#// in which the sea has been poured into the space his soul once occupied and all that was once samuel whist belongs to Her

[fishermcn]

i see you on the brink of death,

i see you draw your final breath,

i see a man who gets to make it home alive...

but it's no longer you.

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Last Chthonian

Part 17

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

A/N: It is here! So sorry for the late update lovelies! I’ve been having really bad writers block lately and my job keeps switching my hours up so now my sleep schedule is all fucked up. And after writing this part I want to go stargazing so bad but the light pollution kind of sucks where I live. 🥲 Also this is my first time writing a steamy scene so I’m sorry if it’s awkward. Feedback is much appreciated and let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. 😊

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appears at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, angst, some foreplay and making out

You had still been wrapped in Zemo’s arms, the two of you indulging in each other’s presence in a silence, which combined with the faint beating of his heart, you only found to be comforting. The meteors still swept by the earth’s atmosphere above you in flashes that lit up the sky, leaving behind trails of white that resembled the strokes of a brush, as if your mother Asteria had painted the celestial bodies using diamonds onto a canvas that was the night sky. You could only make out the few stars and constellations that were scarcely scattered across the vastness above you, caused by the light pollution that unfortunately managed to mantle the wonders and beauty that settled just beyond, separating humanity from the marvels of the universe. The stars flickered like the diminishing of the flame of a candle, a farewell to the billions of years lived by the remnants of those enormous spheres of hot plasma, thus leaving behind the birth of other stars to fulfill their legacy. However, there was a certain star that did not flicker like the ones around it, a certain spectacle distant in time and space that still managed to burn bright despite the innumerable amount of light-years that separated Earth from it. The remaining light of your planet Olympus. You stared at that particular star, your brows knit together and your face etched with this certain melancholy that one could not explain. How could one thing be so near, within the reach of your fingertips, and yet be entirely outside the capacity of reach.

“Draga.” You heard Zemo softly speak, his chest slightly wavering beneath your cheek from his words.

“Hm?”

“Something troubles you.”

“What makes you say that?” You stared off, your eyes still fixated to the fading existence of your world.

“Your eyes draga.” Zemo looked down at you, his eyes scanning over the troubled creases that masked your features. “I have seen this shadow in your eyes that has seemed to occupy them as of recently. What troubles you?”

“…………You see that star there, right between those two constellations?” You pointed above you.

“Mhm.” Zemo nodded as he followed the line of your finger, his eyes now focused on the same exact star yours have not yet left.

“That’s my planet………Olympus.”

“You’re welcome to tell me about it if you’d like.”

“Well, when I was little, I used to live with my mother in this quaint cottage by the sea, similar to the one I live in now with my daughter. She used to bring me out most nights for stargazing. She had built this outdoor platform with bedding and blankets and we would have a small fire going to keep us warm as we watched the stars and constellations while she told me different tales and epic poetries. As silly as it sounds, she would make shooting stars appear in the sky for me knowing how much I loved them. Gods, I wish you could’ve seen my home back in its days, back when everything still remained. Everything was so…..beautiful, and the skies, gods the skies, you could see the different planets and galaxies as if they were only miles away. To this day, I have yet to see anything in my travels that compares.”

“I would have loved to seen it Schatzi. Your mother sounded like a wonderful person.”

“She was the kindest soul I knew.” You turned your body so that you could look up at him, resting your chin on your hand.

“You miss her.”

“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss my family and planet.”

“I’m sorry about what happened to them Schatzi. I wish you never went through what you did.”

“If only I could bring them back. I’d do anything to be able to just see them again.”

Zemo was silent, believing that no amount of words could have provided you comfort, no matter how deep the meaning or how significant. He could not imagine what you went through. He had lost his country and his family, and you had lost your family as well, but you lost your world, your entire race, leaving you to be the last remaining entity of your people, the last Olympian and the last Chthonian. Words could not bring your family back, just as they could not with his. So he only did what he was able, making a silent unspoken promise within the abyss of his damaged heart to be there for you as he held you closer to him and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

A sudden feeling of guilt crawled up your spine like a venomous scorpion ready to sink its stinger in your skin with means to cause nothing but pain and suffering. You felt guilty for being here, lying next to Zemo wrapped in his arms like a pair of star-crossed lovers from the pages of a novel. A part of you felt selfish for what you did, undeserving of the affection that was bestowed upon you from a man who had suffered enough from the loss of his family. How much longer did you think you could give in to your mindless emotions without a single thought of the consequences it might bring about. Did you really think you could go on as if nothing is happening? As if you can conceal your true form from him forever. No. You could not. You did not have the heart to keep such knowledge from him. If you wanted to pursue what you had with him, you would have to tell him the truth when the time came.

“We should probably get back before Sam and Bucky notice.” You mumbled, blinking back the tears, your heart aching to go back to the way things used to be, wishing you could leave all of this and just be able to go back home. You didn’t belong here on earth, an immortal amongst mortals. At least on Olympus, if your titaness form had been revealed, many would not have bat an eye. They had already seen the likes of Titans before and the locals had become accustomed to you. But here on earth, you were nothing but a stranger, a drifter.

The two of you walked back to his place in silence, the only sounds being the whistling of the wind, the chirping of crickets, the voices of the few pedestrians and the humming of the cars that drove by. Your hands brushed against each other, craving to intertwine your fingers with his as you walked down the stone paved streets lit by the lamps that lined it, the two of you still withdrawn despite what occurred between you both. You felt it would have been silly, holding his hand like a couple of teenagers, though a century ago, you wouldn’t have gave it a second thought.

You arrived at his place, standing at the bottom of the steps in front of the double doors with Zemo opposite you, illuminated by the street lamp that stood just behind. Feelings of conflict washed over you, drowning you in waves of despair. As much as you wanted to be with him, a small part in the back of your mind kept telling you that it was wrong. Neither of you wanted to go through those doors just yet, wishing you could have spent the night under the stars. But life seems to have a way of working against your favor. The Wakandans would be here to collect him possibly tomorrow, and you would have to bid him farewell, separated from each other for what could be forever. As much as you did not look forward to that moment in having to turn him in and never see him again, you wouldn’t stop the Wakandans from what they were promised. And though you hadn’t said a word, Zemo had already knew what your decisions were regarding it, and he could not blame you for it. You were a woman of justice and you followed a code, and he respected that.

“Zemo.” A frown appeared on your face.

“Please,” Zemo whispered to you as he pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, “Call me Helmut.”

You looked at Zemo once more, a look of longing hidden behind your eyes as you unconsciously swiped your tongue across your mouth, watching how his eyes followed the movement before lingering on the wetness of your lips that resembled the petals of a rose after the pouring of cold rain in the midst of spring. Oh how he wished to be the drops of rain that were gifted the pleasure of grazing upon the velvety petals that belonged to such beauty of a flower, a symbol of union between the two domains in which the heavens came down to declare its love for the earth. A pulling sensation filled within your core, drawing yourself to Zemo as if he were the sweet berries of deadly nightshade that have lured many unfortunate souls. Banishing the thoughts of doubt that clouded your mind, you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to you, crashing your lips against his in a heated kiss. Zemo was initially shocked by your bold gesture and stiffened from the way your mouth moved against his, surprised you would pull something like this when just a wall away Sam and Bucky were awaiting your arrival, before loosing himself into your embrace.

Your fingers clenched the collar of his sweater and your fingers grazed across the exposed skin of his neck while his hands went to your waist in a desperate attempt, fumbling to grab at anything and bunching up the bottom fabric of your sweater as he pulled you against him. The tips of his fingers brushed against the skin of your waist that was exposed below the hem of your sweater, leaving behind goosebumps in its trail. You smiled into the kiss from the way he completely melted under your touch, a part of you amused from the affect you held over him as you managed to elicit a moan from deep within his throat. Zemo’s brows were furrowed in the passionate moment, something you have noticed when you first kissed him, a small crease in the muscles of his face that showed just how lost he was when encased in this moment with you, and it absolutely melted you. He was addicted from the warm numbness, the ecstasy he felt from kissing you. Your lips were like heroin to him, leaving him yearning for more, and it didn’t ameliorate the fact that his years spent in a German prison had left him somewhat inexperienced and filled with a chasmic longing for touch and intimacy from the lack thereof. Deep within him, masked by his ideas and objectives, Zemo wanted to be able to love someone again, a chance at a new life and a family, and perhaps, he saw that possibility with you. But, behind the passion of the kiss you shared with him, there was something else, a poison that laced your lips with feelings of despair and forbidding that consumed you as if you had tasted those sweet berries of nightshade, slowly loosing yourself to its malice. His lips which were at first warm to the touch, now felt cold like ice and sent shivers of dread through your veins, as if this would be the last kiss you shared with him.

You pulled away from the kiss to catch your breath, your teeth softly grazing against his bottom lip as you did so. Both of you were left breathless as you rested your foreheads against each other, panting as your breaths fanned each other’s face as if you had just been trapped in the depths of the ocean before breaking through the surface to allow oxygen to fill your lungs.

“If you keep doing that Draga.” Zemo rasped between breaths, “I won’t be able to compose myself.”

“Good. Maybe I don’t want you too.” You smirked before placing a playful kiss on the tip of his nose. “But I really should go back inside, and you should do the same. Just make sure you go unnoticed.” You slipped his coat off your shoulders, his cologne that lingered on his fur collar leaving your senses with discontent as you returned his coat to him before going over to the doors, stopping to turn back to him with a smile before stepping inside and closing the door behind you. Gods, what the hell did you do that for???? You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you wanted to slap yourself for pulling a move like that.

“Gods I’m stupid.” You muttered to yourself.

“Hey.” Bucky smiled once he spotted you, his voice soft as if he were afraid you would shatter at any moment from the discussion that took place earlier. “How was your walk?”

“It was nice, relaxing. I went to the park to stargaze.”

“That’s good. As long as you feel better.”

“I do, actually. Thanks Bucky.”

“You look flushed. You okay?” Sam noted as he stepped over to you.

“Huh?” You stopped short. “Oh yeah, I’m fine. I just had to kind of uh power walk back here so you guys wouldn’t get worried. But I’m fine, yeah. Anyways, I’m going to hit the sack since I’m feeling a bit tired. Goodnight you guys.” You waved them off before going to your assigned room, making Sam and Bucky give each other questioning looks before they both shrugged it off.

You shut the door behind you, letting out a breath of relief that they had not caught on to anything and praying that Zemo had managed to sneak in. You had just gotten off the phone with Maze and your daughter, catching up on their activities after cleaning yourself up and changing into your nightgown. You had pulled up a chair next to the window that was in your room, your feet tucked underneath you and a warm cup of rose and blackberry tea in your hands. Your robe hung loosely off your shoulders as your index finger twirled above the small silver spoon that swirled in your cup, mists of violet wrapping around the handle of the spoon as you used your powers to stir the contents of the tea. You stared out the window onto the old streets of Latvia before glancing down at the teacup that was nestled in your hands, the glow of your eyes reflected off the window pane along with the tiny stars that swirled through the small globe of your necklace your mother gave you. You hadn’t stopped thinking about the moments that passed and the ones that have yet to come.

There was a knock on your door, interrupting you from the thoughts that had resided in your mind. “Come in.” You spoke as you looked through the reflection of the window and saw a figure step in. “Zemo?” You stopped using your powers, the clinking of the spoon scraping against the sides of the porcelain cup coming to a stop. “You know, you gotta stop sneaking into my room.” You teased before frowning, seeing the expression that sat on his face. “What’s wrong?” You got up from the chair, setting your cup down on the table before walking over to him.

“The Wakandans will…….be here for me tomorrow.” His eyes were lowered to the floor, the browns of his irises which reminded you of the dunes of the Sahara desert were whirling in thought, resembling the dunes caught in the midst of the fury of a sandstorm, as if searching for an answer to his troubles.

“Ze-Helmut, I………” You sighed, your tongue and mind lacking the ability to compose any words that might have provided some solace. “I’m sorry………..I don’t know what to say.”

“Y/n, schatzi” Zemo grabbed your hand, tracing his thumb over the bumps of your knuckles. “You don’t have to say a word. My actions………must be accounted for.”

You were silent, your brows knit together and your lips sealed as if your voice was ripped from your throat. Your heart wanted to tear itself from your chest, begging to be released from its cage so that it could be free to lament, so that it may be able to express the words that held it captive. But your tongue was tied, held back between the prison that was your teeth as you clenched your jaw. Zemo’s hand still held yours, stroking the soft skin on the back of your hand which were a contrast to the small rough patches on your palm, before you heard him speak again. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked at him, lips parted in surprise that he would even ask such a question when you were honestly willing to kiss him any time of the day. The Zemo you had come to know was far different than the one you had heard about, his cold demeanor seemed to completely fade when he was around you, like a fog that dissipated with the coming of daylight. A part of you pondered whether this was how he used to be, before the events that happened. Though he hadn’t had a chance to share such affection with anyone and lost practice, you still found him to be great kisser and it always managed to leave you breathless. “Yes, please.” You whispered, your voice barely audible before you felt his lips brush against yours. What was sweet at first became more feverish and filled with hunger as an unfamiliar spirit seemed to possess your body, darkening the amethysts and golds of your eyes that resembled the galaxies, into the blackness of the abyss that swallowed the outer edges of space where not even the slightest bit of light could reach, almost as if you were sinking your claws into your prey.

A heat pooled in the pit of your stomach, filling your body with an electrifying warmth as his mouth moved against yours more confidently this time, catching you utterly by surprise and leaving your knees weak, a feeling similar to the stillness in the air a mere second before lightning strikes the ground beneath your feet. His hands slipped down to grab the flesh of your waist, dehydrated, and filled with an intense thirst that could only be quenched by your body that was the ocean, your skin separated by the silk fabric of your nightgown. Your hands went up to grip his shoulders as a gasp escaped your lips upon feeling him move down to your jaw and neck. Gods, since when was the last time you were touched like that?

“Helmut.” You rasped, struggling to hold back a moan as his lips sucked on the skin where your collarbone met your neck, making you lean your head back to allow him better access. Your robe had fell to the floor, leaving your arms completely bare while Zemo’s hands caressed the skin that lined them before resting on the dorsal part of your upper arms, the combination of the frigid air and his fingertips that felt like the touch of fire sending shivers through your body. “What if they hear?”

“Let them.”

“No……….I’m…….serious.”

“Well if you’re that worried Draga.” Zemo stopped to look at you. “The walls are thick enough.”

Gods that completely sent you over the edge. It felt as if you were on a high, your mind was not even within this dimension as Zemo met your lips again. You had to throw your arms around his neck to keep yourself from collapsing as the two of you shifted in the room, Zemo guiding your body before the back of your knees came in contact with the side of your bed. You let yourself fall back into the soft mattress, bringing Zemo down with you. You both were a mess, your hair disarray, the thin straps of your nightgown fallen past your shoulders had almost left your breasts exposed, and the skirt of your nightgown had ridden up to your thighs as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Zemo squeezed at the soft flesh of your thigh before attacking your neck again. He didn’t know how to describe it but you tasted absolutely divine. Perhaps being a goddess made you taste of ambrosia; the golden, honey-flavored fruit that grew on the trees of Olympus. You were in absolute bliss and thanked the gods he wouldn’t be able to leave a mark, at least you hoped not.

“Helmut.” You moaned, your nails digging into his biceps as his warm lips made a trail down your collarbone and lower to where the lace trim of your nightgown met just above the curve of your breasts, lingering on the space between, filling your mind with thoughts of a certain region you desired those lips to be. “Fuck.” You hissed from the contact, your hand moving its way to his head as you ran your fingers through his soft hair, your nails raking across the back of his scalp as the heat between your thighs only grew. You unconsciously pressed your heel to the lower part of his back, beckoning him closer to that heat between your thighs as you bucked your hips up. Zemo growled at the movement, slightly nipping at the skin where your breast had started to form, causing you to gasp and your eyes to fly open from the sensation.

“Apologies draga.” You heard him mutter before tenderly kissing the spot where his teeth had been.

Seeing Zemo in a close proximity above you in such a position had you dazed, wanting him to take you right then and there and not caring if the others heard you or not. And as your eyes wandered lazily over the sight of him, they widened in horror once they glimpsed at the image of your hands. Your nails became sharp, claw-like, and that deathly color had returned once again, slowly making its way up your arm like the tendrils of a shadow belonging to a demonic spirit.

“Helmut.” You whispered, your voice becoming panicked as you loosened your grip on his arms, being careful not to pierce his skin. “Helmut wait.”

Zemo stopped, pushing himself up to meet your eyes as his concern grew from seeing the frightened look that filled them. “Schatzi, what’s wrong?” He brought his hand up to your face, brushing away the strands of your hair. “If you’re uncomfortable let me know.”

“No, gods no. If anything I don’t want you to stop.” You breathed out, trying to catch your breath. “It’s just that………….”

“What is it schatzi?” His voice was soft as his fingers caressed your cheek, afraid that he might have offended you in some way, afraid that he might have been too forward.

“I’m sorry Helmut. I want to, I really do, but not like this.” You shook your head as you got up, shifting over to where the dark shadows of the room fell on the bed to hide your arms, afraid to meet his eyes as if you had made a fool of yourself. “Not like this.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me y/n.” Zemo smiled at you. “If you’re not ready, than I’m not ready.”

“Thank you Helmut.” You smiled back before giving him a delicate kiss. “I’d………uh like to think some things through.” You prayed that he didn’t see your hands, hoping that the darkness of the room managed to disguise it.

“Of course draga.” Zemo placed a lingering kiss on your forehead before leaving your room, stopping at the door to give you a comforting smile as he carefully shut it behind him.

Your eyes still lingered on the door, waiting to make sure he didn’t come back before turning on the bedside lamp and staring down at your hands. You had managed to stop the color from spreading up your arm, yet it strangely still remained, stopping halfway up your forearm. This wasn’t good.

“What the hell?” You scrunched your nose, trying to use your powers once again to remove it but to no avail. Fear coursed through your veins as you attempted to remove the color, spell after spell, hoping those vine like tendrils would crawl back down your hands and disappear. You cursed under your breath as each attempt proved to be as futile as the one before. What the hell was going on? Why were your spells not working? It vanished before from your magic, why wasn’t it doing so now? You were struck with a sudden realization that perhaps this change would become permanent, that maybe suppressing your true form for all those years had caused it to spiral out of control and in turn try to overpower you as if it had a mind of its own. You growled through gritted teeth, the furniture around you shaking as your fists were clenched in frustration, the violet mists of your powers encompassing your hands and sparking with small bolts that corresponded with the vexation that overwhelmed you.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, the mist around your hands disappearing and the shaking of the furniture coming to a stop. You had to work something out. You were left no choice but to keep your hands covered from now on until you found a solution. If any of them questioned it, you had to have a damn good lie. Getting up from the bed, you walked over to the double doors that led to the small balcony and opened them, your hands gripping the cold iron rail as you stared out at the view of the Latvian streets and buildings before you. Oh how you wished your sister Athena were here. She knew everything.

“Oh Athena.” You stifled a sob as you stared up at the stars, focusing on the light of your planet as if she could have heard you, a tear cascading down your cheek and dropping to the streets below. “Gods I wish you were here. I really need your help.”

Despite your pleas, you knew she wasn’t there, her existence only an artifact of the past. You were praying to nothing but a memory. It was extremely urgent that you got information on this matter of your form and the words of the prophecy that still threatened and echoed within the depths of your mind. And since you couldn’t obtain such knowledge from another Olympian, you would have to gather it from the old texts. Muttering a few words in Ancient Greek, you waited, searching, until a small white moth came into view, fluttering in your direction. You held out your finger, letting the tiny creature come to rest upon it.

“Hello little one.” You smiled at the moth as you gently stroked it in greeting, bringing it closer to your face so that you could speak to it in your language. “Please send word to my familiar and tell him to gather as much information he can on Titans and the prophecy. And tell him to come find me when he is done. Thank you.” The moth looked at you with understanding behind his tiny black eyes, it’s antennaes twitching before fluttering away into the moon. You sighed, watching it disappear into the night before giving your distant planet one last glance before shutting the doors and going back over to the bed. You laid down under the covers, your hands rested on your stomach as you stared up at the ceiling, dreading the day to come. How could you face Zemo? And however were you going to keep your hands a secret? Surely the three are bound to find out sooner or later? You just prayed that the message you sent would be returned in a short time. You needed to fix this before it would be considered too late. And the sooner you found Karli the better. Your mind was racing with thoughts, but you closed your eyes, desperate to get some rest and forcing those thoughts away. Gods help you from this moment on.

Tag List: @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @thehornyles @awhorewithissues @gambitsqueen @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @Gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @on-my-way-to-erebor @thewinterrbucky @mylifeispainandiloveit @fillechatoyante @padmoonyfeorge @montypythonsholysnail @pollynx @aziraslowlylosestheirshit @roundbrownlover @awesomeowlbook @bookloverfilmoholic @hargreevesd @death-is-beautiful @ilovespideyyy @peakyrogers

[wing-ed-thing]

Cabaret (Might Guy x Reader, Chapter IX)

Synopsis: You can't stand Might Guy. Honestly, how could anyone be so boisterously unaware and sickeningly positive? Your heart sinks as the both of you are teamed up to infiltrate and collect information from the Hidden Sound's gritty nightlife. Maybe losing yourselves in the dark of the underground will help you both come to an understanding.

Word Count: 2,877

Warnings: Implied sexual themes, adult themes, language

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI 

Notes: Short chapter this time, sorry. A lot has been going on, but next chapter is a big juicy one! Happy Birthday @altogetherweathered! You’ve really been here since the beginning and you’re support means so much!

A deep exhale. Yor cleared your mind completely, focusing only on your deep inhales, then exhales. All you could see was black behind your lids. Another breath and your fingers twitched against the firm weight under your palms. The energy washed over you, sparking in your fingers. The powerful numbness reached your wrists, then your elbows.

“Take it slow.” Your brow scrunched as you felt the chakra retreat a little lower before shooting up to your shoulders. A spark cracked painfully under your palms. “Sorry…” The apology came low and softly.

Another exhale. The connection sparked in your chest, shooting straight to your heart. You could feel the energy circulating, running through every fiber of your being. It loaded warmth into your system so real that you could almost feel the heat on your skin. You sent your own messages, shooting out feelings of zen, peace, and calm. Your eyes twitched and you focused harder on maintaining the connection. A twitch in your brow. A hiccup in the circulation. Your brows furrowed, but each crease in your forehead led to more holes, the link slipping out of your control. The chakra probed into each crevice in your mind, seeping in and pulling thoughts and memories with reckless abandon.

Parts of your childhood sailed down the stream of consciousness. Your father. Your old family pet. Ramen on Tuesdays. The waterfall outside of the village. Minato becoming Hokage.

You resurfaced with a gasp. You wiped your sweaty palms on your pants. Guy sat, legs crossed and concerned, in front of you. His palms still turned upwards. The corners of his lips slumped.

“Maybe we should take a break.” You opened your mouth to dispute him. Guy spoke your name with a certain amount of sternness.

Guy looked at the clock. He could hardly believe it. And if you hadn’t been sitting in front of him, he wouldn’t have. Two and a half. Two and a half hours since you had burst through the partition door. Two and a half hours since you marched up to him, hands on your hips. He’d never forget the words you said.

“Okay.” Guy remembered your hands firmly on your hips. “I’m ready. I’m ready to tackle this mission the right way.” He recalled your tight lips. “Would you help me? Please.”

Your huffing brought Guy back to reality. Your lips vibrated as you did so.

“I’ll grab some waters.”

You rose from the couch, shedding your hoodie as you did so. You and Guy had been working HEAVEN for a little over a month now with no promising and accessible leads. You were sure that they were out there, but you certainly weren’t getting lucky as of late. So while you waited, all there was to do was practice. You filled up two glasses. Guy leaned against the back of the couch, sticking an arm out to take his drink which you handed him. You circled around to the other end, taking your seat once again. This had become a nightly routine for the two of you.

“I think you’re getting better,” He remarked.

“Really? ‘Cause it doesn’t feel like it.” You fanned yourself with the TV guide. “I feel like I keep slipping easier and easier.”

“It’s a powerful jutsu and I have deep recesses of strong chakra. I’d be surprised if mastering it was easy.” Guy placed his empty glass on the coffee table. Practicing this jutsu took a lot of chakra out of him too. “But really, you’re improving. It’s stronger, I can tell that you have more control.”

“I’ll need to have all the control I can get if we get into trouble with someone competent.”

“Who? Like Orochimaru?” Guy hummed. You sucked on the cheek. Your head tilted to the side.

“Well we don’t know it’s Orochimaru.” A sip.

“We’re pretty sure, though.” You rolled the glass between your hands, watching as the creases in your hands left prints on the cold surface.

“I dunno, Guy. I just have a feeling about this and my feeling is that this isn’t Orochimaru’s doing.” Guy bit back a small smile. You’ve been using his name as of late.

“All signs seem to be pointing to him.” He told you with a shrug. “But you’re right, we should wait until we have some more evidence.” He shifted cross-legged on the couch cushions. He held his hands out, wrists resting on his knees. “Ready to go again?”

You set your drink down.

“Yeah, sure.”

You mirrored his posture. Closing your eyes, you took a breath. Your hands slipped onto his, surrendering your vulnerability and your mind.

The chakra cracked like static, excited as it flowed from you. The loading occurred quicker this time, though not by much. The frigid heat rose in you, occupying chakra point after chakra point. You felt it well in the center of your forehead as the energy spread to your core of your chest. Guy spoke your name softly, almost in question. Your brow twitched, but the circulation remained uninterrupted. You felt his warmth across your network being kept at bay.

“I know it was a long time ago, but you haven’t heard from that Kabuto, have you?”

Immediately, you faltered. The connection continued, probing into your soul. You tried your best to keep it at bay. You fed through unrelated memories. Lunch at the Academy. Late night workouts. It flowed into Guy, a sense of peace spreading across his skin.

“No.”

The corner of his lips twitched. Something was off, but he couldn’t place it.

***

Working HEAVEN could hardly be considered a task that could be run like a well-oiled machine, but somehow both you and Guy fell into a rhythm that seemed to work. Guy ran a rag over an empty space at the counter of the bar. A new customer quickly took the seat. With a flick of his wrist, a napkin flew in front of the patron, gently floating down onto the hard surface in front of his folded arms. The man looked up, impressed.

“What can I get for ya’?”

Daisuke emerged from the hall to his office, nodding happily at the state of his business. He was absolutely thrilled to say the least, especially with his new hires. Guy handled the bar with such skill, that HEAVEN quickly started to rise as one of the hottest clubs in the Sound. And as he predicted, Daisuke’s new hostess seemed to leave all her clients like they had just awakened from a sweet dream. Business was booming. The club was busier than ever and the hostesses were more exhausted than ever. Together, they worked a sea of men, all telling themselves that the commission would make the hassle of taking on more regulars was worth it. A hired band played upbeat music over the low roar of chatter.

Guy noticed Daisuke’s appearance at the side of the bar, his face lighting up. He gave an exclamation, juggling bottles in his usual show.

“Ah! Daisuke! Care for a drink?” Guy called out jovially, bouncing a bottle of liquor off of his bicep.

“Not at the moment, Genki. I think I’m still a bit tipsy from what you made me earlier!” Daisuke laughed deeply. You watched the interaction out of the corner of your eye, tucked under the arm of a client. Guy didn’t miss a beat, pouring a fancy concoction into four glasses at once.

“Well, let me know, Boss!” He said, letting his Might Guy show for a moment in his signature thumbs-up pose. Daisuke mirrored the gesture.

“As long as you don’t drop any of my product!” And with that joke, he walked off into the club. Your focus returned to your customer, almost done with your session.

You made momentary eye contact with Guy. Slowly, you moved a piece of hair behind your ear. Code. Guy flicked his bangs to the side. He finished the round of drinks in front of him, putting them on a tray for the next hostess before servicing the bar patrons. One part of being a ninja that Guy silently thanked was the ability to multitask quickly and efficiently. He turned out order after order, his mind almost turning off as he did so. Almost. After all, making drinks was hardly his current focus.

Guy studied a man at the edge of the bar with his peripheral vision. He had been there a while and looked to be a high ranking sound ninja. Guy slid him his refill and the stranger gave him thanks. Sensing a break in his work, Guy took a moment to stop.

“All drinks tonight, my good friend?” He mused. The customer hummed. “There are so many beautiful women here tonight, you shouldn’t have to keep me company.” Guy chuckled. Even in his acting, he found it hard to play into his surroundings. Much like you, Guy turned to you to help find ways of his own to circumvent his comfort zones. The man let out a snicker.

“My girl ain’t here tonight.” He took a large gulp of his strong beverage. Guy busied his hands with a monotonous task, but looked up in feigned shock.

“You’ve tried out the new one, haven’t you?”

Guy couldn’t help but cringe on the inside. Despite working this mission for quite some time, he still had trouble adjusting to the language. He nearly gagged. Tried out the new one. Like he spoke about a pair of pants or some other object. But, he would put his reservations aside. He would be damned if he didn’t act like a professional, after all. Guy glanced over at you, partially deliberate and partially to remind himself to find comfort in your coaching.

The patron followed Guy’s gaze. He leaned against the bar as he craned his neck, his glass gripped loosely by the top between his fingers. He clicked his tongue.

“Eh, no. I have not. What’s she like?” Guy lined up a few groups of drinks on a tray. “Aside from drop dead gorgeous of course.”

“Spitfire if I’ve ever met one. Intelligent, feisty-” The ninja scoffed.

“Ah, nah I pass on difficult women.”

“Not difficult.” Guy leaned on the counter. “Sexy, confident. Her name literally means ‘dream’, you know. Trust me, you’ll walk out of here in a daze.” The man looked up from his drink with sceptical amusement.

“Either you’re a really good salesman or she was one hell of a lay.”

“Don’t kiss and tell, Genki.” Your chide cut through the atmosphere.

The attention of the bar fell to you as you sauntered up. One of the patrons yielded his seat to you and you thanked him, dragging one hand down his cheek. The chakra flowed, undetectably, from your fingers. The man’s face turned red. You slid onto the stool which happened to be next to Guy’s target.

“I’d never dream of it, Yume.” Guy chuckled and you gave him a subtle nod. You could take it from here.

Guy returned to his duties at the bar, putting on a show to distract the crowd from your interrogation. One hand on the ninja’s wrist and he wouldn’t suspect a thing. Guy watched your handiwork out of the corner of his eye. You had really grown in your training. Even to his elite senses, your jutsu was near undetectable.

And client after client, it went exactly like that. Guy began to learn what characteristics to look for and you began to extract information quicker and quicker. Granted, most of the information did not turn out to be anything useful. You sorted through the confessions in a mental list. Married. Alcoholic. Gay. Cheater. It had been far too long since you and Guy got a break.

The night creeped up on you. The longer you worked, the less you seemed to acknowledge time. Drink after drink and client after client, the staff of HEAVEN worked into the night. And with just an hour before closing the pack came in as they usually did.

The group of Sound ninja seemed to have grown in size since you had last seen them the day before. They hounded the bar, Guy scrambling to prepare all of their orders. You had remained at your pace on the far end, stalking the group with your eyes in preparation to pull at a weak link. After all, they would be leaving for the back room soon and no time could be spared.

You spied Shou on the other side of the bar and playfully motioned him over.

“Shou!” You greeted grandly with a smile, arms out to embrace him. “When’s the next time you’re taking me away from this place?” Shou fell into your arms, one hand lingering around your waist.

“Soon. Don’t be impatient, now.” He spoke with his usual sternness, but you could detect the faintest playfulness in his voice.

“Hey, lover boy!” Another soldier called from a few stools down. He leaned back, holding out a glass. “Get over here and get your fuckin’ drink.”

Shou laughed, waving off his friend before turning to you for a kiss. Your hand came up between the two of you, obstructing his lips with two of your fingers.

“Go get your drink, baby.”

Guy eyed you, but swiftly turned away.

The hour flew by. As clients left, more and more hostesses came to mingle around the bar, hoping to milk some extra commission money. But the group decided to turn into the back room around closing. The women broke away together, varying levels of sour. In the migration, you spied the same woman who typically came with the group finishing her drink at the end of the bar. As the men left, she threw down a few ryō before exiting HEAVEN like every time before.

Except this time, you were curious, curious enough to follow. Wordlessly you slid down from your stool, making your way to the hall. You stopped right across from the dressing room to glance down towards Daisuke’s office. A muffled uproar came from behind the mahogany door. You pushed a hand into the door of the kitchenette as Yuzuki stormed out of the office, clutching a small piece of paper in her hand.

“This is shit, Daisuke. You know this is shit. I might as well go to HEX if you have the nerve to steal from us like this.”

You could see straight into the small room. Daisuke sat still at his desk. Yuzuki stormed past you.

“Are you okay?” You asked, letting the kitchenette door close as you turned to face her. She seethed, jaw clenched.

“I can’t deal with this right now.” Yuzuki huffed before storming off. You took a breath before resuming your task.

***

The woman stood right outside where you expected her. She buried herself in her jacket, leaning against the side of the building. You carried two disposable cups in your hands, steaming and warm. You approached her and offered her one.

“It’s been getting colder out here.” You observed. The woman looked down at the cup.

“What is it?”

“Green tea,” You answered. “I thought you might like a cup.” Your breath floated visibly in the cold air. She gave a low nod before taking the cup from you with silent thanks.

“That’s very kind of you.” You took your spot next to her, lower back flush against the wall.

“Well, I thought you could use something to help that headache you no doubt have after being in that crowd.” You joked and she gave a light snicker and a smile. You blew on your beverage. You stood together looking out at the stars. That had to be your favorite part of the night. The neon signs just started to turn off around this time, revealing the specks of light above. “I just noticed that you come out here every time the others go back and that perhaps you could use some company.”

“I can’t say that these kinds of places are exactly my favorite.” She admitted before pausing. “No offense.” You waved at her with one hand.

“None taken, I completely understand.” Another pause. The wind blew, whipping your faux hair around and taking a few degrees off of your tea. You heard a scoff.

“I don’t get how you people do it.” The woman shook her head slowly, crumpling up the cup before shooting it to the nearest trash. She missed.

“Do what?”

“Deal with those guys all day.” The woman shoved her hands in her pockets. “I give you serious props. I couldn’t do that.” You looked at her kindly.

“Sometimes you do what you have to do.” You smiled softly, directing your gaze downward. “But… I have restrained myself from multiple punches. Genki can attest to that.” The woman snickered along with you.

“Yeah, me too. But something tells me that you have more self-restraint than I do.” She hummed. “Genki, that’s the-”

“Bartender.” You nodded and she mirrored, an eyebrow quirking.

“He sure is sweet on you.” She mused. You blinked at her blankly, expecting an explanation. She shifted. “Anyone with a brain could see that. But who knows.”

You swirled around the half inch of green tea that remained in your cup.

“Yeah, who knows.”

Notes: What do ya’ll think about the pacing so far? I’m curious because I think it’s too fast. Will someone let me know if it’s too fast? Thanks. 

Thank you to everyone who liked, reblogged, and followed. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

[allycryz]

Duende - Uri & Haurche :3

PG because Haurchefant makes innuendo, set during early Stormblood.

The first draft of this was super easy to get out. The edits were a little harder because Urianger’s voice is very different from mine, but a good challenge all the same!!

‘Tis expected of a Scion to battle as expertly as one might pen a treatise. Urianger schedules two ventures per day to hone his physical talents: a bracing run before dawn and a lengthy solo training session at dusk. For the latter, he takes to the rocky shore along the coast line. The precarious climb to his preferred spot (providing both privacy and space) is part of his regimen.

Urianger picks the times when visibility is low and most residents occupied. Small talk is not his wont, nor is he at ease with those not in his immediate circle. There is something about his unmasked, unhooded face that gives strangers tacit permission to approach.

His position and decorum dictate that he engage somewhat in chatter during his errands. The residents do not press overmuch, for which he is grateful. Still, the task fits him worse than the too-small aldgoat leather gloves Lyse gifted him on his last Nameday. (Except, those he could not put on as easily as he might a polite demeanor. They refused to go past the breadth of his palm.)

There are days when the convenience of sunrise and sunset for sundry reasons, prove incompatible with other needs such as visibility and safety.

The unexpected rain pours down as he wends his weary way up the cliffs. It sluices through his hair, running rivulets over his brow. For the dozenth time, he swipes at his face and squints against the onslaught.

His feet remember where to place, his hands where to grip for balance. These are his cliffs and his winding, narrow path. No one knows it better. Should that memory etched into his muscle fail, a fall here would not be deadly.

‘Twould be painful though, and impact his duties for the next few days. For that latter reason–above all–he takes longer than usual along the rain-slicked terrain. 

There, he thinks as he nears the safety of the plateau. Urianger blows out a soft breath of relief, relaxing muscles he has kept tense during the arduous journey. For this stretch he has always found it best to walk sideways, arms spread for balance. It has never been a treacherous spot, simply steep enough to warrant caution.

Today, treachery comes at last. He takes a step up the incline, shifts to lift the other foot. The slippery grass beneath his boots gives way and both feet shoot out from under him. He has enough presence of mind to throw his gravity forward rather than backwards.

The impact is unpleasant but survivable; naught but his palms and dignity scraped. Dirt and mud bespatter the front of his shorter training robe. The cotton garment ends below his knees, the boots just above. Thus the joints are spared injury besides a dull ache. He chooses an ignominious crawl up to the plateau rather than risk another fall by rising on the sodden incline.

The rain is not so courteous as to clean his garments. It does offer some reprieve as he turns his stinging palms up to the sky and rubs the rainwater against the creases of grime and grass.

Ah, well. Rain is uncommon enough that he should be glad when it comes. Should his comrades ever summon him to battle in such precipitation, he shall be well-prepared. Lord Haurchefant oft speaks of how training in winter climes these five years have better forged him for difficult conflict. (Urianger suspects it is not only snow and ice that stood in the knight’s way.)

He finds himself smiling, thinking of his new colleague. Though their base is near underground, ‘tis not wholly cut off from the outside world. Vents let in sunlight, rain can be heard pouring upon the streets. Like as not, Haurchefant put a kettle on soon as he perceived the change in weather. 

The Waking Sands are enchanted to remain a cool temperature. If the sun does return in full force, they shall not overheat drinking cocoa.

Befouled, bedraggled, and besodden; he returns to the outskirts of Vesper Bay. The twilight and the rain have not put off the residents. A knot of people gathers near the market stalls, the hum of their voices rising just above the thrum of rain upon roof and stone and sea. The citizens hold cloaks and hands over their head as shields, one has a parasol meant for sun and aesthetics. 

‘Tis a lovely pink one with expensive-seeming trim. A shame it is likely ruined.

The reason for their cluster becomes apparent. Lord Haurchefant is the focus upon which they circle, tallest among them save two other residents. His silvered head is bent to them as they harken to his low voice. This eve, he has garbed himself in a long scarlet coat over his usual apparel. ‘Tis the first time he has donned sleeves since his arrival.

 (For all the good it did me to be tempered by winter, his lordship had said. It does make me rather pitiful in a desert. I shall do my best to acclimate to Thanalan.) 

They all gaze upon him with utter rapture. It has ever been so, since his lordship’s residence began in the Waking Sands while Urianger’s comrades and Haurchefant’s love continued on to Gyr Abania. Their adoration is not due solely to his fair countenance or noble title, though both must aid the cause.

There is an...openness in him that beguiles all he meets. Urianger has witnessed the surliest residents and most peevish of vendors open like blossoms to the sun when Haurchefant turns the glory of his attention upon them. Such an unusual power he has seldom witnessed and never from so kind a soul as this knight.

There is no avoiding this throng, even would it not be unconscionably rude to avoid his guest. At least there is a smaller chance of strangers engaging him in conversation. Not with a beacon such as Haurchefant seizing their attention, both intentionally and involuntarily.

“-suppose he will be alright, he knows the land better than I.” He hears Haurchefant saying as he approaches. His noble brow is drawn down, his battle-sculpted arms folded. “But do let me know if you see him. No one expected this rainfall.”

Doth he….speak of me? Urianger wonders. As if attuned to his thoughts, his lordship turns his way. Surprise, then relief, and then rapture all pass across his handsome features.

“Urianger!” He exclaims. “Thank the Fury. I was worried–I know you favor treacherous paths,and with the dark and the rain…”

“I am well,” says Urianger. “Thy concern is much appreciated and noted. ‘Twould have been a perilous journey had I not been close acquainted with yon cliffs.”

Haurchefant steps towards him, gaze sweeping up and down. Lingering on his bare face, throat, and collar. “It seems it was perilous for your clothes. Let’s get you inside and taken care of, yes?”

One of the crowd smiles at Urianger. Mara, he recalls, the tall Hyur woman who hawks fruit.  “Well, we’re glad you’re alright, ser. I was just telling June that I worry when I see you go off in the dark.”

“Ah,” he says, trying to recall which is June. The baker. Yonder woman with the braids who oft gives thee extra tea biscuits. “Tis not my intent to cause worry. I am well versed in the land and how best to scale it.”

“Even knowing that, do be careful.” Mara gives an imperious nod. Others nod as well, their eyes on him and not the handsome knight.

He can only nod again, bearing and smile stiff. He does not recall all their names. It makes him feel the most ill-mannered of scoundrels. He sweeps into a bow towards them, hoping it goes to some measure in repaying their concerns. “I shall endeavor to have a care, my lady. Your solicitous care bringeth warmth into mine heart, ‘tis only right I do well by all gathered.”

She smiles and pats his arm. This seems a signal for all to disperse, more residents bestowing upon him pats and nods. It is a wholly alien experience, and he considers he may be lying at the bottom of the cliff in the midst of a delusion. Surely he is not dear to all these people with whom he barely speaks.

“Come friend,” Haurchefant says. “You need to get out of those wet clothes and have something warm in your belly.”

“Thou art just as sodden,” says Urianger. “Pray also attend to yourself. Thou shouldst not catch sick for mine sake.”

“Ah but I would have done so gladly if I had to save you today.” The knight’s smile is wide again, fair dazzling in its potency. Again, Urianger is astonished any resident would look at him with Haurchefant there. Do they not sense the charm radiating from his very core? “I do thank you, for arriving when you did. There are much better games we might play in the dark than hide and seek.”

Urianger near trips on the steps up to the door. Of course, Haurchefant is there to catch him, strong hands righting his balance and smoothing over his back. 

“I beg thine pardon,” says Urianger. Regretful that he has no mask or hood to hide the heat upon his cheeks. As Lord Haurchefant is cheeky himself to everyone, he is likely used to it. ‘Tis not the first time Urianger has witnessed or received innuendo delivered so warmly from this man. “Mayhap I used more energy than I surmised, during my exertions today.”

“Yes,” Haurchefant nods, opening the door. “All the more reason for you to come relax with me once you have cleaned up. I shall not have you burying yourself in work when you have earned respite.”

“For a little while,” says Urianger. He glances back at the streets, at the residents seeking shelter in houses and under awnings. At the way some of them look at them–at him. Relief and concern and warmth in their gazes. He frowns and cannot lose the change to his mien, even in the warmth and dry of the building.

Haurchefant pauses at the top of the stares, giving his shoulders a roll before beginning his descent. ‘Tis late and his friend is often tense in his upper body by the time supper comes. He will need help working the knots loose again. Perhaps Urianger might put off his tasks even further to repay Haurchefant’s worry and concern.

As to everyone else in Vesper Bay, he is at a loss on how to make recompense.

His friend reaches the door to their sanctum and turns back, looking up at Urianger still upon the landing. “Dear Urianger, what is the matter? That’s a rather pensive expression.”

“...I didst not realise the depth of their regard for mine person. Yon residents and I art not particularly close.” He shakes his head.

“Oh,” says Haurchefant, that entrancing smile returning to his mouth. “Do ask me an easier one next time.”

Facetiousness is not Haurchefant’s way. The ironic reply seems out of character. “Yes, I am aware the reasoning seems difficult to determine-”

“‘Tis not.” Haurchefant’s eyes crinkle with laughter. It does not sting–there is no malice in it. He doubts such a quality resides in the knight. “You are quite charming, even when cloaked. It inspires others to take interest in you.”

For the second time, Urianger says “I beg thine pardon? I am not given to using mine wiles-”

“No, no. We should all be in trouble should you do it apurpose. But you have a natural draw that leads people to want to know you. As you signal that is not what you want, they have kept their distance.”

It is an absurd supposition that Haurchefant says with all the conviction of his noble heart. So much does he seem to believe it; that Urianger wants to also trust it, if only for his friend’s sake. “I am...uncertain of the validity of thy premise. However, thy kindness and belief warms my heart. Wouldst that every man hath such a friend as you, my lord.”

At this, Haurchefant lets out a clear, ringing laugh. Again, there is no mockery in it. The sound is joyful and pleased, as seductive a sound as every part of the man. ‘Tis a wonder such a man as he thinks his draw is mirrored in Urianger.

“So I must endeavor to convince you of it, till you are no longer agreeing to humor me.” Haurchefant opens the door, shivering at the blast of magically cooled air upon his wet person. “Well, I look forward to the process. One could do far worse than spending an evening convincing a beautiful man of his charms.”

To that, Urianger has no answer. Nor does Haurchefant expect one. He winks and enters the Waking Sands, door closing behind him.

It occurs to him and the rapid beating of his heart, there is a reason he perceives Haurchefant as charming and beguiling and the one who everyone should desire. Projection has not been a key failing of his, but he has fallen prey to it before. And presently, it seems.

And Haurchefant is correct in one thing: there are far worse ways they might spend the evening. Perhaps Urianger shall put his work on hold tonight, to see the knight’s endeavor in full.

[asgardianthot]

A funeral chuckle (Sambucky AU) – Part 1

one  /  two  /  three

Summary: After the loss of a family member, Sam Wilson returns to his hometown, where an old crush awaits.

A/N: We keep tagging 'Sam Wilson is a good bro' but do we ever stop and wonder if Sam Wilson NEEDS a good bro? Wonder no more. Also, important note at the end.

Words: 3621

Warnings: grief, angst, closeted gay characters

Sam awaited for good news. Anything. There is something very cliché about sitting on your childhood bed, which every film director ever has had their take on; it is a place to reflect on your life, to question every decision you have made since you moved out, to long for lost memories of a simpler time, to feel small. That was certainly the case. Sam felt small. He used to believe the house wasn't big enough for both his and his father's ego, which was why the latter always occupied the bigger presence, but today, with his father gone, Sam stepped in as old and as successful as that room had ever seen him and still he felt smaller than ever.

Sitting on the bed, he fixed the hems of his jacket while waiting for good news. The tiniest information would do the trick. Even going online and finding out a dog had been rescued and adopted would be enough. Yet when he unlocked his phone, all that he found was grief and lament.

Messages including the phrases "my condolences", "your father was a great man", and "I am sorry for your loss" plagued his direct messages on every social media app. He couldn't get himself to reply to all of them. Most were just formalities, not truly heartfelt, so why should he dignify each and every single one of them with a response? Still, Sam Wilson was too polite not to, at least, stress about it.

Suddenly, a knock on his door made him stand up, and made the echo of distant voices hearable again.

"It's Steve." The man said from the other end of the door, "Can I come in?"

Sam opened the door instead, and welcomed his childhood friend with a tired expression.

"Hey." He made an effort to withstand a grateful grin.

"Hey, bud." The blonde dragged the words for as long as he hugged Sam, "How you holding up?"

"Good." He nodded, "Good."

Of course, they both knew there was an 'all things considered' hidden at the end of that. Steve gave him one last pat on the shoulder before they both stepped inside.

"Listen, take your time." Steve tried to appease him, "I just came to let you know everything’s ready. I think the entire town’s here already.”

Sam nodded again. Steve had showed up like an angel from heaven the second Paul Wilson died. He was Sam's closest friend and the only friend he kept from his hometown. Even though Steve had built a life just a few blocks away from the Wilson's, while Sam moved to Washington DC as soon as he graduated high school, they met as much as their distant living situations allowed them, and remained in touch on, at least, a monthly basis. He was like a son to Sam’s mother, and so naturally, he stepped into the grieving period and saved the day.

"Where's mom?" Sam asked.

"Downstairs. Bossing the caterers." Rogers replied as if they both were expecting that sort of behavior.

Disappointed but not surprised was a perfect way of describing Sam. He exhaled a tired scoff, thinking ‘that sounds like her’, for Darlene Wilson could be more than bossy; especially when it came to the art of culinary. But most importantly, she wanted to take care of things, even when she needed to. She would have cooked everything herself if Steve had allowed it. The latter had done ninety-nine percent of the work while Sam traveled from DC to his hometown, which meant handling the entire funeral, including the service, the catering, and all the energy-draining tasks.

"Thank you. For taking care of everything.” Sam said with honesty, and sounding as if he feared he could never repay his best friend, “I don't think I've thanked you properly."

However, the blonde shook his head, humbly.

"Don't worry about it, pal. That's why you got me.” He placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “All you gotta do is grieve and say hi to everyone. Leave the rest to me."

"Thanks." Sam took a deep breath, "I'm ready. Let's go."

As soon as the pair reached the bottom of the stairs, they noticed the amount of guests, all there to lament the death and celebrate the life of Minister Wilson. By how populated the house was, and how small the actual population of the town, one would think Steve was right when joking about the entire town attending. Hopefully, it didn’t take long to find the woman among the sea of tuxes and black dresses.

"Hi, mama." Sam approached her with a warm hug.

Darlene reciprocated tightly, then stepped back to hold her son’s face on her hands.

"Oh, my sweet boy.” She frowned with pity. “How'd you sleep?”

Unfortunately, she didn’t allow Sam to answer the question, for she was instantly distracted by a waiter carrying a tray of appetizers. Her loving expression quickly turned into one of extreme disapproval, probably judging every choice made by the people Steve had hired.

“No, that can't be right." The woman began.

"Mom." Sam glared, trying to stop her from going frantic.

"It's fine." Rogers backed Sam, using a tone that would hopefully tranquilize Mrs. Wilson.

Yet her eyes followed the waiter with concern, "No, they-"

"How 'bout we let them do their job?” Sam insisted, less lovingly now and more annoyed, “You know, cater? It's what we paid them to do."

"People are gonna think my food is that bad!" she protested.

Sam rolled his eyes, "You're a widow, no one cares about your food."

Steve stepped in as quickly as possible, in an attempt to cover-up his friend’s rudeness. If it hadn’t been for him, Darlene would have probably showed herself offended.

"He meant everyone knows your cooking is amazing.” He tilted his head to the side with a kind smile, “No one judges you for not doing the work yourself."

Eventually, the woman had to agree and stop worrying. She was merely freaking out as her way of grieving in such circumstances, after all, considering how many people expected things from the Minister’s widow. Allowing herself to leave the work to her boys, she placed a hand on her chest and nodded.

"Family's waiting to see you, Samuel." She said before moving to another group of people who wished to talk to her, although her expression remained rather distressed.

Sam did as told, in order to not upset his mother any further. He barely ever went back home. Usually, his parents flew to DC whenever they wanted to meet up, and so, the man would avoid every single person he grew up with –except for Steve and his close family– for a large amount of years, successfully.

He forced himself to receive a few family members’ condolences, plus engaging in small talk about his job, his life in the city and his lack of wife or girlfriend. When the townspeople began approaching him with their devoted speeches about Paul’s work at the local church and their religious beliefs on the dead man’s soul, Samuel had to escape.

He found his friend rather desperately, and placed a hand on his back to get his attention.

"What can I do?" he asked Steve when the latter turned to him.

"I have everything covered, don't worry." The blonde thought he had to calm Sam down.

Yet Sam knew for a fact that Steve had placed at least one person to do each task, almost professionally so. He had made sure to pay for the flowers’ people, gotten one of his friends to supervise them, sent his mom Sarah to check up on Darlene Wilson every ten minutes, etcetera. The service at the Wilson’s house was going according to plan like clockwork, and Sam was very much sure of it.

He just wanted to be busy. He wanted to escape the pitiful looks and the condescending words and the shoulder pats. He needed to get away, have something to focus on.

"No, I know, but what can I do?" he insisted.

Fortunately, Steve got the message. He nodded and thought for a second.

"Maybe help out in the kitchen?"

“Thanks.” Sam mumbled before heading for the kitchen.

Once in there, he saw the place practically deserted. A waiter walked out as soon as Sam stepped a foot inside, carrying a big tray of poured drinks, and left the room for one other person; he had his back to Sam, focused on the running water as he did the dishes, and wore tux pants along with a white dress shirt.

"Need a hand?" Sam offered to the man who was clearly a guest and not a part of the catering service, assuming by his clothing.

When the appellee turned around, it seemed like his chest heaved a painful breath that he didn’t allow himself to take. Sam, on his part, felt like all blood left his head. His heart skipped a beat as he processed the fact that the man in front of him was no other than his childhood crush, James Buchanan Barnes. No matter how obvious it had seemed to Samuel that he would be seeing old classmates and neighbors, he had absolutely blocked the existence of Bucky.

Perhaps because it reminded him too much of a time when he concealed his true identity from everyone; being a boy who’s attracted to boys in a small, conservative and mostly religious town was already hard, but being the minister’s son on top of that had always forced Sam to remain in the closet. That meant keeping all of his feelings for Bucky locked inside, especially around the crush himself. Unfortunately, both being Steve Rogers’ best friend never made it easy.

"Hey.” Bucky smiled minimally as he placed a dripping dish on the drying station, “Steve put me on dishes duty."

Sam nodded and approached him, still preferring to offer his help and stay in the kitchen with him than going back outside to the sea of chaos. So he grabbed a cloth from the top counter and began drying the wet dishes with it in order to make space for more plates and cups.

"James." He greeted the brunette, choosing to ignore the nickname Bucky, for it probably was just something left behind in his childhood, “Haven't seen you since High School."

"Yeah, I guess.” Bucky smiled, still focusing on his task, “So how've you been? I mean... I'm sorry. Sorry for your loss."

The immediate regret and embarrassment coming from Bucky after messing up his condolences and their reunion so royally made Sam smile.

"Thank you." He said in a tone that eased Bucky’s guilt and told him not to worry about it.

Still, he let out an awkward laugh, "I never know what to say in these things." He admitted.

The last sentence made a lot of sense to Samuel, not only because he himself didn’t know what to say about his father’s death –not even what to tell his own self–, but because he remembered that James’ father had died when he was only four years old. In fact, when Sam first met Bucky, the latter acted like he had never even had a dad. So it was only expected that Bucky felt weird about that kind of loss.

"I feel you.” Sam sighed, “All these people that haven't talked to me in years are... offering their help, their phone numbers, a shoulder to cry on. I don't know them, why would they ask me to stay in their house?"

Bucky cracked a chuckle, which was too joyful for the occasion, even coming from him.

“Small town brand.” He mocked the alleged grieving neighbors, “Everyone wants to cook you their best casserole."

Sam raised his eyebrows in agreement before engaging in a proper conversation, "You still live here?"

Although he felt the question sounded mean, like he was judging Bucky, he couldn’t really take it back or it would sound condescending (“I didn’t mean it like that, it’s fine if you still live in this shitty town.”) and that would be even worse.

"Yep. Well, I was in New York, but I came back last year. Moved into an apartment downtown... temporary roommate situation, and now I can't seem to move out.” James replied easily, as if he had prepared his ‘seeing your old crush after a decade’ speech with anticipation, “Where you at, these days?"

"DC. I work at Veteran's Affairs."

Barnes was about to ask more about that, having heard of Sam’s double tours in Afghanistan and desperately wanting to hear about his heroic job there, but was interrupted by Steve’s loud presence.

"I called it.” The blonde said as he approached his two best friends, “This place is turning into a high school reunion."

Both turned to face him, and suddenly their gut instinct of when they had to pretend not to be attracted to each other came back. They both checked to see if they were standing too close, or gazing into each other’s eyes, and put on an uninterested face for Rogers. Apparently, the body doesn’t forget.

"Who else came?" Sam asked out of impulse, for he didn’t truly care.

"Half of our senior class." Steve replied with a tone of disbelief and disappointment.

Bucky frowned, "What do they think this is, a casual gathering?"

Steve shook his head, the disgust towards insensitive townsfolk hitting too close to home, for the Wilsons had always been his family, and he despised whoever took the opportunity of Paul’s death to make an appearance. Samuel, however, wasn’t surprised, and had prepared himself for something like that; that didn’t mean he didn’t deeply appreciate Bucky standing up for the Wilson family. In fact, it brought a familiar flutter to Sam’s stomach.

"Anyway, Wanda's looking for you, Bucky." Steve informed the man.

As he heard the nickname, Sam felt bad for having called him James. It probably came off as distant, when he just wanted to be respectful and mature.

The man in question turned off the faucet and dried his hands on his black tux pants, before giving Sam a smile on his way out. The name Wanda echoed inside Sam’s brain; he wondered if she was his girlfriend, or maybe even his wife. As far as he could remember, Bucky never showed any romantic nor sexual interest towards women at all, but he also took in consideration that too many years had passed. He couldn’t pretend to actually know the man just because of what they shared during their teenage years. He could be an entirely different person for that matter.

As Bucky made his way to the front door, he saw Wanda standing outside through the side window. He opened up, making her smile exaggeratedly.

"I'm sorry, I locked myself out again." She cringed, hoping not to upset Bucky.

"You really need to stop losing your keys.” He said without much amusement.

"I know, I’m the worst roommate ever, I’m lucky you’re too lazy to move out.” The young woman recited the words she knew by heart, since Bucky enjoyed repeating them over and over again, “The keys?”

He sighed, reached for his back pocket, and handed the item to her, reluctantly.

“What time are you coming home?” Wanda asked while she safe-kept them inside her purse.

Bucky turned back to glance at the sea of guests.

“I don’t know, just leave them under the doormat.” He faced her again.

Wanda felt a little sad for his roommate, because he was helping out at some funeral, and that couldn’t be the most fun activity, but it also meant he probably wasn’t a stranger there. so, she switched to a kinder tone.

“Well, I’m ordering Chinese for two, you can reheat it whenever you get back. “ She offered with a small grin, earning a grateful nod from the man, “Can I ask who died?”

"Sam's dad.” He replied, only to raise the question ‘who’s Sam’ in Wanda’s face,  “Just a high school classmate. Steve's best friend."

"I thought you were Steve's best friend.” She narrowed her eyes, but quickly opened them wide when she came to an impactful realization, “Oh my God, is it Sam, the guy you made out with?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, "Yeah, a billion years ago, just drop it."

"Okay.” She obliged with an amused frown, “Just don’t hit on a grieving man.”

“Bye, Wanda.” He shut the door on her face.

-

At the church, the attending townsfolk filled up every space inside. A large amount of black dresses and tuxes could be seen at the back of the venue, standing because they ran out of seats. As the priest recited his planned words on the wonderful man Paul Wilson had been, people nodded in agreement, with respect and enthusiasm. Some held worn tissues to their faces, drying practically unnoticeable tears in an attempt to never be seen not crying. Darlene Wilson allowed herself to tear up every other minute, but mostly remained calm and satisfied with the service.

But the pain in Sam’s chest was unbearable. He knew his mother wanted him to weep. She wanted him to be a good, sensitive man like his father taught him. But Sam always felt like he had to toughen up in front of Paul, as a way of overcompensating for his romantic attraction. It was a maneuver that made absolutely no sense, but it was wired onto his brain, therefore, he was having a hard time opening up his heart.

“Paul was, first and foremost, a father.” The priest continued with his praising words, “He was a loving parent to Samuel, and he was a father to us all.”

That was when Sam’s bottled up feelings came to a halt. His breathing became more hectic and his chest burned hotter.

“He loved each and every single one of us, and cared for our problems more than he cared for himself. Whether it be religious guidance, life advice or a supportive shoulder to cry on, we could always count on Paul. He didn’t judge, he didn’t punish, but instead he was a listener.”

Perhaps it was plain paranoia, but Samuel swore he could feel all hundreds of eyes burning a hole on the back of his head. He had ceased to even stare at the priest, and resigned to look at a random spot on the floor, fidgeting with his fingers and working on his breathing.

“He always made sure we knew he loved us unconditionally, and I believe he left us a very important legacy. Paul might be gone, but we must honor his life and what he stood for: we must do the best we can, each day, to be more caring. More supportive, more empathic, and maybe the hardest thing to do, we must be honest with out loved ones. That is what Paul Wilson believed in… compassion and honesty can heal a heart. And a healed heart can heal the world.”

Sam couldn’t hold himself in place. His body was running at four hundred percent. He stood up from his seat at the front and walked out, trying not to do a scene. He opened up the gates minimally, escaped through the creak and as soon as he shut them back, leaving the funeral behind, he allowed himself to freak out.

He had become overwhelmed, more than he prepared for, and didn’t feel like he could go back inside. He didn’t want to be at his father’s funeral, he realized. He wasn’t ready to accept his grief. As he paced around in circles, he took big breaths and slowly came down from his hectic state.

“Are you okay?” he heard.

Sam hadn’t even noticed that Bucky had walked outside as well. He took a deep breath and sat at the bottom of the stairs. He let his head rest on his palms and nodded into them to not worry Bucky.

“You don’t look okay.” Bucky said with a hint of pity, before sitting down next to the dead man’s son, “But… that’s how you’re supposed to look, I guess. Not okay.”

Sam raised his gaze and directed it to Bucky’s dressing shoes.

“I’m supposed to look like I’m mourning, then why does it feel like I’m not?”

After a long second of silence, Bucky shrugged, “Maybe you’re not ready to mourn yet.”

The statement settled extremely well on Sam’s head. It made sense. He didn’t want to let go just yet. He took another profound and painful breath before relaxing his muscles.

“I just want to get the hell away from this shit-show.” Sam spoke with very aggressive words, but his voice was soft and small.

“Don’t you have to get back?” Bucky asked, anticipating the sadness he would feel for Sam as soon as he walked back inside.

Wilson shut his eyes and ran a hand down his face.

“No one expects me to be there, that’s just something my mama tells me to make me feel special.”

Bucky felt a sparkle of hope and joy at the sound of that, for even the smallest hint of a joke, or self-deprecating humor, meant so much when it peaked through pain.

He couldn’t help but smile big, “In that case, mama’s boy, you wanna get away from this?”

For the first time during that entire interaction, Samuel locked eyes with the brunette. He wanted to scream ‘yes’ immediately, but he felt like, as the deceased person’s son, he shouldn’t show himself too excited to run away.

“I guess I could eat.” He nodded with a half-smile.

“I know just the right place.” Bucky gloated as he stood up and offered Sam a hand, “Hope you like hot coco.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Important: This is an AU. In no way, shape or form would I want to erase the original background story given to Sam Wilson in the comics; he grew up in a Harlem neighborhood that was filled with poverty and violence. His father (Minister Paul Wilson) was killed while trying to stop a gang fight in order to defend young boys. I feel like it is an incredibly important aspect of the character, especially considering the narrative given to the Falcon and in ‘All New Captain America’. However, this fanfic doesn’t follow the comics’ chronology nor the superhero aspects of Marvel, and instead retrieves part of the character’s stories and personalities. It is simply a romantic AU, and I set it in a small town that is rather suburban because it fit the plot better. Always respect Sam Wilson’s story xx

[elsaclack]

they love to tell you stay inside the lines, but something’s better on the other side

HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY ZAINAB @taxicabsandcupcakes THIS IS MY WEEK-LATE CONTRIBUTION TO @taxicabsandbirthdays2019 AND I’M S O R R Y THAT I’M LATE BUT I’M SO SO SO SO GLAD I GET TO BE A PART OF THE CELEBRATION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND THANK U TO @birdhapley FOR ORGANIZING THIS AND BEING SO AMAZINGLY WONDERFUL AND UNDERSTANDING GOD BLESS THANK U!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Amy Santiago detests pep rallies.

It’s probably among the most boring, bookworm-esque things about her - which is really saying something, considering she spends most Friday nights catching up on recorded episodes of Wheel of Fortune when not competing in her highly competitive literature-based trivia league at O’Hannigan’s - but really, truly, she hates them. Hates the uncomfortable chill of the large gym (to accommodate for the 500 students packed into the stands, or so Principal Holt says), the crackling speaker blown out from years of student emcees screaming into the microphones, hates the way the marching band’s sound glances off the wall opposite where they sit in the stands, echoing back harshly to create an off-beat dissonance guaranteed to have a headache unfurling in her temples in a matter of seconds.

But most of all - more than anything - she hates the annual teacher relay race.

“It’s tradition, Ms. Santiago,” Principal Holt said last week. “I can no more get rid of it than I can change the school colors. Just pray they don’t pick you this year.”

And hope she does - tinged with a sour edge of bitterness she’s certain shines through to the surface by a face scrunched in distaste - as the emcee rifles one-handed through four envelopes protruding from his jacket pocket. A chill races down her spine, imparted through the frigid painted cinder blocks against her back, and to her right another teacher’s shoulder presses against hers.

“I can’t wait for this kid to graduate,” Rosa mutters, and for a moment, Amy’s discomfort fades to the backburner. “He’s in my fourth period class. Never stops singing that stupid Christmas song. Donde está Santa Claus. I swear to god, I’m gonna kill him before December.”

Amy snorts, her eyes never leaving the center of the gymnasium. “At least it’s not la cucaracha anymore,” she offers, and from the corner of her eye she sees Rosa’s head fall back in time with a quiet, strangled groan, memories of previous students shouting the chorus likely playing on a loop. “It could always be worse.”

“Yeah, you could be teaching a bunch of nerdy AP Calculus kids,” Jake mutters from Rosa’s other side.

He’s already grinning when Amy’s gaze darts to his face - and his grin grows all the wider as her face folds into a glare. “More than ninety percent of my kids are in your AP classes too, Peralta,” she reminds him. “You wanna maybe not insult them all in one fell swoop?”

“Oh, Santiago, stop it. You know it turns me on when you talk numbers to me. It’s unfair in the work environment.”

Amy lets out a quiet, disgusted noise that is lost to the sudden explosion of screaming and cheering from the stands. She focuses in on the emcee, desperately trying to catch up on what she just missed while simultaneously ignoring Rosa snickering and Jake staring at the side of her face.

She catches pieces, fragments of phrases filtered through long stretches of garbled noise, but she manages to gather enough to understand that it’s time to announce which four unlucky souls will be forced to compete in the relay race.

She’s been teaching here six years and she hasn’t been chosen once, but that doesn’t stop her from bowing her head, closing her eyes, and whispering not me over and over again.

The freshmen nominate Charles, the home ec teacher she’s always seeing fawning over Jake in the break room, and though his face is tinged pink with embarrassment he’s still smiling good-naturedly and waving to the corner of the gym in which the freshmen class is currently tucked away. Many of the upperclassmen are clapping and cheering, too - probably previous students of his - but the applause dies down relatively quickly.

“Does it feel weird in here to you?” Rosa mutters in her ear. “Like...more intense than usual?”

Amy’s gaze darts out across the sea of faces spread out on either side of her. It’s odd - many of them seem to be looking in their direction. “A little,” she admits. “I think it’s just homecoming, y’know? Kids get weird on dance days.”

“They’re staring at you, though,” Rosa mutters.

She can’t seem to catch any of her students’ eyes. “Maybe they’re staring at you?”

Rosa’s mouth falls open, but before her retort can leave her lips she’s interrupted by the emcee’s booming voice. “And the sophomore class nominated...Ms. Diaz!”

“Told you!” Amy shouts as Rosa pushes off the wall and trudges toward the center of the gym. Rosa shoots her a look over her shoulder - one that says I’d be flipping you off if we weren’t surrounded by a thousand children right now - and Amy smiles back as sweetly as she can, making a show of clapping enthusiastically.

“She’s gonna destroy Charles,” Jake sighs, sliding into the space Rosa previously occupied. He’s staring out into the gym when Amy glances at him, eyes glazed. “Pour guy won’t ever see it coming.”

“I dunno,” Amy says thoughtfully, watching the way Charles and Rosa slowly circle each other while the sophomore class goes wild. “Rosa’s tough, but she’s not really into these things. I could see her giving it, like, twenty percent effort. Charles may have a chance.”

“What did I tell you about talking numbers to me while we’re at work?” Amy laughs and rolls her eyes, and from her peripheral vision she can see Jake watching her, a grin on his face. “There are minors here, Amy. So many minors.”

Despite her best effort to absorb whatever unintelligible nonsense the emcee is shouting into the microphone now, Amy finds herself fighting the urge to turn her body to face Jake head-on. She can already picture his reaction perfectly - the way he’d rear back a little bit, eyes darting over her face, the tip of his tongue wetting the corner of his mouth in a nervous tick - and it’s so easy to get a rise out of him -

The students are screaming again and Ms. Bishkin is squeezing her arm to her left and Jake is laughing, guffawing, sliding his hand beneath her shoulder and prying her off the wall before shoving her toward the center of the gym. The juniors - no, the entire student body - every single person in the gym is losing their minds, screaming at near-deafening volumes, and it occurs to her as she toddles out to the center of the gymnasium floor that they must have called her name.

“Told you,” Rosa mocks, voice high and sing-song, as Amy numbly takes her place beside her.

“Isn’t this great?” Charles nearly squeals.

“Did they say my name?” Amy asks.

Charles’ face pinches slightly in concern, but Rosa snorts and shakes her head. The emcee is louder here, standing two feet away - it’s like being in a fishbowl, hundreds of eyes following her every move, sound coming from every direction, and Amy has to remind herself how to breathe. The gym seems smaller from the center - the walls much closer together - and she’s certain if she could just fold in on herself a little bit more the walls might stop slowly drawing together like they have been since Jake shoved her toward the middle -

“Something weird is going on,” Rosa mutters.

Amy blinks, forcing herself to focus on the faces in the crowd and not on the panicked haze beginning to cloud her vision. The energy is frenetic, borderline manic; she catches several students pointing in her direction, shouting to their friends. “I hate this,” Amy declares.

“And for our senior class, the nominee is...Mr. Peralta!”

“Oh, I really hate this!” Amy shouts to Rosa over the din of noise overtaking the gymnasium. If the reaction to her nomination was wild, the reaction to Jake’s is a fully fledged riot. Even he seems off-put as he makes his way to the center of the gym, his face twisted in concern as students leap from their seats and scream.

“Anybody else getting some real Lord of the Flies vibes from these freaks today?” Jake shouts the moment he’s in earshot.

“They’re like gremlins,” Rosa marvels, eyes wide as they flit over the students before her. “I wish I had one of my knives.”

“It’s a pep rally relay race,” Amy mutters. “How bad could it be?”

Her answer comes twenty minutes later, hidden behind a makeshift dressing screen made of thin white paper, covered from head to toe in single-ply toilet paper that clings to the sticky apple pie filling residue leftover from the first round of the relay race. Charles lost that round - apparently his refined palate and general sense of delicacy surrounding food made him a terrible pie-eating competition participant. Rosa lost round two - it’s sort of a relief to know that her personal space bubble is impenetrable by all people and not just Amy, though the looks of disappointment on the students’ faces when they realized she would not be allowing them to mummify her made Amy’s stomach churn with sympathy.

Her answer comes in the form of one Jake Peralta, the only other competitor still standing, currently picking shriveled bits of toilet paper stuck in the blueberry filling smeared through his five-o’clock shadow. He seems disgruntled until he meets her eyes; his expression turns cocky at once, grin somehow suave and goofy at the same time. “Can’t wait to wipe the floor with your face on this race, Santiago,” he half-shouts.

The kids are still cheering, the band is playing, all in an effort to cover up the noise of the other teachers setting up an obstacle course on the other side of the screen - but Amy manages to keep a cool, unaffected smile on her face. “You’re gonna have to catch me to do that, Peralta, and we both know I’m faster than you.”

“On what planet? I beat you to the break room every single time Gina emails saying there are donuts down there!”

“That’s because the only people you’re racing for those donuts are Hitchcock and Scully! And you lose every time, so I’m definitely gonna win!”

She doesn’t really notice the fact that they’ve stepped closer to each other until Jake laughs; the smell of blueberries is overwhelming as a gust of breath washes over her face. She blinks, and he’s grinning down at her, brows contorted as he visibly grasps for a comeback.

His eyes dart over her face, catching down near her chin, before jumping back to hold her gaze again - and every ounce of humor twinkling there moments before has evaporated. “You, uh,” he swallows, and from her peripheral she sees his hand twitch into view. “You got a little apple goop on your chin.”

“Oh,” she breathes.

She makes no move to wipe it away.

Her answer comes in the form of the dressing screen suddenly falling away, of the noise around them reaching the loudest volume yet, of Jake quickly swiping the pad of his thumb across her chin before taking off across the gym with a shout of gleeful laughter.

(It’s bad. It’s really bad.)

“Shit, shit, shit,” she mutters through clenched teeth as she takes off after him.

He’s got her by a head across the hoola-hoop tire run and in army crawling under the line of desks, but her moment of redemption comes at the far end of the gym - she spots the football leaning against the third mascot head’s eye, so she’s already halfway through vaulting over the low walls of copy paper boxes by the time Jake manages to find his football. Her heart is in her throat and there’s silly string in her eye from the football team, all screaming and yelling from where they’re lining the edges of the hoola hoop tire run back to the finish line, but none of it matters - she beats Jake across the finish line with ten seconds to spare.

And the crowd goes wild.

It’s hard not to let the hysteria unfolding in the bleachers around her get to her, in all honesty. She manages to tamp down the urge to spike the ball into the floor, opting instead for a smug grin cast in Jake’s direction as he jogs across the finish line. He looks like he’s been dragged through pep-rally hell; even under layers of silly string and blueberry pie filling and half-disintegrated toilet paper, she can make out his good-natured smile of defeat.

She never expected to apply the word cute to such a clearly disheveled mess of a human being, but it’s the only word her brain can conjure as they exaggeratedly shake hands. The emcee is screaming and rushes over to grab her wrist, and as he raises it over their heads the kids go wild - and to her left, Jake steps back, his football tucked beneath to join in on the applause.

So cute.

She’s ushered into a locker room branching off from the gym, silly string and apple pie filling and god-only-knows what else obscuring her vision to the point that she’s not even sure if it’s the boy’s or the girl’s. One of the administrators, Mrs. Brackens, leads her to the sink, chattering away about how wonderful all the homecoming festivities are, and somewhere off behind her Amy hears the din of the gym grow intimately loud again as the locker room door swings open.

“- almost had her again on the vaulting, it’s too bad you slipped on that silly string coming back to the hoola hoops - just wait, Jake, you’ll win next year for sure -”

“I need silly string out of my hair and fresh clothes on my body in the next five minutes or I’m gonna lose my mind, dude,” Jake interrupts. “D’you mind? My bag’s under my desk in my room.”

“You brought a change of clothes?” Amy whines, dipping her head down toward the sink while scrubbing the pads of her fingers against her right eye.

He shoots her an incredulous look as Charles scampers off. “Holt emailed faculty last week and told everyone to bring an extra set just in case,” he reminds her. “Did - did you forget?”

“I didn’t forget,” she snaps as she whirls around to face him, “I just - I didn’t think I’d be nominated, is all, so I -”

“That’s alright, dear, we’ve got plenty of extra clothes in the office - they’re technically for the school pride fundraiser at the game tonight, but I’m sure Principal Holt won’t mind.”

“Thank you -”

“Amy Santiago forgot to do something Principal Holt told her to do,” he says with a slow shake of his head as Mrs. Brackens hurries toward exit. “For shame.”

“Knock it off, Peralta,” she mutters, returning her attention to her reflection.

“How are you acting like a sore loser when you won?”

“Because I have silly string in my eye.”

“Well, so do I, but I’m not being a jerk about it -”

“You don’t wear contacts.”

“Oh, god,” he’s at her side in an instant, genuine concern radiating from his frame as he watches her scrub through the mirror. “Do you have an extra pair?”

“Not here,” she mumbles. “I used my emergency pair on Monday after construction dust got in my eyes in the parking lot. I just - I have my, uh, glasses.”

“I can grab them. Or, uh, Charles can. Where are they?”

“Y’know what, I think I’d rather be blind for the rest of the day -”

He stays quiet long enough that she glances up at him in the mirror; he’s staring at her, eyes narrowed in confusion. “You’re blind as a bat without contacts, Ames,” he reminds her. “You wouldn’t be able to teach your last period.”

“That’s my smallest class - they’ll be fine, they can self-teach, I’ll just - I’ll just go home early -”

“What do they look like?”

She hangs her head in defeat, her sigh fogging the frigid porcelain beneath her forearms. “They’re pink. Plastic. Top left drawer in the black case, he can’t miss ‘em.”

“He’s on it,” Jake declares after a beat. “Five minutes. You okay ‘til then?”

“Just don’t let me wander out into traffic and we’re good,” she murmurs as she pulls the offending contact out of her eye. The relief is instantaneous - as is the effect. Resigned to her fate, she pulls the other contact out and carefully steps toward the blackish blur she thinks might be the trashcan at the end of the sink.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Jake asks, hand raised. It’s all unfocused, blurry shapes - though she’s positive he’s grinning in that self-satisfied way of his.

“I dunno, how many am I holding up?” she asks, flashing her middle finger.

“Rude!” he gasps. “Rude and unprofessional!”

She laughs, casts backward for the edge of the sink with one hand, and points toward the benches to her right. “Will you help me? Just - make sure I don’t, like, step on anything or trip over anything?”

He chuckles as he takes her hand, leading her forward slowly. She tries to focus on the uncomfortable humidity pressing against her skin and not on the pleasant warmth of Jake’s hand - on the loud mechanical whir of an outdated air conditioning vent, not the calluses on his fingertips from reading too many books and playing guitar too often.

She tries - she fails.

“Are you okay?” he asks after a moment of silent shuffling.

“I’m fine, why?”

“You’re just - you’re squeezing my hand like you’re afraid you’re gonna float away -”

She loosens her grip immediately, inwardly cursing herself. “I don’t like not being able to see, and I really don’t like having to rely on other people to help me see.” she mutters.

A beat passes, and then he’s squeezing her hand. “It’s okay to be a little vulnerable sometimes, y’know,” he murmurs - voice soft and understanding. “Especially around people who, uh - who care. About you. As a person.”

It’s hard to read his facial expression - hard to read anything at all, in fact - but the awkward tension rolling off of him in waves is undeniable. “You care about me?” she huffs.

She’s not exactly sure what she’s expecting - a biting, sarcastic remark seems customary from him. “Of course I do,” he says softly, tinged at the furthest edges with indignation, as if her questioning whether he cares about her is a personal offense. “You’re my favorite person here, Amy. Why else do you think I mess with you as much as I do?”

“The same reason you make your kids read Great Expectations - you enjoy watching people suffer?”

“Dickens was paid by the word and took full advantage, it’s important for kids to learn how to identify a load of shit when they see it -” she laughs, and his grip on her hand grows tighter at the sound. “But that’s a whole different conversation. I mess with you because I - I mean - you’re just, you’re cute when you’re annoyed with me. That’s all.”

“You think I’m cute?”

She can’t keep the disbelief out of her voice - and this time, there’s no mistaking the exasperation on his face. “Oh, my god, you are so dumb for a genius. Yes, you’re cute, Amy. You’re smart and you’re funny and you’re the best teacher - the best person I know. Obviously.”

“Obvious- there is no obviously about this!” she snaps just as her knee grazes against the frigid edge of a metal bench. “You’ve been making fun of me for years - since, like, my third day here -”

“You just get so wound up so easily, it’s kind of a cheap shot at this point -”

“God,” she says, “you just act like so many of these sixteen-year-olds who don’t know how to talk to the girl they like so they pull her pigtails instead. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a little schoolboy crush on me.”

She means it as a joke, but the moment the words leave her lips, she senses the change. She’d have to be truly blind not to - blind to the tension expanding his chest beneath his shirt, to the hard set of his jaw line, to the twitch in his biceps as his fingers momentarily squeeze tighter. She’d very much like to smack her hand against her own forehead in that moment - if it wasn’t still held fast in Jake’s.

“I’m sorry,” she tries, the edges of her voice disintegrating. “I was just - I didn’t mean to -”

“What if I do?”

“What?”

“What if I do?” Jake repeats - impossibly steady, impossibly still. “What if I do have a little schoolboy crush on you?”

She’s never wished for her stupid out-of-fashion glasses more than anything in this moment - to see whatever intense affection is currently smoldering in his eyes - but it’s probably good that she can’t, for if the image before her was any more sharp, any more in focus, she’s certain she’d crumble to dust pinned beneath it. “Jake?”

“I like you, Amy. I’ve been - I mean, I don’t know. I - I wanted to tell you - to ask you out, y’know, romantic-stylez, a long time ago, but you were with Teddy back then and then I was with Sophia - but, that’s, that’s not - I like you. I really like you. And I’ve been wanting to ask you out again, I just - I didn’t think I’d want to do it after all of this -”

“All of - all of what?”

“Y’know - the pep rally. Charles and Rosa setting us up.”

“What?”

“Nevermind, nevermind, just - I’m sorry, I don’t mean to spring this on you or to put you in an awkward position or anything, ‘cause you said before that you just - you don’t date teachers - but I just, I thought you should know. I’d want to know. Sorry.”

His grip around her hand is rigid, though not to the point of cutting off circulation - like he wants nothing more than to drop her hand, but also to squeeze it as tightly as he dares. She swallows, trying to tamp down a solid thought, and Jake releases a nervous chuckle through his nose. “Jake -”

“This was bad timing,” he interrupts, the muscles in his fingers rippling against her palm. “I shouldn’t have - I’m really sorry, please just ignore everything I just said -”

“No, but - no, I don’t - I don’t wanna ignore it,” she drops her gaze to their hands - or, to the blurry shape amassed before her where their hands should be - and squeezes gently. “I - I like you too, Jake. Really, I do. And - yeah, this is - kind of weird timing. Like, I wish I wasn’t covered in apple pie and silly string while we have this conversation. Or, y’know, I wish I could actually see your face,” he laughs and slowly edges closer. “But I’m - I do, too. I mean I like you, too, not I like me too, although I’m working on the whole self-esteem thing so like I do like myself, but that’s a separate -”

She’s interrupted by warm lips slotting over hers, buzzing with laughter, by hands pressing in on her lower back to draw her closer, and his hair is as soft and thick as she always imagined it would be - perfect to rake her fingers through were it not for the gobs of half-dried silly string that catch and pull between her knuckles. The taste of blueberries is nearly overpowering, but there’s something else beneath it - something sweet in a more subtle way, something she already knows is entirely unique to Jake. He seems to be pouring every ounce of himself into this kiss, every part of his body moving, bending, pulling, touching, like every last molecule is completely enraptured, and the little noise of contentment coming from his throat at each tug of his hair sends a thrill all the way down to the very base of her soul -

The locker room door bangs open from the far end of the locker room and Amy leaps back on instinct - just for the bench to catch her behind her knees, sending her careening backwards into the lockers. She lets out a yelp on instinct, and it’s cut short by Jake’s hands closing over her forearms to yank her upright before her head can make contact with the lockers.

This is how Charles finds them as he rounds the corner - clinging to each other’s arms, Amy’s nose mere centimeters from Jake’s chest. “Oh my god!” he squeals. “Please, please tell me I’m interrupting something!”

“Just blind-as-a-bat Amy tripping over a bench,” Jake says smoothly, gently squeezing her forearms one last time before dropping his grip.

“Please tell me you found my glasses?” Amy asks, entirely rooted to the spot save for the turn of her head back toward Charles.

He hands her the glasses and a second later the world is in sharp focus once again - where there is distinct disappointment in Charles’ expression, there is a carefully-concealed grin on Jake’s. “What d’you think, Mama Odie?” he asks, nudging her with his elbow.

“Who?”

“The little blind voodoo lady who lives in the bayou. Y’know, from The Princess and the Frog?”

“Oh, god,” she breathes, eyes falling closed as she reaches to press her fingertips against her temples, “I can’t stand you.”

“I ran into Mrs. Brackens on my way back, and she gave me the extra clothes for you, Amy,” Charles says as Jake snickers, gesturing to Jake’s gym bag. “My hands were a little full, so I stuck ‘em in here.”

“Thanks, Charles.”

“Also, I talked Steve into covering your last period so you have time to actually shower before the game tonight.”

“Really? Oh, wow, thank you so much, that’s so nice! I’ll have time to actually go home and shower before I have to be up here again.”

“You’re welcome! I gotta go, though, I’ve got a class waiting on me - I’ll see you guys at the game?”

“Definitely.”

Neither one of them speak until they hear the locker room door swing open and slowly shut again. “You’re telling me that little ferret set this whole thing up? How is that even possible?”

“He’s been obsessed with us since you started teaching here six years ago and he’s only gotten more obsessed since I - accidentally - well, drunkenly, really, told him that I liked you. He’s been legitimately stalker-level obsessed, Amy. It’s been a nightmare.”

“I’m just - I mean, I can see how he would throw the first round and maybe convince Rosa to throw the second -”

“No, he literally orchestrated this entire thing. It’s been going on for weeks now, and I bet if I had some time I could get enough evidence to prove it.”

“You’re saying he’s a criminal mastermind-level genius and somehow got all four of us nominated for this stupid relay race specifically so that he and Rosa could throw their rounds to get the two of us alone in the locker room?”

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“Well, it’s Charles, y’know? The guy makes blueberry muffins -”

“Amy, think about the logistics, here. You were nominated by an overwhelming majority by the junior class.”

He’s staring at her, eyes wide and brows raised, willing her to get his point. “Okay,” she says slowly, “and?”

“Ames, you don’t teach any junior-level classes. You’re an AP Calculus teacher. You teach seniors exclusively.”

Understanding crashes over her like a mighty, towering wave. “Oh, my god,” she breathes, “that freak set this whole thing up!”

“That’s why all the kids were losing their shit earlier, they’re in on it, too,” Jake mutters. “God, I’m gonna kill him -”

“No, wait, I - I think I have a better idea.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Let’s just - not tell him.”

He furrows his brow. “Not tell him what?”

“That we’re - that we - that his plan worked.” Heat pricks at the tips of her ears but Jake’s expression has softened considerably at the reminder. “Let’s just - keep it to ourselves, you know? Pretend like we’re still just friends. Plus, that gives us a chance to figure this - us out. In private. Without Charles or Rosa or any of the kids or really anyone prying into our business. Is that okay?”

“Yeah. Yes, of course it is. Look, I…” he trails off, before inching closer and catching both of her hands in his. “I feel like I could scream from the roof, I’m so happy about this,” he squeezes her hands for emphasis, “but I agree with you. We deserve a chance to figure us out without Charles mouth-breathing down our necks.” Amy laughs, and Jake rocks forward to the balls of his feet, grinning broadly. “God, I love your laugh. Anyways, um, yeah. Let’s punish Charles and not ever tell him that his plan worked. Also, what are you doing after the game tonight?”

She thinks briefly of her half-formed plans to sit at home with a glass of merlot and her recording of season 3 of Downton Abbey, before shaking her head. “Nothing.” she says with a smile.

“Wrong, we’re hanging out. Is that okay?”

“Yes.” They both laugh, excitement and nerves singing through the air like electricity. “C’mon, we don’t have a lot of time before the game.”

“Where are we going? I thought you were going home to shower?”

“I am.” She tugs his hand, leading him down the aisle, trying not to giggle at the gears visibly working in his head. “You’re coming with me.”

He visibly brightens as her words sink in. “Oh! Oh, yeah, that’s - yes, let’s do that, let’s go right now, let’s go really fast -”

He practically rams into her in his haste, his lips colliding with hers even as they both laugh - though utterly thrilling, there’s a certain level of familiarity to it all, like this is something they’ve been doing all this time and she’s only just remembering.

“Y’know,” she murmurs as they make their way through the faculty parking lot - not quite hand-in-hand, but certainly too close to be purely platonic, “I think - I think just not telling Charles isn’t quite enough of a punishment.”

“Yeah? You got something else in mind?”

“I’ve got a few ideas…”

She flashes him a sultry grin, watching him try to piece it together, before he lets out a groan. He picks up the pace at once, grabbing her hand and pulling her along toward her car in earnest. “We gotta go, we gotta punish him, we gotta punish him so hard -”

(His punishment lasts nearly an entire school year - by which time the vast majority of the rest of the staff already knows. It ends nearly as spectacularly as it begins, with another pep rally relay race, with another neck-and-neck final race, with the exchange of the championship belt at a long, sound kiss right there in the center of the rioting student body.

Charles faints.

“It was totally worth it,” he assures them woozily from the cot in the nurse’s office later. “I’m furious that you didn’t tell me sooner but I’ve already forgiven you and I’m gonna need a second-by-second history from the literal moment you first kissed ‘til today.”

“Should’ve held out a little longer,” Jake sighs.

“Title of your sex tape!” Amy shouts.)

[bittykimmy13]

Queen of the Sea (GT): Chapter 9

((All posted chapters))

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

KAIA

Land was an odd thing. Kaia couldn’t help but stare all around while she munched away at the unfamiliar fruits and vegetables she picked from the edge of Andrea’s plate. The ocean was in sight, and it stretched out infinitely, but so did the dry land in the other direction. She had never even set foot on an island, let alone an area of land that rolled on for thousands of miles. “Looking for an escape route?” Andrea asked through a full mouth. Kaia snapped her gaze up and shook her head. “I wouldn’t know where to begin running,” she pointed out. Setting her utensils aside, Andrea eyed her curiously, seeming to have settled down after her snappish insistence. “How can you not have been on land before? Don’t tell me you were born on that pirate ship?” “I wasn’t,” Kaia said, shifting uneasily on the table. “But I’ve told you before. I only know the sea.”

“Then how did you get to living aboard the Cutlass?” “I…” There was no escaping the question this time. A half answer was better than none, and perhaps it would be enough to satisfy the Huntress. “I… reached the anchor and was pulled up along with it.” When Andrea continued staring with narrowed eyes and unspoken questions, Kaia sighed and fiddled with the hem of her new dress. “I was cursed to this form, alright? I was a creature of the sea once. I betrayed my kind, and I was cursed into vulnerability and cast far from my home. I never asked to live aboard a pirate ship. I only wanted to survive.” Andrea cocked her head and stared hard, as if she was a druid like Clive, trying to read her mind. Perhaps it had something to do with being a falcon, the manner in which she appraised Kaia like potential prey. After a few tense moments, Andrea grabbed a wooden tankard of wine and took a gulp. “That’s quite a story.” Kaia swallowed hard as silence hung in the air. “Will it be enough to satisfy your queen?” “What?” “Don’t pretend. I heard Queen Ailith say right at the start that she wanted you to get answers out of me. If this is an interrogation, then I must say, it’s much tamer than I imagined it would be.” A smirk tugged at Andrea’s lips, and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “The queen may be curious about where you came from, but I don’t see the point of it. I’ll tell you something. Us aboard the Clemency, we don’t go blabbing about our pasts. There’s no need. Clearly, you’re not much of a threat. That fish hook might do a number on someone’s finger, but if you were capable of doing worse, you would have done it by now. All the queen wants is the treasure. If you say that you can secure it for us, then by every sea god, you better follow through. And that’s all there is to it.” Kaia stared at her in amazement. Callous as the Huntress was, she didn’t want to inflict suffering on innocent people. And clearly Kaia fit into that category for her. The nereids around them and the grateful face of their village elder came to mind. More than wanting to spare innocents, Andrea wanted to help them. “I thought you said I shouldn’t get used to your kindness,” Kaia said coyly, raising her eyebrows. “This isn’t kindness,” Andrea scoffed. “It’s indifference.” The comment might’ve hurt if it had any sincerity behind it. “What is she?” a young voice suddenly chirped. A boy scrambled onto the bench on the other side of the table. He planted his elbows on the edge, watching Kaia with awe. Kaia jumped to her feet and shuffled back hurriedly. The villagers had given Andrea space while they all ate, sitting in their families and groups. But it seemed some had finished their meals, and besides the boy, a couple more children were idling nearby, shyer than him. “I… I--” Kaia stammered. “She’s my friend,” Andrea announced casually. “She was a terrifying creature of the sea once, but I tamed her. Now she’s small enough for me to carry around.” Terrifying creature of the sea. Kaia had to bite back a wry laugh. Andrea had no clue how right she was. “Really?” the boy asked, his eyes lighting up. “How did you tame her?” “That’s a secret,” Andrea said with a shrug. “Can’t go sharing secrets about taming sea monsters, or all of you little ones will be out trying to do it yourself. But I will tell you how we found her.” The other children were coming closer, gathering around the table to hear the tale. “She was way out in the sea. The pirates that destroyed the port had her under their control--making her do terrible things so they could claim more riches as their own. We sank the ship and spared her. So now she’s with us--don’t you dare think about grabbing!” Kaia leaped back and whirled, spotting one of the girls had a little hand outstretched toward her. The girl yelped and shrank back, pouting. “Why not?” “If you go doing things to her she doesn’t want, she’ll turn back into a terrifying sea creature, of course!” Andrea put her arm down in front of Kaia, blocking her from the children. Her tone was light, but the serious guardedness buried beneath seemed to roll off in waves. A voice came from the fire pit. “Children, come along! Don’t bother the Huntress. Not after what she’s done for us.” “They’re no bother,” Andrea called. “As long as they don’t go and wake the beast.” She jabbed at Kaia’s side gingerly, making her give a startled laugh and wonder just how strong the nereid wine was. “Come with us!” The first boy grabbed Andrea’s hand and tugged her. “Bring your scary friend!” Andrea scooped Kaia up and carried her toward the fire pit, having the slightest sway to her normally-confident gait. Kaia tried not to be frightened, being taken toward a higher concentration of land folk while her protector was a touch inebriated. But she had a feeling the grateful nereids would heed the Huntress. “I should really go,” Andrea said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Stay just a bit longer,” one of the young nereid women pleaded. “Sit with us. It’s tradition to share music before the sun sinks under the sea.” With a little sigh, Andrea found a seat by the fire pit. “I’m not much of a singer.” “Fret not,” the village elder said. “Many are content to sit back and listen.” “I’ll be taking that option.” She lifted Kaia up to her shoulder. The gesture took Kaia by surprise. She wavered for a moment, the carefully stepped onto Andrea’s shoulder. It was strange, not being confined by cupped hands or fingers, but even if she had more mobility, she was still stranded on Andrea’s person. She sat down nonetheless, her mind occupied with a far more pressing matter. Her gaze traveled around the fire pit. A few nereids were staring at her, but that wasn’t her concern. It was the fact that some of the villagers had simple musical instruments. And the fact that the elder had said they were about to sing. Kaia curled her fingers tightly into the hem of her dress, holding her breath. The music started softly at first--strings were plucked, and then voices began to chime in. It was beautiful. She did not know the language, but it sounded like a variation of the nereid phrases some of the mercenaries used aboard the Clemency. Squeezing her eyes shut, Kaia tried not to listen, but the music was creeping into her soul, begging for her to open her mouth, to take over the melody. She started off by humming, keeping it under her breath and praying that Andrea wouldn’t hear. But as the music hit a crescendo, Kaia could hold it in no longer. Her lips formed the words, and she sang along in a low voice. Her heart ached and soared all at once. It had been ages since delicate notes had danced in her throbbing heart and poured from her lips. The enchantment was almost broken when Andrea turned her head to her shoulder in surprise. “That… that can’t be you singing, can it?” Andrea looked thoroughly shocked for once. “Your--your voice, it’s…” When Kaia clamped her mouth shut, eyes wide, Andrea slid a hand up and nudged her legs. “Come on, keep going! Why are you hiding it?” Kaia faltered, unable to resist obeying. She drew in a deep breath and crafted the notes with care. Several villagers around the fire pit paused in their own singing to look over at her with curious interest. Most of them even stopped playing their instruments, but it made no difference. The melody’s soul was etched into Kaia’s mind, unstoppable. The nereid words meant nothing to her, but she knew in her heart that the song lauded the sunset--a sky afire with pinks, reds, and oranges… the way the sinking sun cast its hues upon the sea below. The song came to a close. The villagers began to murmur. A few of them even applauded. Kaia breathed shortly, exhilarated by what she had done. “What the hell was that?” Andrea asked, sounding breathless herself as she scooped Kaia from her shoulder. “I didn’t know you could sing!” “It’s… it’s nothing. I had to occupy myself somehow while I was on my own.” Her cheeks were flushed. She kept her gaze down, but she could feel Andrea’s eyes burning into her with fierce curiosity. “How did you know that song?” Andrea asked slowly “I… I…” “It’s a common song of the nereids,” one of the nearby men said cheerily. “Our kind has been singing it for generations from every shore and island.” Andrea nodded tentatively, looking back at Kaia. “Makes sense, I suppose. You said yourself you’re of the sea.” But she didn’t look convinced. There was something at work in her mind--perhaps too clouded by alcohol to focus. Kaia took the excuse, praying it would be enough. “Yes… yes, that’s right.” Before long, the instruments began striking up another tune. Once again, Kaia felt a stirring in her chest. She wished for nothing more than to be away from this place. But she wished for nothing more than to never leave. Andrea held her in her cupped hands, gentler than she ever had been, gazing down with wonder while Kaia sang. Gradually, the shy, apologetic tone in Kaia’s voice began to fade. Andrea didn’t seem disturbed. If anything, she looked completely enamored with the notes pouring from Kaia’s lips. This song spoke of love. Of distance. Of reunions. More villagers began to gather, but Kaia wasn’t the least bit frightened. In fact, she felt more powerful than she had in years. Since the curse, to be exact. With Andrea’s eyes on her, she felt braver than ever before. “And what is going on here?” Everything stopped. Andrea jolted so hard that Kaia nearly tumbled from her hands as she whirled around. Queen Ailith stood outside the fire pit, her arms crossed and her coat waving in the breeze. She was flanked by a few mercenaries, whose eyes were roving the village curiously. “My queen,” Andrea said. Her voice was respectful, but Kaia could hear the slightest razor edge to it. “These villagers found it in their pitiful hearts to repay me with a meal. I apologize for my absence going noticed.” The queen narrowed her eyes viciously--not at Andrea, but at Kaia. “That voice. It’s positively enchanting. Don’t tell me you’re foolish enough to let a voice like that go to waste, my Huntress?” Kaia’s heart dropped to her feet. She didn’t quite know what the queen meant, but Andrea seemed to. “She only just started singing,” Andrea argued. “I didn’t know about her voice until now. Really, it’s not that special.” Ailith didn’t seem to be listening. “You should have brought her to town the moment she opened her mouth,” she chastised. “A voice like that… from a creature so unique… people will surely pay to hear her.” Andrea’s fingers tightened on Kaia. “What’s the point? We’ve bled this town dry as payment for sinking the Cutlass. We don’t need even more--” “What in the seas are you saying?” Ailith fired back, shaking her head. “Bring her. Now. Come along. Come on.” For a moment, Kaia was certain that Andrea would continue arguing. But, cupping Kaia closer, she followed. The whole walk back to town, Kaia was too shocked to say a word. That changed when she noticed more and more townspeople. “Andrea,” Kaia hissed. “Andrea!” She shoved urgently at the Huntress’ fingers as the group entered a square near the docks. She tried to keep her voice low enough that Ailith wouldn’t hear it. Thankfully, Andrea glanced down questioningly. Kaia swallowed hard. “Please. Don’t make me do this. I-I don’t want--” “Gather ‘round, everyone!” the queen declared. “Your revenge isn’t the only thing we found aboard the Cutlass. We rescued this sweet little prisoner from the pirates as well. We would have never found her had you not sent us off to sink those ruffians. Our beautiful Kaia has the most enchanting voice I’ve heard on the sea, and I’m sure she’s grateful enough to all of you to grace you with a song.” All at once, it was not Andrea’s hand cupping Kaia. The queen swept her up around the middle. The world spun for a moment, giving Kaia a brief view of the curious human faces approaching at Ailith’s beckon. The next instant, there was solid ground beneath Kaia’s feet. She wavered for a moment, blinking hard and breathing shallowly. The queen had set her atop a barrel that put her at waist level with the towering land folk. She shuffled back, clutching her hands close to herself. Her eyes flew around, desperately searching until they landed on Andrea, who stood just behind Ailith’s shoulder. Their eyes met, and Kaia mouthed a plea. Andrea’s lips parted. For a sure second, Kaia felt a swell of hope in her chest. Then those green falcon eyes averted cowardly, and the stony expression of the Huntress returned. She pursed her lips and crossed her arms indifferently. “Sing,” Ailith said in a low, dangerous voice, leaning down when Kaia did nothing but tremble on the spot. “Sing like you did for those lowly villagers, or you can be sure your remaining time aboard the Clemency will not be pleasant.” With so many eyes on her and no other choice, Kaia suppressed a sob and opened her mouth. Instead of a cry, a song came out.

Kaia kept her head down as Andrea carried her out of the square, through the port, and onto the ship. Tears still clung to her eyes, refusing to fall, but refusing to leave as well. She clenched her jaw and stopped herself from rubbing at them, knowing that would make it obvious how badly she wanted to cry. Andrea stopped outside of the forecastle and heaved a slow sigh. Out of the corner of her eye, Kaia saw her look around to make sure no one was within earshot. Kaia had to swallow a scoff. The Huntress looking out for her reputation, as always. “You did good,” Andrea said quietly. “If you hadn’t done as you were told, things would have been worse. A lot worse.” “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Kaia said softly. She lifted her head slowly to look Andrea full in the face. “I’m nothing but a performing doll now. And you didn’t do a thing to stop it from happening.” She expected those green eyes to narrow. Instead, Andrea’s gaze became flighty. She couldn’t seem to look Kaia straight on. “You can’t begin to understand the amount of respect the queen demands. Whether I like it or not, this is her ship, and she is my queen. I owe her everything. And even when I don’t like what she’s doing, I need to do what she says.” “Then make up your mind!” Kaia snapped. “What do you mean by that?” Steeling herself, Kaia stood on Andrea’s palm. It was her attempt to feel bigger, to feel like she wasn’t some toy in the Huntress’ hands. But even when she stood straight as an arrow, she was consumed by Andrea’s shadow. “You need to decide,” Kaia said, her voice unwavering. “What am I to you?” A prisoner? A novelty? A friend?” Andrea closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “You’re asking a dangerous question there.” “I’m in danger no matter what I do! So decide. Are you trying to help me and Devian? Or are you going to slink to the queen’s side at every snap of her fingers? Because if you’re going to keep going back and forth, you may as well just leave me be!” “Leave you be?” “Just leave me alone! Stop toying with me. Stop treating me kindly, only to turn around and allow the queen to put me on display like I’m some exotic creature!” “You stupid little thing!” Andrea’s shoulders were bunched with tension as she leaned down closer, filling Kaia’s vision with her face. “I’m doing my best to keep you from harm--don’t you--” She stopped short, lips pinched in a scowl. Rather than go on defending herself, she shifted Kaia to one hand and slid open the forecastle door. Without looking at Kaia even once, Andrea opened the bird cage and deposited her inside. Kaia didn’t fight, didn’t argue. She merely stood in the center, arms crossed tightly. “Give me your hook and line,” Andrea said in a detached voice. Kaia flinched. “What?” “You heard me.” “Why?” “Because,” Andrea said, finally lifting her gaze and narrowing her eyes with all the sharpness of a predator. “You’re angry. And I don’t trust you to not do something stupid--like leave the cage. So give me your tools. Now. Before I take them myself.” Shuddering in disbelief, Kaia reached into the pocket of her dress. She tossed her tools next to the cage door and turned away. There was a scraping sound as Andrea retrieved the hook and line. The cage door clanged shut, locked, and Andrea’s footsteps retreated. The forecastle was sealed. Kaia looked to the other side of the room where Devian was. He sat there quietly, eyes open and locked on the cage. “You won’t believe what they made me do,” Kaia said in a soft voice. “Being out there was… was nice at first. Andrea took me to a village. She had helped them, you see--” “Sounds pleasant,” Devian said coldly. “Did you have a good time while I sat in here? Did you worry at all that maybe someone else might come along and torture me again for information that you have and refuse to tell me?” Kaia stared at him, unable to believe her ears. “How could you say such a thing? You have no idea what I went through to get to you this morning!” He gave a harsh laugh. “What you went through? Listen to yourself!” He flexed his fingers, wincing. “I’d rather not have your help any further, if that’s alright with you. From now on, I’m not keeping your secrets. I’d very much like to make it out of this alive, with or without you.” Her shoulders slumped. Devian didn’t speak another word, settling onto his thin mattress and turning his back to her. Pacing over to the side of her cage, Kaia sank down. That was when her tears finally decided to fall.

[ahopkins1965]

Toggle navigation

Search

Browse

The Bible Toggle Dropdown

Search The Bible

Find it!

5 Powerful Lessons from Psalm 139 about God's Wonderfulness 

Bible / Bible Study / Topical Studies

Share Tweet Save

Meg Bucher

Monday, November 9, 2020

Psalm 139 is a psalm of prayer, meant to be sung in praise at worship services. When we seek to learn, when we look for help or healing, when we express gratitude or anxiety, and when we celebrate blessings … we pray. Prayer is conversation with God, layered with all of these intricate levels which contribute to our relationship with God our Father. The NIV Study Bible shares, “Nowhere (outside of Job) does one find expressed such profound awareness of how awesome it is to ask God to examine not only one’s life but also one’s soul.” Life within the love of Christ further amplifies what the psalmist poured from his heart. We have been created by God, purposefully. He knows us, intimately better than we know ourselves! He is mighty to save and always good. He is all-knowing and everywhere. Because of who He is, we are always loved and never alone.

Photo credit: ©GettyImages/m-gucci

Let's Read the Psalm Together

Psalm 139

For the Director of music. Of David. A psalm.

You have searched me, LORD, and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you, LORD, know it completely. You hem me in behind and before, and you lay your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.

Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me and the light will become night around me,” even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.

How precious to me are your thoughts, God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand-when I awake, I am still with you. If only you, God, would slay the wicked! Away from me, you who are bloodthirsty! They speak of you with evil intent; your adversaries misuse your name. Do I not hate those who hate you, LORD, and abhor those who are in rebellion against you? I have nothing but hatred for them; I count them my enemies.

Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.

What Is the Purpose of Psalm 139?

Psalm 139 reflects David’s prayerful meditation of God’s omnipresence and omniscience, and the effect those characteristics of God have on the human heart. Omnipresence means God is everywhere, simultaneously. Omniscience means that God is all-knowing, His knowledge is not limited. Knowing God creates gratitude and praise for who He is and what He does for us. We were made to glorify God. Knowledge of God directly affects our reactions, especially in times of hardship, injustice, and pain.

David’s heartfelt journey with God, through the good, bad, challenging, and unbelievable, remains alive and relatable throughout Psalm 139. “It sings the omniscience and omnipresence of God, inferring from these the overflow of the powers of wickedness,” Charles H. Spurgeon’s Treasury of David explains, “since he who sees and hears the abominable deeds and words of the rebellions will surely deal with them according to his justice.” Who God is, allows us to understand who and Whose, we are. Life within the love of Christ Jesus, Immanuel (God with us), changes our hearts forever and continually until we arrive home in heaven. The journey of each human heart is unique, purposed, and intimately known by the One True God.

Here Are 5 Lessons from Psalm 139 to Strengthen Your Heart:

Lesson 1 — We Are Intimately Known

“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.” - Psalm 139:13

Before we were known to our mothers, God was forming every intricate detail and fabric of who we are. We often default to a critical view of ourselves and others. Psalm 139 helps us to see ourselves and others through God’s perspective. Color, ethnicity, disability …every trait and characteristic were crafted by our purposeful God. We are crafted personally and purposefully, to bring glory to God. Nothing about us is accidental. God doesn’t simply allow us to be a certain way or carry a certain trait - every cell of our being is intentional. When I became a mother, I experienced love on another level. Yet, I only carried my babies into this world. God gave them life and cares for them infinitely more. We are all loved by God this way.

“God has perfect knowledge of us,” Matthew Henry wrote, “and all our thoughts and actions are open before him.” We cannot control the thoughts popping into our minds all day long, every day. But we do have some say over what happens to them once they arrive. Scripture advises to take our thoughts captive. Some of the rogue thoughts that enter our minds are absolutely crazy! God sees every one of them. He knows our words before we let them exit our mouths. He knows what we will do. He’s numbered our days. We are intimately known by God, not just outwardly, but inwardly. When the heart is mentioned in Scripture, it often refers to the seat of our souls, and the place from which we make decisions and harbor our beliefs. God is there. He is not surprised by our physical or mental struggles!

Being intimately known by our sovereign God means we are not hidden, nor should we feel compelled or convinced by guilt or shame to hide from Him in any way. The sacrifice Jesus made on the cross negated the shame which compelled Adam and Eve to hide from God in the garden. Though the curse of sin we live under compels us to do the same—run and hide when we sin—God made a way for us, through Jesus, to bring our sin to His feet and confess and repent of it. God’s forgiveness, His mercies, and the grace available to us through Christ Jesus, are new each day.

Photo credit: ©GettyImages/krisanapongdetraphiphat

Lesson 2 — We Are Purposefully Made

“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” - Psalm 139:14

We were made with purpose, to bring glory to God. Each talent, gift, and occupation have a place in the workforce of the Kingdom of God. Who we are is meant to bring reverence to God. Not a fear to be afraid of, but a respectful, reverence for God. When people look at the lives of those who follow Christ, they should witness the blood He shed dripping from our daily lives. According to Biblestudytools.com, wonderfully means “to be distinct, marked out, be separated, be distinguished.” We aren’t made wonderful in the eyes of world, but from the heart of God, to bring glory to His name. We have each been intentionally set apart, different from the world. “In the midst of daily life, Christians do well to remind themselves of the Good Shepherd’s knowledge and provision,” wrote Jason Helopoulos for Ligonier, “most of the doubts, anxieties, and fears that occupy the Christian soul can be attributed to a lack of trust in Christ as the Good Shepherd.”

Even though David penned this psalm before Jesus walked the earth, everything in Scripture points to God’s greatest expression of love for us in the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ Jesus. Living in the New Covenant, we can read this psalm knowing Jesus has defeated death and is seated at the right hand of the Father. Those who follow Christ will be welcomed into heaven for eternity upon death on this earth. God moves through our earthly lives to spread the gospel. His desire is not to leave behind even one!

Lesson 3 — God Is in Control

“Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” - Psalm 139:16

There is infinitely more happening in the world and our lives than we can plausibly see. But God’s view is limitless, transcending time and space. He has numbered our days, and nothing can change or alter His good plan for our lives. His will trumps what we want. 

It’s hard to comprehend God is in control of a world spinning off its rails. So much injustice, unfairness, tragedy and heartbreak surround everyday circumstances world-wide. Even devout Christ-followers gaze up to wonder where God is during tumultuous seasons. “God’s sovereign control is complete, not partial,” John Piper explains on desiringGod, “Whether it’s more or less direct or more or less indirect, more or less by active intrusion or more or less by tactical permission- however it is, God controls it, and the control is complete and pervasive. Nothing in the universe is random without divine design and purpose.”

Lesson 4 — We Are Never Alone

“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?” - Psalm 139:7

One of the biggest tricks and deceits of our enemy is to isolate and convince us we are alone. Especially in today’s society, as the world endures a global pandemic, isolation has become a reality we experience for long periods of time. Even when we are out in society, masks and plastic barriers isolate us from each other. Quarantine puts us in our rooms alone for half a month’s time! But even when the physical presence of other people is absent from our lives, we are never alone. God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are always and forever with us. God is impossible to escape from. And He is mighty to save. David knew these qualities of God well, as he was chased down by a crazed King Saul and exiled to hide in a cave!

God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit encompass the One True, Triune God. God is everywhere, all at once. The Zondervan Illustrated Bible Dictionary explains, “Not a part but the whole of God is present in every place. This is true of all three members of the Trinity. They are so closely related that where one is the other can be said to be also.” Jesus Christ sits at the right hand of the Father in heaven, interceding for us. Through His sacrifice on the cross, the Holy Spirit dwells in every Christ-follower.

Photo credit: ©Getty Images/m-gucci

Lesson 5 — Judgment Belongs to God Alone

“If only you, God, would slay the wicked! Away from me, you who are bloodthirsty!” - Psalm 139:15

Judgment belongs to God alone. Much of the Psalms teach us to love our enemies and pray to God on their behalf. What does David mean, then, when he wrote verses 15-22? David’s pen was divinely inspired by the Holy Spirit of God. God’s Word is Truth, and in its entirety points to Christ Jesus. Sensibly, these verses are followed by: “Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” (Psalm 139:24) When we pray this verse, God faithfully answers! We are to pray for our enemies and the enemies of God and beseeching, He searches our souls as well. He knows our enemies, and ourselves, better than we do.

“Paul read the imprecatory Psalms as the words of Christ, spoken prophetically by David… The implication, then, is that David spoke in these Psalms as God’s inspired anointed king, prefiguring the coming King and Messiah, who has the right to pronounce final judgment on his enemies and will do so, as the whole Bible teaches,” explains John Piper for desiringGod. He continues, “This is not personal vindictiveness. It is a prophetic execution of what will happen at the last day when God casts all his enemies into the lake of fire (Revelation 20:15).”

Psalm 139 is a personal prayer and song of praise to God. Though Author and Creator of the entire universe, and each of us, God is personally in touch with every single one of our lives! He cares deeply and compassionately for us, not only as a whole but individually. The NIV Study Bible relays, “This final Davidic collection contains the Psalter’s two most magnificent expositions of the greatness and goodness of God, one of them (Ps 139) focusing on his relationship with an individual…” (emphasis added). Because of Jesus Christ’s sacrifice on the cross and resurrection from the dead, we are able to come freely to God through Christ. In prayer, praise, and everyday life, He is our constant companion. Jesus calls us friends. What a God we serve! A God who saves! We are known, loved, and never alone.

A Prayer after Reading Psalm 139

Father,

Our Lord, Yahweh! Savior, Jesus! Spirit, Advocate! One True Triune God. Glory be to You for all You are and all You have made. From the creation surrounding us to each hair on our heads, Your intentionality is unmatched. Your care and love for us is like nothing else. Thank You, Jesus, for leaving heaven to defeat death on the cross. You sit at the right hand of God and will again return to right all wrongs. Holy Spirit, You are our Advocate and Comforter. Praise and glory and honor to the God who formed us and rescued us. Though the world is hard and dark at times, You can only be light. You can only be good. It’s who You are, and we are Yours. May we remember these truths David divinely penned in Psalm 139. Cover our lives with them like a blanket of comfort on a cold, dark night. You are our strength, God. In You, and You alone, we find peace, love, joy, forgiveness, and mercy. May our lives bring glory to Your name. Bless our enemies and search our hearts. 

In Jesus’ name, we pray,

Amen.

Sources:

Biblestudytools.com, ‘Matthew Henry Commentary on Psalm 139’

DesiringGod.org, ‘What God Things About You,’ ‘Is God Sovereign Over Human Disability?’ ‘He Loves You Even More Than I Do,’ ‘Do I Not Hate Those Who Hate You, O Lord?’ ‘Lord, Search My Heart’

Ligonier.org, ‘He Knows Us’

NIV Study Bible, Copyright 1985, 1995, 2002, 2008, 2011, by Zondervan.

Photo credit: J Waye Covington/Unsplash

Meg writes about everyday life within the love of Christ as an author, freelance writer, and blogger at Sunny&80. Her first book, “Friends with Everyone,”  is available on amazon.com. She earned a Marketing/PR degree from Ashland University but stepped out of the business world to stay at home and raise her two daughters. Besides writing, she leads a Bible Study for Women and serves as a Youth Ministry leader in her community. She lives in Northern Ohio with her husband, Jim, and two daughters.

Popular Articles

5 Powerful Lessons from Psalm 139 about God's Wonderfulness 

Meg Bucher

How Many Heavens Are There?

Clarence L. Haynes Jr.

Why We All Need to Remember "Where the Spirit of the Lord Is, There Is Freedom"

Pamela Palmer

Gomer: An Unfaithful Woman with a Powerful Message

Ashley Hooker

The Power of Calling God the "King of Glory"

Heather Adams

4 Battle Cry Scriptures to Memorize in Seasons of Depression

Melissa Fuller

Featured Verse Topics

Healing Bible Verses

Worry and Anxiety Bible Verses

Prayer Bible Verses

Bible Verses for Overcoming Grief

Comforting Bible Verses

Bible Verses About Protection

God's Promises - Verses in the Bible

Bible Verses For Faith in Hard Times

Encouraging Bible Verses

Hope Bible Verses

Friendship Bible Verses

Forgiveness Bible Verses

Strength Bible Verses

Love Bible Verses

Inspirational Bible Verses

About Online Bible Sitemap Link to Us Advertise with Us Feedback

Proud member of Salem Media Group.

Copyright © 2020, Bible Study Tools. All rights reserved. Article Images Copyright © 2020 Getty Images unless otherwise indicated.

California - Do Not Sell My Personal Information  California - CCPA Notice