctrl + Z" command, then it would be him meeting his friendships/acquaintances, the Dead Kids.

***

Aside from the playfulness and banter, something seemed different between the Dead Kids and Jenny Tolentino from the rest of Florante's classmates that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Their infectious positivity seemed like something out of a commercial for menthol cigarettes or saltine crackers, thought the bemused Florante.

No wait. Mentos. They acted like they were in a Mentos commercial!

Something about them seemed almost surreal. Or unreal. Like a performance.

He examined Jenny the most. Not because he was enamored by her, of course. Well, maybe because of that too.

Jenny's glasses glinted in the daylight of the open cafeteria. Her skin was pale, but it looked practically tanned when near the porcelain or marble statue skin of Dalisay, who truly lived up to her name. In Tagalog, "Dalisay" meant "Pure".

Hell, compared to her, Florante's skin was practically wood-colored.

Florante averted his eyes from Kal's sister by reflex, knowing full-well of how extreme Dalisay's overprotective brother behaved around people who stared at her or even tried to talk to her (like Lonzo, who was supposed to be their friend).

Meanwhile, Jenny's pink lips pursed into a cute pout as she and Dalisay teased each other over… something. Her hazel eyes sparkled with her flushed, blushing face.

What was about her that seemed strange to him? Was it his imagination? He pondered, staring at Jenny, trying to isolate any changes in her expression.

At the back of his mind, he idly wondered if this Jenny had the same memories as the Jenny in his dreams. The one that saved his life twice. The literal girl of his dreams. Did reality match his fantasy?

"What are you staring at, Flor?" asked Lonzo with a snicker, and Florante knew that the cheeky bastard already knew the answer to his own damn question.

At that moment, Jenny's eyes flashed to meet Florante's.

Instead of merely looking curious, she gave him a harsh stare. Like a warning of some sort. Her sharp eyes belying the smile on her face.

Florante dropped his head, letting his curtain of hair bangs cover his face. During the instant that their eyes met, he could've sworn.

"Flor…?" Lonzo beckoned again.

Florante could've sworn that she recognized him. No, wait. That didn't make any sense. Of course she'd recognize him. He was her classmate, Florante.

No, no. What he meant was that her eyes glowed the same way it did in his dreams.

Her look of recognition wasn't because she recognized him as Florante. It was because she recognized him as Archangel Gabriel.

He had promised in his last dream that he'd forget about everything, but here he was breaking that promise once more. Even though honestly, he couldn't help it.

How Florante surmised all that from a simple glare, he couldn't tell you.

Or maybe he was just in denial. His constant staring must've finally got on Jenny's nerves, leading to her glaring at him.

Lonzo whispered, "Is your girlfriend staring back at you too?"

Florante palmed his face. His cheeks felt hot to the touch. "She doesn't look angry or anything, does she?"

"I don't know," came Estanislao's unhelpful answer. "Maybe stop being a weirdo and talk to her like a normal person?"

"Stop calling her my girlfriend then," Florante begged. "She's probably the only friend I got in class. You'll just weird her out."

"Sure thing, buddy. I'm just teasing," relented Alonzo.

"…So she's not angry?"

"Ask her yourself, dumbass!" Lonzo put Florante in a headlock and rubbed his knuckles over the top of his noggin. "Jeez, no wonder you're bullied so much! Grow a spine!"

***

Mustering up the courage to talk to Jenny, Florante sat beside her and talked. Like the good ol' days when he, her, and Laura first met.

He asked Jenny without looking at her, "Where have you been?"

She thought for a minute. "Oh, around."

The coy answer made him second-guess himself. If he referenced his dreams about her in any way, would she confirm them as real?

No, that was stupid. "Were you sick?" he asked.

"Maybe a little. Like you. I'm fine now, thank you for asking," she answered.

"Oh. That's good to hear. I'm glad," he said.

"It's been cold lately, hasn't it?" she said. "No wonder everyone is getting sick nowadays."

"Yeah. But sunny other times. Like the weather's bipolar or something," he said.

"I know, right? Like it couldn't make up its mind," she said.

"Did you get contacts?" he then blurted out unthinkingly.

Puzzled by his unexpected question, she answered, "No. I'm wearing glasses."

"Oh yeah," he mumbled, wishing the earth would part and swallow him whole. "I thought there was something different about your eyes."

She shrugged with a confused smile. "It's the same eyes I've always had."

Man, what was this conversation even about? Talk about awkward.

After a slight pause, Jenny asked, "…Sooo were the rumors true? Did you or didn't you draw Laura Reyes nude?" while adjusting her large, bug-like spectacles in a way that honestly only she could pull off.

"What? NO! I didn't…" Florante raised his voice, but he then trailed off lamely. His voice sounded sad, even to him.

He soldiered on though, pleading his innocence. "I-I was doing a rough sketch! Can you tell her that it wasn't a nude sketch but a rough sketch? The guys who told her it was nude were just messing with me!"

"Really? Show me," she said before taking out a pencil and notebook from out of her purse.

"What? You mean right now?" he asked.

"Why not?" she countered.

Why not indeed. So Florante recalled the anatomy lessons of Art Class and did rough sketches of what initially looked like a naked woman. He then added details like a blouse, skirt, glasses, and shoes to the full-body sketch.

"See? It was all a big misunderstanding!" he said, only for his jaw to go slack as a blushing Jennifer beside him told him, "I didn't realize you were going to use me as an example!"

He looked down and sure enough, he ended up drawing Jenny. "I-I can explain…!"

"I'm just glad you didn't turn it into a nude portrait! My boobs aren't that big!"

"OF COURSE NOT! To do that is sexual harassment!" he yelped, which made Jenny laugh.

He felt his heart twinge at the sight for sore eyes. Her giggles sounded soft and enchanting. Like wind chimes on a gentle summer breeze.

"I was joking, Flor!" She looked at his sketch of her. "Wow. Not bad."

"Eh, it looks a bit cartoony," he said, criticizing his own sketch. "Like an anime sketch. I could've done better."

"Just accept the compliment, you dork!" she chided.

Florante chuckled at that. "You know what? You're an okay gal, Jenny."

This made the both of them go silent. That line was what he said to Jenny before he proceeded to massacre the rest of his classmates.

"You're an okay gal, Jenny. Don't go to school today. For your own good."

A flood of memories—well, false memories that didn't happen anywhere else but his dream—almost overwhelmed Florante.

Him becoming a roaring typhoon of vengeance against his bullies before facing off against an angelic Laura. His tandem fight with Jenny against a spaghetti monster, where he discovered she was also an angel.

His visit to her apartment. Their confrontation with Mammon. Him managing to defeat the crawling chaos. None of that happened yet Florante remembered them all as if they did.

***

The group went their separate ways. Florante was about to head off to the library himself, killing time like always until the late afternoon bell rung for their next class.

However, what Jenny told him before he went off gave him pause.

She looked him in the eye and said, "You promised."

…What?

Before he could speak, she invaded his personal space and said, "Don't break your promise."

She then turned around and left, as though she didn't just say something cryptic and disturbing to him.

"Jenny…!"

"Hmmm? What is it, Flor?"

He hesitated answering. Did he just imagine her say, "Don't break your promise"? Was she gaslighting him? He then said, "I'm okay with it."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm okay with you calling me Flor."

Jenny tilted her head to the side and smiled. "Okay."

His mind spun from confusion. Had he made up the whole exchange before just now? She acted perfectly polite. Like the conversation they had about promises and breaking them never happened.

Or maybe she meant some other promise he couldn't remember breaking?

He had half the mind to believe that the entire exchange was from his own imagination. It was his subconscious mind taking the form of Jenny, warning him not to pursue the madness that was his questionable dreams.

Because the minute he started believing that everything he'd dreamed up until that point was real, that was when Jennifer would give him the same disgusted stare Laura gave him when she had rejected him.

Maybe he really was going out of his mind, dreaming up scenarios where Jenny was his Damsel in Distress and he served as her super-powered Knight in Shining Armor, rescuing her from eldritch abominations and whatnot.

Just like Mammon said. Maybe Mammon was no demon. Instead, Mammon was his common sense. What was left of his sanity.

On one hand, he should be glad all this murder, mayhem, and destruction using fantastical or cosmic powers happened merely in his dreams instead of irreversible reality.

They served as his own Ctrl + Z or Magic Slate that undid what could've been permanent mistakes.

On the other hand, he also wished he'd have dreamed up being a social pariah and the butt of everyone's jokes in Fatima High. He wanted to redo that part of his life as well.

Then maybe once he woke up every morning, he'd instead be greeted with friends and cheers as well as belong in a social circle not rejected by the rest of the school campus.

Undoing the destruction of a shadow monster or sentient Italian dish wasn't a problem Florante could relate to. His inability to form healthy relationships with his peers was.

Hell, if only he could Ctrl + Z his entire childhood. Now that was an even cooler superpower than the Light Array.

"…Galang? Florante Galang?" someone called out to him in the middle of his introspection, thus interrupting his inner monologue.

Who was it? Who dared interrupt the great and powerful avatar of Archangel Gabriel?

Oh. It was him. One of his bullies. Not one of his worst bullies, mind you, but one of his bullies nonetheless.

His bully that used to be his friend before he went with the flow of the rest of the class.

His personal Judas Iscariot. The Brutus to his Julius Caesar: Isaiah Pascual.

The guy whose head Florante blew apart in the murderous fever dream, to be exact.

***

The two former friends kept talking and walking as they went to their late afternoon class.

"Florante," said a sweaty Isaiah, who rubbed his hands together.

"Pascual," said Florante, who wrinkled his nose.

"Hey, buddy. Been a while since we've talked, right?" said Pascual with a hesitant, crooked smile.

"Yeah, I guess." Galang shrugged, eyeing the door to the classroom. "What do you want?"

On the asthmatic's part, he probably smiled the same disingenuous smile as well to keep up appearances of politeness. What did this snake in the grass want anyway?

Florante vaguely remembered Isaiah as one of his few classmates that stood by him when he was being teased by his bullies.

Up until it Isaiah started getting teased himself, so he threw Florante under the bus to save himself.

Galang's first impression of Pascual when they were still cool with each other was that he had the vibes of a Golden Retriever. Or maybe even a sea otter, with that big nose of his.

Once inside the classroom, Florante went straight to his table, with half the mind to ignore Isaiah altogether. He merely half-listened to him at any rate.

"…Look, maybe we can continue this later. Okay, bro?"

"Sure. Whatever."

Grimacing, Galang remembered the swift kick to the testicles that Pascual gave him in his dream, thus "forcing" him to blow his head apart with his dream powers.

Should Florante condemn the guy for something he did in a dream though? No, he condemned Isaiah more for his betrayal of him in real life.

Regardless, the students settled down for Biology class for their section's Science subject that afternoon.

His Science teacher was a chirpy twenty-something named Ms. Isabelle "Belle" Del Mundo. The tall, slim teacher had a signature faint, singsong voice that was hard to miss. She sounded like a character straight from "Sesame  Street". Or "Batibot".

Ms. Del Mundo walked around the room, took attendance, and then had them move single file to the laboratory room at the second floor.

From there, Pascual kept following Florante.

"Gerry and the others finally let up on you, huh?" was the topic he chose to break the ice with. Goodness gracious.

Florante grunted. "More or less."

"Glad to hear it, bro."

'Uh-huh. I bet,' Florante thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

Galang ended up with the reputation of being a snitch in exchange for his bullies to leave him alone, but at least now their bullying wasn't as bad as it could've been. He didn't appreciate the passive-aggressive digs though.

He also didn't want to have this talk with Isaiah. He instead wished he could've paired up with Jenny as lab partners. To talk to her more.

To ensure to her that he wasn't going to break his promise. No wait, the real Jenny didn't care about that. It was the Jenny in his insane mind that told him to lay off the daydreams and fever dreams once and for all.

When they got to the lab, Ms. Del Mundo had them separate themselves in pairs.

This was usually Florante's worst nightmare since nobody in class wanted to pair up with him, the social pariah. However, he hoped after his interactions with the real Jenny that they'd pair up this time.

However, instead, he got stuck with Isaiah, who insisted on being his lab partner for the day. What was up with him today?

Their Biology teacher then proceeded to distribute a microscope and a box of slides on each table. The room buzzed with conversation as they prepared the materials.

As Florante and Isaiah worked as lab partners like the good ol' days, when they were still buddies, the latter continued his small talk.

For his part, Galang kept his eyes away from the lab doors, doodling all sorts of sketches on the back of his Science notebook. Like a short comic of Freeza and Goku battling it out at Planet Namek.

"Wow. You just sketched all that out without thinking, huh?" said Isaiah.

"Yep. Just like before," said Florante without looking up from his notebook.

"You never change," said Pascual, which almost offended Galang.

Florante groaned. Instead of hearing the musical voice of Jenny, he instead got stuck with his former best friend's nasally whine. Stuck with the backstabber who saved himself from a social suicide pact and got himself new friends.

Well, maybe his new friends could help him out with whatever problem he was having!

In the corner of his eye, he saw that Jenny and Laura had actually paired up as lab partners instead, with them seated to the desk right in front of the teacher's table.

Laura looked stunning as usual—a showstopper for sure—but Jenny stole the show as far as being the apple of Florante's eye was concerned.

Her side profile remained friendly and open even when looked at from behind, her mouth open with a slight smile on her flawless lips.

Her glasses framed her dazzling features beautifully, like there'd be something missing without them.

She had a pretty nice figure from Florante's vantage point too. Both she and Laura had shapely hips, thin waists, and uh, wide hips that couldn't be hidden even by the folds of their checkered skirts.

He palmed his red face at having such lewd thoughts about his classmates.

"Ah, so you've moved on from Laura Reyes to Jenny Tolentino, huh?" asked Pascual, which got on Galang's nerves.

"Shut up," he murmured, which made Isaiah laugh.

"Bingo! I was right, wasn't I?"

Florante sighed. "…Is it that obvious?"

"Bro, you couldn't stop staring at her empty desk when she was absent last week and now you couldn't stop staring at her when she finally got back."

Jeez. Florante should be more careful and not wear his heart on his sleeve.

If his other bullies caught wind of this, he'd never hear the end of it. Or maybe they already knew and were biding their time to use this info against him. Dammit.

Thankfully, the soft-spoken Ms. Del Mundo began class at that very moment.

Florante tried to focus on her words as she explained to the class what they'd be doing today in the lab.

The slides inside the box were out of order. The lab partners had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the different mitosis phases they represented then label them one by one.

They couldn't use their Biology books. In 20 minutes, she'll be coming around to check who got everything right.

Galang already studied (crammed on) this topic and Pascual, if memory served him correctly, had the lower grades and lazier study ethic (work ethic for studying) between the two of them.

So by his calculations, he'd be doing most of the work while his partner did most of the talking.

"Prophase," said Florante after studying one of the slides he magnified to 40X via the microscope briefly.

"Say, Florante…"

"What? Just down 'Prophase' for the first slide, Pascual," he ordered as he slid another slide under the microscope.

Isaiah did what he was told, letting Galang do most of the work. He didn't even bother double-checking.

"How much do you remember about that stormy night?"

"Anaphase," Florante murmured. "What stormy night? I don't remember any storms."

"How to you spell that?" Pascual asked, and Florante obliged him.

"A-N-A-P-H-A-S-E. Anaphase."

"Okay, thanks."

"No problem."

After a brief pause, Pascual's voice went even quieter than before when he continued speaking. "The storm you caused. The one where you ran amok. You don't remember any of it?"

Florante blinked at that. Did he hear him right? No, he must not have. "Third slide please."

Pascual handed Florante the third slide and sighed. "So you don't remember, huh? I should've figured as much."

"What are you talking about?" asked Florante, feigning ignorance while his heart beat began rising in his chest. He then said, "Interphase," after glancing for a few seconds at the microscope.

"Enterphase?" asked Isaiah.

"No, 'Interphase' with a Letter 'I'. Still spelled with a 'phase'. P-H-A-S-E," clarified Florante, before probing, "…Well?"

Pascual wrote down the label and said, "It doesn't really matter if you don't remember." He chuckled. "Would you believe you blasted my face off with light bullets a few days ago? Like something out of a Sci-Fi or martial arts movie, man!"

Florante took his eye off of the microscope and snapped his head in attention towards Isaiah. He felt lightheaded after doing so.

The two were about done with the activity. At the corner of Florante's eye, he could see both Laura and Jenny were already finished with their own slides minutes ago.

The color from Pascual's own face drained the same way it did when facing off against an angrier Florante in his fever dream.

"Oh shit. You do remember, don't you?"

'No. No way. There's no way my dreams are real. There's no way I literally killed my bullies in my dreams, only to press 'Ctrl + Z' and 'Undo' what I did!'

"Susmaryosep," Florante Galang murmured under his breath, wishing he could "Ctrl + Z" this exchange just now.

***

To Be Continued…

Everyone wants to be able to just press Ctrl + Z on their proverbial keyboards in order to undo any careless mistake they've made, whether it's an errant brush stroke on MS Paint or a typographical error on MS Word.

However, reality doesn't work like that. You can't take back what a careless thing you've said a few seconds ago that may or may not end friendships or break bonds. You can unbreak a dropped mug. You can't unspill spilled milk, no matter how hard you cry.

Farewell, Abdiel

[mollygetssherlockcoffee]

Sunflower

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: When Y/N joins the team, Bucky isn’t fond of her but as time goes on, she begin to form bond with the team and with him.

Warning: Swearing, torture, violence, death

Words: 20,971

A/N: All translations were made using Google, so sorry if they are wrong! This is also my first Marvel fic, and my first Bucky fic, so all feedback is welcome!

Master List   Tag List

 May

You’re nervous. Your palms sweat, even with the air conditioner pumping through the compound, and your heartbeat is elevated. You know that your presence is allowed but you don’t know whether they will accept you. After all, you were part of one of the most atrocious organisations that had ever existed.

Hydra was wicked, cruel, sadistic, merciless and they were your past.

 When approached and asked to be part of a drug trial, you had accepted. You were young, barely eighteen, and living on the streets of Krasnoyarsk. You had struggled to care for yourself, the orphanage having kicked you out a few months previous, and you had jumped at the chance of having a place to stay and food in your belly.

 It wasn’t until you were taken in, subjected rigorous testing, that you found out where you are. The company name they had originally given you was fabricated, and your insides turned to ice as you saw the Hydra symbol.

 You were, in a sense, tricked.

 You were trapped there, no way out and you knew you wouldn’t leave alive. You had, in a way, signed your own death warrant. You had been foolish, your mind to focused on food and a bed to properly ask about the company who wanted you. Saying that, they probably would have killed you if you had asked to many questions anyway.

 For three years, you were put through your paces. They taught you languages; English, German, Spanish, French, Romanian, Italian and others. You had to learn quick, and you were given daily tests. If you got a question wrong, a fist hit your stomach. If you completed the test with more than two wrong answers, you were sent to the Palach [Punisher]. His methods of…correcting…you varied. Beatings, cuttings, breakings, whippings…

 They also taught you how to fight. They didn’t go easy on you, in fact, it was the exact opposite. The trainer used his full force, you couldn’t tap out. You adapted, or you got hurt. He’d almost killed you once, just to show you how easy it was.

 It had taken you over two years, but you had developed your own style of fighting by studying his. While he was brutish, using his pure strength, you used your small structure. Your moves could be likened to those of a snake, you would slip around him, strike in the most unexpected of places and take him down that way. You fought like it was a dance, gracefully and beautifully.

 You also learned how to use a variety of weapons. You could shoot a range of guns now, could strip and clean them too. You were confident with knives, easily able to add them to a fight and harm your opponent. They’d even taught you how to use a bow and arrow, and a crossbow, though they weren’t a first choice of Hydra.

 In your three years, you learned more than you thought you were would. Did you want to learn all of this? No, of course not. You had no choice. With was either adept and learn or be killed. You didn’t want to die.

 Your final ‘test’, as they called it, was to take another person’s life. A young man, barely of age, with dark brown hair and green eyes. His eyes were rimmed red, tears trailing over his high cheekbones and dripping over the cloth stuffed in his mouth and off his chiselled jaw. You didn’t know his name, but his face would never leave you.

 You had hesitated a moment. You weren’t a killer, not by choice at least. You didn’t want to kill the young man, murder was not in your blood. However, you knew that it had been leading up to this moment. Why else would they be keeping you, training you?

 It was kill or be killed. So, you shot him.

 From there, the training was over. Then, the ‘drug trial’ began. For the first time in five years, you were given meals three times a day, for a week straight. They were building up your strength for what was to come. What were they going to do, that you would need to be so prepared for?

 You were reading a Mandarin language-learning book when they came in. You could converse in the language well enough, but it wasn’t your best. And you had to give your best. Four soldiers and three people in lab coats. The soldiers carried guns and had knives strapped to them, you knew they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot you if you tried to fight and run. You had seen that happen to another ‘subject’.

 You had been taken to lab where they usually tested you. When you entered, the three scientists joined their other eight colleagues. Your normal tests had only been conducted by three scientists, one preparing the tests and equipment, one doing the actual testing, and the final one recording the results. Seeing so many scientists, you knew this was it, that this was ‘the big day’, so to speak.

 You were strapped down, thick leather tightened around your body to hold you to the metal table. Your left arm was outstretched, your inner elbow exposed.

 Everyday you had been kept at Hydra, you had been scared. But at that moment, on that cold metal table, your fear was heightened. You didn’t know why. They had taught you how to kill, how to lie, how to steal, hack, seduce even… but they left you with fear. They wanted you to fear them, it would ensure your loyalty.

 Electrodes were attached to your forehead, the metal discs roughly pressed against your temple. A heart rate monitor was clipped to your finger and a blood pressure cuff was put around your right arm.

 You could hear the machine showing your heartrate increased as a scientist moved towards your left arm. In his hand, he held a large syringe. A think, green liquid swirled in it. It was vile looking, it was something you would expect to see in a swamp. He took your arm in one hand, bracing himself before pushing the needle through the skin of your inner elbow.

 As soon as the green mixture had entered your body, you had been set alight. You’d cried, screamed, begged for them to make it stop. Since joining Hydra, you had went through pain but this was unlike anything you had ever felt. Your whole body was on fire, flames burning you up from the inside.

 It hadn’t taken long for your eyes to roll and for you to pass out in pain.

 You had woken up three days later. You didn’t know what they had injected you with but it didn’t taken long for you to discover the results of it. When you got angry after being tied down, the ground had shaken. The stone floor had cracked and began to crumble. When you were scared when the guards entered, vines had extended from the walls to enclose you. When your hand had sat on the wooden table, a flower sprouted, its thorns wickedly sharp.

 You had could create and control the earth and plant-life.

 It was a terrifying discovery. You had walked into Hydra as a weak orphan, yet now you were a trained killer. You had walked into that lab a human, and now… now you were something else. You couldn’t be called a mutant; you were born like this. You were created. You were an experiment. A test subject.

 For two more years, you were subjected to more testing and more training. Hydra pushed you to the limits of your ability, seeing what you were capable of and forcing you to improve. You gained more control over time, soon able to completely control the earth around you with little effort. You also had to ‘update’ your technique with your new abilities. You learned how to weave your gift into your fighting style, making you all the more dangerous.

 Though you were skilled, you knew that someone would still be able to take you down.

 You had heard about him. The Soldat. You had heard the scientists whisper his name, but it was the guards outside your room which provided the information.

 “Soldat escaped” the first guard murmured quietly.

“Do you think they’ll send her after him?” the second questioned, just as quiet. You knew he was referring to you.

“Probably” the first confirmed. “They’d send her to the chair first. Still, with his metal arm he would beat her. It will be a waste.”

 You didn’t know what the chair was, but you knew it was bad. Thankfully, you never got to meet it.

 Less then a year later, the base you were kept at was stormed by the Avengers. You had seized the moment. While the guards had rushed to fight them off, you had broken the door of your room. A thick, green vine had curled around the large handle and ripped it from its hinges.

 You had run from the metal room, which they had put you in after discovering your abilities, and you hadn’t looked back. You had lifted a hand in front of you, causing a stone wall to break and you had climbed through, running into the forest.

 You escaped and went on the run. You were sure that those who had kept you at the base had either been captured or killed by the Avengers. Being in prison, or in a grave, they wouldn’t be able to come after you.

 You hadn’t counted on the Avengers not coming after you, though. You hadn’t thought of it previously but of course Hydra had files on you. When they had seized control of the base, the Avengers gained access to those files. They found out about who you were, what you could do. You were dangerous.

 It had put on the run from both sides. Other sources of Hydra might still know of you and want you, but now, the Avengers wanted you too.

 While on the run, you had heard more about The Soldat. While they called him that often, his code name was The Winter Soldier. He was a man out of time, taken by Hydra, turned into a weapon and frozen. He was a victim of the organisation, just like you. They had turned him into a super-soldier and given him a metal arm, strong enough to crush people’s skulls. No doubt strong enough to destroy you. Even with your abilities, he was stronger and more experienced than you.

 You knew they were after him, just like how they were after you.

 Then, it happened. Khvatka. Der Schnappschuss. The Snap.

 One minute, you were fine. The next, your hand had tingled. As you looked down, it began to turn to dust. You had been shocked, but that soon turned to horror as your arm turned to dust and surely… so did the rest of you.

 It seemed like only a moment later, you were opening your eyes again. Everything around you looked different, there were buildings surrounding you which hadn’t been there before. You knew you were in the same place though, the earth beneath your feel felt the same.

 You hadn’t understood what happened at first but then you had stolen the newspaper and heard people talking. Then, you understood. Half of all life, sentient and non-sentient, had been erased from the universe. And you were part of that half. You had been erased.

 You didn’t think it would affect you much. You had nothing before The Snap, you had nothing after. You were wrong. In a few short months following The Snap, the Avengers caught up with you.

 The Scarlett Witch, Captain America, Iron Man and The Black Widow.

 “I’m not going back to some lab!” you had growled at them, before running.

 They had caught you. in fairness, you would have been able to escape, but since leaving Hydra, you had refused to inflict harm. Your actions towards the Avengers were all in defence, and they had noticed that you didn’t not make an offensive move on them. You could have hurt them, killed them even, but instead, you just blocked.

 You had been so focused in not hurting them, The Flacon had been able to sneak up behind you and with a sharp prick to your neck, knock you unconscious.

 You had been extremely lucky that you only fought defensively. After extensively looking over your file, noticing your singular kill in, arguably, self-defence, you had been invited to join the Avengers. You didn’t know how they had arranged it, after all, you had previous ties to Hydra. However, it was either join them or be held in a secure unit.

 It wasn’t a tough choice.

 That led you to this moment. Standing outside of the meeting room which held all of the team members. While you knew there was a core group, there were many other notable members which weren’t always included in the specific name.

 “You ready?” Steve Rogers, Captain America, asked.

You rolled your lips between your teeth for a moment in nervousness before you nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.

“Okay, lets do this” he pushes the door open, stepping into the room and holding the door for you to follow.

 Most of the team was on edge with you at first, watching you wearily. They knew who you were, where you had spent nearly six years of your life. You didn’t blame them for not trusting you straight away. Their trust was something you were going to have to earn. The only person to fully accept you straight away was the Scarlett Witch, Wanda Maximoff.

 She had previously been a test subject of Hydra which had given her gifts, including telepathy. You knew she had looked into your mind straight away and while it was invasive, you understood. By looking into you mind, she would know your thoughts, feelings and intentions. What she saw obviously convinced her you owed no ill will, which was true, and she readily welcomed you.

 The rest of the team politely nodded, said hello or gave you an awkward smile. Peter Parker, the youngest of the Avengers, seemed to do all three. Though he was obviously nervous of you, you had been with Hydra, he stilled tried to welcome you enthusiastically. It was sweet of him, you thought, offering the teenager a small smile.

 “Funny suit” you commented, head slightly tilted as your eyes looked over the spiderweb pattern.

He looks down at his suit before nodding at you. “Thanks. I’m Spider-Man.”

You hummed in amusement, he was a little too young to be considered a man, but it was cute.

 The rest of the team greeted you until you got to the final member.

 Standing close to the door, in a position allowing him to have complete view of the room and the entrance was someone you recognised description alone. He was tall, with long, dark hair which made his blue-grey eyes stand out. His mouth was set in a hard line as he watched you, arms folded across his chest. Though he had on a long-sleeved shirt and his hand was hidden by his right arm, you knew his left arm was metal.

 This was The Soldat, The Winter Soldier.

 You tried not to react. This was the man who could take you down, with absolute certainty. Hydra said he would be able to do it, you had to believe in that fact. Looking at him now, you could see why they came to that conclusion. He was much larger than you.

 “This is Bucky” Steve introduced.

“da [yes]” you can’t help but fall into Russian. There was something about him that made your mind fall back to Hydra, where they had only allowed you to converse in Russian. It was probably because that was where you knew him from. His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared minutely. His head titled up and he looked down his nose at you. Tensing, you quickly spoke again. “Sorry.”

“Dobro pozhalovat’ v komandu [Welcome to the team]” his voice was gruff and low. As soon as the words were out, we passed you, careful not to touch you, and left the room.

 Steve apologised for his friend, watching him go without a single glance back. You waved off his apology, assuring him that Bucky wasn’t rude and that you had probably unintentionally made him uncomfortable by speaking Russian.

 Later in the evening, you ate dinner with the rest of the Avengers, but you didn’t see Bucky again.

  July

 You collapsed onto the couch, holding the cold-water bottle against your neck. You had peeled off your suit, which was similar to Natasha’s but was dark green in colour and taken a shower. Though the water had been cool, your body was still hot.

 “Move” Wanda ordered.

 You sat up slightly, allowing her to sit down before you rested you head in her lap. She moaned as she sunk into the cushions of the couch, and you knew her body ached just as yours did. She adjusted herself again, and then her hand moved to play with your hair.

 Since joining the Avengers two months ago, your relationships with the members had improved. You were closest to Wanda, who had quickly become a close friend and confidant. In your first few days at the compound, you had been quiet and just observed the team, not taking part in their talks and jokes. Wanda, however, made sure to speak quietly to you at every meal. She slowly brought you out of your shell and encouraged you to develop your relationships with the other members.

 Your relationships with the rest of the team was varied.

 As Wanda trusted you, Vision seemed to be open to you. He wasn’t your biggest fan, believe that with your abilities, you posed a strong threat. However, he was respectful. He would often join you and Wanda for film nights and would keep you both supplied with popcorn. He spoke to you politely, but never singled you out for conversation. It strangely hurt your feelings, considering how close you were to Wanda, but you accepted his attitude towards you.

 Upon seeing you use your gift, Peter Parker wanted to spend time with you whenever you were both at the compound. He was fascinated by the power of your abilities and the level of control you had. He asked multiple questions, eager to understand how you were able to do what you could. While it had made you uncomfortable at first, you soon began to appreciate his interest. He didn’t want to know these things because he wanted to use you, or because he was scared but because he admired you.

 And while you spoke about your abilities often, you also spoke about him. He was struggling with his language class and, being fluent in most languages, you had offered to help. He had also shyly asked you to forge Aunt May’s signature on his language test when he got a bad grade. You had done it, but you had told him he needed to speak to May about it.

 Aunt May was accepting of your relationship towards Peter. At first, she had been weary, which you couldn’t blame her for, but then her attitude changed in the few weeks between visits. You think it was Peter’s doing, that he had gone home and spoken about you. Perhaps told her that you helped with his schoolwork, that every weekend you’d give him a bunch of flowers for his girlfriend, MJ. Or maybe about the time you scolded him for his recklessness on a mission and sent him to his room at the compound without dessert.

 While Aunt May was his mother figure, you had seemed to have taken on the role of overprotective older sister. A role which May seemed happy for you to have. She had spoken to you just last week about how grateful she was that you were helping Peter and keeping an eye on him while on missions.

 Tony Stark had taken somewhat of a liking towards you. He had provided you with your new suit and various weapons, all of which you were grateful for. Just like with the rest of the team, he did tend to tease you. He often called you Ivy after the famous ‘Poison Ivy’ from Batman. It was so common to hear that nickname, it was sometimes used instead of your codename.

 You didn’t have a codename when you were with Hydra, they just called you ‘The Subject’, but joining the Avengers had afforded you one. Hemlock. It was a stupid codename and you had immediately hated whoever had assigned it to you. You understood the choosing of it, it was a deadly plant, but still… it was stupid.

 Though Tony’s nickname was unoriginal, and it occasionally annoyed you, you much preferred it. Hemlock just seemed presumptuous. It was a deadly planet and having that as your codename, would make you appear to be deadly. You had the potential to be, yes, but you had only ever harm one person and that was out of a need for survival.

 Natasha Romanoff usually observed you quietly, as if waiting for you to flip and attack. However, she didn’t go out of her way to make you unwelcome. She included you in conversation and would normally speak in Russian, which was also her native language, but you think that was to annoy Tony. He hated to be excluded.

 She was sassy, her jokes hidden within her words. Though you hadn’t grown close with her yet, you could see yourself favouring her in the future. There was an appeal about her, she was mysterious, and it kept people interested, wanting to know more. You were no exception.

 You had only seen Clint Barton once or twice, but he was always nice. He also adopted Tony’s nickname, calling you that more often that your own name. He didn’t seem to care for you though, not in a mean way, but in a way which he doesn’t view you as a threat. Which was refreshing.

 It was from Tony that you learned Clint lived on a farm with his family, who had previously lost to The Snap. It was nice to know that while being a ‘hero’ didn’t mean you couldn’t have a normal, quiet life.

 James Rhodes was another member of the Avengers that you didn’t have much contact with. Though you saw him around the compound, it was only ever in passing. He was often with not alone, with Tony or a military colleague. When he was alone, he carried files in his hands which he read through, ignoring the environment around him.

 Sam Wilson welcomed you easily. While he kept you at arm’s length for the first few weeks, that soon gave way to flirtatious teasing. You knew he meant nothing by it, and you enjoyed the comments, no one had ever said such things to you. Though there was no attraction there, between either of you, you both enjoyed the flirtatious attention you afforded the other.

 He had taken to calling you Petal, or the shortened Pet, a cute nickname because you were as delicate as a flower and also because of your ability. You acted annoyed when he called you it but secretly, you adored it. It was cute, sweet, and it felt like it fit.

 Sam was also the one who you trained with often, though you tried to put him off it. You were trained to kill by Hydra, your skills on par with Natasha and Bucky – though he was much stronger than you. You could make Sam down in minutes, which a few members of the team enjoyed seeing, but you could beat him in seconds on the rare occasion you used your ability.

 Still, he insisted. “You need your practice, Pet, I’m not always going to be there to save you.”

 You beat him every time.

 Steve Rogers was the unofficial leader of the team. Unofficial, because he didn’t want anyone to think he was above them. However, he was the one who decided on and led missions. He was the one who kept the team in line, he was the one who kept an eye out for everyone.

 Since introducing you to the team, you hadn’t seen much of him; for various reasons. He worked often, going on missions more and when he wasn’t, he was busy preparing for the next mission. When he wasn’t doing that, he was working out with Bucky or just spending time with his best-friend.

 And therein was the reason you hardly saw the Captain.

 Bucky Barnes did not appear to be a fan of yours. Your presence seemed to make the man uncomfortable. When you entered the room, he would sit up straighter, would tense and watch you as you moved about. When you trained in the gym, his eyes would focus on you and you knew he was working out your style, to know how best to take you down. He only spoke to you when necessary and he was always short and to the point.

 He wasn’t outright rude, but his dislike of you was clear. The only time he had outright asked about something pertaining to you, it was when he was confused over Tony’s nickname for you. Tony had proceeded to introduce him to the Batman comics and with Poison Ivy’s character, you were sure you were put in a darker light.

 In his avoidance of you, Steve was also avoiding you by association.

 You didn’t see much of the other Avengers. Thor was often in Asgard but had graced the compound with his presence occasionally. He was always polite but often kept a close eye on you, especially when his brother, Loki, took a shine to you.

 Loki thought you were interesting for a mortal. He had never met a mortal who could control nature like you could, he called you ‘The Life Giver’ which you had strongly disagreed with. However, you found Loki fun to socialise with, he was interesting and mischievous, often liking to cause trouble which you couldn’t help but find amusing. He also had a love of knives which you shared an interest in and you had compared various weapons, discussing the pros and cons of each.

 Honestly, none of the Avengers approved of your blossoming friendship with the God of Mischief. Still, they let you be, though they kept close watch.

 You had only met Doctor Strange once but you found him fascinating. A sorcerer of great power, you were amazed by his abilities. Peter had told you how he had worked with Doctor Strange during the battle against Thanos, and that the magician could create portals. Thor had taken that moment to delight in telling you that Doctor Strange had made Loki fall through a portal for thirty minutes.

 Apart from that first meeting, you also hadn’t met any of the other members of the team again. King T’Challa and his sister, Princess Shuri had left almost immediately for their home. Scott Lang didn’t often visit the compound but whenever he did, you didn’t happen across him.

 “I can’t wait for winter” you huffed, dragging the bottle over your sweltering skin.

“Too hot for you, Pet?” Sam asked, taking a seat on the couch opposite you.

“Mm” you agreed. “I’m Russian, we like the cold. My sozdany dlya etogo [We’re made for it].”

“Kak pokazyvayet tvoye serdtse [As your heart shows]” Natasha jested, earning a chuckle from you.

 While the words at face value were funny, it was hiding a meaning behind them which you both chuckled at. Natasha was one of the best spies in the world, tied with Bucky. She was observant and smart, and it hadn’t taken her long to put two-and-two together.

 She knew you found The Winter Solider attractive. You couldn’t help it. Tall, broad shoulders, dark hair and beautiful eyes. He was a stunning specimen of a man. He was clearly intelligent and undoubtedly observant, with a key attention to detail.

 Working with him on missions and seeing him the limited times around the compound had drawn your attention. There was something about him. He was all man. Your body hummed when he was near, and you were acutely aware of his presence.

 You didn’t bother to deny your attraction when Natasha had confronted you. There was no point. There was no lying to Natasha Romanoff. She didn’t judge you from you crush. She did, however, make veiled comments.

 “What does that mean?” Tony asked, looking between the two of you. “You know its very rude to speak in a language that others don’t speak.”

“Bucky can speak it, he counts as others” you shrugged, smirking at Tony. “Eto ne nasha vina, chto vash ‘geniy’ zakhodit tak daleko [It’s not our fault your ‘genius’ only goes so far].”

This earned a laugh from Natasha and Bucky, who was quietly leaning against a wall, Steve sitting in front of him. Tony’s eyes flickered between the three of you, “What? What did she say?”

“On vyuchit odin den’ [He’ll learn one day]” Natasha smirked, wiggling her eyebrows at the billionaire.

“What? Bucky,” he turned to the quiet assassin, arm extended and pointing at you and Natasha. “What are they saying? Are they talking about me? What did they say?”

 Bucky’s eyes went from Tony to you. His blue-grey eyes taking in your relaxed pose, leaning against Wanda as you held the cooling bottle against the base of your neck. You fought to keep your heartrate calm, his gaze sending tingles down your spine.

 “YA somnevayus’, chto on budet [I doubt he will]” he rumbled before throwing the tiniest smirk at Tony and turning to leave the room.

 It took a moment for you and Natasha to process his words but then you’re both laughing as Tony continues to question what you all were saying.

  August

 Your hands sat palm down, fingers spread as the glass tickled between them. Your hands ran against the grass and you sighed, smiling to yourself. You could feel the hum of the earth beneath your palms, the steady thrum of life which only you could feel.

 It was an intoxicating feeling. Since leaving Hydra, you had taken great pleasure with just being part of the life around you. With your abilities over nature, you could feel the power of the earth and you fed off it.

 In Hydra, they closely monitored your exposure to nature, not wanting to give you an opportunity to fight back and escape. You had never been able to explore the deep connection you had with the earth but since escape, it was something you indulged yourself in at every opportunity.

 The compound is surrounded by open fields which back off onto tidy forests. After obtaining permission from Tony, you had happily taken ownership over a small section of the property and turned it into your own, personal, sanctuary.

 You had started at the very beginning and created a small pond. It hadn’t been very hard to create the hole and line it with stone. You did take your time, lining the stones in a perfect formation with small ones framing the smaller ones. Tony had called in a water truck to fill it for you, which took an hour or two, but you hand enjoyed watching the pond fill.

 When it was full, dressed in a new bikini, you had climbed into the pond. The water wasn’t deep, going to just above your waist. Your fingers trailed over the surface of the water, leaving flowers floating. Beautiful lily pads with bright pink lotuses, purple water lilies and water hyacinth. Yellow water poppies floated behind you, lazily moving across the pond. You walked to the edge pond, your finger running over the sides and leaving broadleaf arrowhead behind.

 Flowers and weeds would soon bloom around the pond, and you hoped it would attract wildlife. It would be lovely to see frogs, dragonflies, and butterflies. You hoped that when your little spot of paradise was done, it would be teaming with life.

 You crouched on the grass on north-west side of the pond and touched your hand to the earth. You breathed out slowly, closing your eyes as you envisioned what you wanted. The ground beneath you hummed as your power soaked into the grass below you, spreading outwards. You could feel the ground welcome you and allow you to bend it to your will.

 You focus on the soil, creating the image in your mind of what you wanted. Long, strong roots buried deep in the ground, anchoring the large tree. From the ground, a large base would emerge with dark brown bark. It would stand tall, the thickness of the trunk showing strength and making it appear old. Branches would expend out, weighted down by long branchlets. You imagined them spanning wide, going so far as to dangle over the pond’s side.  

 You opened your eyes and stood up, smiling to yourself as you looked at the weeping willow in front of you. A hybrid of two different types of willow, it only had a life span of between forty to seventy-five years, but you knew you could make it live for a lot longer.

 The tree fit in perfectly with the pond, giving off an enchanted vibe. It looked like something out of a fairy-tale, as if magical creatures would be hiding within the weeping willows branchlets. You created a stone bench at the base of the trunk and framed it with blooming flowers of varying colour, adding to the magical appearance.

 You had made sure the rest of your area was full of natures favourites. There was plenty of nectar-rich flowers for bees and hummingbirds, with bright and bold colours to attract them. Marigolds, pansies and petunias sprouted, ready for the hungry tummies of rabbits you hoped to see in the future. You didn’t know whether the neighbouring trees housed deer but on the off chance, you made sure to grow hostas, daylilies and roses on the edge of the tree line.

 Not wanting to make such a harsh change, you had extended some flowers into the other fields, letting them slowly grow to have more and more as they went towards your plot. It was a beautiful sight, anyone would agree.

 Slowly, as the weeks went by, life began to bloom within your paradise. It started off small, a few butterflies and a stray dragonfly. Tiny frogs, that would hop away and hide if you got too close. Then you found the small warren and when you hid to spy on it, your heart warmed as the tiny rabbit’s nose which peaked out. It was incredible, to say the least.

 Since creating this little slice of heaven, Steve had visited with his sketchbook in hand. The image the sanctuary provided was beautiful and something he was eager to capture. He had given you one of his sketches, one that was coloured in with watercolours which blended together. You had hung it on your bedroom wall that day.

 Wanda had visited, smiling softly at the rose canina which scattered around the area. They were the flowers her brother used to pick for her, which were native to her homeland of Sokovia and the neighbouring country of Slovakia. Since then, you had made a small bush of the flowers outside her window and made sure it was always in bloom. She had said nothing but the smile she had was thanks enough.

 The most common guest to your sanctuary was the most surprising. Bucky. He would come to quietly sit on the stone bench, lost in his thoughts as he watched the breeze blow the branchlets of the weeping willow. He found peace in that spot, and he enjoyed the freeness of the area rather than the confines of the compound.

 One time, you had brushed through the branchlets of the tree to see him sitting motionless, watching a rabbit eat the marigolds on the floor beside him. You had frozen, worried about startling the little animal, but it ignored you, carrying on with its early afternoon snack.

 “You’re here almost as often as I am” you observed, carefully walking to the edge of the pond.

“Its nice” he grunted, looking around appreciatively. “The compound can be… crowded.”

“Yes” you agree. You look over your shoulder to see him tracing a rose with his finger, avoiding the prickly thorns. “What flowers do you like, Bucky?”

 Since that evening in July, Bucky had been more open towards you. Though he still kept his distance, he didn’t out-right avoid you. He no longer tensed when you entered the room, but his eyes remained on you, keeping a close watch. His observations of your fighting style had decreased and now he actually continued his work out, only throwing occasional glances at you.

 It was progress.

 “Sunflowers” he finally replied, having been sorting through his thoughts for the last few minutes.

 The next time he visited the sanctuary, sunflowers lined the entrance to the willow’s spot.

 Now, you sit with your palms on the grass with your fingers spread. You allowed yourself to just breathe in the fresh air and enough the hum of life beneath your palms. It was a wonderful feeling, making your heart fill with content as you allowed yourself to just feel.

 So entuned with the earth beneath you, you felt the approach of another instantly. You knew their footsteps would be considered light, soundless, but through the ground it felt heavy. There are five sets of footsteps approaching from in front of you, a direction that no one should be coming from. There about a mile out, far enough that your other senses wouldn’t have picked them up.

 There’s another set of footsteps behind you. These ones feel light even through the ground and you quickly recognise them. You don’t turn your head to him when he pushes through the branchlets and instead keep your eyes in front of you.

 “Na severe otsyuda yest’ proryv [There’s a perimeter breach, north of here]” his voice is low, and you know his eyes are scanning the area. He always speaks to you in Russian during missions when he doesn’t want locals or enemies to know what he’s saying. “Natal’ya i Toni idut szadi. Oni idut syuda [Natalia and Tony are coming in from behind them. They’re coming this way].”

“Pyat’ iz nikh. Meneye chem v odony mile [Five of them. Less than one mile out]” you inform him.

 You ignored Bucky as he quietly passed on your information to Natasha and Tony, and, instead, focused of the intruders approaching. They walked in formation, and you could feel the heaviness of the weight they carried. They weren’t hikers who had gotten lost, these were people looking for the compound and with the sneaking up, you could assume their intentions weren’t good.

 You take in a deep breath before pushing your ability outwards. In your minds eyes, plants begin to grow on the path before the intruders. Stinging nettles, hogweed, pain bush, and poison ivy. You line the forest floor which leads to your sanctuary with the plants. Though not plants that will kill, they are ones which will cause discomfort and, hopefully, impact the intruders.

 You ensure to line the way with overgrown roots, little pockets underneath where a person could catch their foot. It wouldn’t be enough to stop them, but it will slow them down.

 “YA mogu sdelat’ otverstiye, chtoby derzhat’ ikh. Oni dolzhny byt’ blizhe, khotya [I can make a hole to hold them. They need to be closer though],” you tell him, standing up and looking at him. “Mne nuzhno umet’ pravil’no yego razmer [I need to be able to size it correctly].”

 Bucky nods and reiterates to Natasha and Tony, telling them to follow the group but keep a distance. He pulls out a knife from his leg holster, flipping it in his hand and preparing. He trusted that you would be able to effectively take down the intruders, but he still liked to be prepared for anything. That was the solider, the assassin, in him.

 Soon enough, the intruders were close. You couldn’t see them through the trees but you could feel them through the earth. You knew Bucky could see them, he was a super solider with heightened senses.

 You quickly took note of where each member of the group was. One leading, dead centre. Two sets flank to the left and two to the right, in a triangle formation. The weight in their feet makes it easy to calculate their heights, the tallest being just over six foot.

 Their weight shifts slightly, they’re preparing themselves. Without waiting to see what they are readying themselves for, you open a pit below them. It was quick, instantaneous. The once solid ground simply opened up and swallowed them, leaving them in a pit eight feet deep.

 By the time they’re on their feet, the hole is surrounded. You and Bucky stand on one side, Natasha and Tony on the other. Bucky and Natasha have guns out, each pointed at the group while Tony brandishes his Iron Man blasters.

 Standing over them, you quickly allow vines to grow out of the sides of the hole. They grasp onto the intruders, wrapping around them and preventing them moving. They’ve unable to pick up their military-issued guns from the floor nor get the handguns or knives from their holsters.

 “I didn’t realise we were having a party” Tony sasses, his helmet retreating.

 You used the vines to lift each intruder out one at a time. Bucky and Natasha quickly relieved them of any weapons on their person and Natasha cuffed them with zip-ties that were in a compartment on her suit. If their grunts were anything to go by, she made sure the zip-ties were tight.

 When they were all above ground and cuffed, you quickly filled in the hole. You didn’t want any stray animals falling in it and getting hurt. With their weapons in a pile, you form a basket of branches around them to carry them.

 Tony leads the way through the sanctuary, mental hand on the shoulder of the leader of the group. Bucky follows behind with two more of the group, each of his hands griping one of their arms. Natasha escorts the final two and you are left to carry the numerous weapons.

 “Tony, watch the sunflowers!” you scold as he roughly shoulders past one.

“You can just make another one” he scoffs, pushing the leader forward when he tried to stall.

“No, Tony, they’re special!” you tell him, stopping beside the sunflower to make sure it was okay and undamaged. “This is our safe space; you can’t just walk around like a brute.”

“I’m not walking around like a brute” he defends, looking at you over his shoulder. “And it’s just a flower, Y/N.”

“’Just a flower’?!” your voice rises with outrage. “I’ll have you know-”

“Ostav’ eto, Y/N, on ne ponimayet [Leave it, Y/N, he doesn’t understand]” Bucky says.

 Though you were no longer ‘on a mission’, so to speak, he liked to speak in Russian to annoy Tony. After the instance last month and a few repeated scenarios, Tony had attempted to learn Russian but after a week, he soon gave up. Bucky, Natasha and you often spoke in the language to annoy the billionaire, with the former two taking great pleasure in making him uncomfortable.

 “No Bucky- [But Bucky-]” you protested, throwing a glare at the billionaire.

“YA znayu [I know]” he nods. “On yego povredil? [Did he damage it?]”

“Net [No]” you confirmed.

Bucky let out a grunt and nodded, throwing a look of displeasure at Tony.

 Though you hadn’t outright discussed it, Bucky knew that the sunflowers were specifically grown for him. They were a way of showing that Bucky was welcomed in the sanctuary, that it was a place that he could escape to, should he need to.

 It was something he was grateful for. While he wasn’t a man who was particularly enthused by nature, he could appreciate its calming and healing abilities. The willow tree bench often brought him comfort in times of stress, ever peaceful with disruptions only coming from the wind or small passing animals.

 Bucky had been truthful when he told you his favourite flower was a sunflower. He didn’t, however, tell you why. You didn’t pry, it wasn’t any of your business and you suspected it had something to do with life before the war. You knew he was truthful though, because you sometimes caught him gently stroking the petals of one of the flowers, a far-off look on his face.

 Once you had returned to the compound, you separated from the group. You took the weapons to Tony’s lab, knowing that he would want to examine them before they were put in the lock-up. You had only visited Tony’s lab twice. The first time was when he wanted to run tests on your abilities, which you had reluctantly agreed to. The second time was two weeks ago when you dropped off a vial which you had been sent on a solo mission to gain.

 Since Hydra, you weren’t a fan of labs or doctors’ offices. They made you extremely nervous and set you on edge. It made you feel like you were still in Hydra, that you were going to be strapped down and another serum would be pushed through your veins.

 It was a terrifying thought. You never wanted to return to that lab, to be tied down again. While you were grateful for your abilities, if you could go back, you would change so much. You would have stayed on the streets of Krasnoyarsk, would have taken your chances at survival there. Hydra had changed you, and you still weren’t sure whether there were truly any ways it had changed you for the better.

 Doctor Cho said it was completely normal, it was a form of PTSD, and as such, if you needed medical attention, she came to your room. While you still weren’t completely comfortable having a doctor around you, being in your own space made you more comfortable and allowed you to remain calm as you received medical treatment.

 With your drop off complete, you returned to the team’s living quarters.

 The kitchen was a beautiful mix of light grey and white, with marble countertops. Everything matched, from the white appliances to the grey cupboards. On the island was a vase of flowers, that you always kept in bloom, which offered the space the only pop of colour. The vibrant pinks, blues and yellows seemed to somehow brings the space together.

 The arched doorway led into the living room. Though Tony had paid for it all, you knew that Sam and Natasha were the ones who chose the furniture. The plush ‘L’ shape couch was a dark grey, with colourful pillows and a two thick throw blankets over the back. Two soft armchairs sat on the right, with the TV at the end completing the rectangle of furniture.

 There was once a fluffy rug under the coffee table, which sat in the middle of the put-together shape. However, Bucky wasn’t in the habit of removing his boots and had trailed dirt all over it. Wanda had gotten it clean, but it was a repeated offence until it was finally just thrown out.

 As you passed through the kitchen, you waved your hand over the vase, brightening the flowers. While they were still beautiful, it looked like they had been knocked slightly and bent out of shape. It wasn’t a surprise, while they respected your ability, the Avengers didn’t tend to take care towards your plants.

 Except Bucky.

 He was always mindful of your plants. While he often touched the plants in the sanctuary, never once had he left a single petal out of place. When the team was having ‘family’ meals, he would quickly pull the vase of flowers from the table before Sam could accidently knock them off while roughhousing with one of the other men. You’d heard him telling Natasha and Peter to be careful when they had nearly toppled the flowers over while throwing snacks to each other.

 It was only a small thing for him to do, but it still meant a lot to you. Bucky knew, perhaps better than anyone, what you could do with your abilities but still, he didn’t want to cause more damage than absolutely necessary to your plants.

 And while you weren’t close with the man, it would be a lie to say you didn’t have a soft spot for him. The way he respected your creations warmed your heart. He could barely be labelled as a friend. Still, it reaffirmed the crush that you had on him.

 You curled yourself into the corner of the couch, folding your legs under yourself. You grabbed the TV remote, knowing you had at least a few hours to waste until you would find out why the intruders were at the compound. You settled on Kitchen Nightmares, snuggling yourself further into the cushions.

 Natasha found you a few hours later, eyes slightly glazed over as you were lost in your thoughts. You didn’t blink as she turned of the TV, and you didn’t acknowledge her until she gently shook your shoulder.

 “Nat?” you blinked, looking around. “When did you get here, what’s going on?”

“Only a moment ago, you seemed pretty lost in your thoughts” she told you, taking a seat on the couch. “We got them talking, in the end. We know why they came here.” “And?” you asked, sitting up straighter and turning to face her.

She waited a moment, her eyes carefully taking in your expression. “They came for you and Barnes.”

“Hydra?” you sighed when she nodded in confirmation. “It’s been years and yet they still want us.”

“We thought we had got all of their agents… obviously we were wrong” she said, head tilting and eyebrow lifting slightly as she spoke.

“‘Cut off one head and two more shall take its place’” you quoted.

  October

 You had never celebrated Halloween before. You had been raised in an orphanage un by the Orthodox Church and Halloween was act of betrayal to God. After leaving the orphanage, you had been taken into Hydra, where you never celebrated anything. After escaping the clutches of Hydra, you had been on the run. There was no time to celebrate a Pagan holiday while running for your life.

 For the last week, Peter had not stopped talking about the upcoming holiday. You knew the young hero was excited, he practically bounced when it was mentioned. He got especially excited when Tony had announced he was throwing a Halloween party and that Peter could invite his friends.

 “What was Halloween like in Russia, Y/N?” Peter asked you.

“It’s not hugely popular, not enough to be a tradition, anyway. People do celebrate it though” you replied. “When Russia welcomed the West in the nineties, it became more well-known… it depends on where in Russia you are from. The Orthodox Church doesn’t approve of celebrating it at all, so if you’re from a religious area…” you shrugged, trailing off.

“Did you ever celebrate it?” he passed the carton of ice-cream over to you.

“No” you shook your head, accepting the scooper. “This will be my first time.”

“Oh, you’ll love it! It’s so much fun!” he assured.

 After you had agreed to attend Tony’s party in two weeks’ time, you had gone costume shopping with Natasha and Wanda. You hadn’t been planning on dressing up as anything really, you were happy to just put of your suit and go like that. However, neither of the girls were willing to let you do that.

 “So, what do you want to be?” Wanda asked, browsing the shelves at the local mall.

“I don’t know” you shrug, following after her. “What are you going to be?”

“Vis and I are doing couples-costumes this year” she blushes. “We’re going as Alice and The Mad Hatter.”

“I’m going as Pennywise; I have the hair for it” Natasha shrugs.

“What’s Pennywise?” you ask, looking between your two friends.

“You’ve never seen It?! You’ve seen Sleepless in Seattle, but you haven’t seen It?” Natasha huffed in disbelief.

“Tom Hanks is in Sleepless in Seattle… I like Tom Hanks” you defended weakly, giving an awkward smile and a small shrug.

“We’ll watch it later, it’s great” Wanda assured.

 You continued to search the store for a costume, but nothing caught your eye. As you were beginning to think that maybe you just wouldn’t find one, a gasp to your left caught your attention. You turned quickly, your arm raised and ready in case someone was being attacked.

 Instead, Wanda stood holding a costume, grinning and bouncing in her spot as she showed you. As soon at Natasha saw it, she was smirking at you too, firmly agreeing with her choice. As you hadn’t found anything you liked, though you had been in the store for two hours, you reluctantly agreed to their choice.

 Later that evening, you sat on the couch with the rest of the team as Wanda kneeled in front of the TV. She placed the DVD into the player and grabbed the remote, returning to her seat beside Vision. She had managed to gather the whole team into the front room to watch It, a horror film you had never seen before.

 Wanda had shown you DVD case earlier and you had to admit, you were already a little on edge. You were an Avenger, trained by Hydra, with abilities beyond normal. However, seeing a picture of the clown, Pennywise, made your stomach turn. Especially when there appeared to be children involved.

 “Oh, no…oh, no” you whisper quietly to yourself, watching the small paper boat drain.

 The child, Georgie, was wearing a yellow raincoat like the child on the front of the DVD case. It was reasonable to assume he would meet the clown. Now, you weren’t a particularly nervous person in normal circumstances, but you grew up surrounded by children and looking after younger children in the orphanage. The instinct to protect children was ingrained within you, so you know this film would put you on edge.

 You hardly notice as you start to tilt to the left, your hand lifting up to pull at their shirt. The pulling causes them to lean forward slightly, enough for you to tuck your head behind them with your eyes peaking over their shoulder. You quickly close your eyes, ducking your head to hide as Pennywise’s mouth opens and reveals its pointed teeth.

 You breathe in deeply through your nose and its then that you realise who you are hiding behind. His unique smell fills your senses, making your head go fuzzy for a moment. It was a wonderful mixture of mint and woods. It was the scent of the outdoors, dirt and wood and rain. There was another smell underneath, something you couldn’t identify that was just all him. It was intoxicating, making your eyes want to roll back.

 You slowly pull away from Bucky, moving back to sit properly. Your cheeks are ablaze, no doubt bright red with embarrassment. You had never touched Bucky before and the first time you had, you had hidden behind him because of a film.

 Though Bucky had allowed you to move him – he was more than strong enough to resist you – you knew he wasn’t comfortable with that contact. While he hadn’t been rigid, his body had been tensed against yours. You knew Bucky well enough to know that he didn’t have physical contact with many people. He hugged Steve every now and again, received and gave friendly pats of the back with Sam, and often physically trained with other agents. However, that was the extent of the physical contact.

 Guilt ate up at you. You liked Bucky, harboured a small crush on him, and making him uncomfortable was not something you had wanted to do. You hadn’t even realised that you were moving to hide behind him. Still, you thought, that wasn’t an excuse.

 “Sorry” you whispered, so low that only he would be able to hear you.

“‘s’fine” Bucky replied, eyes not leaving the screen.

 You sat stoically throughout the rest of the film, so lost in your embarrassment that you hardly jumped. You couldn’t believe you had done that, that you basically cuddled up to him.

 In honesty, you weren’t surprised you had leaned towards Bucky when you were scared. It had been a subconscious decision to seek comfort from him, rather than from Sam who was to your right. Something about Bucky just screamed ‘safe’.

 A soldier, Hydra trained assassin, and valuable member of the Avengers, Bucky was not a man to be trifled with. He was strong, brave, and powerful. In every sense of the words. However, while you knew of his brute strength, there was something about his quiet persona which also assured you. He was observant, thoughtful, smart and patient.

 Everything about him screamed ‘protective’. You knew it wasn’t just your mind telling you things either. Bucky had proved on multiple occasions that he had the teams back, including yours. He had thrown a Hydra agent away from Natasha when she had been caught up in a fight with two other and hadn’t seen him sneaking up behind her. He had covered Wanda when she was using her powers to contain a bomb. He had covered for Sam when a one-night-stand just didn’t’ get the hint.

 He watched out for all of the team, without expecting them to return the favour. Of course, the team looked out for him in return, he just didn’t just assume they would. They worked together well, treating each other like the family they were.

 The film ended and the room was plunged into darkness for a moment before F.R.I.D.A.Y switched on the lights. On the right of you, Sam was sprawled against the couch with his head tilted back and soft snores falling from his nose. Looking around, you noticed Tony was also fast asleep and Peter was yawning.

 “So, what did you think, Y/N?” Natasha asked, shifting in her chair to face you.

“I didn’t like the clown” you admitted, blushing as you bit your lip and shrugged.

“Really, you’re scared of clowns?” Peter questioned. “Why?”

“That film… erm, the…the…I don’t know it in English. Pokhititel’ detey [Child snatcher]” you replied.

“Child snatcher” Bucky and Natasha translated simultaneously, before Natasha continued, “’Chitty Chitty Bang Bang’.”

“Mm” you confirmed with a nod. “We were told he was a clown who took children… It scared us all. The nuns would always threaten us, tell us that he’ll come to get us.”

“But he doesn’t look like a clown” Peter protested, confused.

“No” you agreed, nodding. “But when you’re young and that comparison is made, it sticks.”

 When Halloween came, you were locked up in your room to get ready with Wanda and Natasha. The women had both been excited for that the party, and you had secluded yourselves to get ready four hours early.

 Wanda looked beautiful in her short blue dress, with a white apron and a pair of white tights. The front sections of her hair were pulled back from her face, held back by an invisible hair tie and a blue headband. Her hair was lightly curled, bouncing down her back beautifully. Her black heels sat by the bedroom door, ready for her to slip on when you all left for the party.

 Natasha, true to her word, was dressed as Pennywise. The female, sexier version, anyway. She wore a short, ruffled dirty white dress with red pompoms down the middle. White knee-high socks covered her legs with a pair of blood red pumps on her feet. Her red hair was in two pigtails, the ends waved. Her face was painted white, with two vertical lines cutting through her eyes, over her cheeks and connecting to her red lips.

 As uncomfortable as clowns made you, you couldn’t deny that Natasha looked great as the killer clown.

 You stood in front of the full-length mirror, pulling at the hair that fell over your shoulders. While you could admit that you looked good, you still didn’t know whether you were up for wearing it. You were showing more skin than usual, much more, and something inside you said that was wrong.

 “You look great” Natasha assured you. “You just need to add the vines.”

 Your eyes ran over your body again. You wore a tight green corset body bodysuit which pushed your breasts up and together. Wanda had help you put on the authentic looking pink-red wig which fell in long waves over your chest and down your back. The two women had insisted that you skip the green tights and just wore the green heels with your legs near bare.

 While you looked good, your outfit wasn’t yet a costume. Not a proper one, at least. You walked over to your windowsill, hovering your hand over the small pot of dirt that sat there. Slowly, two stems of vines poked out from the soil. You reached in, plucking them out and bending over to hold them against your ankles.

 A few moments later, long vines were wrapped around your ankles and extended up your ships and curled around the bottom of your thigh, just above the knee cap. Small pink, white and yellow flowers bloomed sparingly along the vines, adding pops of colour around green leaves.

 Picking one of the leaves and holding it to your chest, you closed your eyes and envisioned yourself. You imagined the more leaves sprouting from the one you held, imagined them growing and wrapping around your corset. The corset would be covered, left to look like it was created by leaves and not fabric.

 Plucking a flower from the vines on your leg, you held it to your hair and let it wrap around the stand, holding the hair back from your face. There, you thought as you looked in the mirror again, you looked much more like the character Tony nicknamed you after.

 “I feel like that’s cheating” Natasha joked, her head tilted, and lips pursed. Her eyes trailed over you, taking in the whole ensemble. “That lipstick does look good on you though; you should wear it more often. Now come on, we’re gonna be late and Wanda needs to meet Vision.”

 Natasha was right and you did enter the party late. Agents, scientists, doctors, social elites and at least one member of the press filled the open space. Tony had elected to throw the party at the compound, on one of the lower floors which had a huge open space.

 While the room was bright, shadows were thrown from the decorations. Fake spiders sat in cotton webs, hanging over banisters and on the edge of the bar. A cauldron bubbled, dry ice emitting white smoke over its rim. Knee-height plastic fencing lined a little path to a small booth where a photography waited to take pictures of guests.

 “Is that a coffin?” you asked, looking to the far side of the room.

“Any Halloween decoration that you can imagine is in this room” Pepper nodded, looking around. “You know what Tony’s like: ‘Go big or go home’.”

“Hence his attitude” Natasha whispered, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Nat” you elbowed her, biting your tongue to hold back your laughter.

“Ivy!” the shouting of your nickname draws your attention to the eccentric millionaire who had just caught sight of you. “And you’re actually her!”

 Tony was thrilled by your outfit, and, in a rare display of affection from him, gave you a tight hug. Of course, he was immensely proud to say that he gave you the idea for the outfit. You smiled and shook your head, not bothering to argue with him.

 His hands traced the leaves curing around your hips, obvious amazement in his face. “How did you get them to do this? It’s amazing, they’re literally wrapped around you. Bruce, Bruce! Have you seen this, look!”

 You had been introduced to the quiet Bruce Banner earlier on that day. Natasha had convinced him to visit the compound and Tony had bribed him to stay with access to his own lab. While rather timid, he was more than comfortable to speak to you about science. While your brain wasn’t that of a scientist, your abilities were a scientific mystery.

 Something about the kind man made you comfortable to answer his questions. He wasn’t invasive like other curious people. Rather than wondering how you got your gifts, he was more curious about what you could do with them and how. Not because he wanted to use you, but because he wasn’t you to have a better understanding of them.

 What shocked you more was why he had this reasoning. You had heard about The Hulk, though you didn’t know much about him. While on the run, you had heard of the green giant with a strength beyond current measure. Finding out that Dr Banner was The Hulk was astounding.

 Rather than wanting to state his own curiosity, he wanted you to understand yourself. When he first became The Hulk, while he knew it happened because of his experimentation with gamma radiation, he didn’t fully understand. It wasn’t until years later and a lot of further research, that he got his answers and he was finally at peace with himself.

 Bruce wanted you to have that peace too.

 “Huh,” Bruce said, poking at the leaves. “I don’t think this is natural behaviour at all, but we’ll have to run some tests.” He picked at a leaf slightly, turning to Tony, “Do you think we could get a few different varieties of bushes and flowers to-”

“Okay, stop, leave the girl alone” Pepper shooed them both away. “This is a party, your party Tony, you can play scientist tomorrow. Now go.”

Smoothing down his lab coat, because of course he came as a scientist, Bruce smiled before taking his leave. “See you later.”

“I can’t believe you just came in a suit” you shook your head at Tony.

“I’m James Bond” he defended, pulling a ‘are you for real?’ face.

“Yes, well, James Bond needs to speak with Mr Mikaelson about fund raising gala next month” Pepper said, hooking her arm through Tony’s and pulling him away.

 The rest of the party goes well, with you receiving many compliments on your outfit. Just like Tony and Bruce, they all seemed amazed at the authenticity of the plants which wrapped around your body.

 A member of the press seemed to be infatuated with your costume, though it was in appreciation of the plants but rather of your body. His eyes had travelled your body, focusing on your thighs, and he fought to keep his mouth from dropping open.

 You had made an attempt to avoid the man and his camera. Your evening was made exceptionally better when you heard his yell from across the room. He had put his camera on the table while he went to grab a drink and when he returned, his camera was broken. You had caught a glimpse of it, and it appeared to have been crushed. You couldn’t say you felt any sympathy for the man.

 It was towards the end of the evening that you ran into the trio you jokingly referred to as ‘The Three Musketeers’. The three of them stood near the bar, each with drinks in their hand as they cast watchful glances around the room.

 Sam had obviously gone for the humorous look. Dressed in a cheap Captain America costume, with the obvious cushioned muscles, he was clearly poking fun at his friend. In his hand was a plastic version of the real shield, part of it bent which was probably from Steve trying to grab it off him earlier in the evening.

 He was the first to see you walking over to them, reaching out and pulling you closer. He gave you a gentle squeeze in greeting before letting you go and waving for the bartender.

 “Y/N” Steve nodded in greeting.

“Hey, Cap” you smiled. “Love the outfit.”

 Steve was dressed as Indiana Jones, having watched the film a few month ago and becoming a huge fan of Harrison Ford. The brown leather jacket was tight across his back and he had the whip wrapped up and attached to his hip. The famous hat sat on the bar beside him, resting next to a glass of what appeared to be whiskey.

 You had to admit, Steve pulled off the character rather well.

 Bucky made up the last member of the little team. His outfit was rather unsurprising. Rather than a traditional outfit, he wore his mission suit. A tight black leather top with matching black trousers, combat boots on his feet. He looked like he did on any other day.

 When you tilted your head to the side and went to open your mouth to comment, he quickly held up his right hand. You quickly grinned when you spotted the mask, your eyes lighting up in amusement.

 “Oh, Bucky, we match!” you grin. “Now we just need to find our Robin, Harley Quinn and The Joker.”

“Hm” he rolls his eyes, letting the Batman mask fall to his side.

“Don’t worry, I won’t try and poison you tonight” you teased with a wink.

Sam snorts into his drink, turning away to hide his smile.

“What made you go with… this?” Bucky asks and your insides burn as his eyes travel over you.

“Wanda suggested it after I couldn’t find anything I liked” you shrugged. “It’s amused Tony and he made me take a few pictures with him. The nickname is definitely staying now.”

 It was true, Tony had found you after slipping past Pepper and had pulled you along to the photobooth. He’d taken great pleasure in telling the photographer that he had nicknamed you ‘Ivy’ and had, essentially, given you the idea for the costume.

 “I still think ‘Petal’ is better” Sam argued.

“I’m sure you do” you acknowledged with a nod. “You never call me by my name anymore.” “What is your name?” he joked; his face mock serious. When you made a playful threatening move towards him, he quickly wagged his finger at you. “Careful Pet, you can’t take me all by yourself.”

“I know for a fact that Bucky has a least one knife-” you begin.

“Three” Bucky interrupts to confirm.

“Three knives” you correct with a small nod in thanks. “hidden on him and would sooner back me up than you.”

“Three knives?! Bucky!” Steve chides, giving his best-friend a disapproving look before turning to you. “How did you know he had them on him?”

“The same way that he knows I’ve got a knife hidden in my corset” you shrug. “It’s what we were taught.”

 There’s no response to that as Steve and Sam are reminded of your time within Hydra. Though you weren’t often comfortable talking about the scientific experience of Hydra, you were not ashamed to admit you had been trained by the organisation itself. You had been tricked, and later forced, into it and it was in the past. You couldn’t hold it over yourself anymore or you’d never be able to move on.

 You had accepted your past and, now, it was time to more forward with your life.

 “And one in your left shoe” Bucky nodded at the heel.

“All right, pipe down” you rolled your eyes.

 Since the night the team had watched It, your interactions with Bucky had steadily increased. Though you could hardly be called best friends, the former assassin now spoke to you. The conversations were neither long nor often but still, everyone made your insides warm from his attention.

 The friendly conversation and teasing callouts were something you wasn’t expecting to develop but you couldn’t deny that you your enjoyed them. From the small remarks he made, you knew that behind his quiet brooding, there was a man with a sparkling personality.

Hydra had just buried it deep within him.

 Every day with the team seemed to slowly chip away at the walls he had been forced to build. His morning runs with Steve and Sam, his time spent with Steve regaining his memories of the forties. His playful fights with Sam, verbal and sometimes physical in the gym. Natasha goading him into a fight to see who the best assassin was while Wanda quietly encouraged him to join in with team activities.

 However, it was Tony who helped in the biggest way. It had taken time, but he had accepted that it was The Winter Solider who had taken his parents. He no longer blamed Bucky, which greatly eased the man’s guilt. He still felt horrible for what he did under Hydra’s influence, but he was slowly learning to forgive himself.

 “You two are unbelievable” Steve shook his head with a small smile.

“Thank you” you grin, playfully bumping your arm into Bucky’s.

“We’re here all weekend” he finished, flashing Steve his own smile.

“Where’d you learn that?” you asked, eyebrow raised at the super solider.

He pursed his lips, shrugging. “The Tonight Show.”

“Don’t tell Tony” Sam advises, glancing around for the billionaire. “It would only set him off and he won’t stop talking about how he’s been on there.”

 You spent another ten minutes with the boys before you left them to find Natasha. The rest of the evening passed fairly quickly, and it wasn’t long until you found yourself tucked up in bed. Your head aching from the wig and your mind overworked from socialisation, you soon drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

 You woke up the next morning from a message from Natasha with a link which you soon clicked on. It led you to an article, posted very early that morning, of Tony’s party. Your eyes barely skimmed the article but near the end, you understand why she had sent it to you.

 There, clear for you to see, is a picture of you and Bucky. Your slightly leant against him, with you head barely titled towards him. Your both looking at something off to the side, both of you grinning happily. It takes you a moment to place it but then you realise, its from that moment with Steve.

 You both look happy, carefree. It’s the first time you’ve seen Bucky fully smile, his eyes seeming to sparkle as he looked at his best friend. Though you know he wasn’t entirely comfortable in a room full of strangers, he looks content to be within that group, your group.

 You smile and save the picture, dropping your phone on the bed and getting up for a shower.

  November

 “I can’t drink that; my aunt will kill me!” Peter hissed, pushing the flute away and quickly looking around to ensure no one was watching you both.

“Its fine, Pete, it’s just one glass” you assured him. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“I’m pretty sure the drinking age is twenty-one, Peter” Bucky said, stepping up beside you, arms crossed, and an eyebrow raised.

“I wasn’t going to drink it, Sergeant Barnes, honest” Peter denied, stepping back and waving his hands to show they were empty.

You rolled your eyes, nudging Bucky. “Leave the kid alone. He’s almost eighteen, and I know you drank way before you came of age.” You turned back to Peter. “I promise, Pete, your aunt won’t kill you for one glass. If you don’t want it, that’s fine, but don’t reject it just because your scared of getting in trouble.”

 You knew Peter wouldn’t get in trouble for drinking the one small flute of champagne. Before offering it to him, you had asked Aunt May if he would be allowed to try it. If he tried it in your company, where you could keep an eye on him, he wouldn’t sneak off to try it later and get himself in trouble.

 Tony’s charity gala was going incredibly well. Celebrities, socialites, the press and even a few ‘ordinary’ people. You could even spot two Gods walking around. The gala was being held in a large hall in the middle of Manhattan. Round tables with matt gold table clothes lined a hard wood dance floor in front of a large stage. Crystal chandeliers cast light around the room, with help from a single candle on each table.

 “Are you sure I won’t get in trouble?” Peter asked, eyes wide as he blinked up at you.

“I promise” you assured him.

He took the glass from your hand and starred at it unsurely. He took a deep breath as if to prepare himself before bringing the glass to his lips, taking a sip. His nose scrunched up, head shaking as he pushed it back into your hands. “Ugh, no, that’s nasty.”

You and Bucky laughed at his reaction, and you dropped the near full glass on the empty table behind you. “It’s champagne. People rave about it but it’s not really that good.”

“If it doesn’t taste good, then why do people drink it?” he asks innocently.

Bucky snorts, shaking his head. “They don’t drink it for the taste, kid.”

“Some people do” you correct him. “Some people like it, like Tony, Pepper and Natasha.”

 You were solidly in the ‘I don’t like champagne’ team. Tony had insisted on opening a bottle after your first mission, to celebrate you joining the team, and that had been the first time you had tried the bubbly drink. Your nose had scrunched up at the taste and it led to teasing for hours about your lack of taste in alcohol.

 “I think I’ll just stick with this” Peter said, tilting his glass of Sprite towards you. Something catches his eye over your shoulder and he grins. “MJ’s here!”

“Go get her, tiger” you tease, nudging him in her direction.

“I’ll see you later” he blushes, hurrying in the direction of his girlfriend.

 Your heart warms as you watch them greet each other. Their hands link, squeezing gently, neither of them ones for public displays of affection. They were truly adorable, probably the cutest couple you had come across. MJ was a sweet girl, a dry sense of humour and a sassy personality. She complimented Peter’s soft nature perfectly.

 You were glad she had accepted Peter’s invitation, though you knew she wasn’t a fan of large fancy parties. Everyone was told that they needed a date for the gala, and Peter had worried that MJ wouldn’t accompany him, and Tony would be disappointed that he was failed to acquire a date. You had reassured him, of course, but that worry was still there.

 “I adore them” you sigh happily, watching as they huddle at a corner table to hide and talk, rather than socialise.

“Trust me, everyone knows” Bucky nods. When you turn to his with a raised eyebrow, he continues, “You provide the kid with a bouquet every time you see him, just so he can give them to MJ.”

You shrug, taking a sip of your drink. “She likes the white and blue hydrangeas.”

It was quiet for a moment before Bucky spoke again, “You know the last time she came to the compound, he took her to the sanctuary?” “I’m not surprised, everyone visits at some point” you grin for a moment before turning a little more serious. “I found Richard from HR there the other week. He was picking at some of the daisies… which mysteriously suddenly grew sharp thorns. He’s been permanently banned, and I asked Pepper to send a compound-wide email with instructions of not to touch our flowers.”

 From the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky give a small smile at your use of the word ‘our’. You quickly lifted your glass for another sip of your drink, attempting to hide the blush colouring your cheeks.

 You had been truthful in your words. In your mind, the flowers belonged to both of you. While people visited the sanctuary at their leisure, it had an ‘owner’, so to speak. However, you couldn’t help but feel like the sanctuary belonged to you and Bucky.

 Even though winter had come, you could still find Bucky in the sanctuary at various times throughout the day. He’d be wrapped up in his leather jacket, with a scarf and a pair of gloves on. Sometimes he’d have a thermos between his knees, a book in one hand and a cup of still-steaming coffee in another.

 With the amount of time you both spent in the sanctuary, you had gotten comfortable in each other’s company. You would share the bench and read together. Bucky would bring an extra thermos for you and you would pastila, cherry pirozhki, and plyushka. You sit with your coffees and snacks and enjoy the silence and comfort of the sanctuary.

 Slowly, you began to talk more and more. While before the conversations had been short, they slowly grew longer and more personal. His trust in you grew. You had been with the team for six months, and it had taken time, but he grew to trust you. you had his back during missions, you supported him silently through training with small nods in his direction, you helped his healing by growing sunflowers for him.

 It was during one of your evenings on the bench that he told you about his favouritism of sunflowers. Most of the plants in New York, at the time, were rather drab. Weeds grew from the sidewalk, some a spikey green and sometimes a sickly dandelion. He’d seen bouquets in stories, once someone had even brought one for his sister, but the variety was selected and with the fumes of nineteen-forties New York, they were often on the verge of weltering.

 However, when he had left the city of New York and went for his training with the army, he had seen them for the first time. Stuck in a bus of sweaty men, Bucky had gazed out the window and saw sunflowers for the first time. He’d tried sunflower seeds before, though they weren’t a huge staple in his area. However, he had never seen the flower itself.

 Bucky’s memory of the forties wasn’t the clearest, but this was a memory which he could envision easily. Dozens upon dozens of sunflowers lined the field. They stood tall, the large heads of the flowers pointed to the sun and soaking up its goodness. Unlike flowers in the city, these flowers were vibrant in colour. Bucky was sure he had never seen a flower so beautifully yellow.

 Through the horror of preparing for war, the flowers still stood bright and strong. It installed a sense of hope within him. If those sunflowers could be so full of life during war-time, there had to be hope out there. So, when Bucky shipped off for war, that was one of the things he would hope for. He’d think about returning to his mom, his sisters, Steve, and he would return to see those sunflowers again.

 It wasn’t just Bucky who had opened up. You told him about your childhood in the orphanage, of the children you used to help care for because the Nuns were always too busy. Though they could be kind, they weren’t exactly nurturing individuals. In a way, you couldn’t blame them. They had joined the church to serve God, and while some did choose to attend to the orphanage, a lot of them were assigned there by those of higher authority.

 You told him of little Nina. A beautiful little girl who was half your age. Just as her name said, she was a dreamer. She dreamt of leaving the orphanage, of going to far away lands such as England or France. She loved the sound of France, with the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre museum. While you did your chores and looked after the toddlers of the orphanage, she would tell you of her dreams to travel and explore. She’d been adopted two years before you left the orphanage, by a family in Austria.

 You had also found the courage to tell him about your time in the labs of Hydra. He was the first person you had openly spoke to about it, and he was patient and listened to you. it felt like it had taken you hours to tell him everything, the fear and hatred of the labs making you take breaks to gather your strength. He stayed quiet, a solid rock of support by your side as you finally told someone about what Hydra put you through.

 After opening up about your time with them, he told you about his. Hearing that someone else had been subjected to similar treatment… it brought you a sense of comfort because finally, someone may understand.

 Your interactions with Bucky weren’t limited to the sanctuary either. You sat together during movie nights and bowls of popcorn. He would spar with you in training, telling you to not use your abilities.

 “You never know, you could find yourself without them” he had said.

 You would leave out a plate of freshly made plyushka for him, with a small sunflower as an identifier of who the treats were for.

 When it came to the gala, it seemed natural for you to attend with Bucky. Just like Peter had been required to have a date, so had the members of the Avengers. Steve and Natasha, Wanda and Vision, Tony and Pepper, Sam and his current girlfriend Marianne. Bucky was your friend, someone you enjoyed spending time with.

 Going to the gala together saved you both. Wanda had wanted you to go with Richard from HR, the one who violated your sanctuary, and Sam tried to set Bucky up with Sophie from the third floor. Neither you nor Bucky were interested in the suggested individuals, so going together seemed like a pretty smart idea.

 However, you had not been prepared to see him in his suit. You knew Bucky was attractive, you had checked him out multiple times and had been teased by Natasha about your crush on him. Seeing him in a form-fitting suit, with his hair pulled back in a half-bun… it made your knees weak. You already knew that dark colours suited him, so of course he looked great in the black suit, but you’d also discovered that the pink champagne colour of his tie suited him nicely.

 Bucky’s tie perfectly matched the colour of your dress. Your dress was a beautiful pink champagne colour which complimented your skin beautifully. Spaghetti straps laid delicately over your shoulders, leading to golden vines and leaves which covered your breasts. There was a small gap of fabric between your breasts and waist, leaving smooth skin visible beneath the vines and leaves. The vines extended to the beginning of the floor-length champagne pink tulle skirt, which hugged your waist but then flowed freely to the floor.  

It had taken a long time to find the perfect dress. You had spent the day shopping with Wanda, Natasha and Pepper to find the perfect dress but all the ones you came across just weren’t…. you.

 You had tried on a tight maroon red dress, with a plunging neckline and a slit up the left leg. Natasha had been quick to praise you in it, her eyes wide and her lips stretched in a grin. The next dress you tried on was a strapless forest green, with slight ruffles on the skirt. Wanda had loved it, saying it ‘fits you perfectly’ but you didn’t think it was the one. Pepper had favoured a lilac dress with small flowers which climbed from the hem of the skirt. It was a wonderful dress, probably your favourite out of the three, but still… it didn’t feel right.

 You’d found your dress at the back of the store, hidden behind the colourful gowns that people usually went for. While still elegant, it was slightly more subtle than the other dresses in the store. As soon as you saw it, you knew you had to try it on. It was while you were putting it on that you came across the realisation.

 There was some form of floral design on every one of your outfits.

 The black jeans you had worn that day had small sunflowers stitched into the waist band and along the ankles. Most of your tops had pastel flowers pained on them, or bronze leaves. You had even specially ordered a pair of Converses with sunflowers, orange roses and orange and red bicolour germini.

 You don’t know how you didn’t realise your fashion choice sooner.

 When you had tried the dress on, you had known it was perfect straightway. Even without your hair and make-up done, you felt, as they say, like a million dollars. As soon as you had stepped out of the changing room, the girls had praising you and telling you ‘its like it was made for you’.

 When you had met Bucky at the compound, ready for the drive to the gala venue, he’d quickly complimented you. You noticed how his eyes trailed over your appearance appreciatively, with his mouth slightly dropped open for a moment before he quickly caught himself. Offering you his arm, he had given you and small smile and told you looked beautiful.

 You had thought for sure that you were going to die from the heat filling your cheeks. Your throat had seemed to close up and her heartbeat erratically in your chest from his compliment. You had been hyper aware of his presence by your side, his usual calm and quiet self except when he whispered quietly in your ear about a stuck-up attendee.

 “Mrs Archard thinks Pepper’s choice of band is appalling” Bucky whispers, pointing discreetly to the seventy-year-old woman who stood beside her husband, sipping on her gin and tonic.

“She thinks this is bad?” you head tilted in the band’s direction with a roll of your eyes. “This is classic music, no doubt from her generation.”

“Shh!” he quickly hushed you, turning you both when Mrs Archard looked in your direction. “Oh, hey, look.” He pointed over to the bar, your eyes widening when your eyes land on the person he’s pointing out. “Its that the guy who played Sally? In the plane film?”

“Sully!” you correct him, going on you tip toes to get a better view. “And the film was based on a real event, Bucky, you know that. It’s Tom Hanks, the Tom Hanks, and he’s here!”

“Let’s go meet him” Bucky shrugs, beginning to pull you in the direction of your idol.

You quickly pull on his arms, bringing him to a stop. “No! No way! I can’t meet him, that’s crazy.”

“Y/N, doll, he’s just a man” he said, and you can see the corner of his lips tilt up in amusement.

“No, Bucky, he’s not!” you insist. “He’s Tom Hanks! I can’t meet him, no way.”

When Bucky tried to tug you over to the bar again, you quickly duck away from him and dart to the other side of the room. Since coming to America, and joining the Avengers, your exposure to film and TV had increased. From the countless movie nights with the team, you had discovered your love for Tom Hanks.

 The actor was incredible, and he made you feel content while you were watching him. You had watched all over his work, multiple times, and you respected him immensely. He was your favourite actor, and an idol you looked up to.

 You were, however, much to shy to go and introduce yourself. You were a member of the Avengers, a highly skilled, Hydra changed agent but meeting your favourite actor? You couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You don’t know why the thought of meeting him shook you to the core, maybe because, in your mind, he was so pure and so good, far away from the dangers of your life, that you didn’t want to taint that by introduction yourself.

 Bucky, however, clearly didn’t think you should miss out on the opportunity to meet your idol. When you heard him say your name ten minutes later, you turned to find him standing there with the man himself.

 “Tom, this is-” Bucky began to introduce you with a small smirk.

“Y/N, yes” Mr Hanks interrupted with a nod. “I’m a huge fan, I’ve seen you in action on the news. Absolutely incredible.”

“Oh, erm, wow, erm, that, I-I, wow” you stammered, completely star struck.

“Y/N’s a huge fan of your work, Tom” Bucky informed him.

“Oh, so we have a mutual appreciation of each other” he chucked, gently patting your arm.

“It’s an honour to meet you, Mr Hanks” you finally found your words, your cheeks heating up.

“I could say the same” he assured you with a smile. “Bucky was just talking about you and I just had to get him to introduce us. As I said, I saw the work you’ve done on the news. Your saving of those children in Cambodia… Its honestly inspiring.”

 Your heart was in your throat for the next ten minutes while you spoke with your idol, who actually said that you were his. To know someone you looked up to regarded you with so much respect, it made you appreciate the man even more.

 When a gala photographer asked to take your picture with Bucky and Tom, who had insisted you call him that, you couldn’t stop smiling. And the next day, when Bucky gave you a copy of the framed photograph, it was if the smile would never leave your face.

  December

 Your birthday passed in a blur of happiness and excitement. The day seemed so long, and yet so short. You’d entered the kitchen to a wonderful breakfast, where you, of course, sat between to of your friends and avoided the corners, as per tradition.

 Natasha gently took hold of your ear, tugging it and saying the traditional; “Rasti - ne bud’ laphoy [Grow up – don’t be noodles.]”

 The presents were wonderful. Natasha had brought you a new pair of black heels with, of course, a floral pattern. Wanda and Vision got you a beautiful jumpsuit to match which you couldn’t wait to try on. Steve and Sam had teamed up to buy you a beautiful charm bracelet with a beautiful Avenger’s charm and a charm of St. Basil’s Cathedral. Tony and Pepper got you a complete copy of the collection edition of all of Tom Hank’s work. Bucky had brought you a beautiful silver sunflower charm for your bracelet and, later, gave you a small collection of sharp throwing knives.

 You loved all your gifts, but the throwing knives made you tingle. You had spoken to Bucky weeks ago about them, telling him that you had seen a beautiful collection in a store over the other side of town. And from your limited description of them, he had found them and got them you.

 You couldn’t stop yourself when he gave them to you and had automatically thrown your arms around his shoulders. He had frozen at your abrupt action, seeming shocked. As you moved to pull away, his arms came around your waist. His metal arm was a heavy weight against your back but also incredibly light and gentle as he didn’t want to harm you.

 His manly scent of mint, the outdoors and just pure Bucky filled your nose and made your eyes clench shut. He smelled amazing, it was like your nose was clear for the first time and your first breathe was full of him. It awoke your senses and made you tingle as he took over your mind.

 You could have sworn there was a light pink tint to his cheeks when you pulled away, but you couldn’t be sure.

 It was an incredibly thoughtful gift and you had been quick to cover the blades in toxins which would render a person unconscious. Throughout your training, you had always favoured small blades which include the small throwing knives. They seemed to work best with your abilities.

 Throughout December, you noticed a subtle change in Bucky. Though he tried to seem casual about it, it was obviously to you. You were completely in-tune with everything he did, and when it involved you, you were even more hyper aware.

 Bucky touched you more.

 On movie nights, he would always make sure to sit next to you. Slowly, throughout the film, he’d relax more and more and then, by about half-way through, his arm would be pressed against yours. Sometimes his knee would bump against yours too. When passing by you, he would press his hand gently against the small of your back, his fingers trailing the skin. Rather than asking you to move when he wanted to get to a cupboard above you in the kitchen, his chest nearly pressed flush against your back as he leant to retrieve what he wanted.

 Once, he had even offered you his arm when you were both making your way to the sanctuary together.

 If it was anyone else who did these things, you would think nothing of it. However, it’s Bucky. Bucky had never been touchy-feely with you. Before, he would touch you only when necessary but that had obviously changed. It wasn’t a change which translated to the rest of the team either. He still avoided physical contact with them when he could, bar Steve.

 You didn’t want to let yourself read too much into the implications of his actions. You didn’t want to wonder if he was doing it because he was perhaps interested in you, because that would lead you down a dangerous path. If you allowed yourself to believe that he did, and then it turns out you’re wrong… No, you would just ignore it.

 Your first Christmas with the Avengers didn’t go to plan.

 You noticed the new presence in your room straight away. As soon as the doorknob had turned, you were roused from your sleep and your hand had stealth moved to the knife under your pillow. When the hand touched your shoulder, you quickly rolled over, bring the knife up and towards the persons throat.

 Your wrist was caught in a strong grip and was twisted to the side. It wasn’t enough to make you drop the knife, but it stopped it from hitting the persons throat. You sighed at the person standing in front of you, releasing the tension in your arm as a sign of you posing no more of a threat.

 “If you wanted to get into bed with me, you just had to ask” you teased, pushing yourself to a sitting position.

“Maybe I’ll join you later” Natasha replied. “Get up and suited. There’s been an explosion in Kecskemét.”

“Hungary. What happened?” you asked, getting out of bed and moving to grab your suit from the wardrobe.

“We’re being briefed on the jet” she left the room, most likely to wake the others up.

 You changed quickly, pulling on the tight, dark green body suit. You strapped your gun holster to your left thigh, securing the weapon and then attaching additional ammo to your utility belt. You tightly strapped your throwing knives to your right thigh where you’d be able to grab them quickly. A combat knife was strapped against your right ankle, and you put the comms device in your right ear before leaving for the jet.

 On the twenty-fourth of December, at nine-twenty-eight in the morning, local time, an explosion went off in the town centre of Kecskemét. Fifteen people were killed in the explosion with a further two-hundred and seven injured.

 From there, it was reported that three different groups were making their way throughout the city armed with heavy weaponry. They were executing people indiscriminately. Men, women, children… babies.

 The Avenger’s had been called as soon as the explosion had occurred, with the team on the jet and departing the compound with thirty minutes. The Hungarian army had been deployed to the city, but it was soon clear that they were not equipped to the weaponry that was being used against them.

 On a large screen on the quinjet, Tony played a video from the streets of Kecskemét. While the camera was shaky, the image was clear to make out. Bodies littered the floor; buildings were crumbled, and dust settled over the streets. A group of men stood at the end of the road, one pointing off to the side as he spoke, gesturing around himself.

 Tony froze the footage, zooming in on the weapon in the terrorist’s hands. It was large and bulky, made with thick metal and emitting a glowing blue-purple light. You leaned forward slightly, your eyes narrowing as you took in the sight. You had never seen such a weapon before. Being part of Hydra, you recognised nearly every weapon known to man, and knew how to wield most of them. However, you couldn’t recognise this one.

 “That’s modified Chitauri weaponry” Natasha observed. “How did they get that, I thought we got it all?”

“well, obviously we didn’t” Tony rolled his eyes, shutting off the record.

“I’ve never heard of Chitauri weaponry before” you said, looking between the two of them. “And something with this much power… Hydra would have trained us with it. Where is it from?”

“A few years ago, twenty-twelve, Loki tried to invade Earth” Steve began to explain. You nodded in understanding, remembering the team mentioning it happening but you had never known the names of the aliens which stood with the God of Mischief. “A section of New York was destroyed due to the Chitauri army which aided Loki. We thought we had collected it all but then there was underground trading of the weapons in Queens. Peter stopped that. Obviously, the trading of the weapons expanded world-wide.”

“That was Loki-Loki by the way” Tony injected, raising an eyebrow at you. Out of the whole team, he was the one who objected against your… ‘friendship’ the most with the man. “You know, your little bestie.”

“I never said he was a good man” you defended. “However, he treats me well and I shall treat him with the same respect.”

“Yeah, really?” he asked, both eyebrows raised now, and his arms crossed over his chest. “And when tries to make a move on Earth again?”

“Firstly, we don’t know if he would do that” you argued. “He may be a bad person, but he’s not stupid. Secondly, I would gladly help to stop him. He may be a friend but that doesn’t get him special treatment.”

 The quinjet cut the ten-hour journey to just over four hours, and it wasn’t long until you were landing just outside of Kecskemét. You were quickly split into three teams consisting of Wanda, Natasha and Clint, then Vision, Sam and Tony, and finally you with Steve and Bucky. After a round of ‘Good luck’ nods, everyone left to their assigned area.

 “Y/N, I want you watching out for any civilians. You see any, you get them out. Watch the buildings, make sure none of them come down on us” Steve ordered as your group headed for your designated zone. “Bucky and I’ll take down the assailants.”

“Ah, so you’ve got the easy job” you joke, pushing a stray strand of hair back. “It okay, I get, you’re getting old.”

“Pft,” Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes. “I’m still in my prime, its that punk that’s on his way out. Dinosaur.”

“You’re still older than me” Steve argued.

“Don’t worry boys, I’ll visit you both in your care homes when we get back” you assured them.

 It didn’t take you long to reach the infiltrated area. Burning cars lined the streets, shops broken into with glass littering the street. A handful of people lay on the sidewalk, all on their tummy and went you bent to check for a pulse, there was nothing.

 You were about to turn a corner when you quickly reached out, grabbing the two super soldiers by their arms and pulling them back. You could feel it through the ground. The vibrations hummed into the floor, travelling to you. You could feel the movement of people walking on the ground, sending you clear information of what was around the corner.

 “Seven assailants. Two, far west. Three, east. One, front north. Two, south west” You reported, reading the vibrations of their footsteps. “Nine civilians in the building three ahead of them, east side.”

“Circle round the side, go in from the back” Steve told you.

“Got it” you nodded, turning to go back the way you came.

 As you pass him, Bucky grasps hold of your hand. He holds your hand for a fraction of a second, his eyes meeting yours. There worry in stormy eyes, but he quickly hides it as he gives you a nod, gently squeezing your hand before letting you go. You give him a small before continuing on with your task.

 You run up the road directly besides the one with the assailants. It takes you less than a minute to reach the house which sits behind the building containing the civilians. Bringing your knee up and to your chest, you aim your kick to land directly besides the lock. Within two kicks, the door is down and you’re rushing inside.

 You run to the top of the building, on the far-left side. The room you enter into is small, which boxes piled three-high. The boxes are full, nearly bringing with metal pots, ornaments and clothes. Taking care to move the items to restrict damage to them was not an option, you had to get the civilian out quickly.

 The wooden floor of the room split in half, bowing downwards, and allowing the boxes to fall into the room below. The floor fixed itself within moments, the crack sealing over and leaving no trace of having been there. The wall separating you from the other building began to break. Bricks crumbled outwards, plaster falling with a swoosh of dust as a hole began to form.

 People who had previously been cowering against the wall quickly move away, frightened gasps leaving them as they watched the wall crumble. The terrified voices of a woman filled your ears and you hurried to assure them in their native language.

 “Ne fuss, itt vagyok, hogy seítsek. Az utcán vannak olyan férfiak, akik ártani akarnak neked [Don’t run, I’m here to help. There are men on the streets below who wish to harm you]” You speak, holding your hands up to show you meant no harm. “Kérem. Ki tudok hozni innen. Gyere velem. [Please. I can get you out of here. Come with me.]”

“Hemlock” one of the children say, recognising you. He tugged on his mother’s sleeve, pointing at you again and repeating your code name, the name civilians knew you by.

“Avenger” the woman realises, recognising you after her sons prompting. She turns to hurriedly inform the rest of the party, telling them you were part of the ‘superhero’ group and had come to save them.

 It was still strange to hear someone refer to you as a hero. You had never considered yourself to be heroic, actually, you had often thought yourself to be the opposite. You were a product of experimentation by a terrorist group, who made you into a weapon. You had the power to crumble things to the ground, you could wipe out a city with a single thought.

 Of course, you wouldn’t do that, but you still had the ability to do it.

 In the months that you had been part of the Avengers, you had saved over a dozen lives. Still, you didn’t believe that saving someone made you heroic. Well, that was a hypocritical statement. You considered Steve a hero, Bucky a hero, Natasha, Peter and Wanda too. Tony, Sam, Clint and Vision, they were all heroes. For some reason, that just didn’t translate over to you.

 You waved the civilians through the wall before quickly repairing it. You instruct them to remain quiet before quickly leading them to the street below. Before opening the front door, you pause and take note of the roads between you and safety. The streets between the house and the safety of the Hungarian law enforcement were clear.

 “Kövesse a virágokat, ők a rendõrséghez vezetnek [Follow the flowers, they’ll lead you to the police]” you instruct them.

 You opened the front door and led them out. On the floor, in a straight line, was a of flowers going down the street and around the corner. You had created the path of flowers to guide them to safety, knowing that you couldn’t go with them. You had to go and watch your teams back.

 “Köszönöm [Thank you]” one of the women said, squeezing your hand.

“Megy [Go]” you encouraged, nodding after the others.

 She gave your hand a final squeeze before hurrying after the other.

 You ran to the end of the street, quickly making your way to the road where you knew Steve and Bucky were squaring off against the assailants. Rounding the corner, you see three of them on the ground, with the others attacking the super soldiers.

 An assailant aimed their weapon at Steve, shooting it in rapid succession as he held up his shield to defend himself. You lifted your arm up, pointing at him as you concentrated on the assailant’s feet. Vines quickly wrapped around his right leg and he was pulled off balance. The sudden change in stance loosened his grip on his weapon and stopped him from firing, allowing Steve a moment of reprieve where he could throw his arm out, knocking the man unconscious.

 Your attention turned to Bucky, who was fighting two assailants at once. He grabbed the thrown fist of one in his metal hand, twisting a throwing a kick into the chest of the other man. His flesh hand fisted, knocking the first man backwards.

 It was at that moment you realised something was wrong. There were four assailants on the floor, with Bucky fighting two and Steve moving to remove the seemingly unconscious men’s weapons; knowing that Bucky had his situation under control. That made a total of six, there was one missing.

 Strong vibrations pushed through the floor behind you and you quickly turned to see the final assailant heading for you. He brought his hand, holding a silver combat knife, down towards your chest. You right arm crossed over your body before moving up and to the right, pushing the knife to the side. Your hand flipped over, grabbing his wrist as you crouched and slid under his arm, you leg darting out to swipe at his ankle. As his leg went from under him, you twisted his arm behind his back and pushed him to the ground using his own momentum from falling. You grabbed his dropped knife and stepped off him, allowing the vines to climb over him and hold him down.

 When you stand up, you notice Bucky watching you. His eyes are intense, watching as you push the hair out of your eyes and step away from the man, flipping the knife over in your hand. Walking over to where he stands with Steve, you give him a small smile before focusing on the Capitan.

 “All seven down, civilians are with law enforcement now” you confirm.

“We’ll have to take these weapons back to the states” Steve examines one of the weapons in his hands with distaste.

“We’ll need to take a few members back too” Bucky says. “Need to speak to the others, find out who the top guys are.”

“Mm” Steve agrees before reaching to activate his comms. “I’ll get us a van to transfer these guys.”

 It took a further day to ensure all the terrorists were captured, the team wanting to be certain that all members had been flushed out of hiding and another attack wouldn’t happen after you all left. The younger members of the group squealed quickly, and it was only a matter of hours before you found out who the leaders were and they were flown back to America for questioning, with the rest being taken into custody by Hungarian law enforcement.

 The team stayed in Kecskemét for a further three days to help with aid towards the injured city. While the team’s actions varied, you focused on repairing the damaged structures of the city. Any cracks, holes, or chips were repaired with buildings foundations made stronger. You ensured that every building was to high standards you held, meaning that no one would be getting hurt any time soon.

 By the time you all arrived home, no one felt like celebrating Christmas. You were all tried from the long four days in Europe and just wanted to collapse into bed. Presents were exchanged, but there were no celebrations, just a lazy family dinner of take-out food.

 January

 You had a new nickname to add to your extensive list, Doll. You hadn’t noticed it at first but after the first few times, you realised that was the only nickname that Bucky used for you. He only ever referred to you by your name, or by ‘Doll’, never ‘Ivy’, ‘Petal’, ‘Pet’ or anything else.

 He only used the nickname in private, when no one else was around. Or he would lean beside you and whisper it in your ear.

 “Hey, Doll” he greets when you push through the branchlets of the willow tree.

“Hi, Buck” you return, moving to sit beside him. You accept the cup of coffee, curing your hands around the plastic cup from the thermos. You sipped at the steaming drink, letting it warm you up from the inside. “Thank you. Mm, you added caramel.”

He gave you a small smile and a nod, turning back towards the pond in front of you. “You liked it last time.”

“Oh Buck” you grin, nudging him playfully. “You’re going sweet on me.”

“Don’t know why, you’re a pain in my ass” he teases but you notice his cheeks are tinted pink.

“A pain in your ass?” you laugh, shaking your head. “I grew sunflowers for you, made sure there were plenty of plants for your little bunny friends. I have your back all the time, not just on missions. Remember when Sam and Tony were ganging up on you because of Sophie? I got them to back off. What about when you realised, you’d never tried fajitas? Who cooked them for you? Me. Who saves you plyushka? Me. Oh, and what about-”

“Okay, okay!” he interrupts with a small laugh, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m the pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, you are” you agreed. “You’re lucky that I like you Bucky, or you’d be in trouble.”

 February

 “I’m don’t know about this” Bucky’s voice reaches your ears as you walk towards the kitchen, low and unsure.

“Do you or do you not like her?” Sam asks and it quiet for a moment before he continues. “That tell the woman! We all know she’s sweet on you.”

“She’s pro’lly just being nice” Bucky disagrees.

“Buck… she’s not like that with other people” Steve’s voice joins the mix.

 Your heart stops for a second, who were they on about? Bucky had a crush on someone, who? By the sounds of it, it was someone who was nice to him. Then again, who wasn’t nice to Bucky. He was like a little puppy which the team secretly adored.

 You knew it wasn’t Wanda, she was happily with Vision.

 It could be Natasha. She had always had a close friendship with Bucky, sharing experiences which were eerily similar, and he had even shot her once, which she was completely okay with. It was a strange friendship, you admit, but it was clear that they favoured one another. They had silent conversations with just a shared look and seemed to be completely in sync when on missions.

 It could be Sophie, from the third floor. She was sweet on Bucky; you knew that for sure. She had brought him coffee, invited him to see a movie and made him baked good. You had thought, however, that Bucky wasn’t interested in the girl. Maybe you were wrong, maybe he did like her.

 A part of your mind whispered that it could be you, but you quickly dismissed it. Bucky had never shown any interest towards you that wasn’t platonic.

 “So, what, I just ask her out?” Bucky asks.

“Ooh, who are you asking out, Bucky?” you force a smile onto your face as you walk into the kitchen.

“Well-” Sam begins, his normal shit-eating grin on his face.

“No one” Bucky is quick to interrupt, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

“Oh, come on! Sam and Steve know, why can’t I?” you pouted, reaching for a glass.

“You’re different. You’re not one of the guys or anything, you’re… you” he shrugged.

 Your shoulders deflated at the comment and you realised it was true. You were just Y/N, you weren’t one of ‘them’. You had thought that you and Bucky had gotten closer but obviously that assumption had been wrong. You weren’t close enough for him to talk to you about stuff like that, his words had made it obvious that he didn’t want to talk to you about it just because you were a girl. He didn’t want to talk to you about it because you were Y/N.

 “Oh” you nodded quietly. You filled your glass with water and walked back to the door. “I get it, sorry for asking.”

“Y/N, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean it like that” he rushes to say.

You held up your hand to stop him, giving a smile which probably looked more like a grimace. “Its fine, Barnes, don’t worry. I get it. I’m sorry for asking.”

 You left the room quickly, retreating back to your room and crawling under your duvet. You’d never called him by his surname before. You usually referred to him as Bucky, or Buck, and, when you were feeling particularly playful, sometimes ‘sir’. If your tone didn’t show that he had hurt your feelings, your use of his surname would definitely make him aware.

 It felt like hours later when there was a knock on your bedroom door. With a groan, you pull yourself out of bed and open the door. On the other side, Bucky is standing with his hands in his pockets, slightly hunched and looking as if he was trying to appear smaller. He rolled him lips into his mouth, his voice quiet as he asked if he could come in.

 Closing the door behind him, you returned back to your bed, pulling one of your pillows into your lap as he stood in the middle of your room. He looked around himself, taking note of the loveseat, which was covered with a fluffy blanket, your laptop balanced on the arm. Your wardrobe door was slightly agar and had a scarf hanging over it.

 “I’m sorry for what I said” he apologies again, avoiding looking at you.

“It’s fine, I shouldn’t have been nosey” you shrug.

“No, you don’t understand” he sighs, his metal hand brushing the hair back from his face. “I didn’t want to tell you because… because…”

“Because I’m me, I get it” you assure. “I’m the person you sit and look at flowers with, I’m not the person you talk to about your crushes.”

“No, you’re not” he agrees.

 You nod your head, biting your lip as your eyes stings. Your chest aches, as if a hole had been carved through it. The thing that hurt you wasn’t that Bucky liked someone else, it was that he didn’t consider you a close enough friend to want to tell you.

 You had considered him one of your closest friends. You told him your secrets, told him of your desires to go back to Russia one day and see your home city. Of wanting to visit places you hadn’t gotten a chance to because of you were hiding before. You had told him that you were scared that one day, Hydra would find you again; something you hadn’t even told Wanda or Nat. He knew of your secret love to goad Tony into an argument by speaking in a language he didn’t understand. And he knew so much more than that.

 And yet he didn’t want to tell you this. You knew it was ridiculous to be hurt by something like this, it was small and trivial, but you couldn’t help your feelings. Your feelings were valid though. The person you trusted, didn’t trust you in return. It was, sad to say, a fact which you would have to accept.

 “You’re the person I have a crush on” Bucky finishes, his voice small as he finally looks at you.

 His expression is one of obvious worry. His blue eyes are wide and doe-like, watching you with nerves as you try to come to terms with his confession. He’s rolling his lips into his mouth, waiting for your reaction which he no doubt expected to be negative.

 “You… what?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Me? I’m the person who you have a crush on? Why would it be me?”

“Why wouldn’t it be you, doll?” he snorts, giving a small shake of his head. “You’re amazing. You grew my favourite flowers for me, without hardly knowing me. You save my seat on the sofa during every movie night because you know that I like being on the end. You make sure there are toffees in the snack draw for me, and you hide the Starbursts from Tony and Clint for me… You took me to Starbucks and Walmart for the first time, and you helped me hide from the woman in Target. You trimmed my hair when I got too nervous about the hairdresser and you sit with me when I need my arm looked at. You watch out for me on missions and when we get back, you always bake me something to cheer me up…”

 He moves to crouch before you, taking your hand in his. Your heart is beating wildly in your chest, likes its about to break through your rib cage. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. Bucky Barnes had a crush on you. Your heart was souring, your mind floating through the clouds.

 “You’re sweet on me, doll, but I’m just as sweet on you” he tells you. “It’s okay, though, if you don’t feel the same. I don’t expect you too. I know that its pro’lly just you being nice. You’re always nice, nice to everyone… but… I just want you to know, it’s you that I like, and I’ve liked you for a long time.”

 One of your hands left his, moving to cover your mouth as you laughed in disbelief. The tears in your eyes changed from those of hurt to those of pure joy. Bucky liked you, he wanted you. You couldn’t believe it. You hadn’t allowed yourself to believe that this moment could ever happen, it was never a real possibility in your mind. And yet here he was, professing his feelings for you.

 “I do” you assure him, pulling your hand away from your face so that he could see your smile. “I do like you!”

“Really?” his eyes light up, a grin quickly spreading over his face.

“Of course,” you nod, cupping his face. “You’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, Bucky, how could I not? You make me feel things that I never thought were possible. Being around you, I feel happy, I feel free. I can’t even put into words how much you mean to me.”

 By the time you’ve finished speaking, his hands are gently cupping your face, his thumbs softly tracing your cheeks. You could see the slightly tears in his eyes, and his smile is wide and happy. It’s as if he’s just heard everything he has ever wanted to hear, as if you had said the magic words.

 His eyes flicker from your own, down to your lip and then back to your eyes. You give a small nod, barely moving your head but he catches the movement and he leans him.

 When his lips touch yours, your breath leaves your body in a pleasured sigh. While his lips are soft, their a little chapped from where he has bit them due to his nerves. They were gentle against yours, the pressure light as he didn’t want to push you too far.

 You were on top of the world, your heart beating erratically as you leaned into the kiss, your fingers tracing his stubble. You had never thought that kissing Bucky would be like this. It was like a set of fireworks were going off in your chest, and you were more than happy with it.

 “Does this mean I’m your girl?” you ask him, smiling when you’ve pulled back from the kiss.

“My best girl” he confirms, pulling your lips back to his.

 And you went happily.

Permanent Tag: @sskhair​

[halfdeadfriedrice]

last one for the night because it's late and honestly i'm just nostalgia-bombing for me, but i found the poem. i've been looking for this poem for years. around 5 or 6 or 7 of them, since she stopped talking to me, moved away, and fell off the internet. i had lost the future but i find it difficult to not be able to carry the past, and how often do you get poems written about you?

god 16 was hard. and everything after that too.

since i'm removing it from its original context: some CWs for disordered eating, being 16, references to christianity and the republican-moderate agenda

when jesus ate my house

by [linna], Jul 8, 2008, 3:47:27 PM

1.   do you hate me?, she asks.

my legs are in my face, pressed in the crevice, earth-break, ripping of my nose, hanging between my eyes like an extra arm, curling in on itself. i feel sick, dizzy; the world is a dribbled basketball, a honeyed ham, an empty soda bottle, a gutter and a staircase. i could grab her face, stretch the skin, vomit.

no, i want to say. no, no, no. please, don't think that. why would you think that? no. no, no, no. please, no. never.

i sob and shake. she wracks her brain for reasons to hate herself. i can't respond. my mouth slows and my head fevers, paces. i shiver. her eyes melt.

i am silent, fitfully, regrettably.

2.   my head is the new batcave.

he starts up his car; the engine rears. my stomach roars with fitful delight. my gut cooks up a tornado against fasting, against eating, against being awake.

she laughs at my stupid jokes, my silly words, my bad metaphors. she laughs and she smirks and she smiles and she grins, and she laughs, she laughs,

she laughs. it is enough.

3.   at the books-a-million at the local outdoor mall, we sip drinks and i anxiously count the minutes to closing time, searching for the words on the table. it will not hand them over. i look at her, blank, unsure.

you listen, she says. i'm not leaving. emily isn't leaving and i am not leaving and i don't care who left you before, because i am not going anywhere.

in the middle of the night she is telling me about gay men and a fire and her father's coffee maker, and i am throwing my legs in places i don't understand and my brain struggles with the idea of not-sleeping, while she smiles and begins to dream when she is still awake, and i know that she will for long after.

oh, i want to say. don't you understand? you're going everywhere.

4.   the sky promises thunderstorms. i crack my fingers and bury my head between my knees, the epitome of safe.

she has been underlining things with her voice. i italicize, emphasize. she emboldens, brightens. i shrink back, slowly, step by step. she reaches out.

5.   we are laying in my driveway. david jennings   (my arch-nemesis, my rival, my enemy) rests at my side, crusted in my palm, and she is absent-mindedly watching the moon chew.

i am still babbling about my anorexia; it is the day of my diagnosis. she listens. i silently ask the stars to let the moment never end; however,

i am the one who stands up finally and says, it's getting late. let's go back.

6.   my dad does not understand why i had to sit in the car to talk to her on the phone. his eyebrows constrict, contract, become semicolons and dashes and questions murdering his forehead. there is a contortionist living in my father's brow.

i tell him he does not understand. the telephone is like a dead rock in my hand, echoing her words, her sighs, her ums, her giggles.

he shakes his head, mutters something about teenagers. i recoil.

7.   i want to, but

i do not tell her that i am afraid. i am strong, like milked bones and tightened rope and prisoner biceps. i am indestructible, i am clean, i am fortified, i am unbreakable.

i am too much.

8.   she makes me try on nicknames. they fit like worn jeans, ballet slippers, ugly bathing suits.

lee is the first one she tries. i unsuccessfully try to convince her that leeann is a name on its own, that doesn't need to be shortened, altered, modified, bloodied, pulped.

lunch comes next. i give her mine with a reassuring glance and she smiles, sad, and works her way through it, rhythmically. she senses the awkwardness and drops the name; it sticks about as well as her trying to shove food down my throat.

linna, she finally settles on. it comes out of nowhere: no backup, no story, no explanation. it is simply there, attached onto my back, hanging off my nose. she reads it in my eyes.

she does not let it go. and after a while, i don't know if i want her to.

9.   i don't feel real, sometimes. like my feet are simply weighted leaves, and my hands are lightened bricks, and my head is an empty balloon, about to pop. sometimes i feel like i am the burden of someone's imagination, a figment of someone's unsympathetic hands. a clay figure, a doll, a wooden statue, a house, a wall, a child, a corpse.

i hope she feels skin and bones, tissues and nerves, solidity and liquid, earth and water and air and form. i hope she realizes, and i hope she always

remembers.

10.   this is a fic in which rodney is a unicorn and john is a rainbow.

my face is lost to the curve of my elbow. it is three-thirty a.m. and i cannot breathe. she spoons her ice cream and smiles, laughing dryly, quietly pleased.

there is nothing more. there doesn't need to be.

11.   only you, she is cracking up, speaking through the giggles, can listen to this song while reading romantic fluff.

i grin. oh, be quiet, i say, and go back to your bdsm and bloodplay.

with pleasure.

12.   she is my first victim.

i am practicing telling people i have a problem. it comes out hasty, undefined, nervous. oh, i have a disorder.   oh, that's just my anxiety issues.   panic attacks? yeah, i get those.

she does not know what to do with this information. i can tell. she has her legs bunched up underneath her, crouching to look at me not-eating lunch on the cafeteria floor, burrowed in the corner.

what are you doing here?, she says, instead. she does not know what to do, so she smiles.

i open my mouth. i think i like her already.

13.   i'll walk with you, she says. i stare.

my voice cracks when i attempt to speak. really?

yeah, really, she says, laughs. why not?

14.   there is a voice in the back of my head that tells me to listen to her when she talks about god, jesus, church. about belief. there is a voice in the back of my head that says to listen to her conservative views, her republican-moderate agenda. there is a voice in the back of my head that says,

shut up, for once, and listen.

15.   in a pool in north carolina in a smelly hotel with a full set of clothes on each, we talk about our lives. we explain ourselves, quietly, shyly,

unapologetically.

16.   eat, linna, she says. please.

    i don't know how to tell her where i would be     without her. without her telephone calls,     her pokes and her prods, her questions; her asking     of my writing, her encouraging me on, her     awkward silences and comfortable speeches; the way     she sometimes sounds distant on the phone,     the way she inches in closer; her ethical debates, her     historical trivia, her moral inclinations, her     nocturnal sleeping schedules and     her overloaded eating habits, her addictions and her     favorites, her confessions and her not-secrets, her     wish-secrets, her honest-secrets.

no, i say. i'm sorry. i can't.

    i don't know how to tell her where i would be     without her.     i don't know how to explain, to convey,     to write and to picture         nowhere.

if you told me to stop,                         i would.                             anything.

17.   do you hate me?, she pleads, begs, wonders and fears.

i am silent.

and i promise myself that i never will be again, for her.

[painless-innit-colourful]

‘The Revive Incantation’

During today’s Techno stream (June 21st), he referred to the contents of the revive book as an “incantation”. Well, my brain immediately thought of Dream singing the Healing song from Tangled to revive Tommy, and a few hours later I present this. The revive book requires a few things to work, and one of those things is a willingness to do a little backwards karaoke. (And yes, I rewrote the song from Tangled for this.)

Swirling around the words on the page were these beautiful gold pattern illustrations. They twisted and curled like the timid edges of a plant’s leaves, and each corner even featured a little golden flower. The muted ochre and emerald-green they had been painted with evoked the appearance of a totem, although there were no direct references to the other known method of cheating death. If there had been, it would’ve made the mystery behind the book’s origins - or indeed how Schlatt got his hands on it - a whole lot easier. But that hardly mattered now.

Dream ran his finger below the final line of the poem on the page for about the eightieth time, ensuring he’d fully committed it to memory again in case Sam were to unexpectedly arrive and he’d need to burn the book. He’d stopped visiting regularly since Tommy’s death, and he’d also ceased coming in the cell entirely. Still, one could never be too careful. His entire reason for still being alive was right there, a single stanza copied hastily from memory and hidden in the bottom of his chest weeks ago. The original revive book had been ornate and probably an antique: now it was ash, but as the process of revival required a physical reproduction of the text, here he was, double-checking he’d copied it down correctly one more time. God help him if he’d remembered it wrong.

Or rather, he thought, as he glanced over at the lifeless form of a teenager sat propped up against the wall a couple metres to his right, god help Tommy.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if it didn’t work. As the text described, he had all the required components: the verses on parchment, the exanimate flesh and bones, the willing soul and a voice with which to… Sing? The poem. Incantation. Aloud. He wasn’t sure if those instructions were meant to be taken literally, and if so, what tune to follow. Unfortunately, much of the book’s compact contents were written in riddles and couplets and audaciously purple prose. The incantation itself was something of a curiosity: it was a spell to raise the dead, but it also appeared to carry a warning to those bold enough to speak it. A deterrent to those impermanent earthlings that trifled in the affairs of the deathless deities. But Dream hadn’t got this far by heeding warnings. And, whether he liked his current position or not (he didn’t), he and he alone held the ability to reverse a killing blow, so who’s really smiling.

With no conceivable reason to drag this out any longer, the prisoner got slowly to his feet and went to retrieve Tommy’s corpse. The boy’s eyelids were half-closed, and the eyes beneath were dull, devoid of the light and life the kid had once brought to everything. His skin was mottled in places, his bottom lip had bruised, he had a black eye and dried blood glueing it shut from where it had leaked from a gash in his forehead. Luckily, decomposition hadn’t started to set in yet, or Dream would’ve had to burn the body to avoid the smell. No, he was simply dead, and goodness, had it been a nice few days of quiet after a week of Tommy’s non-stop incessant talking and complaining and obnoxious humming. Sam had looked at him like he was crazy when he’d said he was enjoying the peace, but had he ever been stuck in a room with the kid for more than a few hours before? Maybe that’s how Tommy used to bend people to his will. Annoy them until they either backed down or declared major conflict.

Carefully, like one might handle a sleeping baby, he laid Tommy down in front of the book, and resumed his seat behind it, legs crossed. He turned the page so he could see the scribbled instructions again, scanned them one final time, then flipped the page back to the stanza he was supposed to sing. As if someone else had possessed him, within three words he knew instinctively and miraculously what melody to follow as he recited the verse:

‘Vessel torn apart Soul too weak to stay Gift another chance And wash lost days away Written on this page Mortals should not say Men must not play god And wash lost days away Lost days away’

As he sang, something incredible began to happen, so mesmerising for someone trapped with so little for so long that he almost stopped singing. The prompt on the page began to glow, golden light radiating off the page as the words took short-lived form in the air while he sang them. They danced and collapsed into each other, forming a sizable disk of light above them, before it began to slowly dissipate, filtering down into a stream that enveloped Tommy. His skin took on a new sheen; from beneath his eyelids, a soft yellow light emanated, and, during the time the light was fading, his fingers twitched, curling unconsciously like a newborn’s would as they slept.

It worked.

Without taking his eyes off Tommy slowly rejoining the land of the living, Dream fed the book to the lava stream endlessly running past and pooling below the cell. It melted quickly into the molten rock, stinging his fingers as it dissolved: Dream barely felt it, staring intently at the boy whose body once again contained a consciousness.

I did it. I brought someone back.

Tommy’s elbows found purchase on the obsidian floor and he sat himself up, hands then going to wipe his eyes. He winced in pain as he pressed the heel of his hand directly into his black eye, mumbling a few curse words under his breath in typical Tommy fashion. That seemed to bring him to his senses. He turned his head rapidly to compensate for being down fifty percent on sight, and his working eye made contact with Dream’s. His murderer practically watched as the reality of his situation came crashing around Tommy, and he physically recoiled, face contorted with shock.

I’m a god.

---

“Let me out! Or I’m gonna revive him.”

That is the power he holds now. The ultimate bargaining chip, and it works. Bless Schlatt for giving up this ace for something as trivial as allies. Tommy, Sam and Ghostbur are all screaming at each other at the top of their lungs, and for his purposes, it couldn’t be more perfect. He has gripped firmly in his left hand the crumpled paper he just quickly scrawled the stanza upon, and he’s reaching for Ghostbur with the other, because thanks to his protocols, it’ll only take a tap. They're all screaming and shouting and then the lava's coming down with a great groaning of pistons, and it’s plenty enough to cover for him to quickly and quietly sing the tune he’s memorized since last time. Sometimes he’d sing it when he sat alone in the endless hours without a clock or a visitor; a dirge to his dominance over the server, once and forever. Goodbye Ghostbur. So sorry. His eyes are dilated with fear when Dream pulls him sharply against the barrier, and he dies with a sickening crack. Tommy’s screams drown out the end of the song entirely.

They do say, however, that there’s a new busker on the train platform, and he’s got a rather interesting song to share.

[teawaffles]

The Fugitives from the Fire: Chapter 1

T/N: Takes place before Chapter 39 of the manga (“The Dark Night of London��). Also, in order to appreciate a certain plot point to the fullest, I would recommend reading Book 2 Story 4 (“It Happened One Night”) before starting this one.

TW for this story // All the elements you would expect from a murder mystery: injury, blood, mention of suicide, violence, death

——The moment Miss Hudson opened the door to his room, Sherlock let out a long, long sigh.

It sounded as if he was squeezing every inch of air out of his lungs.

“What is it, Miss Hudson.”

Sherlock was sunk deep into his armchair, newspaper in hand. As if she could feel a headache coming on, Miss Hudson pressed a hand to her forehead.

“Every single time — what’s going on in this room, Sherlock?”

Frowning, she looked around the flat this great detective shared with his assistant. As always, it was thoroughly in a mess. But as always, Sherlock gave his typical response.

“There isn’t anything to get that upset about, is there? Besides, I’m not doing any scientific experiments right now.”

“I can never understand your concept of hygiene: how do you manage to live among all this without batting an eye……? Anyway, at the very least, make sure it’s clean enough that you’re not embarrassed to let people in. In a sense, we are in the service industry, you know.”

Standing tall and firm in the doorway, she began to lecture Sherlock, when an enigmatic grin broke across his face.

“If a client turns away just upon seeing this, then doesn’t it reflect the triviality of their request? In other words, I’m trying to screen my clients as soon as they enter this room.”

“If you quibble on like that, you’re the one who’s going to get screened out by your clients and lose your income. I certainly detest the idea of allowing someone with no earnings to live here.”

She launched into a scathing rebuke of those lazy words, and Sherlock raised both hands in a gesture of temporary surrender.

“Alright. When John comes back, we’ll tidy up together,” he said, looking out the window.

At that perfunctory remark, Miss Hudson placed both hands on her hips.

“John-kun, John-kun — you never stop talking about him. At least, when it comes to cleaning, I’d like you to do it yourself even without anyone else telling you to. My heart truly goes out to your future wife.”

“No need to worry: I consider myself married to my work.” [1]

“……So that means, I’m going to have a bachelor living here for the rest of my life?”

She thought of herself in her old age, briskly caring for an elderly detective; at that unpleasantly vivid image, a chill ran down her spine. [2]

And so they went on and on like this, as they normally did — when all of a sudden, a knock came from the ground floor entrance. From Sherlock’s experience, a visit at this time was usually linked to a “riddle”.

“Yes yes, please hold on just a moment.”

Breaking off their conversation, Miss Hudson pattered down to the ground floor. Sherlock put his newspaper on the table, and listened as she answered the door.

Then, as he’d intuited, after they exchanged a few words at the entrance, someone promptly came up the stairs — he could hear it creaking — and a familiar face appeared at the open door.

Sherlock flashed him a bold grin.

“——Hey, Lestrade. Tough case?”

It was Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard. Sherlock had brought up a “tough” case as a matter of course, and to that, Lestrade gave a solemn nod.

“Exactly, Holmes. It’s a bit of a tricky one — I need your help.”

“Details?”

Skipping the pleasantries, Sherlock lit a cigarette, as he was wont to do. But Lestrade’s expression turned grave.

“Sorry, but it’s urgent: I don’t have time to fill you in right now. Can we talk in the carriage?”

“Wha? Hmm……”

Looking out the window at the street below, Sherlock began to sway restlessly.

“What’s wrong? Is there a problem?”

The detective didn’t have an immediate response, and as Lestrade questioned him, Sherlock began mumbling to no one in particular.

“Look, can’t you see John’s not here? ……Goddammit, seriously — where did he go?”

“…………”

Lestrade kept his expression sombre, but for a split second, even he nearly broke into laughter at that line. This eccentric man, who lacked scruples about troubling the people around him, had just admitted to feeling an ordinary emotion like loneliness — and it did feel a little odd.

Standing to the side, Miss Hudson also broke into a smile. For the man known as Sherlock Holmes, it seemed John H Watson had already become an inseparable part of his life.

Seeing their reactions, Sherlock narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“Oi, why’re you two smiling away? Did I say something weird?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Lestrade replied. “It’s just, that was an unexpected line coming from you, so I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t making fun of you. It’s good that you have such an irreplaceable friend.”

“That’s none of your concern…… Though, is there really no time to wait for John?”

In a flash, Lestrade’s expression reverted to its grim state.

“Sorry, but yes: I want to get going as soon as we can. However, if you need Dr Watson, we could wait a while longer……”

But Sherlock quickly waved his hand, interrupting Lestrade’s compromise.

“No, it’s fine. Anyway, I don’t know when he’s coming back. There’re times like this too.”

Saying that, he stubbed his barely-smoked cigarette in an ashtray, dressed himself and got ready to leave. Uttering a quick word of apology, together with the detective, Lestrade headed to the Brougham four-wheeled carriage waiting outside.

Placing one foot into the vehicle, Sherlock waved to Miss Hudson as she stood at the entrance.

“So, Miss Hudson: I’ll attend your marriage counselling session when I get back.”

“I don’t recall having ever mentioned such a thing?”

She smiled at Sherlock’s joke, concealing within it a quiet rage. As if fleeing from her terrifying presence, the two men set off in haste.

Footnotes:

[1] Oh yes I saw my chance and took it — this is a BBC Sherlock reference |ω･)ﾉ But to be super-precise, I’ve dug into the exact translation in the notes below.

Aside: There was another small reference back in Book 2 Story 1, when Sherlock told William that he was “flattered” :3

[2] This is actually hinted at in the original stories: when Sherlock retired in Sussex, he said he was living with his old housekeeper (Wikipedia)

Translator’s notes

That line about marriage

I took some liberty with that translation, so here’s a more pedantic version of it. The reference comes from Season 1 Episode 1 of BBC Sherlock (“A Study in Pink”), when Sherlock and John were having dinner in an Italian restaurant while on a case.

The line as written in the book: “俺にとっては仕事が嫁さんみたいなもんだからな”

(Because) to me, my work is like my wife.

The line from BBC Sherlock’s Japanese dub: “ジョン、僕は仕事と結婚したつもりだ。” (source)

(It’s a literal translation of the original line below)

The original line from BBC Sherlock: “John, I consider myself married to my work.”

Aside: The “flattered” reference comes from the line immediately after this one — “…and while I am flattered by your interest…”

[lovecanbesostrange]

It started with an ask on konako’s blog, that led to a small scene with Red kneeling before the Evil Queen. (x) That was almost Red Queen fun. But it spun into something very dark, because the Evil Queen did capture Red and torture as punishment followed (this goes into dead-dove territory, you are warned, it’s messed up). Here are 4k words of what happened in the palace dungeon afterwards (spoiler alert, excessive use of silver):

summary: Red made the Evil Queen look foolish and gets utterly destroyed for it (graphic depictions of violence included)

Finally a little triumph. The Evil Queen went down the stairs into the dungeon. Every step of her well-shined heeled boots echoed loudly from the stone steps. Sometimes she wished she had more patience to make good use of the cells down here. But she was bored too easily not getting answers and the prisoners died quickly. Her torturer barely had anything to do. Why did she even pay him anymore? (Did she pay anyone in the palace? They were allowed to live and had nice enough accommodations and food, for sure that was enough.)

But now Regina wanted to take all the time in the world. Her knights had captured that wolf woman! After the bloodbath she had caused weeks ago that made Regina look foolish, she would enjoy their time together now. And it would send Snow White a message in the end.

Two guards were posted outside the cell and two inside. Of course knowing they dealt with a werewolf made handling the prisoner easier. For one the full moon was a couple of nights away. And silver was easy to come by to keep her in line. Regina had also instructed her blacksmith to forge some chains in preparation for when she would be captured. It had been a priority task.

When Regina entered the cell she smiled and took in the sight. Red was chained up in the middle of the room. She was stripped down to her undergarments, her clothes on the floor, except for her cloak that was draped over one of the tables. Her arms were raised above her head, wrists bound by the heavy cuffs each connected to a chain going through a loop in the ceiling and then stretching all the way to a bolt in the wall. Her ankles were cuffed as well, a short heavy chain in between so she couldn’t take any significant steps. Not that she could run away, since her toes barely reached the ground. Red had to carry her weight in her arms, shoulders.

“Well, well, well, so we meet again.” Regina took her time to enter and circled Red, who tried to follow her with her eyes. “You made quite a spectacle the last time.”

“Do you want an apology?” Red’s voice was firm. Too firm for Regina’s taste.

“I don’t think you could muster up an honest one. You’re a deceiver.” Regina stopped in front of her. “Begging for those peasants’ lives and then killing my men.” She grabbed Red’s chin with her thumb and index finger. “You said there was no need for bloodshed and you happily slaid them anyway.”

“I wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t tried to take me.”

“As if you thought I would let you walk away from there.” Regina looked closely into those green eyes. Was the bravado real or just posturing? “Don’t get me wrong, the way you killed those men without a second thought was impressive. I can admire that. But the humiliation it would have been to return to the village and enact punishment, admitting to being defeated that day - I can’t let that slide.” She slapped Red across the cheek.

Red closed her eyes and didn’t turn her face back up. She was glad the villagers had been spared. Regina didn’t know how long she had stuck around to make sure there was no retaliation. And whatever was about to follow, would have been worth it. Snow had her plans to strike and they were close to luring the Queen into a trap. But every day more innocent people could die and Red could not sit by. She owed it to the victims of the wolf to use her strength for good now.

She heard Regina take a few steps back and looked again. The cloak was in her hands now. “Do you have any other name or should I just call you Red. Not very original, is it? Naming yourself after a bit of fabric.” Her fingers traced the patterns. “I sense magic in this. But I guess asking about it will not bring me answers, right? Just like any of Snow White’s plans won’t leave your lips.”

Statements. The Evil Queen had made up her mind already, questions weren’t part of whatever this encounter was. Red turned her hands around and tried to get a grip on the chain, change her position the slightest bit to take some strain off of her already burning shoulders.

“Do you know there isn’t much to find in books about your kind?” Regina exchanged the cloak for something else from the table. It reflected a bit of the amber light emitted from the fireplace and Red could see it was a simple dagger. “The one thing that is said over and over though is your weakness towards silver. I’m curious. Is it just the metal or wounds inflicted by it?”

Red already clenched her jaw before Regina put the blade against the skin on her upper arm, preparing to get cut. But instead Regina pressed the flat side on her skin first. Definitely silver. Pure. Red felt the effect in a matter of seconds and bit down, grinding her teeth.

Regina stood close again, caught her eyes with her gaze and kept pressing the blade against the tender side of her arm. “Don’t worry, I will write down everything I’m about to do here, so the books can add a chapter about how to break a wolf when in their human form.” And with that she turned the dagger and cut the skin. Red flinched, more from the shock than the actual pain. It was a relief actually to have the silver leave her.

“Are there noteworthy differences between a cut with this,” Regina lifted the dagger, “and a normal blade?” She gestured towards one of the guards and he immediately unsheathed a dagger from his boot. Without hesitation Regina reproduced the cut on the other arm. The blood almost tickled as it ran down. “Oh no, I’m making a mess. Getting blood out of clothes is such a hassle.”

Regina let one of the daggers fall down and with the other cut along the seams of Red’s top half of what she was left wearing. Red closed her eyes again as she felt air hit her exposed body. She knew which weapon Regina held and she could feel the silver being drawn over her skin, over her collarbone, between her breasts, down to her navel. The point barely left a scratch, but the offending metal felt like being brushed with a nettle. Red took in deep, sharp breaths through her nose.

That reaction was exactly what made Regina go slower with her movements. It wasn’t the sharpness that left the light red mark, no, it appeared the longer she held the blade in place. What an interesting sight to watch. Regina brought her free hand up to Red’s chin again, this time squeezing her jaw with her palm, digging her fingers into her cheek. Red looked at her again.

“You know, the longer you resist, the more adamant I will be to make you scream. That is how these things work.” She brought the dagger up to Red’s forehead, this time with the edge to cut into her skin again. It took a few seconds, but then the blood running over her eyebrows made Red blink.

“Can you hold this for me?” With that she wedged the silver dagger between the torn clothes and Red’s hips. Red squirmed trying to get away, but the blade touched her thigh ever so slightly. “I learned a valuable lesson the other day. A blacksmith works with iron. Like those chains holding you. Not used to working with silver. You would have to ask a silversmith about it. I even found one and he is working on special silver cuffs for me. Or rather, for you.”

Regina stood at the table again, her back to Red. When she turned around she held up a necklace. “So for now, I have to settle for delicate jewelry instead of the collar you deserve.” Under any other circumstance Red would have admired the piece. Obviously the star-shaped ornament was meant to hold a gemstone in place, a diamond or a sapphire, but this was stripped down to the silver components for one purpose only. “So you will get used to a leash later,” was all Regina added as she put it around Red’s neck.

Red held on. Her skin was crawling all over, the itch on her thigh burning already, but she tried to stay as still as possible. She couldn’t do anything against the tears forming in her eyes, betraying her brave face though.

Regina stood before her, brows furrowed. “Your healing isn’t as fast. I will need to wait hours to compare those cuts on your arms. There is something I am forgetting.” She rubbed her temples, feigning to think. “Oh, of course, I need a point of reference!” A clap of her hands alerted the guard. “You, get the girl from next door.” Red’s eyes went wide.

“No. Wait. You don’t need to drag anybody else into this.”

Regina stepped closer and slapped her across the cheek again, harder this time. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion and you will stop being so informal around me!”

“Yes, Your Majesty”, Red quickly gathered herself. “But please, there is no need-” But she already saw a frightened young girl being pushed into the cell. About her height and weight, seemingly healthy. For now. The girl fell to the floor and cowered there.

“I caught her stealing, so normally she would already be dead. But she can be of use for me.” Regina put a hand into her hair and yanked her head up, to make her look at Red. “Or do you want her dead right now?”

The terror Red felt was mirrored on the girl’s face. Was there a chance of survival for her? She was ready to beg for her life; to lie on that table where Regina obviously had more silver tools; to take any punishment herself. “No,” Red whispered. Another yank at the girl’s hair. “No, Your Majesty.”

“A fast learner.” She pushed the girl into a chair with cuffs on the armrests. Seating her in front of Red. The girl trembled and looked to the floor. Red tried to pull at her chains, but it only sent a jolt of pain through her shoulders.

Regina paced the room. After a while she came up behind Red. “Your shoulders must really hurt by now. Let me help you with that.” Her fingers played with the necklace and Red hissed. Shifting it around made the pain more noticeable. “The plate.” She said towards the guards. Behind Red a wooden plate leaned against the wall. A thin metal sheet on one side, coated in silver. She knew that before the guards shoved it under her feet. The wood added a few inches so in theory this took some of the weight off her shoulders, but the soles of her feet would soon itch, turn red, swell, hurt and most likely blister. She tried to balance on the outside of her feet only, to not hurt everywhere all at once.

“Do you know what the second thing is that some texts suggest to use against a werewolf?” Silence. “Oh, that was a genuine question directed at you. Do you know?”

“Fire.” Red answered between breaths. Her mouth was open now, it was dry. She didn’t dare to fully fill her lungs, because that made the necklace move. The attack on multiple parts of her body with the silver was starting to overwhelm her.

“That is correct. You know your weaknesses it seems.” Regina conjured a fireball in her hand. “Fire is pure. It doesn’t discriminate. It can be very elegant.” She stepped closer to Red, hand outstretched so she could feel the heat of the flame. “How fast can you heal a burn wound?”

“I don’t k-” Red couldn’t finish that sentence, because Regina held her hand to her side now. A scream was all that escaped her lips. The fireball wasn’t cast, but the flame burned her flesh. Red clenched her fists and tried to step away, the chains around her ankles making a screeching sound dragging over the silver plate. There was no escape, because Regina just followed with her hand. She closed her hand and the fireball vanished. Red went slack, her breathing sped up. The only good thing was that in this commotion, the dagger had gotten loose and fallen to the floor.

Red sorted out her senses, trying to gather her bearings, when she heard the girl scream. Louder, more fearful, indicating the horrible pain she never felt before. Regina had torn her clothes and burned her at the exact same place on her body. For reference. Red couldn’t put the horror of it into words. Would it indeed be better for the girl if she was dead already? She didn’t even know her name.

And Red didn’t learn her name over the next few days, because whatever happened, she would not talk to her. Regina had strictly forbidden it and the rotating guards would hit her at a single word. It was almost comical. Red’s body went numb. Cuts, rashes, bruises, welts, burns, scratches. It came and went. The pain was a constant throbbing, she got repositioned a few times, but it felt like she would never use her arms on her own accord again. But whatever happened to her, the girl looked worse. Red did heal faster from any wound not dealt with silver. But it did take a lot from her regardless. She lost track of time. What was sleep? Any kind of shame about being naked had vanished. Instead of clothes her body was covered in forming scars, marks and blemishes.

Red tried to count the rotations of the guards, to get any kind of feeling for the passing days. It was only days, right? It felt like forever. Silver on her skin somewhere at all times, lashes from a whip, getting burned with a torch, red hot iron, and so many cuts to make her bleed. The worst still a long deep wound on her right cheek, starting at her ear right to the corner of her mouth. When they allowed her some water, it even hurt to swallow.

Later Red found out it had been five days in total. It seemed like a small window of time. But the Evil Queen lived up to her name. Especially on day four, when she left permanent damage. While Red was mostly kept standing up, the girl was strapped to the chair. Not that she had any energy left to walk out of here, even if they’d opened the door for her. Regina stood behind her and pulled her head back.

“Just look at me, I’m sure this won’t hurt you.”

Red looked on as Regina dripped liquid into one of her eyes. The girl flinched, but that was a reflex. None of her sounds of discomfort or pain left her throat. That made Red more nervous than she would admit. And she was right to be.

“Just as I thought. Look at that, barely irritated.” She pushed the girl’s head forward, her eye teared up, maybe a bit reddened.

Regina walked around her and caught Red’s gaze. “Such beautiful green eyes. Quiet unusual. Of course not as remarkable as the wolfish gold, is it?” The way she kept staring was unnerving and Red’s breathing already picked up. Fear. In a short amount of time she had learned what fear truly was.

“Hold her steady.” A guard came and grabbed Red’s head from behind. Panic sunk in and she started to squirm, tried to turn her face away, to wiggle out of his grip. She wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but she knew she wanted out. Right now. No more pain, she couldn’t take anymore. But she had to.

Regina got a few drops out of the vile, into Red’s right eye. “Don’t worry, it’s mostly water. Just a tiny bit of silver dust mixed into it.”

Red pushed her body back as hard as she could, but her mangled feet had no grip, it was more like leaning into the guy. No force to get him off. And then the pain started. It felt like a needle prick. And all of a sudden the colors exploded in Red’s sight. Everything was sharper, the light from the fireplace brighter. She knew her eyes turned golden like before she would transform. It had happened a few times, when highly agitated. Now it was a physical response.

Regina laughed. “I did not expect that.” She met Red’s terror with fascination. More needle pricks in her eye, the urge to rub it away. Red pulled at her chains, she wanted to press the palm of her hand against her eye and get the irritating feeling out. But there was no chance. All Regina saw was the golden color and Red gasping for air, holding back a scream. The hitched breathing was a good enough tell that this hurt.

Worse than the pain that kept sinking in was the way Red started to see white dots, blind specks in her vision. Three, four, five, more and more. She blinked, her tearducts fighting off the intrusion, but the silver too strong an opponent. Red clenched her jaw and groaned. She let out a growl from deep within, filled with frustration and pain. It was more of a bellow than a scream. Regina smiled at that.

While Red’s left eye got back to its human green, the right eye stayed golden, a misty layer clouding the bright hue. It drew Regina’s full attention, while it would be weeks for Red to discover the permanent change. Blinded, only noting a change between light and darkness. Her eyeball feeling like it was rubbed with sandpaper made the rest of the day seem like nothing. Time moved on

And then unthinkable happened. The chains were loosened completely, the cuffs came off. Red tried to curl up on the floor, but she could barely move her joints. Everything hurt too much. But Regina laughed. “Remember that I said I will make you beg for more than mercy? How about you ask me to end her suffering?”

Red looked up. Trying to adjust to the impaired vision. As bad as she felt, the girl looked worse. “Please…”, the girl said and the guard standing behind her, hit her against the head immediately.

It took everything Red had to turn herself upright, to bend her knees and sit on them. To kneel before Regina again. No side eye, no hint of a smirk, no failsafe. The burn marks hurt worst next to the chafed skin around her neck from the necklace that was also gone now. “Your…” Red was shaking, she had to cough trying to speak. “Please, Your Majesty. End her suffering. I beg you. Please. It’s enough… enough…” And with that she fell down again.

“Pathetic.” Regina’s verdict was cold as ice. “And to think I had a gift for you just now. Guards.” They stood next to Red and pulled her to her knees again, held her up. Regina leaned towards her. “My silversmith has arrived.” She produced a silver object and only when the lock clicked around her neck did Red realize this was the collar she had talked about. She felt the burn on her throat and winced. It was a sound she was used to producing by now.

“So?”

“Please… Your Majesty…” Red was panting, she could not finish the plea.

Regina rolled her eyes. “If this is the best you can do, so be it. Ending the suffering now.” And with that her hand shot straight into Red’s chest and pulled out her heart. “Kill her. Rip her throat out like you always do.”

Red wanted to scream. She wanted to jump the Evil Queen. To tear up the men holding her. But what she wanted was irrelevant all of a sudden. The will to do it was overwritten. She looked at the girl, defeated, not even surprised. While Red’s mind fully woke up for the first time in days, all her muscles reacted to something else. The pain all over her body was terrible, but every second she didn’t comply was even more agony.

Red crawled more than she walked to get to the chair. She hovered over her nameless victim, tried to hold back, but those terror-stricken eyes met hers. “Make it quick, please.” Oh, if only she could turn into a wolf, those sharp teeth would take less than a second. Regina had specified how this girl was supposed to die and Red could not opt to cut her throat with a knife, she sunk her still very human teeth into it. The larynx, so easy to wrap fangs around, was hard, the skin and flesh thick. The scream the girl let out was only short, because the pressure suffocated her. It was impossible to make this quick-

Finally Red tasted blood. Tears ran down her face, but she could not stop herself from this horrible act. This slow, agonizing, inhumane death of a nameless chamber maid, who probably hadn’t even stolen a thing. Someone at the wrong place, at the wrong time, who had suffered for days for cruel experiments with no merit. One more victim added to Red’s tally. Not for good. Not in battle. Not in defense. Needless cruelty.

When the girl’s heart stopped, Red finally could let go. She sank on all fours, spat out what she could of the blood and wailed. Her own heart wasn’t even in her chest, but it had never felt heavier.

“Get the smith down here now, he knows what to do.” Regina sent one guard away. Red looked up, warm blood dripping from her chin, she could feel it. Disgusting. If she had any strength left, this would be the time to strike. But all Regina needed to do was a little squeeze. Her heart hurt. No, Red was helpless. Any thought of fighting back an illusion.

“I think it’s best that you lie down on the table for this next part.”

Red wanted to put her head under a guillotine right now. To kill like that was worse than any of the torture methods the Evil Queen had come up with. Regina had won. But Red couldn’t do anything but comply and lied down, waiting for her fate.

It came in the form of a small white haired man, holding a sort of chalice with a long tongue. His hands were shaking and Red couldn’t tell if it was because of what he was doing or just being in Regina’s presence. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening. A guard came and put her wrists into the handcuffs again, strapping her to the table. A chain going over her thighs and under the table fixated her.

Regina squatted down next to her, stroking her hair. “Feel free to scream for me now.”

“The mold.” Wood was pressed against her back. “Careful with your fingers there, wouldn’t want to burn you.”

And then everything was fire. The scream from Red’s throat surprised Regina enough that she stood up. Loud, agonizing, on the brink of collapse. What looked like a chalice was a melting pot, containing a few grams of molten silver. It was poured on Red’s skin and burned her instantly, severely. Water followed mere seconds later to turn the liquid back to solid, but the damage was done. A silver ring fused into her flesh. The pain and the sensory overload from heat to cold send her into shock. She was still screaming with the taste of warm blood in her mouth when the faint claimed her.