#HEY. ON THE BRIGHT SIDE. ONE OF MY FAVORITE MARK WINTERS MOMENTS HAPPENS AT THE BEGINNING OF THE NEXT EPISODE. ITS SO FUCKING SILLY.

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

MAC OHHH MY FUCKING GOD. ONE OF THE EPISODES OF A SHOW EVER HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BE NORMAL AFTER THIS???? HOW???? how long is he going to be FUCKING DEAD FOR!!!! the ashe & mark argument that i felt deep within my soul & miserable on behalf of both parties about them!!! dakotaisms!!! the fucking like. genre conflict of their sillygoofy teen titans shenanigans with a real world where there r men with guns who will simply kill you!! THEYRE WEEKENDING AT BERNIES WILLIAM WISPS PURPLE MORPH SUIT COVERED CORPSE. kicking down your door with a loud bang & then just standing there wild eyed kind of shaking and trembling like a chihuahua

DUUUUDE DUDE DUDE DUDE HEAH. FUCK. s1e19 definitely one of my favorites of all time. i listened to that one during the back half of my shift this afternoon and got to the ashe/mark argument just as i was starting pm checks.... standing in the cramped laundry room in the basement washing my filter socks like

i think about them so much dude. AND THEYRE BOTH RIGHT. WHICH MAKES IT HURT MORE. LIKE. BOTH THEIR SIDES ARE SO REAL. i cannot wait for u to learn more about them pleaseeeee i need 2 talk winters family analysis with you when you get to . certain parts. season 2 is gonna fucking wreck u i know it.

BUT. THEY BALANCE IT OUT WITH THE SILLIES SO VERY FUCKING WELL. GOD. good fucking show dude. good fucking show !!!!!! williams ghost throwing ice cubes at mark while his fucking. rotting corpse sits in the bathtub!!! what thefuck man

[henqtic]

𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴

paring: draco malfoy x black!fem!reader

word count: 1.0k

summary: neck kisses, he loved them because you did.

masterlist. // taglist form. // request works. // picture creds.

—————————

draco malfoy loved neck kisses ever since he learned how much y/n l/n did, both of you running through the halls, pulling at the others arm if they weren’t catching up— or at least he was, you nearly getting whiplash from it and your bonnet being mere seconds away from falling off of your head before he could pull you into the designated storage closet, lips eagerly connecting to your plump ones.

you smiled into it, hands running through his already tasseled hair illuminated by the bits of moonlight pouring into the short spaced room by the vents.

your head turned at the sound of someone’s footsteps, scared that you’d get caught out of bed with him for the fourth time this week. it didn’t matter much though, each time being by snape and each time draco using his prefect powers to get you both out of it, a harsh look of judgement being ensured. draco wrote it off as jealousy, that snape probably hadn’t been kissed by a girl in the fifty years he was alive— you weren’t even sure if he was that old.

that being said, your shift of attention didn’t stop him, head simply dipping down to search for your sweet spot.

“don’t you think we should stop soon? you know, i can never find the right shade of concealer at the stores and i’d rather not go out looking like something decided to attack me,” you said through shaky breaths, no longer worried about the sounds you heard minutes ago but about how you were going to cover up the marks that you knew were on you.

he quickly drew back, taking a moment to admire the slightly darker spots littered across your neck, his thumb running over them and the fact that he was the one to made them sinking in.

“i could buy you all the makeup in the world,” he smirked, statement not being far from the truth and eyes trailed down to see yours doing the same, rolling and letting out an all too dramatic sigh before responding—

“if you insist draco.”

“i do.”

he loved them even more when he learned how much you loved to be woken up to them. when everything else was quiet in the manor, house elves freed because you argued that cleaning and doing things around your own home couldn’t be as difficult as he made it out to be— even though it was massive.

and although the winter mornings would be so chilling, there was something else you sought after more than warmth and that was the way his lips would instinctively find their way to your neck like a personal alarm clock. whether it be out of tiredness as he drifted back into sleep almost ten seconds after or when he thought it was time for you to finally wake up after admiring your sleeping form for a few minutes, you loved it.

his arms would be wrapped around you from the back, legs intertwined with each other like they had been every night before you went to sleep and his head would be snuggled into your neck, breathing the familiar scent of shea butter that never seemed to fade away.

“well that’s one way to wake someone up,” you joked in an airy tone, enjoying the little nips of affection as you turned your head slightly to find him in a new position, one arm being folded, offering him support to look down at you.

“it’s a way to wake up my wife,” he corrected, both of you bursting into fits of giggles at the new title.

“can you believe it? we’re actually married. y/n malfoy, has a bit of a ring to it doesn’t it?”

he hummed in agreement, reaching down to grab your left hand, diamond ring being in it’s respected place as his pale hands nearly swallowed yours before pinning it above your head, leaning down to kiss your lips once more, just as he had been for hours before, no complaint coming from you.  

draco found that the neck kisses he’d give you was his favorite thing to do when he realized how much happiness the little gesture brought to you through the years. while he was upstairs in bed, you were watching the two five year olds running across the kitchen, hallways, living room before the cycle would repeat. it was no surprise they were chasing each other, they could never get along ever since they were small babies barely being the size of their fathers forearm.

they were a perfect mixture of you two, both having skin tones mere tones lighter than their mother while still somehow donning the curly tufts of bright blond hair that the malfoys were known for. you’d actually bet on it— that there was no way your kids would ever be born with such a light hair color while he argued that his genes were too strong. and you laughed it off, blaming it on his inflated ego but when you lost with the first, you lost with the second, your twins being the best things that had happened to your life.

“hey don’t hit your brother with that!”

“but mum—”

“don’t but mum be cass, now put the play broom away,” you scolded, the little girl letting out a dramatic groan before throwing the kid quidditch broom she had got for her birthday on the couch and starting her chase again.  

you suddenly felt two limbs wrap around your torso, relaxing into his touch as he gently swayed both of you side to side, his head on your shoulder for support. he’d slept in, wanting to spend his day off with his family but you allowed him an extra two hours while you got the kids ready.

“you could’ve woken me up love,” he mumbled, finding his way to your neck once again.

“i don’t think you could go without a good night’s rest for much longer— you actually got nine hours this time without getting up in the middle of the night.”

“you watch me while i sleep?” he asked, turning your body around to face him, his face slightly scrunched into a disgusted look.

“is there any better sight?”

“mmm, no i don’t think so,” he joked, leaning down to pull you into a long kiss.

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[jalapeno-princess]

Hey Santa

Mark Tuan X Reader

Word Count: 2.8K

Genre: Fluffity fluff 

Summary: Christmas has always been your favorite holiday, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be all that happy this year since your favorite person in the entire world is currently thousands of miles away on a business trip. However, Santa always seems to have a few tricks up his sleeve and this Christmas turns out not that bad after all.

The lights and festive decorations surrounded all throughout town were a constant reminder that Christmas was just around the corner—five days to be exact. As excited as you wish you could have been right now, especially because winter just so happened to be your favorite season and Christmas was your favorite holiday for many different reasons, you couldn’t find it in yourself to really get in to the Christmas spirit this year. 

If anything, you felt like the grinch. Witnessing how happy everyone you were surrounded by—your family, friends and colleagues did make you feel the least bit jealous. 

Just last year, you were the one trying to get everyone in to the Christmas spirit. You set up your Christmas tree in your apartment a week before Thanksgiving. You stayed up with your boyfriend Mark making dozens of different cookies to pass out, the two of you decorated the tree to the best of your abilities—or at least tried your best to. 

You’d cuddle up on the couch together watching a bunch of your favorite Christmas movies and hummed along to some of the best Christmas songs; new and old while washing dishes or doing the laundry. Last year had to be the best year, especially because it was your first Christmas together as a couple. 

He brought you to see the lights; something you’ve been indirectly hinting towards wanting to do, you brought him ice skating—one of the only activities you did better at than him, he invited you to go snowboarding and sledding with his family up in the mountains and on Christmas Day, he gave you the prettiest heart shaped necklace and told you he loved you for the first time after five months of dating. 

Maybe it was because you had the time of your life the previous year with the man you called your soulmate and now you were miserable and lonely. Mark was currently away on a business trip in Japan, trying to secure one of the biggest business deals that could bring his company a lot of success. 

You had a hard time understanding why his boss felt the need to send him just days away from Christmas but you didn’t want him knowing that it bothered you. Your boyfriend was one of the youngest department supervisors at one of the top technology companies in the country. 

Not only was he extremely intelligent; graduating with his master’s degree in business at only 24-years-old, but he was very passionate in his field of work and he did anything and everything in his power to help bring the company as much publicity and prosperity as he possibly could. You admired his work ethic and how determined he was to excel in his career, but you would have preferred for him to be with you right now. 

It was currently snowing in California and there was nothing more that you wanted than to be cuddled up in bed with Mark—a tangle of limbs underneath your blankets watching the snow fall against your window while drinking some hot chocolate and stealing sweet kisses from one another. 

If Mark were to come home and saw how dull and empty the current state your apartment had been because you had no desire to do anything merry—he would have been upset. He loved Christmas as much if not just a little bit more than you did—so you were sure he wouldn’t have been too happy if he found out you were having such a horrible time. 

On the day that he found out about his trip, he was visibly upset. He wasn’t as verbal as he was physical with you—clinging on to you like a sloth. Following you all around the apartment like a lost puppy and holding you in his embrace as you cooked dinner for the two of you. It was then—mid bite of his shrimp pasta—Mark admitted that he tried to prolong telling you about the trip because he knew you would be devastated. 

Honestly, that had to be the understatement of the year. You were heartbroken beyond belief. This year, your grandparents were flying down for your younger cousin’s graduation and it’s been at least two years since you’ve seen them, so you expected this holiday season to be one for the books. However, you didn’t take his absence so lightly. Your boyfriend has left on business trips multiple times for weeks and even months on end. 

Sure, you hated any moment spent without him by your side and talking to him through your phone and computer screens weren’t the same as having him there with you in person—but you did your best to be a supportive girlfriend by not showing an ounce of distress. It’s just that—Christmas came around once a year; you suffered through work and school; crying while staying up and studying for exams—being scolded at work for things that were out of your control. You waited all year for this one day and now it was ruined.

You hated the fact that you were acting so childish, there was nothing he could do. It wasn’t as if he could tell his higher ups that he didn’t want to go—no matter how much he didn’t want to. Mark even nonchalantly tried to reschedule the trip, but the director already purchased his ticket. 

He made it a habit to call you right before a meeting, before he went to bed, right before you went to sleep and when you woke up in the morning. Hearing that Japan was decked out in Christmas decorations and how even their food was festive made you wish you could have taken off from work to be there with him. You didn’t care where you ended up spending the holidays, all you cared about was who you spent it with and the only person whose presence you craved the most was more than 5,000 miles away and 19 hours ahead of you. 

Working at your family’s Christmas annual “Santa’s Workshop” that they held every year since before you were even born never failed to bring you so much joy. When your cousin was diagnosed with Leukemia when the two of you were only 6-years-old, your aunty decided after seeing all the children in the hospital not able to celebrate Christmas as they probably would have wanted to—that she would give them and their families a chance to have their own little private festival in one of the hospital ballrooms so that the kids could get a visit from Santa Claus along with toys that were donated from families all across of California. You loved being able to do something like this; you wanted to give back to the less fortunate and seeing the bright and hopeful smiles on all the adorable little children’s faces always seemed to make your heart flutter. 

How could you be so selfish—letting the fact that Mark wasn’t there with you get in the way of your happiness when there were little ones who were suffering through some really tough battles. But you were only human; you hardly ever got to see Mark as it was—and that said a lot considering that you lived together. His job took up most of his time and you did your best to hide the fact that being his second priority bothered you. 

Trying to take on more hours at work in order to take your mind off of the distance in your relationship wasn’t enough to cover up how much you were falling apart at the seams. Mark Tuan was the love of your life—your life revolved around him. He was genuinely the biggest blessing that you couldn’t even fathom in to words how grateful you were to be the lucky one who got to love him and was vehemently loved by him. You missed him even when you were with him. You felt pathetic—allowing someone to have this much power over you, but that just showed how much you loved him with your entire being.

As much as you would rather have been locked up in your room watching home alone reruns while stuffing your face—being dressed up as an elf and assisting the children as they made their way one by one on to Santa’s lap; telling him what they each wanted for Christmas wasn’t all too bad. It was actually the best thing to happen so far since December came around. You found yourself smiling every time one of the patients beamed up at Santa Claus. 

Honestly, nine hours went by faster than you would have expected it to. Observing the way the kids would grin in delight after receiving a present tugged on your heartstrings and opened your eyes to the idea that Christmas was so much more than asking for and getting all the items on your Christmas list. It was seeing these hopeful little faces gleam even for only a few moments. You might have missed your boyfriend dearly, but you knew he would make up for lost time once he finally arrived back like he always did. 

After the last child got a gift from Santa and made their way back to their hospital room, you and your cousins began to close up shop—turning off the lights on the tree, folding up some of the poster boards and just preparing everything for the next day when you heard someone gently whisper your name. 

You smiled softly at the older man; he was a friend of your uncle’s who has been dressing up as Santa for longer than you could remember. You made your way towards him and laughed softly to yourself when he patted his lap. 

“Do my old eyes deceive me or is your smile not as sincere as it usually is? what’s wrong y/n? you’re always so bright and cheery this time of year but these days, your excitement seems so forced.” 

Releasing a sad sigh, you were well aware you couldn’t lie to him; he already knew there was something bothering you so there was no point in hiding what was currently clouding your entire thought process. 

“You’re going to think it’s silly—“

“Your feelings aren’t silly y/n. You’re only human, it’s okay to be sad sometimes, even during the most wonderful time of the year. I’m sure you haven’t told anyone else what’s wrong, so why don’t you tell Santa? Maybe I have a gift for you that might uplift your spirits.” 

You were too busy staring at the ground in disappointment to notice the glint in his eye—but you didn’t want to keep him waiting. It was late, you were sure he wanted to go home just as much as you did, so you poured your heart out to the older man. 

“My boyfriend—he’s currently on a business trip in Japan and I just—I don’t know, I miss him dearly and I just wish he could have been home for the holidays and now I feel like a grumpy little scrooge.” 

He laughed lightly while gently squeezing your arms as a way to comfort you. Admitting it out loud sounded so pathetic but it also made you feel lighter in a way. Telling someone else of your problems felt good; it took a huge weight off of your shoulders, but it didn’t feel the void Mark always seemed to cause whenever he had to leave. 

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with moping around because of that. The holiday season is the time you want to spend with your loved ones the most. Your parents told me about him a few months ago—Mark is it? He sounds like a really great guy and your mom seems impatient waiting for the two of you to get married. I’m sorry about the unfortunate situation y/n, but just think about it this way, you’ll have many, many more Christmases to spend with him. Don’t let this one circumstance ruin the way you look at this glorious wintertime. If you’ll excuse me, I have to use the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” 

He was right; it has only been almost two years since you and Mark began dating, but you knew he was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. You sat there for a few minutes, looking at your phone to see if Mark had gotten in contact with you and you let out a sad sigh when you realized there was nothing. He did say he had meetings to attend the entire day—so you understood that he was probably busy, but it didn’t make you feel all that much better. 

Finally, you could see in your peripheral vision that the older man arrived back and motioned for you to get up before sitting back down and had you take your spot back on his knee. 

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before—I love that man with every single breath that I take. Waking up next to him—feeling his heartbeat against mine, I can’t explain how exuberant he makes me feel. Every time we’re together, it’s like we’re in our own little worlds. He’s been so busy these days and sometimes I feel as though I’m a burden to him. I’m sure he’s probably exhausted after coming home from work, but he never fails to do whatever it is that I want to do together just to make me smile. I want nothing more to marry him one day—maybe I should fly up to Japan and surprise him—“

“I don’t think that would be the best idea right now.” 

You frowned at his words; wasn’t he encouraging you earlier to try and make the best of the next two weeks until the new year? What made him change his mind in the few minutes while he was away? Before you could ask him about what he could have meant, he wrapped his hands around your waist and placed his chin on top of your shoulder. 

You were surprised at the sudden movement—you didn’t want to seem rude and push him away because you were now feeling uncomfortable, but you didn’t know how to feel. However, before you could say or do anything, he brought his mouth up to your ear and whispered softly before placing a gentle kiss right below your ear. 

“If you go to Japan, then we won’t be able to celebrate the holidays together babe.” 

Your eyes widened in shock—how could you not differentiate between the two voices? Maybe you were too deep in your self pity to notice—but you flung your arms around his neck and smashed your lips against his. Your boyfriend smiled against your mouth and depend the kiss as his hands made their way down to your lower back. 

“Mark you ass! I was about ready to sock a family friend in the face, why didn’t you tell me you were coming home? You knew how miserable I’ve been—“ 

He stole a wet kiss from the corner of your mouth; his way to silence you before playfully squeezing one of your thighs. 

“I’ve been just as miserable baby. I’m sorry, I was actually debating on whether or not I should tell you—but your mom told me that it would be a lot more fun if I surprised you. You’re well aware that I can’t keep secrets for shit. I almost blurted it out last night when you told me how rough your day was. None of that matters though—I’m here now and I have a lot planned for us. I’ve missed you so fucking much baby. Don’t get me wrong, Japan is such an amazing country—but fuck, I feel so numb when you’re not by my side. By the way, I feel the same exact way about you y/n. You’re my entire world. I love you so—so very much. I don’t think there’s enough words in the English dictionary to form a sentence perfect enough to describe what it is that I feel for you. I’m sorry—so fucking sorry that you think my job means more to me than you do. Nothing in this entire world means even half as much to me as you do. I’m at fault for making it seem that way, but I plan on spending the rest of my life showing you and telling you otherwise. Now, there are a few mistletoes that have our names on it—why don’t you let me make up for not being around as much as I should. This Christmas will be a lot more astounding, that’s a promise.” 

He reconnected your lips together, not being able to stay away from your lips for too long. You really did miss this. Being held by him, feeling him lick on your bottom lip—nonverbally asking for entrance, having him run his fingers through your hair. Mark was your home—you always felt so safe in his arms and God, you’ve been homesick for quite some time. After a couple minutes of fervently making out, you grabbed at his hand and pulled him up with you—laughing at how the santa suit he was currently wearing practically swallowed his silhouette. 

“You’re such an adorable Santa Clause.” 

He playfully rolled his eyes at your comment as you led him to the back in order to get your things. Mark made sure you weren’t paying attention as he tapped on his leg to make sure the velvet box was still safely in his pocket. If you thought his early arrival home was already quite the surprise, he couldn’t wait to see the look on your face when he were to pop the question he’s been wanting to ask you from the beginning of your relationship. This Christmas was definitely going to be one for the books, and he couldn’t wait.

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 63 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: The red carpet turned into a major headache for Raja as the Galactica holiday party got underway.

This Chapter: It’s all eyes on Miss Fame as she finally finds out about her best friend and her assistant arriving as a couple. And everyone except Violet seems to enjoy all the shit-talking.

***

The Christmas Party was Maxwell's favorite company event of the year. It was always wonderfully decadent, Fame apparently setting out with an intention of topping perfection every single year, and so far, Maxwell hadn’t seen her fail.

The air smelled like pine and peppermint, the air conditioning running overtime so it almost felt like they were in a winter wonderland.

It wasn’t that Maxwell didn’t like to dance, wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy letting loose when he went with Bob to one of his drag shows, but on a night like this, he preferred observing, watching for inspiration and being taken in by the grandeur.

Most of the designers were already on the dance floor--April twirling in a gorgeous yellow dress, Kiara dripping with gold while Alexis was wrapped in bold red. The marketing team, on the other hand, had set up shop at the bar, some of them already seeming a bit messy.

Maxwell was nibbling on the selection of canapes he had managed to snatch from a waiter, smoked Alaskan salmon on rye, cranberry and brie bites and Swiss chocolate dipped clementines among the night's selection.

“Wait. Wait wait wait wait.”

Maxwell turned his head, looking over at Bob who was standing next to him at the small table they had occupied, Roxy’s face twisted in a shiteating grin.

If it had been any other night, Bob would have been on the dance floor, tearing it up, but Roxy had dangled a secret in front of his face, and if there was one thing Bob loved, it was a good secret.

He had been plying her with drinks from the moment they had arrived, and it seemed like she had finally spilled the beans while Maxwell wasn’t paying attention.

“She’s what?” Bob asked, trying to get Roxy to repeat herself. “Tell me who Courtney’s dating!”

“She’s dating beedeearrrr,” Roxy slurred, and Bob looked at Maxwell, who shrugged.

“I have no idea what she’s saying.”

“Bee! Deeeee! Arrrrrrrgh!” Roxy said again, doing her absolute best to separate her words.

“Wait, BDR? As in Bianca Del Rio?” Bob asked, mouth open in amazement.

“Ding ding ding ding ding ding ding!” Roxy crowed, her brown hair in the most elegant updo, a sparkling shawl over her shoulders. “But nobody knows.”

“Then how do you know?” Bob asked, arms crossed, a skeptical expression creasing his features.

“Because. She’s been getting deliveries.”

“So? Isn’t it normal for Bianca to have stuff delivered to Miss Fame’s office? Aren’t they good friends?”

“Yes! But! Not to Fame. And anyway, they’re coming together tonight,” Roxy said, lifting her glass to her lips. “Courtney said so herself.”

“Sure, sure...I’ll believe that when I see it,” Bob laughed.

Maxwell rolled his eyes just as Jovan walked stiffly up to their table, holding a cocktail.

“What’s going on with your suit?” Maxwell asked, reaching out to touch the orange fabric.

“Spray paint made the fabric inflexible,” Jovan said, “But I made it work.”

“Did you? Because from here you look like you can’t walk.”

“Yeah but I look amazing. Fair trade.”

“If you say so,” Maxwell laughed, thumping him on the shoulder.

“Violet! Come here!” Bob called, beckoning her over. He leaned in and told Roxy, “Violet will know if your little rumor is true.”

*

“Hey!” Sutan got dragged through the crowd, Raja’s nails digging through his suit jacket, his twin holding him a death grip. “Raj, calm down!”

Sutan had barely made it off the carpet and detached himself from the women he had taken pictures with to reunite with Violet, relocating his girlfriend in such a big crowd always a hassle when Raja had snatched him up.

[We-] Raja released him, looking over her shoulders to make sure that they were alone before she continued, [have a problem.]

[I figured.] Sutan straightened his jacket, his sleeve completely twisted. It had to be a serious shit situation if Raja was this paranoid, Indonesian usually enough for her to say whatever she wanted wherever she wanted. [So what’s going on?]

[Bianca brought Courtney.] Raja crossed her arms, her nostrils flaring with annoyance.

[... Who?] Sutan had no idea who that was, the name not ringing any bells.

[Fame’s assistant.]

[The small blonde?] He vaguely remembered her from when Violet had broken her ankle, the woman kneeling next to them, but there hadn’t been anything special about her at all, her face completely blurred out in his mind.

[Yes.]

It took a moment to click, a moment for Sutan to realize what his sister had actually said.

[Oh fuck….] His eyes widened.

[Oh fuck exactly.] Raja huffed. [She is here. As Bianca’s date.]

Oh this. This was bad. There was no way at all that this would go over well with Fame, the entire situation truly an absolute shit show.

[Did you talk to her?]

[I tried,] Raja rolled her eyes, her fingers tapping on her arm, cold annoyance coming off of his twin in waves. [But you know her-]

Sutan did know Bianca, actually, he knew Bianca very well.

[Please don’t tell me.]

[Yes.]

Great. Great great great.

[Okay, so.] Sutan sighed, crossing his own arms. [Are we doing a divide and conquer? Going for the black out? Because I think I can talk Fame into trying all the gins with me-]

It wasn’t that Sutan didn’t like spending time with Fame, getting drunk with her actually a lot more fun than strangers would expect, but he had genuinely looked forward to going home and peeling his girlfriend out of her dress, drinking Fame under the table for the common good wrecking any chance of that happening.

[Bianca said no distractions.] Raja rolled her eyes again. [She wants Fame to-] Raja held up her hands, doing quotation marks with her fingers as she switched to english. “Just deal with it”

“Well fuck.” Sutan groaned, Fame just dealing with it about as fun as rolling around naked in hot coals, his sisters damage control duties as Fame’s right hand woman never ending.

*

“Katya!” Pearl grinned when she finally spotted her roommate between the forest of Christmas trees, the blonde standing against the wall in her poofy dress, not at all looking interested in the party that was happening around her.

“I got you a present,” Pearl slid in next to her, Katya barely raising an eyebrow when Pearl handed her a drink. “The best virgin drink the bartender could whip up!”

“Thanks…” Katya took the glass, the rim lined in sugar, a couple of maraschino cherries floating around in the orange soda.

“Annnnnnd...I saved the best for last,” Pearl smiled, reaching into her pocket, refusing to let Katya’s downbeat mood ruin the night, even if she had to force her friend to feel happy. “I got you a little umbrella. Look! It’s tiny!”

Katya rolled her eyes slightly, but still took the umbrella. “Thanks, Pearlie.”

“Do you wanna dance?” Pearl asked, hoping to distract her while Trixie was off schmoozing the Bloomingdale’s buyer.

“Uh...maybe in a bit,” Katya said. “You know, you don’t have to babysit me. Don’t you have people you need to talk to?”

“Nope!” Pearl smiled, sidling up and leaning against the wall beside her. “I’m all yours.”

“Lucky me.”

*

“Sure I can’t tempt you with a sip?”

Violet looked over at Jovan, who was grinning at her, her coworker standing in a bright orange suit that he never would have gotten away with if he wasn’t known as the company's kooky designer.

It was kind of him to offer, Violet unable to have a drink of her own unless she was sitting, but there was one glaring impracticality with the arrangement Jovan was offering her.

“I’d rather not share a straw, but thanks-”

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t know anything Chachki?” Bob smiled, him taking a long sip of his own cocktail, the man like a fish in water and as giddy as a child.

“Why would I?”

“Because you’re dating Sutan?”

Bob and Roxy had tried to pry information out of Violet, had tried to make her confess if Courtney was dating Bianca, but Violet honestly had no idea, and most importantly, she didn’t give a single shit about it.

“That doesn’t mean-”

“Lovely eyes!” Violet was cut off at the sound of Sutan’s voice, her boyfriend walking up to the group. “There you are.”

Sutan smiled, pressing a kiss against her temple, and Violet couldn’t help but lean into it, even though she was annoyed with him, the man just leaving her with no explanation when Raja had pulled him aside.

“Mr. Amrull!” Maxwell held a hand out, and Sutan took it, Violet barely keeping from rolling her eyes at Maxwell’s obvious eagerness. Thankfully, Bob had no such qualms, openly making fun of his boyfriend.

“Mr. Amrull,” Bob wiggled his brows, holding his own hand out to shake with Sutan, while staring directly at Maxwell, who blushed all the way to his ears, the red matching wonderfully with his sky blue suit.

“Shut up!” Maxwell hissed, pushing an elbow into Bob’s side, but it didn’t seem like Sutan had noticed, the man moving as close to her side as he could, his voice low.

“I’m sorry I just left.” Sutan looked at her, a genuinely apologetic expression on his face, and Violet felt a little bit of her annoyance melt away, Sutan so incredibly good at making her feel like she mattered to him. “There was a slight situation.”

Judging from Raja’s face, Violet wouldn’t call it slight, but before she had a chance to open her mouth, Bob and Roxy had already stepped in.

“Situation?” Bob looked delighted, while Roxy only did a slightly better job of pretending to be a professional.

“Is there anything we can help with?”

“My sister has it all handled.” Violet saw Sutan put a hand in his pants pocket, his tone clearly dismissive while still being polite.

“So there is a real issue?” Bob’s eyes widened, and he took a step forward, his interest just Bob’s usual curiosity, but for once, Violet felt oddly protective of Sutan.

“Don’t answer that.” She leaned against his side, letting him take a little bit of her weight, telling him that she was there with him. “He loves gossip.”

It was both a warning, and an attempt to lighten the mood, and thankfully, Jovan laughed at her jab, Sutan’s hand coming around her waist and holding her close.

“I can hear that.” Sutan smiled down at her, the warmth and humor back in his eyes, his hand grip tightening in the most delicious way. “Can I whisk you away?”

“Please,” Violet smiled back, her heart skipping a beat. She couldn’t wait to find a place to sit down and hopefully be left alone, but it seemed like life had other plans.

“There!” They all turned at the sound of Roxy’s voice, the receptionist pointing into the crowd at Courtney and Bianca who were walking side by side, their fingers intertwined. “I told you so!”

*

“Juju,” Raven hissed, sitting down next to her best friend, her heart beating away in her chest. “You are not going to believe this!”

“Believe what?” Juju was sitting at the VIP bar with Detox at her side, Juju is a gorgeous blue gown  with ruffles over her bump, the dress almost concealing the fact that she was getting rounder and rounder every day.

“Yes,” Detox chimed in, “Believe what?”

“I am trying,” Raven looked around, desperate not to draw Fame’s attention, the blonde thankfully caught up in conversation on the other side of the room, “not to cause suspicion.”

“Oh?”  Detox’s eyes widened, cheshire smirk on his face since the man could smell drama from miles away.

“Raja left me all alone.”

“Really?” Juju raised an eyebrow, “That’s it? I don’t think that warrants-”

“No! You’re not listening. Raja left me, because Bianca is here with someone!”

“So?” Detox sighed. “She has a flavor of the month, how’s that news?”

“This isn’t just any flavor of the month. I didn’t know why I recognized her at first.” In honesty, Raven had been fuming when Raja had left her alone; the only reason she hadn’t kicked up a fuss the fact that there were cameras present and that this was an industry event. “But then I remembered.” It had taken a while, and Raven was pretty sure she wouldn’t have realized who Bianca’s date was if she hadn’t looked so lost. “It’s Fame’s assistant.”

“Oh nooooo…” Juju said, mouth opening wide in horror.

“What?” Detox grinned, his eyes filled with delight. “Oh this...this is a mess I can’t wait to see.”

“Look!” Raven exclaimed, and Juju’s eyes practically bugged out of her head at the sight of Bianca and Courtney walking across the ballroom, straight towards Fame.

Juju grabbed Raven’s arm, squeezing it tight. “Omigod Fame sees them. Omigod omigod omigod…”

“Hey guys,” Raja said, strolling up to the group. “Sorry for leaving, princess, but I had to-”

“I know! We’re watching the drama right now,” Raven said, taking Raja’s arm and pulling her close, making sure she knew that all was forgiven.

“Oh fuck,” Raja groaned, turning away and hiding her head in Raven’s hair. “I can’t look.”

*

Fame smiled benignly, surveying the party with a pleased expression. So far, everything was perfect. She really had to pat herself on the back for pulling off such an extraordinary event year after year. With Patrick happily chowing down at the buffet, she’d strolled off to admire the indoor forest, the trees huge and impressive, covered with a dusting of glittery white snow. She took a deep breath, turning around--and that’s when she saw them.

Bianca, striding towards her with a smile on her face and a spring in her step, her fingers laced together with none other than Fame’s very own Executive Assistant.

Fame stared at them, gripping her champagne glass, blood rushing through her ears. How dare she?

Fame had told Bianca to stay away from Courtney, less than a month ago, and now, she was bringing her as a date, with no prior warning, to a Galactica party of all places?

Even worse--Bianca then gave her a mildly sheepish, casual little wave. Was she on drugs? That was the only possible explanation for this kind of egregious lapse in judgment.

Fame could see how everyone was watching them, Courtney and Bianca suddenly the focus of the party instead of the decor or the menu or the music she had worked so hard on arranging. Fame hated when her plans didn’t work out, when things took a turn she wasn’t aware of, and yet, it seemed like Bianca hadn’t even had the courtesy to warn her that she was going to be all over the gossip sites tomorrow.

She watched them approach, noting that Courtney, at least, had the decency to look both frightened and apologetic. Well, good. She should be frightened. They should both be frightened. As they got closer and closer, Fame couldn’t help but notice the ring she’d bought Bianca for her birthday glittering on her finger.

Well, if she thought that was going to win her any brownie points after this stunt, she was dead wrong.

Fame painted a big, beaming smile on her face, venom dripping from the corners of her mouth, as she opened her arms to Bianca and crooned out, “Merry Christmas, darling!”

*

There was nothing on the planet that Courtney could imagine would cause her to let go of Bianca’s hand in that moment, walking across the grand hotel ballroom towards Miss Fame. At first, her face looked shocked, and Courtney's stomach sank, wondering for about the thousandth time today if showing up on Bianca’s arm was a bad idea.

If her death grip on Bianca’s poor hand was causing her pain, she didn’t give any sign of it, simply squeezed her back, murmuring, “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay,” under her breath.

Courtney thought that Miss Fame’s shocked glare was scary, but she was wholly unprepared for how much worse it would be when she smiled, an almost manic grin spreading across her face as she opened her arms to Bianca.

“Merry Christmas, darling!” she cried, throwing her arms around Bianca’s shoulders and giving her a tight hug. She turned to Courtney, voice light and nonchalant, as if this was all totally normal. “Hello, Courtney. How are you enjoying the party, dear?”

“Oh, um…” Courtney found herself at a loss for words. She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d been expecting. Maybe Fame pulling Bianca aside to lecture her like Raja had. Or giving them both irritated looks and demanding that they keep a low profile. But this, casual small talk? She felt dismally unprepared. “It’s beautiful, Shangela really did a great job.”

Fame gave a low, dry chuckle. “Yes. Shangela. Truly a visionary.”

“Well I mean...you know, executing your vision, Miss,” Courtney said quickly, trying to recover from her obvious blunder. Shit.

“It’s as spectacular as always, blondie,” Bianca said, squeezing Courtney’s fingers slightly, reassuring her that everything was okay.

“I’m delighted you think so,” Fame replied in her most honeyed voice.

*

“This is great,” Detox laughed. “You can literally see the steam coming out of her ears.”

“Shut up, De!” Juju slapped his arm.

Detox couldn’t help it--he enjoyed seeing Fame shaken like this. He’d known her for many years, and generally she was the picture of cool, calm, and collected perfection, so seeing her fury when some small thing went wrong was hilarious. And even better, the fact that she was mad at Bianca, who was normally untouchable.

Over the years, he’d taken more than his fair share of shit for his hair and wardrobe choices, so seeing someone else in the hot seat was delightful. He giggled happily, sipping his cocktail.

“They’re all the way on the other side of the room,” he said. “She can’t hear us.”

“Come on. We both know Fame is basically a bat.”

Detox laughed, shaking his head at his wife’s adorable paranoia, when he saw Sutan approaching the group, Violet hobbling beside him on her crutches.

“Hey Tan!” Detox said, greeting his friend with a hug. He’d always loved Sutan, but they’d become even closer once Karl had moved, the two of them often escaping for a smoke and some quiet time away from the girls.

“Scoot over Raj.”

“Can’t live without your sister?” Detox lifted an eyebrow as Sutan sat down, making room for Violet as well.

“We’re fraternal, not identical,” Sutan put an arm behind Raja’s back, and she slumped back against him. “And we’re not connected at the hip.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Detox joked.

“What’s with them?” Sutan asked, gesturing to Juju and Raven, who had barely acknowledged his presence, their eyes still glued to the drama playing out with Fame.

“They’re obsessed with Bianca’s new trick.”

“Oh. That.”

“Yes, that,” Detox smirked. It was in moments like these when he was extra annoyed about Fame not letting him have his reporters inside the venue, because this would have been a delicious little story.

“I’ve gotta hand it to the little gold-digger,” Raven said, “She might be smarter than I thought.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with sleeping your way to glory,” Sutan said with a chuckle.

“Who says Bianca leads to that?” Raja smirked.

“Well, she certainly leads to better clothes.” Raven threw a lock of hair over her shoulder, “I bet those shoes cost more than that girl’s made in her life.”

“That’s probably true.” Detox smiled, Raven on a bitchy tangent a delight to experience.

“Bianca’s way too generous with these bitches, she should make them work harder for it.”

Sutan laughed again, practically choking on his drink, and said, “Great advice, Rave. Be sure to tell her that.”

“Honestly, she seems like a very nice girl,” Juju said, and off Raven’s scoff, added, “She does! I did her hair about a month ago. But this whole thing is just so…Bianca. In the worst way.”

“A trainwreck,” Raven agreed.

“Let’s go rubberneck up close!” Juju suggested, heaving herself up from the sofa, pulling Raven along with her, who then tugged on Raja’s arm.

“Ughhhh,” Raja groaned. “Do we have to?”

“Come on, come on. We all gotta kiss the ring. May as well be now,” Juju said, beckoning Detox and Sutan along with her, no one noticing that Violet was moving quickly in the opposite direction.

***

Violet had never been Courtney’s biggest fan. Hell, when she found out that she’d shown up on the red carpet with Bianca Del Rio tonight, her first thought had been what an absolutely idiotic move it was, the decision of being so public going against everything Violet had attempted to teach Courtney about blending into the background and being invisible when they still were in Fame’s office together.

However, that didn’t mean she wanted to listen to Sutan and his friends laughing about Courtney. It was incredibly disheartening to hear, not because they called her a trick or a gold-digger, Violet not giving two shits about Courtney’s feelings, but because those words meant there was a risk they were saying those exact same things about her behind her back.

So when they’d all headed over to say hello to Miss Fame, Violet had swung herself off in the opposite direction on her crutches, finding a seat in a relatively dark corner, hoping no one would see her while she took a few minutes to breathe deeply.

“Violet!”

Violet winced, then turned to see none other than Tatianna, who was in a gorgeous golden dress that made her skin glow, her makeup sparkly and colorful, a sweet scent enveloping her as Tatianna gave her a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry to hear what happened to your leg!”

“Hi-” Violet croaked out, desperately hoping she wasn’t blushing as Tatianna sat down next to her, their skirts fighting for space on the small couch.

“I just couldn’t believe it when they told us.” Tatianna’s wide brown eyes were filled with concern, her beautiful lips pursed in empathy. “Like, it happened right there, right in the middle of everything, just, boom!” Tatianna emulated a crashing noise, and Violet wished the floor would swallow her up.

“Thanks for reminding me.”

Tatianna laughed, not at all affected by Violet’s dry tone and sharp sarcasm, the other woman so stupidly pretty Violet swore she was sweating.

“Do you want something? A drink? Some water? I don’t mind getting it for you with your foot and all, the champagne is-”

“I better not.”

“Get more alcohol?” Tatianna grinned. “Me too girl,” she threw her hair over her shoulder, Violet hit with another wave of the delicious scent. “Better not make myself look a fool. It’s so good to see a familiar face. The only reason I’m even at this party is because of Courtney, and she looks...kind of occupied, so I don’t want to bother her.”

Violet had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from rolling her eyes.

“When I asked my agent to get on the guest list, she looked at me like I was crazy. Turns out, she didn’t even know this was happening!”

“Your agent?” This time, Violet did raise an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a model?”

“That’s what I tried to tell her!”

“Wow…” Any good agent worth their salt would know that it was bordering on crucial for newer models to be seen at industry events, and that Galactica was only outdone by Vogue when it came to throwing parties.

“But I guess that’s the life when you’re sighed with One Management.” Tatianna huffed, blowing a bit of her brown hair out of her face, their legs still pressed together. “They’re nice, but they’re not like, fashion fashion,” Tatianna waved her hand, “but they’re the only agency who wanted me.”

“Wait? What?” Violet sat up, not believing what she had just heard. “That’s insane! You’re like, one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever met.”

“Awh,” Tatianna laughed, and if Violet’s ankle hadn’t been broken, this would have been the exact moment she had run away, a blush rising in her cheeks, what she said so beyond stupid. “You’re so sweet.”

Tatianna grinned, leaning in to give Violet’s cheek a kiss, her lips barely touching the skin before she pulled back.

“Thank you so much.”

“I-”

“Oh!” Someone behind her had obviously caught Tatianna’s attention, her hand finding Violet’s arm. “Gotta go! But it was so nice talking to you!” and then, after another hug and a flurry of hair, she was gone, leaving Violet to sit alone, her fingers finding her cheek to touch where Tatianna had just kissed it.

***

[the-awkward-outlaw]

A New Adventure

Warnings: None

Word count: ~2300

**Author’s note - This takes place in Utah (for my own reasons). This one shot is to set up my modern reader x Arthur Morgan head cannons. I am open to requests and ideas! If you like what you read, leave a comment!**

Masterlist

Read on AO3

You’re walking in the park by your home. It’s something you like to do every day with your dog, not only to give her exercise but so you can get some too. After all, working in an office at a desk doesn’t allow you to walk around much. 

The park is pretty and you’re lucky to be living just down the street from it. It sits at the foot of a mountain range in your home valley. Right now, there’s some snow on the ground from a big storm that came through a few days ago, but it’s already melting. Perks of living in the west. Sure, winters are cold and long and the snow sucks worse, but at least it only sticks around for a few days. You love living out here though. The mountains are beautiful, you wouldn’t trade them for hardly anything. 

You walk along the west side of the park right at the base of the mountain. There’s a small cave there, it only goes back about twenty feet and the local kids like to go play in there, and sometimes the older kids go in there to smoke or drink. Luckily because you live in a small neighborhood that isn’t close enough to the big city, kids smoking is about the worst that happens out here. You’ve been inside the cave once. There’s a weird drawing on the back wall, but several people have left their artists marks behind in it, so you’ve never thought anything of it.

As you begin approaching, Sage, your Bernese mountain dog, begins barking at it. Strange. She rarely barks and she’s been past this cave pretty much every day since you’ve had her. Maybe there’s a racoon or a skunk in there tonight. 

You tell Sage to shush and continue walking towards the cave. She settles down but still growls. You begin thinking of other things and forgetting about her behavior when a man steps out of the cave. You recognize him, not by his face, but his outfit. He’s dressed as Arthur Morgan from your favorite video game Red Dead Redemption 2. You smile at him. Cosplayers are a pretty big deal in your state, thanks to the rise of your local comic book convention. However, he’s dressed up for the wrong time for the con, it’s not until September. It’s only February. And why the hell would this cosplayer be in the cave dressed up? Weird. 

You keep walking. Sage wags her tail at him but continues on with you, no longer growling. She probably could smell him and not see him, explaining the barking. She’s an overly friendly dog so you’re not worried about her. 

The man looks around as though he’s no idea where he is. Maybe he’s on something. As you get closer, you think he’s an exceptional Arthur Morgan. He looks just like him. Not only are his clothes exactly like the character’s, even worn and dirty in the right spots, his face is exactly like him. Broad shoulders, tanned skin, light stubble on his jawline and unkempt hair under his iconic hat. You can even see the bald spot on his chin where Arthur has a scar. 

He continues looking around, confused, and then he spots you. You’re too close to just ignore him so you smile. 

“Nice cosplay!” you say. 

“Excuse me?” he says. Man, he even sounds like Arthur!

“I said, nice cosplay! You going to a costume party or something.” 

“A what? Lady, I ain’t got no clue what you’re saying.” 

You’ve stopped by this point to look at him, giving him a confused smile. “Man, you’re really in character too! I gotta admire that. I’m a cosplayer too but I can never stay in character. Kudos to you though!” 

You’re tempted to ask for a picture, but it seems perhaps a little inappropriate. He’s looking at you like you’re a freak, as if he wasn’t the one who just popped out of a cave. 

“Well, have a good night,” you say, walking on. 

“Uh, sure I guess. Hey, ma’am?” he jogs up to you and stops a few feet from you. He’s beginning to weird you out. Just because you live in a small neighborhood doesn’t mean you don’t know how dangerous people can be, particularly men. Besides, if he’s on something, he could be even more of a threat. You keep a tight leash on Sage. She’s not likely to attack him, but you don’t want him to know how much of a pushover pooch she is. 

“Sorry, ma’am, guess I’m just a little lost. Um, maybe ya can help me?” 

“Sure, I guess. What you wanna know?” 

“Well, where the hell am I, for starters.” 

You tell him the name of your town, keeping a hard eye on him. 

“Where is that exactly? Are we in New Hanover? Or West Elizabeth maybe?” 

“Oh boy, you really are selling this cosplay, ain’t you? Well, okay. I’ll play along. Mr. Morgan, you are in Utah.”

“Utah?” he says. He looks away and mouths the word. You know that Utah wasn’t a state until 1896, three years before Red Dead 2 takes place. Boy, this guy is really selling this. 

“Yeah. Come on, dude, quit playing. Your cosplay is on point, in fact everything about you is on point. But… come on, man what’s your name?” 

“Well, seems you already know my last name, miss. Name’s Arthur. Arthur Morgan.”

“Still playing, huh?” you say with a sigh. “Fine, have it your way.” You wonder if he’s one of those people with an illness that makes him believe he’s someone else. Like Teddy from Arsenic and Old Lace, who firmly believed he was Theodore Rosevelt. “Well, come on,” you say, wondering if you need to call the police or have him checked into a hospital. 

“Ma’am, I promise you I ain’t crazy and I ain’t playin’ whatever you think I’m playin’. Tell me, is it still 1899?’”

“What? Dude, come on. It’s 2020.”

“2020!” he cuts you off. “What the hell?” He looks around again and towards the east side of the park where the rec center and playground is, and beyond that the main road, busy with cars heading home for the night. His look of confusion and even fear is so genuine that you wonder what’s really going on. 

“Look, mister. What was the last thing you were doing before coming here?” 

He looks at you for a moment before answering. “I was in Big Valley collectin’ orchids for some crazy feller. I walked into this cave and saw a dinosaur bone. Some lady, don’t remember what she called herself, said she’d pay me for locations of bones. I went over to mark it and I saw this weird symbol on the wall. I touched it and the mouth of the cave got wickedly bright, it got hot, and when the light went away, I stepped out here.” 

He looks around again. “You seen a horse anywhere?” 

You look at him sadly. This poor, deluded man. Truly believes he’s Arthur Morgan, picking flowers for that collector in Saint Denis and finding bones for the paleontologist lady. You wonder who this man identified with before Red Dead 2 came out in 2018. 

“Mister, only rich people own horses. There’s some about a mile north, but they don’t belong to you I don’t think.” 

He looks at you, confused again. 

“Come on, mister,” you say, beckoning him to follow. “Let me, um… I think you need to see someone.” 

You begin walking again but he calls to you.

“Still don’t believe me, do ya miss?” 

“Listen to yourself!” you say. “Arthur Morgan is from a video game. A video game! He’s not real, but you are. Please sir, I think you need help.” 

“Lady, I don’t know what the hell a video game is, but I can prove I am real and I am Arthur Morgan!” 

He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a slightly ruffled looking orchid. The kind you know from playing the game grows in Big Valley in West Elizabeth, in the forest where the pigs and cougars spawn. He then pulls out a newspaper and hands it to you. 

The newspaper’s called “Saint Denis Times” and it’s dated June 18, 1899. The top headline is reporting the bloody massacre of the Grey family in Rhodes. You’ve read the newspapers in the game once before and you remember the article. It’s exactly the same as the one from the game. He then pulls out his pocketwatch. It’s worn and dirty just like the one from the game. 

He continues pulling out more objects, even some dried meat. As he shows you more things, you inspect the guns in his holsters. They look real. In his holster on his right hip, you see the double-action revolver with its gold barrel and white handle. You see the engraving of a stag’s head on it. 

The more he shows you, the more you find it hard to believe he’s not the real Arthur Morgan. But how in the hell is this possible? It can’t be and yet here he is. He even pulls out his journal. He doesn’t open it, you’re not surprised. You’ve played the game enough to know he’d never show you what’s inside (even though you’ve already seen it). Everything he’s shown you seems so genuine, so real. Something inside you says he’s not making it up, but how in the hell can it be real? There’s no logic to it! 

You tell him to put his things away as you try to think how this could have happened. Arthur, or whatever his real name is, asks to show you the drawing he touched in the cave. You say okay, but keep a firm grip on the pepper spray in your pocket (you never go anywhere without it). The man leads you to the cave and you pull out your phone and turn on the flashlight. 

“What is that?” he asks to the slim device in your hand, trying to stare into the light, flabbergasted by it. 

“It’s a phone,” you say, continuing on in the cave. Sage sniffs along the ground happily, but as you approach the back, she starts barking. The same way she was before the man came out of the cave. 

“That’s it,” he says, pointing to it. The drawing looks like some strange symbol. Although you’ve studied some anthropology and symbolism, you’ve never been able to place the culture or meaning of the symbol and just assumed some kid did it. However, getting closer to it, you see it’s been carved into the rock and looks like it’s been there for a long time. 

Arthur grabs your shoulder. “Don’t get closer to it, miss. I ain’t too sure what it is, but… well, it ain’t good I think. It’s what I touched and that’s how I ended up here.” 

You heed his warning and take a few steps back. You take a picture of it so you can do some research. You aren’t too sure what to do at this point. Something tells you that you can’t take this man to the hospital, and calling the cops wouldn’t do any good. However, the sun’s setting and you have to work in the morning. All your logic says he can’t stay with you, this isn’t a Disney movie after all. He might be playing an elaborate hoax or something. 

“You still don’t believe me, do you?” he asks. 

“How can I?” you demand. “I mean, listen to yourself! You can’t be Arthur Morgan! He’s from a video game!” 

The man sighs and walks over to the wall, placing his hand on the symbol. Sage begins barking like crazy and the opening of the cave becomes too bright to look at and the cave fills with hot air. After a few seconds, the light dims and it cools. 

You step outside the cave and find yourself standing in Big Valley. You’re in awe. Somehow, you’ve been transported to 1899 into the game of Red Dead. A pig somewhere nearby squeals and you see, maybe 50 feet away, a huge Ardennes warhorse. She snorts at Arthur. 

“You believe me now, miss?” he asks. 

You nod, still unable to speak. 

“Good. I… I have to admit, I wasn’t sure that’d work.” 

You finally look at him understandingly. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I didn’t think it was possible.��� 

“I can understand why, miss. I wouldn’t believe it myself if it hadn’t happened to me.” He looks around and then begins to cough. 

“Shit, Arthur. You okay?” 

“Yeah,” he says, spitting into the grass and wiping his mouth. You see the small line of blood left away. 

“Arthur, you have TB, don’t you?”

He looks at you, shocked. “How… how do you know that? I only saw a doctor for it two days ago.” 

Where to begin with this, you wonder. “Um… it’ll take some explaining, but come on. Let’s see if we can go back and I can get you some medicine for it.” 

“You mean… there’s a cure for it where you come from?” 

“Well, sort of. We don’t have a cure, per say, but we do have antibiotics. They’ll kick your ass just about as much as the bacteria, but at least you’re more likely to live.” 

He looks at you and you see a glimmer of hope. “Okay. I’ll go with you, miss.”

You head back into the cave and touch the symbol. It surprisingly works again and you’re taken back to your time and your park. You’ll take Arthur to a doctor, but you have to drop Sage off at your house and get a car. You have to smile to yourself as you tell Arthur to walk with you. What an adventure this is going to be.

[lovelylogans]

love light gleams

masterpost | chapter one | next chapter

christmas eve will find me where the love light gleams i’ll be home for christmas if only in my dreams

-bing crosby, i’ll be home for christmas

part of the wyliwf verse.

the sideshire files | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, teenage emancipation, emotional abuse, mentions of being disowned, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, classism, mentions of past underage drinking, crying, religious content (church, going to confession), remus cameo, mentions of choking/killing someone, something similar to the canon “have you thought about killing your brother?” monologue, please let me know if i’ve missed anything!

pairings: gen 

words: 57,686

notes: the way i came up with virgil’s dad’s name is, in fact, the nerdiest naming shortcut i’ve ever used. also, i used a middle name generator to come up with virgil’s middle name and That popped up and then i went back and did it again and that popped up and i Literally Couldn’t Resist. many thanks to @teacupfulofstarshine​ and @ for talking this work through with me!!!

virgil checks the time, again. yep. still 8:27 in the morning. still three more minutes. still he’s just sitting here, waiting, staring eagle-eyed at the last remaining people having breakfast or the people on coffee runs to see if they need anything else, just to have something to fill the time. 

he ends up just restacking the donuts in the little cake stand—it seemed a little crooked, and sure, the rest of the diner has been polished up nicely, but it’s just—they’re uneven. it’ll be noticeable if someone looks closely.

how many times have you seen dad rearrange the donut stand, he scolds himself. they won’t care, you’re overreacting. it’ll be fine. they’re your parents.

he doesn’t really stop, though. once he’s started it, he may as well keep going. 

it takes all of a minute and thirty seconds. 8:28. two more minutes. maybe he should wipe down the counter again, even though he did that five minutes ago. or top off the coffee pots, even though he did that seven minutes ago. 

he ends up going back into the kitchen to see if they need to add anything extra to the usual supply run that happens each week, checking the fridge and the freezer and jotting things down on the notepad he’s got hanging up on the kitchen wall—they should probably get more condiments—when he hears the bell jangle, and a familiar voice booms, “taylor, you old tightwad, you better not have done away with my son to buy our lot next door, i haven’t forgotten those threats!”

virgil grins. he hears taylor spluttering irritably at his mom. just like old times.

"where’s my son?” she calls.

“kitchen!” virgil shouts, finishing his scrawl as soon as possible, capping the pen and darting to the door of the kitchen, catching the doorframe and leaning so the diner comes into view so he doesn’t look like a little kid running to see his parents, even if that’s how he feels.

his mom is already crossing behind the counter, his dad trailing in her wake, and he steps forward in time for her to wrap her arms around him.

“there’s my baby,” she says, and virgil closes his eyes, really, genuinely feeling like a kid for a second, just for a second—she still smells like cinnamon and lemon-scented cleaning supplies, even after not working in the diner for half a year, and she’s wearing the same soft plum sweater he’s seen her wear hundreds of times with the same puffy black coat she wears in the winter.

“hi, mom,” he says, muffled by her shoulder.

she draws back, smiling, and keeps her hands on his shoulders. she still has the dark hair that virgil inherited from her, the bright blue eyes that virgil didn’t, the mischievous smile that got passed to his siblings. “happy birthday, bunny.”

“ mom,” he grumbles, ducking his head, and she laughs, ruffling his hair.

“i’m allowed to embarrass you, i’m your mother,” she says.

“virgil,” his dad says, mild as always. still with the brown eyes virgil got from him, the brown hair that’s just enough lighter than virgil and his mother’s that it’s a noticeable difference, tanner skin, from the italian side of the family (his last name used to be palmisano, before he changed it to danes after he got married to virgil’s mom, virgil is technically a family name, along with one of the... other parts of his name) the calm demeanor that virgil really wishes he had, sometimes.

“hey, dad,” he says, and his mom tugs virgil closer so that his dad can hug him, just for a moment, before he places a hand on his cheek.

“are you all right?” he says. “you look peaky. pale.”

“i always look pale, ” virgil points out.

“not coming down with anything?” 

“no, dad.”

“sleeping eight hours a night?” he says, narrow-eyed, and virgil hesitates for just a moment too long.

“ cinnabun,” his mother scolds.

“i’m running the diner!” he says defensively. “if anyone should know how busy that is, it’s you two, but i’m fine!”

his mom pinches his other cheek, so now each of his parents have a hand on his face, framing it. “no, you’ve definitely lost weight. three meals a day?”

" yes, mom,” he says. 

“prove it,” she challenges. “sit down, we can have breakfast.”

“in a second,” he says. “i’m just gonna make sure everything’s set before i take a break. you can make the rounds and dad can go sit in a booth and gossip with mrs. torres about how i’ve been doing lately, i’ll bring you some coffee.”

his father looks mollified—which is fair, mrs. torres is a pretty frequent diner customer and a prolific gossip and as such will probably know a lot more about virgil than virgil might even know about himself—so with their coffee in hand, his parents go to make the rounds. since a lot of virgil’s regulars are their old regulars, they’re saying hello to everyone and catching up on all the happenings of the town since they’d moved away.

his dad is deep in conversation with mrs. torres (probably somehow trying to ascertain the exact amount of sleep he’s been getting based on how often the diner’s been open early or late) and his mom is cheerfully picking a fight with taylor over all the associations he’s part of in an attempt to rise in power in the town.

virgil inhales deeply, smelling the coffee, the bacon, pancakes and syrup. it’s just—it’s nice. it’s back to the old times. it’s just like how things were before.

he serves some breakfast, and tops off coffee, and he’s hauling a tray of pancakes and french toast and omelets to a table full of businesspeople when the bell jingles again. he glances over, balancing the tray on his shoulder.

“hey,” virgil says to patton gruffly, and patton smiles at him—logan’s hidden by the way he’s been placed in the baby carrier strapped to the front of patton’s chest, but he can see the massive pom-pom on top of his winter hat moving, so logan’s probably awake and not crying, which is frankly miraculous.

“morning,” patton says. “um—happy birthday.”

virgil blinks. “how’d you—?”

“maria,” patton admits. “plus you mentioned it when we met. twenty-three, right?”

“right. well, thanks,” virgil says, and gestures to the dining room with his free hand. “you two settle in, i’ll bring you some hot cocoa/coffee?”

patton nods, and heads for a booth as virgil heads for the table and finishes serving breakfast, checking that they don’t need anything else, and virgil heads back behind the counter.

just in time to see his parents both wandering slowly over to patton’s booth, zeroing in on the baby. they probably think they look subtle. virgil quickly fills up a mug with hot cocoa/coffee, so he can rush over and make sure his parents don’t steal logan. 

“i haven’t seen you, are you new in town?” his mother is saying by the time he drops off the mug.

“he is,” virgil says, leaning his hip against the booth. “patton, sorry in advance, these are my parents, mark and meredith danes.”

“oh!” patton says, and shakes hands with his mom, and then with his dad. “very nice to meet you both.”

his parents are exchanging a glance, one of those Married Couple looks that no one else can understand. 

“so, how long have you been in town?” mark asks.

“um,” he says. “a month or so?”

“why sideshire?” meredith asks, and patton exchanges a slightly panicked look with virgil. virgil clears his throat.

“um, so, patton, look out, they’re definitely going to try and steal logan because they’re desperate for grandchildren.”

“you should have some kids,” mark says.

“ dad,” he says pointedly. “i’m twenty-tw— three, plus i’m single, i’m not about to have any kids. i’m busy dealing with the diner.”

“well, they could help out,” mark says.

“half the reason we had you is because of the free labor,” meredith says fondly, and virgil rolls his eyes.

“if you want grandkids, bug wyatt, he’s oldest,” virgil says pointedly. “or essie! she’s getting married, bug her!”

“aw, it’s cute that you think we aren’t doing that too, bunny,” meredith says.

“ mom,” virgil groans.

“bunny?” patton says, amused.

“we all have food-based nicknames,” virgil grumbles. “they ran out of material by the time they got to me.”

“ cinnamon bun has the good fortune of offering even more nicknames, mister,” meredith says.

“oh, sure,” virgil says. “wyatt and essie and silas all get relatively normal ones, but by the time you got to freddie and i it’s snickerdoodle and bunny, this definitely isn’t eldest child favoritism.”

virgil isn’t just talking about nicknames here, but he digresses.

“why cinnamon bun?” patton asks, glancing between virgil and his mother, a smile on his face.

“he always fell right to sleep whenever we swaddled him, so we basically always swaddled him,” meredith says. “and he just looked like the sweetest little bun of a baby.” 

“as such, he became cinnamon bun,” mark adds. 

“that’s—”

“don’t—”

“ sweet,” patton finishes, and sticks his tongue out at virgil, who lets out a theatrical groan at the pun, mostly because patton gets very satisfied with himself when he does. 

his parents look thoroughly charmed. logan, however, makes a squalling noise of protest.

“oh, hey there,” patton says. “hey, i just fed you, you okay?”

he frees logan from his carrier, and holds him in his arms, and virgil sees both his parents melt, absolutely weak for the presence of a baby. he’s pretty sure the reason for his and freddie’s existences were partially about, yes, free labor, but also they wanted to have a baby around the house.

his parents are exchanging another one of those Married Couple looks. virgil wants to ask, but patton’s making comforting noises at logan, and he quiets a little.

“you just wanted attention, huh?”

“oh, he’s precious,” mark says.

“how old is he?” meredith asks. 

“two months on the third,” patton says. “so i guess a month and a half, give or take?”

his parents make the appropriate cooing noises, though virgil’s pretty sure that they’d react the same way if patton had said any passage of time from birth.

patton rocks logan a little, more and more, until logan’s quiet again. his parents are Looking At Each Other like that again.

“patton, would you like to join us for breakfast?” meredith says, and patton looks up, startled.

“oh, you don’t have to,” patton begins.

“i’m honestly trying to figure out the best strategy to get you to let me hold the baby,” meredith admits breezily, no shame, and patton laughs.

“well, you can now, if you want?”

so meredith swaps seats so she can slide in next to patton in the booth, and carefully starts cradling logan, and mark gets up too, straightening the hem of his sweater vest.

“virgil,” mark says. “why don’t i follow you back into the kitchen, to help get things settled before you take a break? i want to see how it’s doing.”

that makes sense—his dad’s domain was the kitchen, while his mom had been out front. so virgil nods, and he gestures vaguely back toward the counter.

“don’t steal logan,” he tells his mom.

“no promises,” meredith says without looking up from logan, and virgil and his father fall into step together.

“i didn’t really change much,” virgil says, when they’re in the kitchen. “just rearranged the cabinets a little, and—”

“virgil,” his father says, voice serious and quiet. “how old is that boy?”

virgil hesitates, looks around the kitchen—mostly empty—and pitches his voice as soft as his dad’s. “sixteen, but he turns seventeen next month.”

his father lets out a slow breath, and says, “his parents?”

“he’s a runaway, so i don’t know them,” virgil says. “but from what i hear, it’s not good. he moved here because when he was running away he happened to come into the in the diner, and it was—”

he breaks off, remembering it, and all the things that had happened since; how patton hands had been shaking for ten minutes on either side of his first attempted call home, which he’d hung up on before the phone had even gotten through its first ring, and how virgil had made the excuse of taking a break to sit with him when he called and the way patton’s voice trembled after. how he’d used a burner phone he bought in the city to be sure they couldn’t track his call to sideshire. how he’d held logan tight afterward in an attempt to calm himself down.

how scared patton had been. of losing what tenuous new start he’d had in sideshire, of losing his newfound independence, of losing logan, of any legal action his parents might take. how helpless virgil had felt to comfort him. 

so virgil might not know what his parents are like, but jesus, if patton’s that scared of going back—

“it’s not good,” virgil repeats. 

“not—” his father begins, looking incensed.

“no,” virgil says quickly. “no, no—i mean, they sound like assholes, but i don’t think they were abusive.”

his father’s face smooths back into its usual placid expression. 

“and he’s living... where?”

“at the inn,” virgil says, and scowls. “in the poolhouse.”

“in the—?”

“not maria’s choice,” he says. “she offered him a room, or at least somewhere that’s at least inside, but he didn’t want to take away business. i mean, i offered—“ he gestures above their heads. “but, i mean, i don’t blame him for not taking it, it’s for one person, not two people plus a baby—”

“not the lot next door?” he says.

“dad, that’s no place for a baby, it’s under construction,” virgil says, and his father sighs.

“i know, it’s just—“ his father frowns. “it gets too cold here, in the winter, and i can’t imagine a pool house has much in way of insulation.”

“we’re trying to work on it when we can,” virgil says. “but—i mean, it’s been a pretty mild winter so far, thank god, maria and i have been planning on tugging them in for a sleepover when it gets too cold.”

a familiar voice coos, “oh, what pretty eyes—i know it’s not everything, but he really is a cute baby, patton.”

“well, thank you, ma’am,” patton says, and the kitchen door opens to see patton holding logan again, his mom staring lovingly at the baby.

“we’re eating back here, aren’t we?” meredith says.

“i—yeah, yeah,” virgil says. “um—just here, i don’t think all of us will fit into the office, what do you—?”

“no,” meredith says, cutting him off. “you’re not working, it’s your birthday.”

“ you’re not working, you both retired,” virgil says.

“ none of you are working, it’s family time,” sarah says exasperatedly, sweeping past them with a tray, and his parents laugh.

“retired?” patton asks, glancing between them. 

“well, relocated,” meredith says. “we’re making a new diner but taking a step back from running it day-to-day, you know.”

“not open yet, but it will be soon,” mark adds. 

“what’s the estimate on that again?” virgil says. “you wanted all of us to come down for the opening, right?”

“all of us?” patton says. 

“siblings—wyatt, esther, silas, winifred, and i,” virgil says. at patton’s startled look, he gives his parents a Look. “yeah, virgil doesn’t sound so out of place with all that, does it?”

“we like old-fashioned names,” meredith says, unrepentant. 

“i mean, i can’t talk, my name is patton,” patton says.

“and what a lovely name it is,” meredith says. 

“well, thank you,” patton says. “i thought so too.”

“speaking of all those old-fashioned names,” mark says dryly, “virgil, do you know when your siblings are coming to town?”

“freddie’s coming tomorrow, silas and essie and annabelle are coming on the twenty-third, and wyatt can’t get off work until christmas eve, so he’ll be there in the morning,” virgil rattles off. 

“ah, wyatt,” mark says.

“darn wyatt, coming in late for family bonding time because he’s held up by being a surgical resident,” meredith quips.

“whoa, really?” patton says. “what kind?”

“orthopedic,” they all chorus. 

“still a resident,” virgil adds. “but he’s doing well.”

“that’s great,” patton says sincerely. “a surgeon, wow.”

“we knew as soon as he kept picking out operation for game night,” meredith jokes, and patton giggles. 

virgil’s found himself trying to make him laugh a lot, over the past month—when he does, it seems like the new bags under his eyes and the almost-always-furrowed brow disappear, and the transformation’s practically magic. eyes crinkling at the corners, smile wide and bright, carefree and happy. he looks like a kid, just for a moment. like he should.

it seems like, after seeing patton laugh, his mom picks up on that mission too.

she’s cracking jokes left and right—telling old diner stories, resorting to puns and knock-knock jokes, at some point, which patton sure doesn’t seem to mind—as sarah ends up taking their orders and his dad takes his turn on holding logan.  

mark danes is usually a pretty straight-faced, non-reactive kind of man, but every time he holds a baby, it gets pitched out of the window. virgil basically sees his dad melt into a puddle of syrup as he coos softly at the sleeping logan.

he kind of pouts a little when he has to put him down to eat.

after sarah darts off, meredith asks, “so what are you two planning on doing for the holidays?” and virgil freezes, just a little. he has been very carefully Not Asking that exact question, but now—

“oh,” patton says, and laughs a little nervously. “um, i’m not sure yet? working, maybe, i think maria mentioned something about holiday overtime pay—”

“you can’t work on christmas,” meredith says, aghast. “maria wouldn’t make you—“

“well, no, but since i don’t—i mean, i’m not really—“ patton fumbles.

“right, so, work is a potential plan,” virgil cuts in, mostly out of pity, in an attempt to take some of the attention of patton. “could you pass me the syrup?”

patton does, obligingly, and by the time he’s set the pitcher in virgil’s hand it seems like he’s a bit less spooked, a bit more settled.

“i guess i haven’t thought about it very much,” patton says. “it’s not very—i mean, i’m not much of a christmas person, i guess.”

virgil frowns. “you’ve been singing logan christmas songs since december started.”

which is true—logan does not seem to be a fan of “frosty the snowman” or “i saw mommy kissing santa claus,” considering he cries whenever patton tries to sing them, but he likes “deck the halls” and ��god rest ye merry gentlemen.” virgil’d had no idea a baby could be so opinionated about music.

patton flushes, and virgil immediately feels bad. patton clears his throat.

“i don’t know my plan, really,” patton finishes in a mumble.

“well, if you’re looking for a plan,” meredith says, “surely virgil’s brought up—”

virgil could kick her—he would, if the counter wasn’t in his way—and hisses, “ mom, he doesn’t have to—”

“did you not offer? virgil danes, we raised you to have manners , for god’s sake, don’t tell me—“

“—well i didn’t know if we were still doing that, there isn’t as much space in the apartment as there was in the house—“

“—oh, and you expect the diner will be open on christmas, we’ve always done it in the diner, don’t try to pass off lack of space as an—“

“—well i didn’t know, usually you’re in charge of christmas stuff—!”

“—we’re having it in your diner this year, virgil, it’s not ours anymore—”

“ dear,” mark says, equable even as patton squirms a little in the face of virgil getting a parental lecture, “let’s remember that it’s virgil’s birthday, he has a friend here, and there’s still almost a week to christmas, shall we?”

meredith settles back with a huff, picking up her fork and knife to pointedly cut a triangle of pancake, and virgil, feeling his face heat, nudges at his hashbrowns with his fork, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

“i was going to bring it up once i knew the whole plan,” virgil mutters, and his mother sighs—a familiar sigh, one that’s been decreasing since his teen years, but one that still grates anytime he hears it—and takes a sip of her coffee before she speaks. 

“it is your first time planning the family christmas,” she says. “sorry. long night of travel. you know how it is.”

he does. his mother, impetuous and quick-tempered and a direct inverse to his coolheaded father, was quick to snap but quick to calm—these kinds of squabbles with his mom tended to look bad, from the outside, but most every member of the danes family knew these fights are over and forgotten as soon as someone says sorry. 

at least, it’s over and forgotten as soon as someone said sorry with his mom. mileage on that ranged when it came to the other members of the danes family, considering all of them have been called some variation of “an impossible, bitter, surly, stubborn, infuriating killjoy” by taylor doose at least once in a continuation of the “doose vs danes” family feud that had been going on for two generations. granted, those two generations consist of taylor, meredith danes, and meredith danes’ children, so it’s not as impressive as it sounds.

“it’s fine,” virgil says, and it is, mostly. since he’s the only member of the danes family who’s prone to keeping arguments in the back of his head and running them over and over and over to see if the thousandth time he thought about it meant that he’d suddenly discover exactly why they hated him and why he was bound to be disowned. he’s also the only member of the danes family with anxiety. so. even though he might think about how everything is about to go wrong and collapse around him—

“it’s fine,” he repeats, more for his own benefit than anyone else’s. or at least, he thinks that, but his mother relaxes her shoulders and smiles at him, sheepish and apologetic, and... and it really is fine.

patton, observing this, seems to relax a little, too.

“patton,” mark says, cutting through any of the remaining awkwardness, “you wouldn’t happen to know maria’s christmas plans, would you?”

“she said she was going to visit her son, i think?” patton says uncertainly, and both mark and meredith make noises of recognition.

“oh, i wonder how john’s doing in—was it santa fe?”

“santa barbara,” virgil corrects absently, and the rest of the breakfast continues with virgil catching up his parents on the latest of the sideshire gossip, patton chiming in, when he can. 

when they’re straightening up the dishes once they’re done, and virgil offers another refill for everyone, patton checks the time and says, “mine better be to go.”

“right, work,” virgil says, making sure that his cup is half-caf—he’ll probably notice, he always does, somehow, but honestly, the kid should cut back on his caffeine intake, it’s ridiculous—before he hands it over.

“well,” his mother says, offering her hand to shake. “it was very nice to meet one of virgil’s friends, patton—“

“— mom —”

“—and since i’m apparently still in charge of christmas plans, if you find yourself free, we’d love it if you and logan stopped by,” meredith says, chipper, and patton blinks.

“um—?”

“only if you want to,” virgil says hastily, but his father raises his voice just slightly to say, “well, since all the kids are coming and none of them have blessed us with grandchildren—“

“— dad—”

“consider it?” mark continues. “especially since maria won’t be in town, and it’s baby’s first christmas, and all. i know he won’t remember it, but a parent does—”

“ dad, seriously—“

“well, think it over!” his mother declares, as she ushers patton toward the door, “and have a wonderful day, and no matter what you decide, i would love to see your precious little logan again—“

"o kay, thanks, mom, i think patton gets it,” virgil says loudly. “you don’t need to walk him all the way back to the inn, you can go back to interrogating mrs. torres now.”

virgil takes over the ushering and ends up ushering both himself and patton (and logan, by proxy) right out the door.

“uh,” patton says. “so. those are your parents.”

“i am so sorry,” virgil says. “i think their social filters skipped a generation and then all got crammed into me for an overabundance of filter, or something. i think that’s what anxiety is, right?”

patton laughs, soft. “they were nice,” he says reassuringly. “really, i liked them.”

“seriously, you don’t have to feel pressured if you don’t wanna come,” virgil says. “they can be kinda pushy, but if you don’t wanna come, i can—”

“virgil,” patton says. “i—just let me think about it?”

“yeah,” virgil says. “yeah, of course. um. i hope you two have a good day at work.”

“you too,” patton says, and virgil watches close enough to make sure that he and logan cross the street safely, to take a deep breath, and to re-enter the chaos that is having part of his family in town.

oh, great. now he gets to look forward to everyone in his family in town.

⁂

“ah, patton!” maria says, and patton comes to a stop, smiling the best he can at her. she’s nice. she’s incredibly nice. patton is still a little nervous around her, but that’s because she’s, you know. his boss? and landlord? even though he knows that she’s incredibly nice.

“hello, ma’am.”

“oh, when am i going to break you of all that ma’am nonsense?” maria says warmly, before handing him a slip of paper. “now, i’ve got your schedule for the day written down, here, but if you wouldn’t mind meeting me in my office for lunch?”

“oh!” patton says, and winces when his voice cracks. “um, okay. did i do something wrong—?”

“no, no, nothing of the sort!” maria says hastily. “you’ve been a model employee. since you’ve been here a month or so, i just want to talk about how you’re settling in, that’s all. very routine.”

“oh,” patton says, and tries for a smile again. “um, okay! sure. when should i drop by?”

“noon will work just fine,” maria says, and smiles warmly at logan before patting patton on the shoulder. “now, pip pip! we’ve got a lot of work to do. it’s a new day!”

“yes, it is,” patton says, and opens up the schedule. he thinks that they’re made only for him because one, he’s newest, and on decreased hours since maria had pointed out that patton wold still be on paternity leave if he’d started working at the inn before logan was born, but two, he’s just been really forgetful lately, probably since he doesn’t sleep that much anymore. he isn’t sure how much of it is logan crying, or general insomnia, or being kept up at night by his head, or the fact that his “bed” in the poolhouse is a busted old pull-out bed that was a reject from one of the rooms; maria keeps telling him that she’ll get him a mattress, but he made her promise not to rush it, or anything, so he’ll get a proper bed when a customer damages one. but, anyways, he’s been very forgetful, and he really only remembered that it’s virgil’s birthday because maria mentioned it on his way out the door. 

which he feels terrible about. sure, virgil didn’t mention the exact day of his birthday, when they met, but he still should have asked people. he didn’t even get him anything, and with how fast his funds are depleting, even with a job, he isn’t going to be able to get him anything nice. and virgil really deserves something nice, because virgil’s been so kind to him. 

really, everyone in sideshire is being kind to him. it’s kind of weird. because they’re not like his parents or his parents’ friends' version of kind, the “i’m being nice to you now so you’ll do something nice for me later” kind of kind, but real, genuine kindness.  

cindy in the kitchen had given him a ton of old baby clothes that might last logan until he’s two, swearing up and down that they’d been meaning to drop everything at goodwill for ages now and really patton was doing them a favor if he just swung by their house and picked it up, their wife would be glad to see them gone, she’d been lecturing cindy about it for ages.

hector with landscaping had been sealing up all the drafty parts of the poolhouse during his breaks, winking at patton and making him promise he won’t tell maria, because apparently hector was supposed to do that three summers ago and he’s really just catching up on late work, and patton doesn’t want anciano hector be in trouble with the big boss, now, did he? plus he’s promised to take a look at the clawfoot bathtub in the poolhouse where patton bathes, where the water never really heats.

pauline with the front desk had sniffed at his hair and said he looked like an unkempt puppy and given him a haircut, for free, and then a ton of her husband’s old sweaters, because patton had to at least look like he was proud to work at the inn, saying all of this sternly, even though when patton left he’d found three twenties slipped into various pockets that she refused to take back every time he’d tried to confront her about it.

rafael with repairs, after hearing he was trans, had donated some of his old binders for patton to use once he’s done with nursing logan, since he didn’t need them anymore, and had promised patton that this was a good place for trans people and if he needed anyone there was a group of trans or otherwise non-gender-conforming people in town who met up at remy aserinsky’s coffee shop once every month and he could give patton some of their numbers if he wanted and patton had nearly cried . (well, patton’s close to crying a lot these days, but all the post-partum research he’s been doing says that’s normal. even without.... everything else.)

and that’s just people at the inn alone, the big things they’d done, not even counting all the small, little kindnesses along the way—saving him a seat at lunch, making sure patton got whatever kind of cookie he wanted, helping pick up the slack with any rooms patton had forgotten, before he’d had a written schedule, picking up logan and bouncing him and cooing at him, and now logan has a cadre of honorary aunts and uncles and godparents. 

not even counting the store-owners who point patton to where to find sales or coupons or tell him when to swing by so he gets the old food they discard and donate at the end of the day. not even counting just the neighbors, who always wave or say hello or murmur at logan, and—

and virgil. god, virgil, who’s feeding him and helping with logan and now inviting patton and logan to his family christmas, who’s there to listen and hug patton, if he needs it, and patton—

patton’s overwhelmed, is the only word for it. he’s bowled over by the level of kindness here. it’s a level of niceness that patton would have thought impossible, like it’s a completely unattainable utopia. people are kind here like it’s a given, like it’s thoughtless to be good, kind, gentle. they’re kind in the way that patton wants logan to see, growing up, to learn about helping people and being nice like it’s a given, and not an exchange of services. they’re kind in the way that patton desperately wants to be, but he knows he falls short every time, and—and he doesn’t even know how to start paying people back for everything they’re doing for him.

so that thought’s rattling around his head all morning along with everything else—really, it’s been knocking around up there for the past few weeks—so distracting that it’s nearly noon before he remembers that he’s due in maria’s office and he nearly swears before he hastily finishes making the bed of the latest room and dashes up the stairs, swinging around the doorframe, one hand bracing logan’s head.

“hi!” patton pants. “am i late?”

“right on time,” maria says and gestures. “please, take a seat anywhere you like.”

patton hesitates, eyes going to one specific spot, and maria laughs.

“i put that there on purpose,” she says reassuringly, rising from her desk and settling on the patterned, childish rug with, well—a nice spot for logan to lie down, really.

“um, okay,” patton says, and lifts logan from his carrier, unbuckling it, before he gently sets logan on his back. logan blinks up at him, considering, before he sticks his fingers into his mouth. patton sits back, and tries to make eye contact with maria, just for a moment. well. tries.

“adorable,” maria murmurs, eyes soundly fixed on the baby.

“sure is,” patton says proudly. 

“and he’s doing well?” maria checks.

“other than the colic? healthiest little baby there could be, the six-week doctor’s appointment was a few days ago,” patton says. he’d swapped the appointment’s time three times to make sure that he wouldn’t have any surprise parent drop-ins, but they might have been notified by the insurance company that he’d gone, so. “he’s eating plenty, gaining weight, growing even more to make up for how small he was, since he was a preemie, you know—on track for all his milestones. early, for a few, actually.”

“oh?”

“yeah! apparently, it’s a bit weird that he started vocalizing early, that isn’t supposed to happen until about two months. oh! and i think he’s starting to recognize himself, yesterday he kept smiling and babbling and waving at whoever that strange baby in the mirror was. he seemed a bit confused that there were two of me. i think he’s due to start laughing any day now, too!”

“how wonderful,” maria says warmly. 

“yeah, he is,” patton says, beaming. 

“and the... other part, of that day?” maria asks, arching her eyebrows. “you were hoping to meet up with logan’s other father. christopher, wasn’t it?”

“yeah,” patton says quietly, looking down at logan, who removes his fingers from his mouth and waves an arm at him. “yeah, it’s christopher.”

mostly, kind of stunned to see patton. mostly, kind of stunned that patton had told him that yes, running away was a serious, permanent thing. mostly, kind of stunned that patton had a job, and a place to live, and no intention of returning home. mostly... well. mostly, stunned that out of the pair of them, it was patton who was going to legally sever himself from his parents. but... well. patton probably wouldn’t have to grocery shop for diapers or formula or anything a nearly-two-month-old baby could possibly need for about three months, along with a few things that logan is distinctly not old enough for—he’s pretty sure that the stuffed animals are okay, but the toys with little parts aren’t, and also that the brandy christopher got him (”you know giving a baby brandy to help with teething is an old wives’ tale, chris.” “didn’t say it was for him, mac.”) is going to turn into a christmas gift, or a donation to the inn’s kitchen, or something.

bittersweet. that’s what it was. it had felt so distinctly like an ending, for the two of them. patton and logan had both started crying during the drive home— home . to sideshire. patton guesses this is home now.

“he was good,” patton says. “supportive of, you know. the plan.”

maria surveys him for a few seconds, before she says, “well, that’s good, i suppose. do you have a preference for lunch? i can’t remember what’s on the menu today.”

“i don’t have a preference,” patton says quickly. he doesn’t want to put anyone at the inn out any more than they need to—who cares if he doesn’t like cassoulet, it’s food that they’re giving him, right? he doesn’t want to be ungrateful.

maria smiles at him, says “all right,” and buzzes for cindy to bring in some food and coffee. 

they drop off a tray of sandwiches, and chips, and some cut-up fruit. okay. patton can stomach that. it’s unexpected, sure, considering the usually fancy menu that the inn boasts, but—but patton can stomach it.

“so, patton,” maria says, picking up a sandwich. “how have you been liking it here, so far?”

"it’s been fantastic,” patton says honestly. “everyone here is so nice.”

“i’m happy to hear it,” maria says, and she continues to ask him questions: does he knows his way around now, are his hours are good, would he like to switch up his schedule to better care for logan, now that he’s nearing the end of both paternity leave and shadowing the other housekeepers, have any guests given him any problems, is there anything he’d like to suggest to better the inn? 

she and patton eat their way slowly through about half of the sandwich platter (turkey bacon, basil chicken, ham and cheese, italian deli) and maria continually pushes fruit in his direction.

“i swear you and virgil are ganging up on me,” patton says ruefully, accepting the grapes she’s nudged toward him, shortly after the melon, strawberries, and cantaloupe that he’s already eaten. 

“you’re a growing boy,” maria says, blasé, and patton smiles a little at that.

“now,” she says, picking up yet another sandwich, “tell me about your plans for the future, what you’d like to do here.”

“oh,” patton says, startled. “um. to tell you the truth, i haven’t really—i haven’t really thought about it very much?”

“well, rightfully enough, you’re sixteen,” maria says. “plenty of things you could do, if you wanted, and you’ve only been here a month.”

“do you have any advice?” patton asks, because sure, he may have only been here a month, but he knows that maria is smart.

“well,” maria says. “i’d wager you don’t want to be a housekeeper forever.”

patton smiles sheepishly. “no, i don’t think so. i mean, it’s great here! but—”

“but you have quite a life ahead of you, i can tell,” maria says. “you’d be capable of plenty, you’re an intelligent young man.”

patton looks down at logan, face burning, and pretends to occupy himself with making sure that logan’s comfortable. intelligent. right. 

“well, i don’t know about that,” he mumbles.

“well, i do,” she says firmly. 

she’s just being nice, patton thinks. 

“i’d like to keep you on, for as long as you like,” maria continues. “if for mostly selfish reasons.”

“i—i would like that,” patton says. “thank you.”

“now,” maria says. “i know i mentioned working on christmas, but i’m afraid that won’t be an option—there aren’t many guests staying, so it’s down to a skeleton staff. it will be up until after new years, i’m afraid, but christmas day seems like it’ll be out of the question, in terms of pay. it’s first come, first serve, and we have some employees who volunteered for it rather early this year, i hope you understand.”

“oh,” patton says.

“i hope you have plans,” maria says.

“i—well,” patton says, “i mean, virgil invited me to his family’s christmas, but—”

“oh, good!” maria says. “you deserve a nice christmas break. i’ll let cara know. their christmas dinners are wonderful, you’re in for a treat.” 

“i—i’m sure i am,” patton says.

“on another piece of christmas business,” maria says, and digs around in her suit pocket, handing over an envelope. “we did very well this year, so here’s your christmas bonus.”

patton hesitates. “i—i can’t take that—”

“well, of course you can!” maria says. “everyone else is getting one too—”

“but everyone else isn’t living in your pool house,” patton says. “i mean, i-i’m grateful, of course i am, but i’m not paying enough for rent as is, and—”

“i take your rent out of your paycheck,” maria says softly. “the pool house is in disuse anyway, the most we were using it for was storage and we have a unit for that, regardless.”

“but—“

“patton,” she says, and then, firmly, “if you won’t take it for yourself, then take it for logan. put it toward toys, diapers, his college fund, whatever you like. children are expensive.”

a beat, and then she adds, “and if you won’t take it, i’m afraid i’ll have to use the check to buy logan a drumset when he is old enough, and you will think back on this conversation and rue allowing me to keep it.”

patton huffs out a laugh and, reluctantly, takes the check.

“thank you,” he mumbles to the ground. 

“you’re quite welcome,” maria says, and then, “some mail came for you today.”

she reaches up onto the desk, and hands patton a manila folder.

patton’s mouth goes completely dry as he takes it. “oh.”

he swallows, and opens it just enough to slide out the sheaf of papers to see the heading— PETITION FOR EMANCIPATION —and swallows again, suddenly feeling dizzy and very grateful that he’s sitting on the floor.

“now, i know you didn’t want my john tangled up in it, but he has a friend who’s still in a firm in-state who knows this kind of law, and is willing to do it as a favor,” maria continues. patton slowly slides the papers back into the folder so he doesn’t see the heading.

“right,” he says.

“i know you’ve been struggling with whether or not you want to do this, but whatever you decide is right for you,” maria says gently. “do not let them change your mind. you will have help here, always, and not just from us in town—you can apply for temporary family assistance, if you like. but i looked into it and it would be much more likely if you were living with a relative—”

patton’s already shaking his head. 

“state administered general assistance, then, i think it’s called,” maria says. “the lawyer—rachael, i can’t remember her last name—could probably help walk you through anything to get any help you and that sweet boy might need. i could give you her number.”

“right,” patton says, voice barely a whisper. “okay. thank you.”

maria sighs, before she reaches over and gently pinches the squishy part patton’s cheek.

“oh, my baby,” she says, “i know this will be hard for you, and i am so sorry. there is not a person in the world who deserves this level of heartbreak less.” 

patton sniffles and swallows. he feels the strong urge to look away, to bury his face in his hands, and he could—maria’s hand on his face is in no way restrictive—but the cool, reassuring weight of maria’s hand is too comforting to discard. maria gently swipes her thumb across his cheek, erasing whatever tear track there might have been. 

“whatever you decide, just... just know that you and that baby will be able to stay here for as long as you like. all right?” maria says softly. 

“all right,” patton whispers. “thank you.” 

maria smiles at him, sad, before she pats his cheek. “all right. would you like some cookies? chocolate is the fastest way to defeat sadness, you know.”

patton sniffles, again, and picks up logan, just to hold him close. “i—yeah, okay. sure. i’ll have some cookies.”

⁂

virgil has a morning routine half because routines and habits help with virgil’s anxiety, and half out of necessity.

he rolls out of bed and drags himself into the shower. he gets dressed in whatever combination of purple, plaid, and black that he wants to wear for the day. he gets a cup of coffee, because the timed coffee machine that he got himself after he moved into his apartment was frankly a blessing. he eats breakfast—usually a protein bar or an apple or something small, which his parents would probably disapprove of, but it’s fine because he makes up for it by having an early lunch to beat the usual lunch rush—and then descends the stairs to the diner, where he kicks on all the coffeemakers downstairs and turns on the lights and then unlocks the front door, for all of the workers on morning shift, and then retreats into the kitchen to start, well. cooking.

he’s on his way to unlock the front door when he draws back and tries not to shriek.

there’s someone sitting there, leaning back against the door, so he can’t see their face, with a winter coat and scarf and hat so he can’t even see their hair or skin color or any identifying factors.

virgil hesitates, before he moves to unlock the door and knocks gently against the door. please move please move please move please don’t be someone who died of exposure on my stoop—

they get to their feet before they dramatically spin and throw the scarf away from their face, revealing an impish grin that has haunted virgil since he was born, basically, and virgil slams his hand against the door as soon as he notices that she’s laughing, before he throws open the door.

“you asshole, i thought you were someone who decided to camp on my stoop and die of hypothermia to make some kind of anti-junk-food statement!”

“aw, i love you too, v, the most babiest of brothers—“

“—i am not a baby, i’m twenty-thre—”

“—gimmie a kiss!” freddie sings, attempting to box virgil in with some kind of hug. “kiss, kiss, kiss—“

“—ow, get off , you’re demon sent straight from hell to torment me—”

“—do not make me jump on you i will jump on your back and hang on until you acknowledge that your favorite sibling is back in town with some outward display of affection—“

“—okay first of all saying that you’re my favorite sibling is a stretch—”

“—well, it sure as hell isn’t silas, we both know wyatt is an alien, and considering essie is further from you in age, this means that you’ve clearly bonded the most with me—”

“—and second of all, if you jump onto my back i will throw you onto this tile floor, you see how mom and dad aren’t here to stop me and this is my diner now?”

“what are you, a professional wrestler?” freddie says, and virgil manages to squirm free and makes a hasty retreat to the counter. or, well, he tries. freddie is hot in pursuit.

“you realize that if you don’t now i’ll start this again during breakfast rush!” freddie taunts. 

virgil weighs these options, before he heaves a massive sigh and, making a show of how grudging he is, leans over to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. 

freddie gasps, and clasps her hands under her chin, making a show of beaming up at him with a loud “ awww!”

virgil looks like a more even blend of their parents—dark hair, brown eyes, pale—whereas freddie much more favors their mom, dark hair, blue eyes, that same mischievous smile.

“aw, you do love me.”

“i said nothing of the sort,” virgil says, scowling.

“and that i’m your favorite, which i totally expect to be reflected in my christmas present,” freddie continues, bouncing behind the counter. virgil makes a sharp noise at her, making a cutting motion with his arm, as if to make a barrier to prevent her from following him.

“bar!”

freddie looks offended.

“unless you’re volunteering your services in the kitchen, in which case—“

freddie scuttles to a barstool, and virgil stifles his smile. freddie’s loudly and frequently expressed distaste for kitchen-work meant that she was always out front waitressing or handling orders with their mom.

“coffee!” she demands.

“absolutely not,” virgil says. “you’re already like this at five in the morning—“

“yeah, because i haven’t slept for twenty-seven hours,” freddie says. 

“how is that my problem,” virgil says, “and also, what is wrong with you?”

“if you don’t give me caffeine, i’m tattling,” freddie says.

“if you keep complaining, i’m tattling,” virgil says, “guess which of ours is going to go over better?”

“you’re a snitch,” she accuses.

“who brought up tattling first?” virgil demands.

freddie then resorts to the deeply mature and time-honored tradition, a response that frequently gets shared between siblings—she sticks out her tongue and blows a raspberry.

virgil rolls his eyes, and he’s about to keep this sibling bickering thing going, except the door opens and sarah walks in, yawning, so that gets put on pause as sarah wakes up enough to see who’s sitting at the counter, so virgil gets to escape into the kitchen as the whole reunion thing goes down.

if the theory that virgil inherited an overabundance of filter is wrong, then he thinks that whatever social butterfly gene that usually gets distributed, freddie stole his in the womb, absorbing enough of it that there wasn’t any left for him nearly two years after she was born. she’s always been gregarious, noisy, chatty, managing to talk to anyone about anything. virgil thinks that freddie probably doesn’t know the meaning of the words shy, subtle, or embarrassment. she has no fear of making a fool of herself when she talks to anyone, and virgil means anyone.

case in point: she’s friendly with isadora prince. virgil would say friends, but he thinks that remus is closer with her than freddie is, especially since freddie’s been... god, who even knows where freddie’s been lately? virgil’s sure he’ll get his ear talked off about her various exploits since he’d last seen her.

and she does—between ducking back into the kitchen and running out orders, freddie keeps a stream of constant chatter going like she doesn’t really care if virgil’s there to listen or not. apparently, she was last in atlanta for a casting call, which she says was a bust with a grin and a shrug like it doesn’t really matter, and she’s been awake for twenty-seven hours because she’d gotten on the wrong bus and had a detour to st. louis—

“fred, even hearing you talk sometimes just skyrockets my blood pressure,” virgil says, trying not to cringe.

“what doesn’t?” freddie says pointedly.

“how did you confuse sideshire with st. louis?” virgil says.

“oh for god’s sake, i didn’t confuse them, it’s not my fault the bus depot doesn’t know how numbers work—“

the bell jangles, and then, “is that my snickerdoodle?”

freddie rolls her eyes at virgil, not quite able to tamp down her grin, and spins around to see their parents. 

now that he’s not the center of it, virgil can appreciate that it is kind of funny to watch their parents fuss and fret over freddie; is she eating, is she sleeping—

“she was just telling me that she hasn’t slept for twenty-seven hours,” virgil says, fake-innocent, and squints at the clock in the corner. “twenty-eight now, i bet.”

freddie dramatically cries out “TRAITOR!” as their father immediately nudges freddie’s coffee cup toward virgil to take away and “winifred jane,” their mother scolds, and virgil cackles.

“i told you what would happen if you kept complaining!”

“what are you, a cop?” freddie demands. “what happened to youngest sibling solidarity?!?!”

“payback for scaring me.”

“ everything scares you!”

“scaring me on purpose, then!” virgil says, and ducks into the kitchen to dump out freddie’s cup when she starts looking murderous.

when he risks peeking out again (silas may not be his favorite sibling but freddie is definitely the one to look out for when it comes to retribution) his parents and his sister have clustered away into a booth. freddie, upon seeing him looking, proceeds to flip him off under the table, so he can see, but mark and meredith can’t. virgil tamps down his grin. 

another time-honored tradition started back up, then.

not that he’d ever tell her this, but. it’s nice to have freddie home.

[abbybubbls]

For Nostalgia (Wilford Warfstache and Darkiplier)

Summary: Dark tries to find Wilford’s pants, but finds something completely different.

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

“Wilford, I have a very important question for you.”

“Yes?”

“Where the fuck are your pants.”

Wilford was being very indecisive that day. It took him half an hour explaining why he couldn’t find his favorite pants with a bunch of side stories that had absolutely nothing to do with Dark’s question. Or maybe Wilford just didn’t want to wear pants and he wanted his story to sound interesting. It all concluded to him not getting fired, so that’s a… plus?

“Can you tell me why you didn’t want to go without pants today?” Dark asked. Wilford felt offended.

“I just told you, I couldn’t find my favorite pair! What, you don’t believe me?”

Dark put his palms together. “Precisely.”

“I’ve looked through my closet for hours,” Wilford pouted. “None of my other pants fit me, that’s all.”

“You just wanted to go waist-down clothless,” Dark replied flatly.

“Not true!” Wilford exclaimed, pointing down at his feet. “I’m wearing socks!”

At least he’s wearing ‘boxers’ too, Dark thought, trying not to look. But it doesn’t explain why he doesn’t have his real damn pants on.

I am innocent, I swear~ Wilford made a smug face while looking at Dark without his lips moving.

Sure you are.

“Why don’t I look through your closet and find your pants myself, Wilford?” Dark asked out loud.

Wilford’s face flinched, exclaiming “No!” before covering his mouth with his hand. Dark’s face stiffened.

“Why not?”

Wilford cleared his throat and chuckled, waving his hand around his face. “O- Oh, you wouldn’t like my closet, Dark. You wouldn’t like my whole room at all! It gets so messy and everything is everywhere- Oh! And it’s so cramped! We both know how much you hate tight spaces!”

“I was just in your room three days ago, Will,” Dark’s tone lowered. “It was perfectly clean since then.”

Wilford scritched his chin. “Y- You know me, Dark. I see no mess, so I create the mess!”

“And I’ve been in worse situations when it comes to tight spaces,” Dark added. “I’m pretty sure your exit-able closet is more tolerable than a broken-as-all-hell elevator that we never use.”

“When you mean ‘we’, you mean you, cuz you’ve never used it since that incident-”

“I know what I meant.”

Wilford huffed and crossed his arms. “Well, I’ve got some things that are super important in my room! What does it take to not disrespect a man’s privacy around here?”

I’m fairly certain you don’t even know the half of it.

Dark eyed behind Wilford, and spotted the Captain Magnum near Wilford’s gun, that was quite dangerously lying on the counter.

“And who cares if I don’t have pants on?! I’ve run around like a moron without them during an interview before, and nobody seems to remember it!”

Dark pointed over Wilford’s shoulder. “Oh hey, Wilford, look. The Captain is touching your gun without your permission.”

Wilford gasped and gripped at his hair. “WHAT HAPPENED TO COMMON DECENCY?!”

He ran down the hallway with Dark covering the side of his face with his hand. “MAGNUM, DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH MY BABY!!!”

“It’s alive?! ”

Dark smirked, and quickly sent himself inside of Wilford’s room.

(Click keep reading, or read on my AO3!)

Just as Dark suspected, everything in the room was spotless. Only a dozen pieces of sticky notes of doodles and interview questions were scattered all over the floor, but it seemed like they were brushed aside near Wilford’s desk mirror right next to his door. Will’s bed was a mess as well, with the blankets draping over the other and pillows flattened, but Dark thinks he likes sleeping like that anyway. There was also a sparkled up fake fireplace with a rack of colorful suspenders hanging above it as if they’d be stockings, with the red-faded-to-pink pair hanging at the dead center.

I’m sure those all won’t overheat and catch on fire. Sarcasm.

Dark bumped into the closet door, seeing that the frame reaches to the very ceiling of Wilford’s whole room. It’s not like Captain Magnum is ever gonna sneak in, why is it so tall? No matter. Dark opened the closet door, only for an avalanche of clothes to fall right on top of him. Not enough to make him stumble over, for Dark is as sturdy as a boulder.

Dark yanked all the clothes off of him, and saw that MOST of them… were shirts. The clothes that were pants though…! Were either stained, torn up, or just straight up too small. Dark was going to suggest in his head that Wilford could wear his collection of tight shorts like layers, but that’d make him appear too… big.

“Goddammit, Will.”

Dark stepped over the pile of clothes to hesitantly get himself inside of the closet. His head bumps against a light bulb with a pulley-switch next to it. Dark didn’t really need to turn the light on because since he was wearing his new white suit for a change, and he’d practically be glowing more easier that way with his twins’ auras and such.

But just because he can, Dark turned the light on by pulling the switch. The closet was a tiny bit smaller than the elevator he never uses, but at least there’s an escape route. Dark looked around every nook and cranny in the closet to at least find one, one good pair of pants that isn’t too revealing, and so that Wilford would give in to wearing until he finds his ‘most favorite’ pair soon. But if that doesn’t happen, it could be the goldfish situation where Dark buys or makes the same pair, and Wilford wouldn’t even know the difference.

There was a very tall shelf at the end of the closet, and Dark tried to reach up to the top to grab something, any thing… only to have a tan round thing fall off and land on the floor. Dust was flying, enough dust for Dark to almost hack and choke on while coughing it all away. And waving his hand around was definitely helping. “What the hell-?”

As soon as the dust died down to the floor, Dark rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. The helmet rolled on its side for a moment, and wobbled near the wall. It was Wilford’s old old old old old pith helmet.

Dark stared at it for a long minute, knowing perfectly well that Wilford wouldn’t remember having this helmet, not even remember being a colonel.

Dark picked the helmet up from the floor, and gently brushed the dust away. He looked up at the shelf. “He wouldn’t happen to have the rest, would he…?”

A corner of a sleeve was hanging from the very top of the shelf. To avoid the possibility of getting dust all over the place again, Dark put the helmet down on a lower shelf and stood on his tip-toes, and reached up with both of his hands tugging on edges of old linty clothing. His grip on both edges tightened, and he slowly lifted a neatly folded pile of bright tan clothes off the top of the shelf.

“No,” Dark muttered, blinking away dust. “There is no way…”

Indeed, it was 100% Wilford’s old outfit for when he was a colonel from the early 1900’s. Dark already had questions running through his head. How in the world does Wilford still have this? When did he put it in the closet? Why does Wilford still have this outfit after all these years, even when he’s so far gone from who he was?

Dark slowly brushed the grime and lint off of a small, silver winged metal that is still pinned on the coat. Same with a red and white metal on the other side.

Dark had no idea where Will’s red ascot went, it probably faded to pink like his suspenders and turned into the bowtie he still wears to this day. And Will’s glasses were definitely snapped apart, or shattered, or burnt when he realized that even seeing clearly didn’t matter to him anymore. All that is left is the pith helmet, the coat, pants (finally!), and the boots, which were surprisingly very well hidden in the darkness of the bottom shelf. Will shouldn’t have these.

Wilford’s voice from outside of his room gradually got louder, but that didn’t phase Dark at all. He had a few questions to ask. Chances are, Wilford might not know all the answers, but it’s worth a try to ask anyway.

“You may be taller than all of us, but it ain’t gonna phase me, Captain!” Wilford shouted, shaking a fist. “You wanna know why? Cuz Warfstache don’t take no sh(BLEEP!)t from nobody! ”

With a slam of his door, Wilford looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “I should really fix that swear-detector thing.”

“Wilford.”

Wilford hiccuped, seeing Dark standing right in front of him with his hat, boots, and the rest of Will’s outfit in his hands. “Hiiiiiiiii…!”

Dark’s face was frozen in place, stern. “Care to explain to me what these are all about?”

Wilford was grinning nervously. “W- Well, they’re um- they’re winter clothes!”

“We live in Ca-”

“Traveling vacation winter clothes!”

“You know, depending on how much Mark uses us for projects, we’re technically almost always on vacation,” Dark said. “We’ve never traveled once.”

Wilford’s face dropped, and Dark took a step forward.

“So, Wilford,” he continued. “What are these clothes here for?”

“I- I found it in a zoo! I won it for a bet!”

“Wilford.”

“I don’t know!” Wilford exclaimed, throwing fists like a child. “I’ve always had them in my closet! I don’t remember what they’re for, but they give me warm fuzzy feelings, maybe a tiny memory or two.”

“A bad memory or a good memory?”

“I dunno, does it matter that much to you?” Wilford asked. “The good and bad don’t matter to me, cuz they’re useless memories! Memories that’ll come back and disappear from my head like always!”

Dark didn’t know exactly what to say to that. Why would he care about somebody else’s memories and whether they’d be good or bad? It’s like having someone constantly looking over your shoulder. Sure, Dark has been invasive when it came to Wilford being a pain in the ass, but Dark only did it because he didn’t want Wilford to cause any more trouble than he already did.

Wilford pouted with his arms crossed, and looked down at the floor as if he’s been ashamed of himself… for some reason. Dark stared down at the pile of clothes in his hands. His grip tightened, and he sighed.

“I’m sorry, Will,” he muttered. Wilford blinked at him. “I didn’t mean to make this appear as a bigger deal than it should be.”

And all of this started because of pants.

“Have you…” Dark continued. “Worn this outfit lately?”

Wilford’s frustrated and hurt face softened. “Not in a while, no.”

“I was just wondering because of how much dust it was collecting,” Dark’s tone went gentle. “Have you thought about wearing it?”

Wilford’s hands were gripping on his sleeves loosely. “Kind of.”

Silence filled the room. Dark’s hands leaned forward. “Here. You can wear it. If you’d like.”

Without saying anything, Wilford hesitantly held the outfit out of Dark’s hands, and kicked some clothes out of his way as he headed inside his closet. Dark sat down at the edge of Wilford’s bed, waiting patiently.

A moment later, and Dark heard the closet door open. The familiar sound of boots slowly walking on the floor filled the room, and Dark saw Wilford in the entire outfit. He looked the same as he did a long time ago, only the mustache stands out a LOT more now than it did before.

Wilford was still doing the last few buttons of his coat as he left the closet, and Dark just noticed the wearing out on them. The belt around Wilford’s waist was a bit loose, but there was nothing for it to hold anyway.

“How does wearing all of that make you feel?” Dark asked.

Wilford’s hands rubbed all over his arms, and he tucked his face in his collar. “Warm, mostly! Gives me a trip of nostalgia.”

“You know how you said earlier you don’t remember what the outfit was for?” Dark asked, head tilting. “Maybe nostalgia is why.”

The front tip of the pith helmet was hiding Wilford’s eyes, which he did not like. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t remember a whole lot, just a few baby pieces.”

“I see no problem with that,” Dark replied, smiling gently. His watch hidden in his sleeve beeped. “Meeting. Wilford, do you want to go dressed like that?”

Wilford took his helmet off, tossed it on his bed, and ruffled his hair. He and Dark went over to his door. “Why not? It’s cozy and makes me feel good. And I did find pants so you wouldn’t be staring at me all day~”

As Wilford opened the door, Dark smacked his back. “Shut up.”

[casualhottubnacho]

an excerpt from a chatfic i'm writing

Twitter

Hammer and Dickle {√}

@USSR

@Japan 3 am, 7/11 parking lot, boring, oregon, usa, bring your battle axe and a box of matches, be fully prepared to meet god face-to-face.

Viewing Comments:

neeneepapa @oksweaty

@USSR the owner of this account: *brandon rogers voice* Donovan! Meet me on my island at 5 O'clock. Pack my battleaxe and my poetry and be prepared to abandon your religion.

ugh @lordie

@USSR okay but why tf did they pick boring oregon of all places.

sit on my face @lickmybaugette

@USSR vibe check

Furry @Japan

@USSR why do i need matches. also if ur not actually there and i just spent money on a plane ticket i stg im gonna break your teeth

[Image: A crisp picture of the clouds and deep twilight sky outside of a plane window.]

│

│ Hammer and Dickle @USSR

│@Japan you need matches because we're going to set our weapons on fire like civilized people. im bringing the gasoline. meri is gonna spectate. also.

[Image: A slightly blurry image- The photographer was clearly laughing- of a man in a heavy winter coat squatting underneath a "Welcome to Boring, Oregon" sign. His skin is bright red, and an eyepatch with a hammer and sickle is over his right eye. His hand is below his waist, making an "Okay" sign.]

│

│ Furry @Japan

│@USSR I don't trust him to spectate. he'll probably be biased towards you, smh.

│

│ Homosexual Homosapien @America

│@Japan girl no. beat his ass please and thank u.

Furry {√}

@Japan

they didn't let me bring my battleaxe on the plane smh. anyone know of any... like... battle axe stores in oregon,,, or,,,,

Viewing Comments

errebody @rockyobody

@Japan i gotchu fam. there's a store in kelso (near boring) that sells antique weapons and junk. im sure there's a battle axe in there somewhere

│

│ Furry @Japan

│@rockyobody there better be. im coming for you if there isnt

│

│ errebody @rockyobody

│@Japan gay fear

Someone Please Snipe Me {√}

@Germany

In honor of my friend @Japan going to fight one of my least favorite people in the world, I have opted to pressure her into live-streaming her Totally Radical Super Cool™ Fight on Twitch. Uhhhh here's a link I guess: Link

Viewing Comments

Furry @Japan

@Germany "pressure" is right. little rat said he'd send his boyfriend after me if i didn't do what i wanted. i would like to keep my ankles, so i complied.

│

│ Kurwa @Poland

│@Japan I hate you too boo xoxo

Furry {√}

@Japan

insert funny text here

[Images: The first image is of the "Welcome to Boring, Oregon" sign. The second image is off a pair of black sneakers kicking a pair of footprints in the dirt underneath the sign. The third image is of a woman in a full black outfit -Black shoes, black jeans, black hoodie, and black beanie- sitting on the ground in the same spot where the man from earlier was. Both middle fingers are straight up, though there is a wide grin on her face.]

~~~~~~~~~

[A Twitch stream comes to life. On the screen, a pair of black-sneaker-covered feet is quickly striding down a paved road. "Kon'nichiwa," A high-pitched voice begins, "And welcome to... Hell." The camera flicks upwards sharply, showing a neon-lit 7/11 gas station, sharply outlined against the pitch-black night sky. There are only two cars in the parking lot. One is a dirty red convertible Jeep in the employee's area; The other is a nondescript black car with the headlights still on and the engine still running.

The camera flips views. We're now met with a worm's-eye view of a snowy white face with a single red circle in the center. Bright yellow eyes sparkle with mirth as the woman fights back a grin. "So, for anyone who isn't aware, here's a summary of what's about to go down. My name is Japan, I'm an anthropomorphic country, and I'm about to absolutely destroy one of my fellow nations. Well, he's not a nation anymore, but still. He called me a name in the group chat, so I called him Old Man, so he took the obvious route and challenged me to a duel in a 7/11 parking lot. Ya'know, like you do."

Japan shakes her head and giggles. "Also, thank you oh so very much, Twitter user "rockyobody", for informing me of the antique weaponry shop in Kelso. They did indeed carry battle-axes." To punctuate her statement, Japan reaches over her shoulder and lifts the weapon attached to her back out of its holder by a few inches. "I have dubbed my newfound traveling companion Jerry, and he will take many a life in his time on this Earth."

A new voice cuts through the autumn air, strong and deep. "Did you bring the matches, девочка?" They demand. Japan changes the camera once again. Leaning against the black car are two men- One is short and chunky, with round cheeks and long, fluffy hair. 7 red stripes and 6 white, broken only by a square of blue dotted with stars, are emblazed on his face. A white hoodie with the words Designated Peacekeeper is quickly thrown onto him when he sees Japan approach. He flashes her a smile and raises one hand in a wave.

The other man is incredibly tall, almost unnaturally so. A long, military green winter coat hangs loosely from his body- It obviously used to fit him a lot better, maybe when he was wider, or more muscular. His face is scarred and weather-beaten, a leather eyepatch over his right eye. A hammer and sickle, golden and gleaming, sits neatly in the center of the leather. A fluffy brown ushanka is slightly lopsided on his head.

"Well?" He questions. He was the one who spoke before; A harsh accent cuts through his words.

Japan responds by raising a small box of matches in front of the camera. "I gotch'yo damn matches, 老人." She snarks back. The taller man raises a single eyebrow and pushes himself off of the car. "'Meri, pop the trunk," He demands. 'Meri', looking taken aback, steps away from the car and crosses his arm. "Do it'cha self, ya lazy bastard."

Despite the insults, his companion gives him a warm smile and slips around the back of the car. Japan joins them in the parking lot before he comes back around. "So, Ame, he really managed to rope you into moderating this?" She gestures to his hoodie. He chuckles light-heartedly and nods. "Yeah. You wouldn't believe the things he told me when I originally declined."

Japan snorts. "I can believe a lot of things, America."

"At first it was the regular bouts of loving insults, but then it dissolved into really weird nicknames."

"Like?"

"Like 'My little biscuit and gravy'."

"...What?"

America just laughs and waves away the question. "What's taking you so long, sugah?" He drawls, twisting at an odd angle to lean back and glance at the trunk of the car. There's a moment of silence before the man he's addressing mutters, "My... weapon... maybe a bit stuck."

Japan and America both giggle to each other for a few heartbeats before America cooes, "Does this mean we're going home, dear?" The slightly angry response is immediate. "Absolutely not, дорогой," The man spits, appearing at Japan's shoulder. "'Proper edicit', as you so often say, dictates that, as the man who called for the duel, I am not allowed to back out, even if my sword is stuck in the trunk."

"You made me bring a whole fuckin' axe when you get a sword? Sov, my good man, you are an ass."

'Sov' chortles and pats Japan on the head. "Such is life, девочка. You would have an unfair advantage if I let you bring what you wanted. You have no experience with a battle-axe; I have no experience with a sword. It is therefore a fair fight." He ruffles her hair a bit before turning back to America. "In all seriousness, the sword is probably tearing up the fabric on the inside of your trunk." He announces. America swears in a few different languages as he sprints to the other end of his car.

There's a small chime as the door to the 7/11 opens. A pimple-faced teenager peeks his head out. "Hey, uhm- I have no idea what's happening right now, but, uh... I don't think you guys are allowed to have weapons on the property." He nods towards America, who's struggling to rip the sword of out the spot where it's lodged itself in his trunk.

Japan quirks a brow and crosses her arms. Her phone goes a bit lopsided as she does so. "Oh?" Is all she says. She could possibly look intimidating, but the effect, evidently, isn't very strong, as the teen gives her an unamused look. "Yeah. I could possibly over-look that fact if you guys were to, like... scare away any customers who try to approach for a little bit, though..." He trails off and slips back inside the store. Japan scoffs. "Rude."

There's a loud yell of "Fuck!" from the next to where America should be- He's currently on the ground, a sword in his lap. "You're paying for the repairs to my poor car," He snaps, gesturing to the bits of fabric stuck to the sword's blade. Sov's face softens a bit. "I was planning on doing just that," He remarks, moving to help America to his feet. The Westerner blows a bit of hair out of his face once he's on his feet. "This had better be worth it."

"Oh, it will be," Sov says, the steely look returning to him. He picks up the blade clumsily and holds it with clear inexperience. America sighs softly and squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment. "God, this is gonna be hard to watch. You can't even hold the sword right." 

Sov looks confused. "There's a wrong way to hold a sword?"

"There's a wrong way to do everything, hon."

Japan grins with a sickly-sweetness and sets her phone onto a newspaper box, positioning it to take in the whole parking lot. She steps onto the far right, Sov standing opposite her on the other side. America scurries over to in-between the gas pumps, a chunk of fabric tied to a stick clutched in his hand. "Alright, I want to see a fuckin' dirty fight," He begins, looking first at Japan, then at Sov. "Frickin' bite each other if you have to. I want to see some blood. Japan, you marked your stream as mature, right?"

"Uh..."

"Dumbass, go do that."

Japan reluctantly complies, marching over to her phone. "Alright, I'm gonna stop the stream and start up a new one marked mature. If you want to watch the actual fight, you'll need to go to that one. See you in a few seconds, lads."

The stream ends]

[A new stream opens up on the parking lot again. Japan is back in her original spot, standing rather cockily, her arms crossed behind her back, her spine straight, slightly tip-toed. America clears his throat. "Alright, like I said earlier- Dirty fight. Nothing is illegal, aside from injuring anyone or anything that isn't your opponent. That includes me, the 7/11 worker, an animal that passes by, a gas pump, a tire on a car, anything."

"Fighters, get ready."

Japan suddenly smirks and slips the battle-axe into her hands with ease. "It was bold of you to assume I had no experience with a battle-axe before, Sov." She comments, getting into an offensive stance. Sov goes slack for a moment before resuming his own way of standing with renewed vigor. "...This is fine," He mutters distractedly. Japan's grin only widens.

"And... Go!"

America flicks his flag down, and the fight begins. Japan shoots forward first, swinging in a downward slope towards Sov's legs. Sov jumps backward and jolts his arms into action, barely managing to block Japan's next move. He starts to loudly swear to himself as he continued to struggle to go on the defensive, cursing himself, the ground, the sky, Japan, and even America. "Сукин сын!" He yelps as Japan spins on her heel, around him, and cuts through the fabric of his coat, through to his thigh. The green starts to turn red as the wound begins to bleed.

Sov just shrugs off the coat and tosses it aside. Underneath, he's wearing a black turtleneck and dark grey jeans, as well as black leather boots that stop just below his knees. America lets out a low whistle.

Japan laughs a bit and starts to jog backwards, towards her original spot. "Bad move, 老人," She snarks. Sov growls a bit and bolts after her. She slips past each of his swings like sand through someone's fingers, leading him in a circle before booking it back towards America's car. The Westerner yelps in fear for his vehicle, but Japan emerges from behind it not a moment later, a jug of gasoline in her hands. She runs away from the parking lot and out into the darkness.

"Мошенника!" Sov yells, coming to a stop. He stands there for a moment, panting, before a bright flash from the opposite end of the parking lot has him spinning and raising his sword in defense. Japan appears in the black, her weapon now (quite literally) dripping with flames as she spits on a match and puts it out. "Let's get this party started," She hisses, hefting her axe. The flaming gasoline seems to not affect her as she grips the blazing handle and charges at Sov.

Her opponent stumbles in an attempt to get away, cursing in an odd mix of English, Russian, and, occasionally, Chinese, almost dropping his weapon with how quickly he's attempting to block her attacks.

"Y'know," Japan chokes out, beads of sweat running down her skin, causing her hair to stick to the back of her neck, "I'm glad I put my phone on silent beforehand. If- If it was on vibrate, I can imagine it would have vibrated off of the stand by now."She finishes her sentence with a grunt and her axe makes contact with Sov's arm, causing the man to let out a small noise of pain. Japan wretches herself back, tripping over her own feet from the weight of the weapon. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Sov mutters, clutching at his arm in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Japan smirks. "Had enough?"

"You wish, Potter," America chuckles to himself.

"What is this, a porno?" Sov spits.

Japan starts to giggle as she momentarily drops her axe. "God, this is tiring, I haven't fought anyone in a while."

Sov makes an attempt to lift his sword, but gasps as his wounded arm seizes up. "Shit, Japan- Okay. We're both tired. I'm bleeding out of my ass and my arm. Are- Will you hold it against me if I... Surrender, I suppose? I'm far too old and sick for this."

Japan stands in silence for a few seconds before sighing heavily and nodding. She plops down onto the ground rather suddenly, squeezing her eyes shut. "I won't hold it against you."

"Good," Sov grunts, sitting down as well. America pauses before letting out a long, dramatic groan and waving his flag. "Fight's over, I suppose," He whines, marching over to Sov. "That was anti-climactic as balls," He mutters as soon as he's close enough to his friend. Sov nods distractedly. "Indeed it was. Be glad she didn't kill me- Then you'd have to explain a dead body to the poor boy in the store."

"Oh yeah. I forgot about him."

"Hah, same."

The rest of the stream passes in relative silence as Japan sits on the pavement to rest. America is bandaging Sov's arm, muttering insults as well as cutesy nicknames as he does so. After around ten or so minutes of mostly nothing, Japan slides her gaze over to her phone, makes a small noise of surprise, hauls herself to her feet, strides over, and ends the stream.]

[ninzied]

christmas rose [for oq advent]

In the weeks leading up to her first Christmas without Henry, someone starts to leave Regina a small gift each day, marking her very own advent. Missing Year. Written for @onceuponanadvent. Many thanks to @loveexpelrevolt for the idea and all the gift brainstorming. ffn | ao3 | advent site

It was shaping up to be a pretty dismal winter, here in the Enchanted Forest.

Autumn had breezed by without much of its usual fuss – the leaves had still changed, but the pumpkins had not made a great showing this year, and besides that castle morale had reached an exceptional low. All Hallows’ Eve had been a muted affair, and by the time Thanksgiving came around, even Snow White couldn’t muster the strength to explain what pilgrims were or why they deserved celebration.

Not that Regina complained.

She was in fact perfectly content with the lack of fanfare, and kept to herself on the holidays without much objection from Snow, quietly missing her Henry and hoping that somewhere, worlds away from this one, he was not missing a thing.

Regina emerged from her quarters only when needed; she strongly suspected that Snow would make a scene if she missed any mealtimes, and apart from that there were more general matters of upkeep to tend to, witchly plotting to thwart, and the occasional date with a boy on the hunt for some new books in her library.

But as the air thinned to below-freezing temperatures, her mood seemed to plummet along with it – not on account of the cold, but the spirited fervor it seemed to revive in just about everyone else. The thief and his Merry Men were certainly living up to their name; they’d made themselves quite comfortable here in her castle, and when Snow snapped out of her own doom-and-gloom to suggest a midwinter ball of all things, they were the first to chime in their agreement.

“What do you say, Regina?” Snow rounded on her with a beaming expression, trapping her there as everyone else did the same.

Well, everyone minus the thief, that is, who had an ear bent toward Leroy right next to him. They were whispering cheerfully – snippets of “Hey, I’ve got the beard” and “My boy would adore that” filtering over – and the fire that had been building inside of Regina was abruptly snuffed out.

“It sounds like it’s already been decided,” she said rather stiffly, and then, before Snow’s smile could grow even terribly wider, she leaned to cut in, “Do enjoy your little party.”

The whispering stopped, to her grim satisfaction, and she swept from the table, half-waiting to hear someone protest before stalking her way toward the door.

She could feel their eyes on her – how freely they looked, now that she had her back turned – and she told herself not to regret it, one bit, as she let the door slam shut behind her.

…

The preparations were already well underway the following morning, the entire castle coming alive with the thought of a break from routine. Even her presence did little to discourage their good mood, and she soon began to think rather bitterly back to a time when a well-placed glare would be enough to send a man scurrying the other direction. Now, as it was, even the dwarves had grown fearless, practically tripping over her in their rush to festoon every bare inch of wall, until she finally threatened to step on one of them.

Still, brightly glinting baubles managed to find their way up to the darkmost ceilings of her castle, green things sprouting up everywhere she turned until she thought they may as well be living in the damn forest itself.

She burned incense regularly, smoking up the hallways and alarming passersby, but try as she might, she could not get rid of that smell of pine.

And she didn’t have to look far to know who to blame.

Every morning like clockwork, the thief Robin Hood would come strolling indoors with a fresh haul of boughs or split logs for the fire, the occasional dusting of snow on his cloak. His men were never far behind him, traipsing inside and dragging their filth around her foyer as she stood disapprovingly off to one side.

“What a magnificent tree, don’t you think?” Snow said beside her one morning, as if one stupid tree could really look all that different. Before Regina could point out as out as much, Snow carried on, her gaze still trained on the thief, “You have such a good eye, my friend!”

“Your Highness,” he grinned, in a way that made Regina feel strangely irate. “I did have my orders, after all.”

“She has you earning your keep, then, I take it?” questioned Regina, and Snow turned to stare at her, looking faintly mortified.

“Your Majesty,” said the thief, with a slight bow of his head. His smile seemed to lose a bit of its brightness, though he sounded friendly enough as he told her, “My men and I prefer to make ourselves useful.”

“Then perhaps you could start now,” she returned, “by learning to close the door on your way back out? You’re letting in a draft.”

The thief opened his mouth to respond, but she gave a wave of her hand to dismiss him, already half-turning to be on her way.

“She appears to be fond of making these exits,” she overheard the thief saying, and then Snow rushing to make her apologies, as Regina strode off with her hands clasped tightly together.

…

As the days got progressively shorter and darker, the castle only seemed to grow bigger and brighter, as though it had awoken from a deep slumber. Regina hardly recognized parts of it anymore, and so took to her more private haunts, the ones that hadn’t yet been discovered by some nosy thief and then strung up with garland and bows.

It was during one of these walks, in a small wraparound garden overlooking the forest below, that she found the first gift – at least, she assumed it was intended as such. There on a round marble stand, half-tucked away by some overgrown vines, sat a pair of thick woolen mittens. They were a muted taupe color, but when Regina bent closer, she could see thin threads of purple woven delicately into the yarn.

For a moment she thought they must have been dropped here by Snow, lying forgotten while the Princess went trolling about where she was not welcome. But there was something about the way they were folded, one angled primly on top of the other, that looked altogether too, well, arranged to have been left there by accident.

This somehow infuriated Regina even more than the thought of Snow simply nosing around without any purpose at all, and she promptly flung the mittens back down, vowing to make that the last word on the matter.

If Snow White thought she could shame her for how she’d behaved around Robin that day, well, then Regina was more than ready to show her just how recalcitrant she could be.

The opportunity presented itself even sooner than she’d expected as she thought to stroll past the front doors, where Snow – bundled up in thick furs and a matching hand muff – was greeting the men just returned from a hunt.

“Oh, you boys, I can’t wait to tell Granny!” Snow was exclaiming as Regina made to approach them. “I know just the thing that will go with the rabbit stew we’re having tonight, thanks to all of you.”

Regina noted, with an almost absurd satisfaction, that the thief had hung slightly back from the others, nudging the door closed and fastening all of the locks into place.

“Oh, Regina,” Snow turned on her next, mildly scolding as she took in Regina’s bare hands, her neck exposed to the elements. “You must be freezing.” She gave her a too-knowing look, and received only a bland sort of smile in return.

“Not at all.”

The thief had ambled over to them, nodding toward Regina when she deigned to look in his direction. “Your Majesty,” he greeted her warmly, as if he might think that he’d finally caught her in the right mood. “I hope you find everything is to your liking.”

“It will have to do,” she replied, then added an offhand, “I suppose that roast boar would have been far too much trouble,” earning another grave look from Snow.

“Rabbit happens to be Roland’s favorite,” the thief told her pleasantly, not missing a beat. “But I’ll keep your suggestions in mind the next time we’ve gone out.”

“Well I, for one, think it’s finally starting to feel something like Christmas,” declared Snow, removing a hand from her muff and linking it around Robin’s arm. She pulled him forward, and he went along with a smile, patting an affectionate hand over hers as she called back over her shoulder, “See you at dinner, Regina.”

The two of them walked on without so much as another glance, leaving Regina to fume silently behind them and wonder how she could have possibly been so lucky as to be stuck with them both.

…

It was another several days before Regina thought to venture back up to that balcony garden. She’d half-expected the mittens to have made a quiet exit, leaving no trace that they’d ever been there. This is what she told herself, at least; the truth was that she didn’t know what she expected at all, or why she even bothered except for some darkly unshakable impulse to find out.

The mittens were indeed where she’d left them, but they were not alone this time. A small assortment of things had squeezed their way onto the table, and Regina could only stand there a moment, too taken aback to know where to look first.

She finally picked up what looked to be a candle, resting beside one of the mittens. It was small and squat, and a bit roughly shaped overall, but finely carved around the sides, with a trellis of ivy and bluebells that bore a striking resemblance to the very garden she stood in.

None of this made any sense, thought Regina. She knew Snow must have picked up some hobbies, during her banditry days, but this…

This felt like something else, and when she touched her nose to the tip of the candle, and breathed in the scent of spices and pine, her heart did a strange little knock in her chest.

Her hand moved with a will of its own, touching a dark lump of some soft material that had been rolled up and placed just next to the candle. Slowly, she let it unravel, trailing her fingers down each side as it opened, the butter-smooth leather on one, silky white rabbit fur on the other.

On either end of the pelt, a knobby little button and a loop of beige leather had been sewn into place. Fastened together, it would have warmed her neck perfectly.

She dropped her hand away.

Feeling peculiar, Regina took a step back and glanced all around her, as if the bearer of these small offerings might have thought to linger until she arrived. She stared hard into the growing twilight, but not even her garden had stirred while she’d been here, and she knew that she was alone.

There was something else – something feathery and dark near her feet that she must have brushed aside in her study of the rabbit fur, but this was all too much, these…things that she’d neither asked for nor wanted, and she jerked away like it had burned her.

Regina descended the stairs, spiraling down toward the main halls of the castle. There would be gathering of sorts in the drawing room by now, where people tended to go for a drink in the evenings, and she veered a sharp right, meaning to give it as wide a berth as she could.

Before she’d reached the end of the corridor, she heard the door open, and a distant but unmistakable voice calling out over the din of the room, “I’ll grab the next round – do try to hold it together while I’m gone, yeah?”

Something froze Regina in place, and she turned to look back before she could help it. The thief had shut the door behind him and was heading in her direction now, gaze still lowered while he chuckled to himself.

She noticed the moment he sensed her, the alertness gripping his body before his eyes lifted to hers, surprise overtaking his features as he slowed to a stop some feet in front of her.

“Your Majesty,” he said, recovering the next second, and perhaps it was the ease with which he smiled at her now, or that he’d no doubt been on his way to her wine cellar, but the confusion she’d been battling with quickly submitted to ire.

“What do you want?” she asked brusquely, as if he hadn’t been the one to find her just standing there waiting for something.

He seemed to tense ever so slightly before relaxing again, though there was a hint of dryness to his tone when he shrugged and replied, “I was about to ask if you’d like to join us, but I suppose you’ve already given your answer.”

Regina found she couldn’t look him in the eye anymore, all that blue in the candlelight, in this hallway that suddenly felt ten sizes too small. “I have a spell to work on,” she told him thinly, examining her arm for stray bits of lint.

“Ah,” he said, looking far more understanding than he had any right to with her. “Yes, Belle had mentioned—”

“How nice,” Regina cut in, but it lacked any of her usual bite, sounding flat as it devolved into silence, and why was he still smiling at her? “If you’ll excuse me…”

She turned to go, but didn’t hear his own footsteps resume like she’d expected, and she could feel his eyes on her still, her whole body stiffening as if that could keep him from seeing things she didn’t want him to see.

He was proving to be quite resourceful, this thief of Locksley.

Finally, he called after her, “I don’t believe that was a no, Your Majesty.”

Regina half-turned her head over her shoulder, startled. “What?”

“To a drink.” She could hear the smile in his voice growing wider. “Tomorrow, perhaps?”

She’d paused too long to effectively discourage this new line of questioning, and they both knew it, though Regina refused to give him the full satisfaction of seeing it written all over her face. “Good night, thief,” she said curtly, gathering her skirts with a flourish and trying not to think about how she’d never noticed the way his eyes crinkled to look at her before.

…

It was needless and entirely foolish of her, but the following day she couldn’t escape the thought of that now not-so-secret garden in her balcony, and what else she might come across if she just so happened to find herself up there again.

But Regina couldn’t risk anyone seeing where she was headed, so she opted to travel by magic this time, purple smoke carrying her straight there from her chambers. She was reaching for the latch on the door when she felt an odd fluttering in her chest, like something trying to break loose and take flight, and she was so struck by the absurdity of it that she almost poofed right back to her bedroom.

It turned out that she needn’t have concerned herself with being this careful – it didn’t appear that anyone else had been here since she had, everything looking untouched, the table just as she’d left it. The item she’d dropped the night before was some kind of quill, she thought, glancing over, trying to ignore how it looked slightly bent in the middle. She should at least put it back where it belonged…

But the longer Regina stood there the more ridiculous she felt, and it was such an unwelcome feeling to her that she walked briskly to the opposite end of her garden, snatched up a handful of calla lilies as if that was why she’d come here all along, and marched with purpose back through the door.

The ridiculous feeling refused to abate even after she’d gone, and with it grew a bizarre paranoia, everything seeming to catch her off guard. Gripping her lilies, she rounded a corner only to double back several steps when she heard someone approaching on the other side.

She blew out an exasperated sigh.

“Oh, aren’t those just lovely!” said Snow as she walked up to her. “I haven’t seen them growing around here in ages – where did you—” and Regina promptly deposited them into Snow’s arms with what she hoped would pass for a smile.

“I thought you might like them,” Regina said tersely. “A little pick-me-up while you handle your…burdens,” and she made a vague gesture at Snow’s pregnant belly.

The Princess looked genuinely touched, nose buried deep in her lilies, and Regina went on her way feeling somehow more irritated than ever.

To her absolute horror, Snow had arranged them as the centerpiece of their royal table that night at dinner, proudly announcing to anyone within earshot that Regina had selected them just for her.

There was only one other person who knew where the lilies had chosen to bloom that year.

But if the thief noticed (oh, who was she kidding?), he made no indication of it, his attention never straying from his own table.

His son was in the middle of telling some story, arms flapping wildly about as he stood on the bench and made as if to leap into flight. The thief was gazing warmly at him, dimples on full display, laughing outright when Roland gave a little jump and landed dramatically into his arms.

Regina forced her eyes away when Snow passed a full plate of food over to her, the scent of roast meat in the air.

She glanced down.

“Wow,” she heard Charming from two seats away, already slicing into his portion with gusto. “I can’t remember the last time we had wild boar. This is fantastic.”

It was a mistake to look back up. Her eyes met the thief’s across the hall, just as he was taking a sip from his goblet. He didn’t appear smug, or smirk at her like she’d expected him to as he raised his drink in her direction. The smile he gave her this time was a bit crooked, a bit shy, and she didn’t know what to do with him like this – or what to do with herself, for that matter – and so she could only look away again.

Regina stole from dinner early, before the plates had even cleared, with a hasty excuse to Snow about needing to follow up on some things in the library.

It was not exactly a lie; she’d hit a dead end in her spell books after exhausting her last stash of hellebore, but as Belle liked to say, there was always room for more learning. They’d been taking turns reading whatever they could about Oz in the meantime, and tonight in particular suddenly felt like the perfect moment to do so.

Belle herself was just returning from the washroom when Regina slipped out of the banquet hall.

“Off to the library?” she asked knowingly. “I’ll come join you soon.”

Regina waved her off. “There’s no sense in both of us letting a good evening go to waste.” She cleared her throat, hating how very transparent she sounded as she added a curt, “You should go have a drink with the others.”

“Are you sure?” Belle’s forehead creased at her. “Did you want to come? We could both use a break, I’m sure.”

Regina thought of a hearth draped in pine, warm cider, warm other things, and realized that she’d already made up her mind.

“You go,” she told Belle. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

…

She never knew what to expect anymore, as far as the thief was concerned.

But she had braced herself for whatever remarks he would make about her absence the previous evening, and so when they crossed paths around lunchtime, she turned on him, ready.

“Hullo,” he said cheerfully, no more than that, not even a customary nod to her title, and she was so thrown by the change that he’d already moved past her before it occurred to her that she hadn’t said anything at all.

She had destroyed men for much less.

But there was something about him that made her feel strangely unlike herself, and as he walked on there was another twinge in her chest, like he’d tethered her to him somehow, and this…this, she supposed, was a different kind of ruin.

By the time she arrived at the garden, the sun had already begun its descent, casting a welcome glow in the chill. She wandered toward the balcony rail for a moment, musing over the idea of him scaling up walls and firing arrows through open windows, swinging himself from ledge to ledge. It would have pleased him to know this, she thought, when he’d probably just taken the stairs.

He’d folded the neck warmer back up since she’d been here last, the tip of the quill now nestled safely inside the fur. Regina hesitated a split second before carefully pulling it out, examining the way that it bent at an unnatural angle, a flicker of shame running deeper than she would’ve cared to admit.

It was beautiful, the feather he’d chosen – a rich swirl of deep blues and greens, with a hint of purple down the middle, tapering down to a nicely shaped point. Magic pooled instinctively to her fingertips, and she itched to set it straight again, but that somehow felt wrong to her, almost offensive to try.

She curled her hand around the quill, pressing it gently over her chest as she turned to go.

Her breath caught when she saw it.

There by the doorway, ensconced in a bed of thick ivy, sat a small plant that couldn’t have grown there, with leathery leaves and blooming rose-like white petals, their edges tinged in pink. Thin black roots sprang out from a fresh clump of soil, clinging to the nearby stems of ivy.

Hellebore.

Regina had to refrain from rushing over too quickly, as if sudden movement might break the illusion, or cause the plant to go into hiding. It was not the same species her spell books typically called for – those were of a deeper hue, maroon or even darker – and this pleased her, that she had an excuse to simply let them grow.

She used her magic this time, gingerly extracting the roots and potting them into a warmed handful of air. The flowers seemed to wave at her in the breeze, the pink in them flushing prettily when she touched her finger to the petals.

She knew the perfect place for it, in her bedchambers, and she swept down the stairs with her new plant bobbing gently through the air in front of her.

A curious warmth had settled into her body, but she chose not to question it any longer, hardly even caring that someone might spot her absconding with such a lovely thing.

—but no, she told herself firmly, one couldn’t steal what one had been given, and this was quite possibly the most thoughtful gift she’d ever received.

…

He seemed to know her and her preferences so well, and up until now he had never been far from view either, so long as it inconvenienced her in some way; but once Regina determined that she wanted to be found for a change, he proved to be just as elusive as his fairy tale reputation implied.

As far as she could tell, he paid his visits to their garden at an arbitrary time each day. If he did this to avoid any run-in with her, he was more than successful, and short of installing some magical sensor she doubted she could catch him there.

At mealtimes, he was either with Roland or the rest of his men, and she could not figure out how to approach him this way; whatever this was between them felt too new and uncertain, like the smallest thing might break it before it had even begun.

Meanwhile, he didn’t stop leaving her gifts here and there – medicinal herbs, some other ingredients she’d run low on (Belle must have been feeding him intel, she thought), a handful of apples he’d somehow procured when even her tree had stopped bearing fruit for the season.

She accepted his offerings in secret, though never more than a few at a time. The rabbit fur warmer came with her last, and she tried it on once in front of her mirror, sighing into its warmth for one indulgent moment before tucking it into a drawer with the mittens.

Each time she saw him it was as though she’d never truly seen him until then, the way he bit his lip sometimes when he smiled, a new sound his laugh made, how blue his eyes looked no matter the lighting.

In her distraction, she’d let Snow rope her into supervising the last of their preparations for winter solstice, a towering fir that was to go in the middle of the ballroom. It had taken all the thief’s men to haul it inside, though not without several missteps that might have ended badly for them, had Regina not intervened with a few discreet waves of her hand.

She was still glowering when the thief ambled by.

“Your Majesty,” he said with a perfectly straight face, clearly making an effort not to worsen her mood.

“Thief,” she returned, heart thundering madly. Everyone else was still happily preoccupied, carting in things for the tree, and this was perhaps the only chance she would have to get him alone before the ball.

He saw her gaze sweep over the room and gave her a lopsided smile. “Excited for the festivities, I take it?”

Their eyes met. “I hadn’t planned on going,” she told him carefully, watching his face for a reaction.

He took a step closer.

“I see.” He looked gravely serious, like he wanted to say something more but hadn’t quite found the right words, and then John was calling for him, requesting his assistance on some matter regarding the tree.

Regina released the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, feeling the moment slip away.

But Robin seemed remiss to go, stalling another few seconds to simply gaze down at her, eyes warm and terribly endless, and she wondered what he saw in her, how he had never looked at her any other way.

“I should…” He cleared his throat, raising a placating hand in John’s direction, and then excused himself with a bow of his head. “Your Majesty,” he murmured, so low she wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it, but the words sank into her like a gentle caress, and nothing had ever made her feel this warm, so warm, before.

…

She could hear the music from the ballroom very distantly from her perch in the garden, the lively instrumentals, the rise and fall of Snow’s makeshift choir. The dancing would have begun by now, after that extravagant feast had time to settle.

Snow, thankfully, had been dragged away from dinner early to mediate a dispute between her two lead sopranos. Regina had snuck off without any trouble, Charming electing to look the other way as she passed him; and then, just for good measure, she’d sent a little spell over to Leroy, who was red-faced from too much mead and loudly insisting that Friar Tuck’s range made him more of an alto, really.

He erupted into a coughing fit, demanding in between breaths for a lozenge and a tall glass of water, and Regina was able to make her escape unnoticed.

Now, she sat at the very edge of a bench in her garden, hidden behind the flowering lilies, and she waited.

He hadn’t left her any gifts today, not that she’d expected him to. Snow had kept him busy all afternoon with last-minute details, and he had no reason not to attend the party himself, to drink hot chocolate with his boy and twirl him around in a dance while they caroled.

In another world, she thought, another boy would have told her that she deserved happiness, too.

She didn’t hear him come in, but there was a change in the air, a sudden stillness to it that made her chest tighten as she glanced over and saw him.

He was standing by the round stone table, where two empty glass tumblers awaited, an unopened bottle of whiskey beside them.

Regina stood. “You came.”

“Milady.” He lifted his gaze to hers, and the look in his eyes nearly took her breath away. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He smiled at her as she came over to him, shyness or something like it making her feel as though they were both in slow motion. “I apologize that I couldn’t make it sooner; Roland was a bit resistant toward his usual bedtime.”

“With good reason, of course,” she said.

“Indeed.” He gestured back toward the table, voice going soft. “What’s all this?”

“I…believe I owed you a drink.”

His smile spread, dimples deepening at her. “That you did. May I?” He reached past her, brushing their arms together as he picked up the bottle and pulled out its stopper. He worked slowly, intently, and she tried not to breathe in too deeply when he leaned back to hand her a glass. “Cheers.”

She clinked her glass with his, but neither of them drank. It was hard to get her body to cooperate at all, not with him standing this close to her.

“Speaking of which, Roland quite enjoyed his chocolate beverage.”

Regina swallowed around a sudden lump in her throat. “I’m glad.”

“The, uh, cinnamon. It was a nice touch.”

She blinked and had to look away for a moment. “An old family recipe.” Her voice tried to crack, eyes burning, but then everything seemed to right itself again, feeling uncommonly steady, and she realized he’d set their glasses back down and taken her hands into his.

“Your hands are like ice,” he murmured, closing his more firmly around them. She almost shivered into the warmth, thinking that she hadn’t known to mind the cold until now. “So – just to be clear—” and there was a teasing glint to his tone this time, “Of all the gifts you thought to claim first, you chose a weed—”

“It’s not a weed.”

“—and a broken quill.”

“It writes perfectly well,” she told him.

“I could mend it for you.” He rested their hands to his chest, coaxing her forward just slightly. She was much too warm now to even think about how she’d ever stood for anything less. “Or make you a new one.”

Regina curled her fingers into his tunic, offering a demure, “I suppose I wouldn’t say no,” feeling the way his chest rumbled with laughter.

“Have you tried the candle yet?”

She shook her head. It had seemed a waste, to let it burn.

“Well,” he said, shifting over her a little, “should you ever choose to light it, you may find it has an interesting way of masking its own scent, and that of its surroundings. Quite handy when you’re on the run…or perhaps tired of your castle smelling like it’s gone a bit wild.”

Regina straightened and said, very primly, “I don’t know what gave you the impression that I would ever want a candle like that.”

He released her hand for a moment, brushing back a lock of her hair. His touch lingered, and she leaned into his palm, feeling dizzy and so unbearably light.

“So what did you bring me today, thief?”

“Well, since you’ve been averse to wearing the things that I made you…” He grinned, and she couldn’t help it, reaching up to rest her fingers on his jawline, learning the feel his stubble, the way his dimples moved when he bit his lower lip at her. “I thought I might try to find some new way of keeping you warm.”

She wanted to tell him that he already had, but instead she stretched onto her toes, and she kissed him.

It was brief but full of promise, and she rocked back onto her heels, feeling breathless. His lips were parted, gaze heavy with want when she opened her eyes, and all she could do was sigh into him as he gathered her up and kissed her again.

His hand moved through her hair, cupping the back of her neck and angling her closer. His mouth was warm and inviting, moving together with hers in a tangle of heat and tongue. She stretched her body up against his, feeling his weight, his warmth, his arms closing around her and holding her to him.

Everything tingled, where they pressed together, and she was more than lightheaded when they parted again, his forehead coming to rest against hers as they breathed each other in. But her hands would not still, wanting to touch him, to wander up his chest and his shoulders, finally reaching the sides of his neck. He nudged the tip of his nose to her cheek, the world slowing again, and she stole another kiss from him, softer this time, lips parting and brushing back and forth without fully settling back together.

His arms around her tightened, a kiss finding its way to her temple as he rasped into her ear, “I ought to head back soon, in case he wakes up.”

“Mm.” She didn’t trust herself to speak quite yet, her whole body still alight with the need to kiss him like she might not get the chance to tomorrow.

“Could I perhaps…” he leaned back with a mischievous quirk of his eyebrows, looking quite boyish as he asked her, “accompany you on the walk to your room, milady?”

She couldn’t hide her surprise even if she’d wanted to. “I’m not stopping you,” she said, watching the way his everything seemed to transform in the warmth of his smile, and she marveled that this was all for her, that this was what he wanted too, and oh if this feeling didn’t destroy her, she knew it was certainly going to try.

He pressed one last kiss to her lips and released her, wrapping an arm around her waist as they walked.

“We’ll have to come back for that drink,” he said, and Regina turned into him, touching her hand to his chest for a moment.

“Tomorrow sounds good to me.”

He tugged her back in, both of them smiling into the kiss now, and at this rate, if it took them all night to make it where they were going, she would not mind it at all.

…

“How was the rest of your night, Regina?”

She almost choked on her eggs, taking a liberal swallow of coffee before she was able to get any words out. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t see you at the ball,” said Snow. “I hope you were feeling all right.”

“Just fine,” Regina told her firmly. “I’d told you I wasn’t going to go.” She tried not to let her gaze wander too obviously toward a certain table in the back, focusing instead on spearing up another bite of potato.

“I know, but…” Snow’s tone dropped to something suspiciously covert. “I thought maybe someone would have convinced you to change your mind.”

Horrified, Regina nearly dropped her fork before deciding altogether it was too dangerous to try eating anymore, with Snow so determined to keep talking to her. She took a measured sip of her coffee, and said as flatly as she could manage, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Snow seemed willing to drop it for the time being, and Regina let herself relax into her coffee again, stealing another glance between sips. Robin looked just as focused on his own breakfast, but she caught him smiling to himself on more than one occasion, and she couldn’t help but look shyly away each time she felt his gaze flick over to her again.

She touched her hair without thinking, curling the ends behind her ear, fingertips grazing the fur at her neck.

“That scarf looks warm,” Snow remarked, something intentional about the bland way she said it.

Regina almost took her hand away, but she pushed back the instinct, toying with the Christmas rose she’d pinned to its side that morning. “It is.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Snow.

Their eyes met for a moment, and for the first time that winter, Regina felt, truly, that wonderful was just the beginning.

[feckyeswriting]

Simplify - an Eris Fic

For @nimadge

Thank you for being amazing and even more so thanks for giving me a bright spot during all the hectic busy-ness of moving <3

I loved getting to cover this prompt. I hope you enjoy how it all came together. I know you just had all your exams, so I wanted to make sure it wasn’t just 100% studying anxiety all over again ^^  

How about Eric and Tris, relationship OR good working relationship with the possibility of more at least; she sees HIM studying something for once (for qualification exam or smth) and can help?  How would that go?

Made me think abt how Eric would take help/how harsh he is on himself, that sort of thing.  We never see him learning anything, after all

Simplify

“Do you need anything?”

Such a simple question. I looked up from my piles of notes and the guide book I was currently attempting to force into perfect recall. Seeing Tris there, a small smile tucked behind her lips, tempered the irritation that had been building all afternoon. There was a lot there bubbling under the surface.

“I know you work best alone, but if you need anything - a drink, something from the caf - just let me know,” she said.

I did my best to wrangle my expression into a smile. Her offer made it easy. It was well past the end of her shift. Tris didn’t need to be hanging around Leadership on her off hours. It meant all the more to me that she had.

“Thanks,” I replied simply.

Tris kissed her fingertips, pressing the two of them to my nameplate on the door. “I’m down the hall with Kyle,” she said before departing.

I felt my face fall as she turned and walked away. There was nothing I’d like more than to have gotten up and followed her. Instead, I sighed and flipped to the next blank page to take more notes. Committing to memory the new SOPs for calls had been easier than this drivel.

Qualifications - or quals - were the bane of my existence. And as Leader I was expected to stay ahead of as many of them as I could. At least we got to spread them out between Leaders. Between us, we had to understand what the Faction was capable of.

Sharp shooting and marksmanship quals were a favorite of mine and many of my fellows. They were straightforward; a combination of muscle memory and specific math formulas let you pass with flying colors usually. I’d been happy with the other quals I’d passed over the past two years.

Then the dust-up in Leadership had changed things. Not to speak ill of the very necessary changes that took place, it was a total pain in the ass to have to cover for the things that Max and the others had learned over the years. I’d fought tooth and nail to remain in place, accepting as earnestly as possible my culpability for letting… everything happen without question. That meant not complaining about covering two quals at once.

So, here I was in my office trying to convince my tired brain that learning every in and out of neurochemistry was a reasonable use of my time and efforts. I’d avoided the quals for fear testing initially because dammit I’d left Erudite to get away from reading academic texts.

Fate has a funny way of ignoring what we want in life.

I ran my hands through my hair and flipped to the next chapter. There were still a few more hours until I had time to sleep.

Every time that I blinked now I could swear I saw the diagrams from my notes on the insides of my eyelids. Fuck, that would have made things a lot easier if they were there. Instead I stared at the practice test question in front of me and fumed.

Describe the basic concepts behind the signals used to target the amygdala.

My pen tapped a staccato rhythm on my knee. I wanted to snap it in half. This was the first long form answer I was expected to answer. I had known it was going to come up.

The amygdala was only part of the brain triggered by the fear serum. There was also the thalamus and… and… Well, there were more. More that didn’t matter for this question. But all I could think about now was the damn sensory thalamus. Emotional stimulus - that was the first part of the series of triggers in the process - leading to further systemic triggers.

“That’s what it’s fucking asking, you idiot,” I growled to myself. “What are those triggers in the fuckin’ amygdala.” Still, no matter how long I stared at my measly four word reply, the less I could recall about the process. It didn’t matter how the synaptic sequence depended on a particular balance of ion channels, either, but that was what my mind decided to offer up next.

The process begins with

The process begins with

The process begins with- with what?

I flipped back to the earlier questions. I had more ‘return to answer’ arrows on each page than I’d remembered making. On the question asking to order the sequence of signals used by the serum I’d only marked off the first and last steps. Blank spaces stared at me unhelpfully, offering no insight into whether or not it was a neurotransmitter dump or an artificial channel blocker that could have been used in the amygdala.

My pen went across the room. This was absolutely ridiculous.

Next to me, Tris finally stirred. She screwed up her eyes against the light from my side lamp, but she sat up. “You’re still taking that thing?” she murmured. “What time is it?”

“Late,” I said. I ignored her first question; I’d blown way past my initial expectation of how long this stupid practice test was going to take.

She rubbed at her eyes and leaned heavily on the headboard. “You need to take a break,” Tris said simply.

I looked down at all the little black arrows on the pages and those stupid, stupid four words with nothing after them. “I can’t. I’m not done yet,” I replied.

“It’s- that can’t be right. It’s four am?” she said. She’d caught a glimpse of the alarm clock down by the foot of the bed. It was there so we couldn’t just slam the snooze button without moving. I’d been selectively ignoring it all evening. Well, morning now.

I sighed. Tris shifted again next to me, returning to rest her head on the pillow. She still faced me now. One hand emerged from the blanket again so she could run the side of her finger down my arm. She could only reach so far before starting back down again.

“You’re going to be exhausted,” Tris murmured. “Can you ask Lauren for her answers from this one? To study from?”

“Mm. Maybe.” Lauren had passed this qual the winter after her Initiation. She’d only had a few weeks to study for it. Had only needed a few weeks to. I’d been working on this every god damn night and weekend for the past three months.

And I still couldn’t answer a fucking obvious, critical question.

“Hey, hey,” Tris said. I looked down at my hands. I’d crumpled the pages in front of me between white knuckled fists. Tris’ hand wrapped around my wrist. It was the best she could manage from her angle. “It’s going to be alright,” she insisted.

“It will be when this is over,” I hissed. “If I pass.” Good fucking god, there were only three days left. Two nights of studying, really. I’d only have a few hours on the morning of to try and force any more info into recall.

I laughed bitterly. “I might not pass,” I repeated. “Wouldn’t that be rich? Paid so much attention to the fear sims, and I can’t explain them worth a damn for these stupid quals. Fear is what gets you kicked out of Dauntless. Never thought that’d be me, but here we are.”

Tris threw the blanket off. It took most of my papers with it, crumpled pages spilling everywhere at the foot of the bed. She sat up fully. Forced me to look at her instead.

“Eric,” she said, “what would you tell me if I was doing this?”

It wouldn’t work. I crossed my arms over my chest and scoffed. “Usually your problem is that you’re overreacting. And I’m not,” I insisted.

“Bullshit,” Tris retorted. I scoffed again. She wasn’t the one unable to answer a goddamn multiple choice question on what should have been a mid-level biology question.

She mirrored my crossed arms. “Bull. Shit. You’re overreacting and stressing about not knowing shit. So you’re just getting more and more stressed as you get more and more stuff not quite right,” she said.

“Not quite right is wrong. And wrong means failing quals,” I spat.

I don’t know if she heard the nerves in my voice then or if she just had to think another minute for a new plan of attack, but after a moment she said, “You have two more full days.”

Two days. My stomach flipped and I snapped my eyes shut. “Don’t remind me.”

She didn’t quit. “You have two more full days,” Tris insisted. “That’s plenty of time. You’ve got the core information down; you have to by now after all this cramming and all these weekends buried in that book. It’s just perfecting recall.”

I made a noise. I felt her prodding at my knees until I relented and stretched my legs back out on the mattress. Tris dropped onto my lap with all the grace of a newborn foal - all legs and flailing hooves, sorry, palms. I opened one eye as she wrapped her arms loosely around my neck.

“I’m not moving these,” I muttered, wiggling one arm.

“Sure you’re not,” she replied. Resting her forehead on mine, she forced me to look at her.

Her voice got soft. “I know you’re stressed. And you’ve every right to be worried about the test. They’re fucking hard,” she said. I almost laughed. Almost.

Tris continued on. One of her thumbs stroked along the skin of my neck. “But I’m here to tell you: you’re going to be okay. It’s all going to be fine. Two days is plenty of time. I know it will be,” she said quietly.

I closed my eyes again. Nodding my head, I hummed in acknowledgement. “Mkay,” I said. I pressed a kiss to her lips. Saying thank you seemed like not enough. I did it anyways.

“You don’t need to thank me. Like I said, if you need anything you just have to ask me,” she murmured. We shifted together and she moved to lay on top of me. I had to kick to get the blanket back up to us. That sleepy smile returned to her face when I pulled it over her shoulders again.

I looked one last time at the pages still down by my feet. Tris poked my side, reading my mind. “Turn off the light,” she grunted. “Sleep now. Study later.”

Kissing the top of her head, I clicked the lamp off. She snuggled tighter to my chest.

It’s the simple things.

[cedarmoons]

Prompt: Saige and Haley take Chester on a walk and Haley takes photos and Saige is Tol and Buff.

didn’t quite fit the prompt but uhhh have lots of haley/fem farmer fluff and smooching!! and tubby doggo! :) sdv fic readers if ur out there… show me a sign

Back in Denver, Chester had been known among your friends as “the fattest, cutest corgi in the world.” You’d taken him for walks whenever possible—which was rather often, since Joja only gave you 39.5 hours a week to avoid giving you the benefits they’d boasted about in orientation. You’d explored most of Denver while walking Chester; it was how you’d learned your way around. So he isn’t fat because of lack of exercise: he is fat because his body is, inexplicably, always prepared for the apparent inevitability of winter hibernation.

Haley calls him tubby. 

It’s #16 on the list of reasons you love her with all your heart. Not that you’ve gotten around to telling her that, yet, but, you know. That sort of thing comes with time.

You wake up at 6:00 to a rooster’s crowing, even though you know for a fact that there are no roosters on your farm (or Marnie’s, or in the surrounding wilderness, or even in Stardew Valley). Haley is under the blankets and Chester is a breadloaf, draped over her hip and the middle of the bed, watching you with sad bright eyes.

He wants breakfast. He’ll start flopping around if you don’t feed him soon.

Your words stir Haley; she rolls onto her back, faintly smiling, one of her hands lifting to rub at her blue eyes. Sunshine-blonde hair spreads out over the pillow. “Morning, honey,” she says, and you lean over Chester to kiss her cheek before rolling out of bed to pad toward the bathroom.

Haley comes in too, smiling sleepily at your reflection. Chester toddles in after both of you, panting happily, tongue lolling. He sits down, watching both of you stand in front of the tiny bathroom sink. You’re brushing your teeth, and she bumps her hip against yours, plucking her toothbrush from the neon cup on the sink rim. Before she wets it, though, she nabs your phone and starts scrolling, putting on a song with a wink.

You groan around your toothbrush as the gentle guitar starts playing. It’s Dad’s ringtone for you, and the namesake of your middle name. Haley grins at you.

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Joleeeene, Dolly Parton croons.

Saige Jolene Holland does have a certain ring to it, you’ve come to realize, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it. Could’ve been worse, though; it could’ve been Nellie Jolene as Mom wanted. That is way more faux-southern-girl and about a thousand times worse.

“I hate you sometimes,” you gargle, then spit. Haley laughs, unrepentant, and starts humming around her toothbrush to the tune. After she spits, you duck in to kiss her cheek. She catches your chin and kisses you properly, lips wet from the water and breath scented of artificial mint.

“I’m gonna do my makeup,” she says after you part. “And then I think I’m gonna take Chester out, with my camera. It’s so beautiful outside today.”

After you’d shown Haley Instagram, she’d made an account specifically for her selfies and pictures of Chester. Sometimes you’re a cameo, but mostly it’s Haley and Chester, who everyone following her thinks is her corgi, not yours. Her most liked photo is not of herself or of you two or of Stardew Valley’s scenery. It is a picture of Chester’s butt as he was in the process of scrambling onto the shipping crate for whatever reason. 

Haley had only taken it because she thought you’d find it hilarious. (She was absolutely 100% right. That same picture is framed on your nightstand.)

You smile at it as you pad back to the bedroom and get dressed. Haley ends Jolene and switches to Defying Gravity. You’d introduced her to your various collection of Broadway musicals, and Wicked is her new favorite.

Chester follows you out of the bathroom and flops onto the floor. “I’m going,” you chide, “be patient.”

He scrambles up at once, bouncing on his front paws, smiling at you as he barks once, twice. You click your tongue and he follows you downstairs as Haley tries to sing both Glinda and Elphaba’s parts. You feed him, kneeling down to run your fingers through his fur. “My beautiful tubby son,” you croon, lowering your head to kiss the top of his silken sand-colored head.

Chester keeps eating. You don’t blame him. You’d keep eating, too.

“So if you care to find me, look to the western skyyy!” Haley belts from the bathroom. She has a beautiful mezzo-soprano, even when she’s not trying. You pop your head inside to see her rubbing in her foundation. She stops at once, flushing in embarrassment, but you only grin and flash her a thumbs-up sign before pulling back to get dressed. The alarm clock that never goes off reads 7:10, even though you feel you’ve only woken up a little while ago.

Time moves differently in Stardew Valley. But it doesn’t seem to go so quickly, now. You think a lot of that has to do with your and Haley’s work, and the Junimos’ help.

You pull on a T-shirt that reads Smooch Your Local Farmer and jeans, and boots. It’d rained last night, and it’s spring, so you’re certain there are still puddles outside. The river will still be beautiful, though.

“And nobody, in all of Oz, no wizard that there is or was—”

Oh, God, you can’t miss the best part.

You rush into the bathroom, only to see Haley leaning against the sink instead of doing her makeup, using her toothbrush as an imaginary mic. She sees you and turns, not missing a beat. You blow her a kiss and flash her two thumbs up, and she grins, closing her eyes, nailing the last note of the verse. You sing Glinda’s part and then the chorus’s, all while Haley holds that final “DOWN!” note, the instruments backing both of you up.

When she finishes, she bows, and you whistle, clapping so hard your hands hurt. Reason #23 you love Haley with all your heart: she has a killer mezzo-soprano.

She grins at you, makeup still limited to foundation and primer, and butterflies erupt in your stomach. You still remember the days she’d locked herself in the bathroom and refused to come out until she had a face full of makeup. Which, not to lie, she looks great while wearing makeup (especially when she wears bright red lipstick, hell yeah)—but she looks great without it, too.

“Shoo,” she says, “I’m naked.”

“I happen to like you naked,” you reply, and she laughs, cheeks dimpling. The music shifts to Hey Soul Sister and she turns back to the mirror, cocking her hip and smirking at you with a sidelong glance.

That doesn’t stop you from walking up to Haley and bending down, wrapping your arms around her and lifting her up onto the sink’s counter. It knocks off some toothpaste, but that’s okay. Haley giggles, wrapping her arms around your neck, pulling you close and kissing you, long and deep. She is soft and warm in your arms, full-figured, not a hard edge to her. You brush back long blonde hair and break the kiss. She looks a little dazed, a blush darkening her cheeks as she looks at you in a way that makes your heart flip.

Reason #2 you love Haley with all your heart: that look.

“I’m gonna walk Chester with you,” you tell her, running your hands up the insides of her bare thighs, stroking her stretch marks. “We can visit Penelope and Leah.”

The whole farm should be ready for harvesting today, but you don’t mind. The crops never die no matter how long you ignore them, except at the end of season. It’d stopped being a concern years ago, because money had stopped being a concern years ago.

“Okay,” Haley agrees, easily. Hozier is singing about Eden when she kisses you again, hands smoothing down your shoulders. When she breaks the kiss, she says, “I love your shirt, by the way.”

You grin at her, and she grins back, dimpling. Reason #4 you love Haley with your whole heart: those dimples. Damn. “Well, I’d hope so, since, you know. You got it for me.”

(Again, another thing she’d thought you’d love. Again, another thing you absolutely love with your whole heart.)

You brush her hair over her shoulder, revealing a stretch of pale, freckle-dotted skin where her neck and shoulder meet quite nicely. Haley breathes out laughter, tilting her head back, and you lean in to kiss each freckle, squeezing the soft skin behind her knees.

Chester barks, and you pull back to see he’s sitting at the door, his leash in his mouth, ears cocked as he watches you both. Haley starts laughing and you pull away, shaking your head. “You’re lucky you’re so cute and also the love of my life,” you tell him. “No offense, Hal.”

“None taken. He’s the love of my life, too.”

“You have excellent taste,” you say.

“I sure do,” she says. Hozier is still singing. Haley turns to the side and fiddles with your phone, turning him off a moment later. Which, honestly, you think is a crime, somewhere. Probably Ireland. She turns back to you and leans forward, resting her palms on the countertop. “Hey, Saige, honey, before we go. Come here.”

Chester flops, the leash still in his mouth. “Be patient,” you tell him. His eyebrow bones lift, making him look impossibly, unfairly sad. You turn back to Haley, going to stand between her splayed legs once more. “What is it?” 

Haley smirks again. “I need to smooch my local farmer.”

“God, that’s so corny.”

“You love it.”

“I absolutely do,” you agree, and lean in to kiss her.

[peterpcrkcr]

Into Your Scarf | A Peter Parker Imagine

#30

Peter Parker x Reader requested by anonymous Words: 2,238  Disclaimer: you're both about to start college just after graduating together. There's action, romance. Enjoy.  TW: Gun violence, no death.

 You were walking down the street, wearing your favorite fall boots, favorite winter jacket. Your scarf was up and over your face for the most part because the wind chill that swept through the city was particularly cold for the beginning of September. You didn't really mind it so much though, because you were on your way to a dinner and a movie date with Peter Parker, your boyfriend of exactly two months.

  When you arrived at the little 50's themed diner Peter was standing outside waiting for you. He looked so handsome. One lock of hair swirled over his forehead while the rest looked so soft and shiny over his head. He was looking down at his feet as he leaned against the doorway of the place. His jacket was a pea coat that fit him just right, something Tony Stark must have sent him for this very brisk day. He had cuffed his jeans to reveal his cute grey and white striped socks that tucked down into his boots. Oh, and he had his backpack. He always had his backpack. 

 "Hey Pete," you said as pulled the plum scarf from over your mouth. 

 You stepped over the curb to be right before the diner. When his eyes drifted off of the ground to look at you they started to beam. You were so stunning, so radiant, even with frizzy hair and a slight shiver to your bones. When he stepped forward to hug you he stepped right in the way of a group of people leaving the diner. You tucked your smile into the scarf at your neck. 

 "Oh! Sorry..." Peter said as an embarrassed blush creeped onto his cheeks. You chuckled just slightly as he danced around the group to stand in front of you. When he did he took your gloved hands and kissed your icicle nose. "Hello my girlfriend."

 "You're so cute... why do you always feel the need to tell me I'm your girlfriend? I know it. I cherish it." You asked as you swung your hands side to side. He grinned at you.

 "I like to say it because being with you doesn't seem real." You stopped swinging your hands and let your lips part just a little in surprise. "You're my favorite thing that's happened in a long time." 

 "Peter!" You exclaimed as you jumped forward into his arms. You knew he would catch you and remain upright because his core muscles were strangely fantastic. You poured kisses over his face until he started laughing with utter and un-compromised glee. You pulled back and slid your hands down the collar of his coat. You looked into his eyes and saw an undiscovered jungle of surprises and wonder. When he looked into yours he saw a seaside bungalow, you and two kids, and no worries for the rest of his life. He settled into a loving grin. You kissed that too. "Shall we?"

 "Oh yes..." he said as he reached a hand out to open the door for you, letting three people out of the diner instead. You smiled to yourself at Peter's adorable embarrassment again. 

 "You're very slick." You teased. He rubbed the back of his neck as you walked passed him and into the diner. 

 It was busy inside. Music from the 70's played and even though the diner was not of that era, it still gave the place a fun atmosphere. It wasn't packed by any means, but there were enough happy people in there to make the place seem perfectly excited. You let out a content sigh, to which Peter looked to the side to watch you shake off your coat. He helped it off of you. 

 "Table for two?" The waitress asked, to which you nodded and smiled, and Peter followed the two of you with a hand at the small of your back. You jumped forward a little at his touch. That made him smile. "There you are." "Thank you." Peter said as you slid into the booth. He slid in the seat in front of you. When she had set the menus down, and had taken your drink orders, and left you two alone, Peter leaned over the table to give you a kiss. A hello kiss, a sweet kiss. A kiss that felt like bright yellow sunflowers were sprouting over your heart. When he pulled away your eyes stayed closed, your lips stayed puckered. "(Y/n)?" 

 "I'm just- enjoying my hello." You said softly before opening your eyes. He was smiling at you, blushing. You loved when he blushed and smiled. This meant you were in love, and whether you had really recognized it or not before this instant, you needed to tell him. 

 "I'm gonna head to the restroom, okay?" He asked as he started to scoot out of the booth. You nodded. "If she comes back could you order the tomato soup and grilled cheese for me?" 

 "That's what I was going to get!" You said cheerfully. He exhaled happily. "Sure thing, Pete."

 Peter slid out of the booth fully, grabbed his backpack and slung it over his arm, and then kissed the top of your head. This meant you would have to wait until he returned to tell him you loved him. The waitress returned and said that the two of you looked really cute together, and you told her about how you were going to tell him you loved him when he came back, and she said that she was so happy for you that she'd order a special cherry pie slice for the two of you to share.

 "So two tomato soups and grilled cheese's?" She asked tapping the pad with the point of her pen as if it were a nonverbal question mark. You smiled and nodded and right as you were handing her back the menus, the bell of the door rang and the entire diner fell silent. One man in a ski mask was pointing a pistol at the head of the waitress that was doing the seating at the moment. She whimpered out of fear, looked like she was ready to cry. 

 "Give me all of the money in the register." He said calmly, like he'd done it a million times, or at least practiced before. No one moved, tears rolled down the face of the waitress at the door. "NOW! And nobody move or I'll shoot!" 

 She nodded and cried out and turned on her heel to walk around the chrome counter to get to the register. You sat in your seat, nervous for Peter. What would happen if he just came strutting out of the bathroom? It was right next to the counter, what would happen to him? You pulled out your phone and sent him a text, but he didn't respond. He didn't even read it. 

 "Come on, Peter..." you said quietly to yourself.

 A split second later the door chimed again that a guest had arrived and with it a web slung onto the gun in the hand of the robber. Spider-Man pulled the gun into his hand and set it on the hostess table next to him. 

 "You sure are wasting your bad-guy time robbing a little place like this." Spider-Man said with charm and sarcasm etched into his voice. It curled around your ears and made your heart beat back in tune. How had you not realized sooner?

 "Well if it isn't Spider-Man!" The robber said in a faux cheerful tone. "I was hoping you'd swing by." 

 "That's clever, but I'll need you to stand down. These people are all just enjoying their pie. How about you have a slice?" Spider-Man took the opportunity to sling a web to a metal pie tin on the counter that separated the kitchen and the dining room, to slam it against the back of the robbers masked head. He faltered a little, stumbled forward toward Spider-Man, who then slung webs to wrap around the robbers arms. 

 "You're funny kid if you think a little sticky web is gonna hold me up..." the robber pulled out a pocket knife and sliced the web enough to free his hands. "And you're funny if you think that was my only gun..." 

 "Hey!" Spider-Man had just enough time to move his head a little to the right to avoid the bullet that pierced the glass door. It shattered the entire pane of glass, which made everyone scream and stand from their booths in a frenzy. "Everybody! Calm down!"

 The robber turned to the waitress and shoved the knife in her face while the gun was pointed at Spider-Man. You sat there silently, filled to the brim with stress. "No funny business."

 "No funny business?! I was on a date!" Spider-Man exclaimed before kicking the gun up from the hand of the robber, webbing it toward him, and setting it next to the other gun on the stand. 

 "What the!" The robber yelled at he turned and lunged toward Spider-Man. Spider-Man dodged his attack, disengaged the knife from the robbers hand, and webbed the man to the ground flat on his back. 

 "Maybe don't be a criminal next time, guy." Spider-Man said before the entire place erupted in applause. He said a quick and humble thank you before running out of the door. 

 You turned to the waitress still standing by your booth and told her to cancel everything. She nodded and walked away stiffly, swallowing the lump of fear she had had for her coworker. You then stood up from your booth, grabbed your coat, and walked across the diner to where the restrooms were. 

 "Peter?" You knocked on the door rapidly. "Peter come out of there!"

 It was a long moment before the lock clicked and Peter stood there. His clothed disheveled, his breath a pant. You wrapped your arms over his shoulders and pushed him back inside with a big kiss. You turned your head and moaned over his tongue. He kissed you back fervently; pulled you in by his arms wrapped around your lower back. Your fingers found his hair where you tangled and teased him gently. When you pulled away he was doubly panting, and you still wanted more. More of his lips, more of the truth. 

 "Lets go." You said firmly. He nodded and took your hand as you lead him outside, until he took the lead. It was quiet for a long moment until you took a breath as if to begin to speak. Peter spoke instead. 

 "I jumped out of the window in the suit. Jumped over the building and hurried inside. That's where I was, and I think you know it now. I couldn't leave you out there, I couldn't leave any of those people in danger. I don't know what I'd do if you were ever hurt." He kept walking, his hand warm around yours. Stars shined in your eyes while you looked at the side of his face. 

 "Peteriloveyou-" you said much too quickly into your scarf as he was pulling you along. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look at you. Peter had heard what you said, and he felt it too, he just wanted to hear it again from you.

 "What did you say?" He sounded like he was going to cry. You sighed and lifted your mouth over the scarf to speak properly. 

 "I said... Peter, I love you." You swirled romance over your tongue and poured it over the words. You served your heart to him like a fine meal, and he ate it up completely. 

 "You meant it?" He was genuinely asking, prying for the absolute truth.

 "Of course, Peter. Now that I know you, all of you, how could I not?" You nodded while you spoke. Your eyes shined up at his, his eyes shined down to yours. You loved him, truthfully and wholeheartedly. 

 "You're the first person who hasn't been mad or upset with me for not telling them. You're the first one." He took your other hand in his and pulled you closer to him. 

 "Why would I be upset? People need secret identities, people need normal lives... I can't be mad when you were probably just looking out for me and yourself." His smiled grew as you spoke. "I don't mind it overall, but isn't scary to be in danger like that? Even if you have powers I am still going to worry, but I would never be mad about you doing what you think is right." 

 Peter didn't speak for a while. He stood there with this strange smile over his face. You were about to ask what was going on, and that's when his perfect pink lips parted and gifted you the words you've wanted to hear since you were young.

 "I love you. I love you, too, (y/n). (Y/n), (y/n), (y/n)! I LOVE (Y/N)!!" He yelled to the street, to the people bustling around them. You pulled him toward you by his chin and told him to shush. "Why? I have to tell the world!" 

 "You can tell me." You cupped his face which in turn poured a honey glow all over his cheeks. "You can just tell me."

 "I'll tell you everything." He said softly, kissing the top of your nose. You smiled, giggled. 

 "Is that a promise, Parker?" You asked jokingly. He nodded slowly and then quickly. 

 "I promise."

[sometimesambroswrites]

Okay, because of the malec varsity jacket thing you posted, I need a part 3 of that one High School AU you did of them, and I need Magnus in that varsity jacket as a thing if comfort. Pretty please?

I filled this one even though I’d said I’d be busy with another fic because I, admittedly, kind of asked for it; it also, it kinda grew? So now it’s a 2.6k fic, 5+1 thingy; read part 1 & 2 here. I hope you like it! Let me know? (I think it could be read as a standalone. I think)TW for homophobic language

You fit me better than my favorite sweaterorFive times Magnus wore Alec’s clothes and one time Alec wore Magnus’ clothes

He doesn’t even know why he’s walking on his tip-toes, trying not tomake any noise; it’s not like he can’t bethere.

It’s just weird – he’s never been in that pool and all the lightsare off except for one in the locker room and one in the pool itself,so it’s just bizarre.

He can hear Alec breaking through the water as soon as he stepsinside the building, and a smile curls his lips; he hasn’t seen himin a couple of days because Alec’s been too busy with practice, so hefeels giddy, alright?, whatever. Alec Lightwood has turned him into asap.

His boots are loud on the pristinefloor, humidity immediately clinging to his skin, the smell ofchlorine making his lipscurl.

Alec is in the middle of a lap, his back glistening under the pool’slights, and Magnus is mesmerized for a few moments, his eyes avidlyfollowing the way his muscles work under the water.

He sits where Alec’s left his stuff, and shrugs off his own jacket;he knows Alec has seen him, a grin curling his lips every time hecomes up for air between strokes; he grins back, his elbows on hisknees, watches him as Alec finishes his last lap and swims towardsthe edge closest to where Magnus is sitting.

Magnus is careful closer to the edge of the pool, his boots not thebest choice with the floor this slippery, but he will take that riskto kiss Alec.

-Hey,- Alec smiles, his breath slightly laboured, his arms crossed onthe floor as he floats effortlessly into the pool; he doesn’t lookridiculous even with his blue swim cap and the goggles’ marks on thesides of his nose – in fact, he looks fucking gorgeous. Magnuscrouches down, slowly, even though the smell of chlorine is trulydisturbing: -Hi,- he says, his hands hanging between his knees,expression helplessly fond on his face, -Can I have a chlorineflavoured kiss?

Alec’s grin is bright and shiny when he pushes himself out of thewater, the muscles in his arms tensing as Magnus leans down, theirlips meeting for a wet, cold kiss that makes them chuckle, theirlaughters the only sound in the pool.

-Ow,- Magnus says, brushing his hand against his wet lips and chin,-No more kisses for you as long as you’re wet.

Alec pouts: -That’s not fair. I’vebeen in this pool for two hours and I haven’t seen you in twodays. I need kisses.

Magnus shakes his head: -Uh-uh, no can do.

Alec eyes his clothes, glances at the small pile of their stuff onthe bench behind Magnus: -You’ve left your phone with my stuff,right?

Magnus squints at him suspiciously:-Yes, wh – Alec, N –

But then he’s diving face first inthe pool, Alec’s hand fisted in his shirt, his protest useless; here-emerges spluttering, the awful feeling of his clothes and hisboots just soaked,clinging to his body, water running from his hair, and he glares atAlec with everything he has: -What the fuck,Alexander Gideon Lightwood, are you insane?That’s it, I’m breaking up with you, this is my break up spee –

But Alec doesn’t look like he’slistening to him, one breath away from kissing Magnus, a dopey happysmile on his lips as he lookscontent to simply float there for a few hours, and Magnus huffs.Rolls his eyes. Digs his fingers into Alec’s muscles, wet skin underhis skin as he holds onto him, and obnoxiously kisses him. He’salready soaked, so. When in Rome.

*

The – admittedly only – downsideis that it’s freezing outside becausehis clothes are soaked becauseof someone and Magnusgrumbles as he takes Alec’s arm and wraps it around his ownshoulders, burrows closer into Alec’s side to steal some of hiswarmth, whining when Alec lowers his arm, but then a jacket is beinglovingly placed on his shoulders, warm and incredibly welcome – nota jacket, thejacket, school colours and all,and then Alec’s arm is around his shoulders again.

Magnus wraps the jacket around himself, the sleeves covering hishands completely as Alec kisses his wet hair; he can just picture thesmug smile on his face. Whatever. At least he’s not cold anymore.

~

It’sten p.m. and Magnus is half watching Brooklyn 99 half falling asleepwhen his phone rings; he frowns, feeling a bit more awake as he seesAlec’sname on the screen; he swipes left to answer.

-Hey pretty boy, what’s up?

Heknows, as soon as he hears Alec’s broken breath, he knows somethingis wrong; he sits upright on the bed, his feet already on the floorwhen Alec says: -I– can I come over?-his voice shaky, and Magnus thinks fuck,because he sounds like he’s been crying: -Of course. Where are you?Are you hurt? Do you want me to come pick you up?

-N-no,I’m –- he sniffles, -I’maround the corner,-and Magnus thinks fuckthese shoes ashe gets up and runs down the stairs in his socks, sweats and at-shirt; -I’m there in a second, okay?

Heruns out the door as Alec says: -Okay,-small and scared, bolts through his garden and down the sidewalk andhe slams into Alec, clearly overestimating how far he’d been, reliefrunning through his veins as he can make sure he’s physically okay;something breaks in his chest when he looks up and sees Alec’s redrimmed eyes.

-What happened?- he asks,whispers, almost afraid to know, he tentatively reaches up with hishands, his thumb brushing his tears away from his cheeks.

Aleclooks utterly broken, shocked, his lips bitten red, his eyes swollen:-He called me a fag,- he whispers, oxygen running out from his voiceas he curls down over himself, and Magnus freezes, Alec leaningagainst him, shaking; heholds him tighter, his hand in Alec’s hair, he feels like he’simpossiblytrying to keep him together.

-Your– your dad?- he whispers, and closes his eyes when he feels Alecnodding against his shoulder.

Rageand sadness mix inside Magnus’ stomach leaving a bitter taste on histongue as he stands on his tip-toes, Alec’s arms tight around hiswaist like he’s afraid he might disappear, he whispers: -It’s gonnabe okay,- and feels Alec’s tears on his own skin.

*

-I’msorry,- Alec says, voice rough and muffled by Magnus’ skin, butMagnus slips his hands into his hair: -Don’t even,- he says, harsh,blinking tears away from his eyes.

-You’refreezing,- Alec says, rubbing his hands on Magnus’ back, but Magnusshrugs: -I’m always freezing.

Alecchuckles: -True.-, shrugs his leather jacket off his shoulders, hisforehead still pressed against Magnus’ jaw as he drapes it on hisshoulders, warm and comforting, and Magnus whispers: -I should be theone giving you my jacket and everything else.

Alecsnorts: -Like your jacket would ever fit me.

Magnusnips at his jaw, turns it into a chain of kisses that ends on hislips; Alec sighs into it, breath shaky.

-Doyou want me to take you to your mum’s?

Alecswallows, brushes his thumb against Magnus’ cheek; he nods, but says:-Can I stay with you for a bit longer?

Magnusnods: -You can stay as long as you want.

~

Alecisn’t in the mood for Winter Formal; Magnus knows Alec’s only takinghim because he thinks he wants to go – which isn’t a wrongassumption, but it’s just Winter Formal and Magnus only wanted anexcuse to dress up. He’s dressed up. Winter Formal is bullshit.

Sohe tugs on Alec’s hand when they arrive at the school entrance andsmiles when Alec confusedly looks at him, walks backwards as he says:-Come on.

Heleads him around the school, towards the football field, the grassdump under their feet.

-Whatare we doing here?- Alec asks, half a smile on his lips.

Magnuswraps his hands around Alec’s neck, his wrists crossed on his nape;he kisses Alec’s lips: -Dancing.

Alecsighs closing his eyes, his forehead against Magnus’: -We can go tothe Formal, I’m sorry if I –

-Alec,-Magnus says, waits until Alec’s eyes are open again: -Shut up. Iwant you to be comfortable. That’s it. If you want to go get friesand a burger or ice-cream or comfort food, I’ll happily go with you.Or if you want to be alone, I can take you home,- he looks back andforth between his eyes, wants to make sure Alec is listening to him,-Whatever you want to do, I’m okay with. Okay?

Alec’sokay issmall and grateful and relieved, and Magnus smiles, presses anotherkiss against his lips: -Okay. So, what do you want to do?

-Ice-creamsounds great,- Alec says, almost bashful, his hands running up anddown Magnus’ arms, -But first,- he winds his arms around Magnus’waist, -My boyfriend looks incredibly hot tonight so I thought maybeI could take advantage and have one dance with him.

Magnushums pensively, biting his lip: -Let me go get him, I’ll see what Ican do,- laughs when he pretends to take a step back and Alec followshim, his arms tightening around his waist, his chin on his shoulder.

Magnushides a fond smile in his neck; he whispers: -What are we dancing to?

Alecshrugs: -Whatever you want, as long as I don’t have to take more thantwo steps.

Magnuschuckles; Alec can’t dance to save his life. He starts hummingThinking OutLoud,says: -I know you love Ed Sheeran,- as soon as Alec lifts his head toprotest.

Alechuffs but doesn’t answer.

Magnusresumes humming, his forehead against Alec’s neck; he smiles.

*

Itstarts raining when Magnus is in the middle of Shapeof youand he’s purring the lyrics in Alec’s ear, half laughing half seriousas shivers run down Alec’s back, and they both curse, startled,freezing rain pouring down on them as they run, mindful of the wetgrass under their feet.

Theyjump in Alec’s car, laughing and shivering, shit,it’s cold, I’m freezing,and Alec reaches towards the backseat to retrieve his varsity jacketand drops it on Magnus’ lap before turning up the heating.

-N-No,you take it, I’m f-fine,- Magnus says.

Alecraises a sceptical eyebrow at him: -Your lips are blue.

Magnusharrumphs but drapes it on his shoulders, rubbing his hands together.

-Hey,-Alec says, and Magnus looks up at him; his hair is wet, his clothessoaked. He looks handsome in his suit. -Best Formal ever.

~

Magnusopens his window, half asleep, catches sight of Alec surrounded bysnow and closes it again.

-Hey,-Alec protests, loudly, -Don’t be rude!

Magnusopens the window again, pouting: -It’s coldandwet,come wake me up when it’s summer.

-Ifyou come down here, I’ll let you take me for a ride on that deathtrap you call a motorbike.

Magnuspauses in the middle of closing his window. He looks down. Alec lookssmug. -You swear?

Alecraises his right hand: -I swear.

-Onyour favourite copy of Pride and Prejudice?

-Itold you that’sIzzy’s – Fine, yes, on my favourite copy of Pride and Prejudice.

Magnusgiddily claps his hands: -Great! I’m coming.

*

Thiswas such a bad idea, Magnus is regretting every single thing in hislife.

Heis freezing,absolutely freezing,he can’t even feel the tip of his nose or his cheekbones, he’sprobably lost a toe or two.

-Stoplaughing atme,- he says, outraged.

Alecbites his lip in a futile attempt to contain his laughter, runstowards him when Magnus moves to go back inside and wraps his armsaround his waist – stilllaughing,the dick. -Sorry, sorry, it’s just ridiculous how cold you get.

-Youwon’t be laughing when I’ll die of hypothermia and it’llbebe all your fault.

-You’reright, sorry, here … -, Magnus turns in Alec’s arms as he unzipshis jacket,the fool,andwraps it around Magnus as well, making them stand as close togetheras physics will allow them to.

Magnusglares at him: -I still hate you for this.

ButAlec looks at him with fondness, a soft smile on his lips, the tip ofhis nose and his cheeks red for the cold: -I love you too.

Magnus’heart skips a bit as his lips curl into a smile even though he triesto hold it back: -Oh, fuck you Lightwood,- he murmurs, and Alec issmiling when he kisses him.

~

Alecis still asleep when Magnus wakes up, their legs tangled, Alec’s armthrown over his hip.

Hemoves slowly trying not to wake him, holds back a chuckle when Alecgrumbles in his sleep, sounding disappointed, and shivers at the airin his room, cold especially if compared to Alec’s warmth.

Helooks around and grins when he sees Alec’s sweater thrown on thechair at his desk.

Heslips it on, warm and heavy on his skin, lets the sleeves fall overhis hands and feels immediately better.

-Lookso good in my clothes.

Magnusturns towards the bed where Alec is smiling at him, sleepy, half hisface buried into the pillow.

-Areyou saying I don’t usually look good?- he teases, taking a few stepsto kneel on the bed.

Alecturns on his back, all soft edges and messed up hair, and Magnuscrawls on him, lets Alec wrap his legs loosely around his waist: -Youalways look beautiful.

Magnuskisses him slowly: -Sap,- he murmurs.

-Youlove me,- Alec says.

Magnussmiles: -I really do.

~

-No,uh-uh, no way I’m riding that thing.

-Apromise is a promise,- Magnus says, holding the helmet out to him,unyielding.

-Thatwas monthsago,-Alecprotests, -And I only asked you to come out in the snow, how is thisfair?

-IsAlec Lightwood afraid?-Magnus teases, taking a step closer to him, helmet against his chest.

-Damnright he is!,- Alec says, -We are going to dieonthat thing and you look ecstatic.

-Doyou think I would everlet something happento you?

Alec looks at him dubiously.

-No,precisely, I would never. We’ll go slow, promise.

-Fine,-Alec says, taking the helmet from him, -Just until the end of thestreet.

Magnus throws his fist towardsthe sky as he dramatically exults: -Yes!

-I hate you,- Alec says, pushingthe helmet down on his head gracelessly.

Magnus holds out a motorbikejacket too, and Alec looks at him: -Are you just doing this to get meto wear your jacket?

Magnus blinks: -No.

-Youare,-Alec accuses, but he slips thejacket on anyway.

Magnuslooks at him for a few long seconds: -Nope, I’m not. Definitely not.

Alec sighs patiently: -Do I lookhot?

Magnus exhales: -Sohot.

-Can I not do this?

-Nope,- Magnus turns towards thebike, -We got you all dressed up, we are doing this.

-I hateyou,- Alec says,throwing a leg over the bike, clearly unconvinced, -So, somuch.

-Love you too,- Magnus grins,twisting to kiss his visor before slipping on his own helmet.

-Ready?- he asks.

-Fuck no,- Alec says, his armstight around Magnus’ waist.

Magnus laughs as Alec hides hishead in his back and screams Ihate you while thewind roars around them.

[marvelatmytrash]

Divided: Part 17

Pairings: Bucky x Reader, Steve x Reader

Warnings: This is super fluffy 

Word Count: 2537

Series Summary: You have always been one of the best agents at the Avenger’s compound, now you come face to face with the Winter Soldier and find yourself drastically underprepared. This follows along the plotline of Civil War, inserting the reader’s character into the storyline

Chapter Summary: Your new team assembles, preparing to fight, but some slight conflict ensues when an unexpected visitor arrives. 

Divided: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6Part 7 Part 8 Part 9Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Post Credit Scene

The small blue buggy turns quickly around the corners as Steve drives hurriedly down the ramps of the empty garage. The car skids slightly, pushing your shoulder roughly into Bucky’s side with the force of the turns.

You smile apologetically at him, eliciting a slight chuckle from him in response as his eyebrow raises at Steve’s ferocious driving.

Finally, the car turns tightly into an empty spot, a white van a few spaces over from your window. Steve parks the car, stepping out hurriedly, Sam following quickly behind him.

You remain still for a moment, watching the van, Bucky peering over your shoulder as your arm reaches back across him, your shoulders rolling back into a defensive and protective posture.

Then suddenly you see Wanda’s head poke out from the passenger seat of the van moments before Clint appears around the back. Your shoulders immediately relax as you register your friends. You move quickly, dislodging yourself from the small car as Steve walks forward to greet Clint.

“Cap,” Clint says, a small smile pulling at his lips as Wanda climbs out of the car. 

“You know I wouldn’t have called if I had any other choice,” Steve responds, his posture falling back into his normal Captain’s stance as he shakes Clint’s hand.

“Hey, man, you’re doing me a favor,” Clint responds as you rush towards him, happily throwing yourself into his open arms. His hands wrap around you tightly, pulling you closer to his chest as he lifts you slightly off the ground.

For a moment you want to cry, realizing how long it had been and how much you had missed him. “Besides, I owe a debt,” Clint says softly, still looking at Cap as you hug him. You finally dislodge from him, beaming ear to ear as you turn to Wanda, moving forward to wrap her in a tight hug.

“Thanks for having my back,” You whisper softly in her ear, smiling as the two of you rock back and forth slightly in a tight embrace. She pulls away slightly, smiling as she looks you up and down, noting the new marks and bruises you had received since last you’d seen each other. 

“It was time to get off my ass.” She winks at you as she takes your hand, moving forward to speak to Steve. 

Steve’s face is tense, unsure how to proceed with Wanda’s presence. He glares at you, knowing instantly that you are responsible for Wanda being there. His nostrils flare as you avoid his gaze, his anger swelling in him once more at you disobeying his orders.

Steve opens his mouth, preparing to scold you, but Wanda interrupts him, raising a soft finger in the air to hold his words.  

“Old man, you need my help, just accept it.” She teases slightly, Steve exhales, annoyed as he shakes his head, a small smile to tugging at his lips as Clint lets out a laugh.

“Fine,” Steve nods, his eyebrows rising in amusement, “How about our other recruit?” He inquires, his gaze shifting to the van. 

“He’s rarin’ to go!” Clint laughs amusedly as he roughly pulls back the sliding door of the van.

“Had to put a little coffee in him but he should be good.” The sleeping man in the back seat jerks forward, startling awake. Sam’s recruit steps from the van as you and Steve exchange skeptical looks with Sam, who just nods confidently, his arms crossing defensively across his chest.

“What time zone is this.” The man says as he blinks ferociously at the bright light of the sun. Your eyes glance briefly to Bucky, hanging back by the other side of the car. His face downcast as he waits patiently for the exchange of pleasantries.

“Come on Scott. Come on.” Clint says pushing Scott forward towards Steve, you give Wanda’s hand a small squeeze as you release her, stepping forward quietly and moving towards Bucky as Scott walks dazedly towards Steve.

“Hey,” you whisper as you move in front of Bucky, your hands sliding softly to his waist as you slip your face into his downcast gaze. You see his face tense, his jaw set tightly as his hair hangs down slightly around his face, “where’s your head at?” You ask softly, your hands sliding up his body to his cheeks, tipping his head forward so that you could place a delicate kiss on his furrowed brow.

You pull back to see his softened expression, his eyes blinking faintly as his lips pull in a reluctant smile, his metal arm slides gingerly around your waist pulling you against him as he straightens, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before turning to focus on the conversation.

“Hey man!” Scott exclaims loudly, looking over at Sam. 

“What’s up tic tac,” Sam responds threateningly, his arms still crossed defensively. You can’t help but snort as you try to suppress a laugh. Is this just Sam’s way of interacting with people? Have I never noticed because we’ve always been friends? Or is Sam just being a protective Mama Bear to Steve?

“Look… what happened last time…” Scott starts to explain, but Sam quickly breaks, smiling slightly as he interrupts Scott. “It was a great audition, but it’ll never happen again.” He laughs, the small sound of a threat still present in his voice. Yep, Sam the Mama Bear.

“They tell you what we’re up against?” Steve asks, drawing Scott’s attention back to him but not before he glances momentarily at you and Bucky behind Sam. “Something about some psycho-assassins?” Scott responds, raising an eyebrow at Steve to display his own skepticism.

“We’re outside the law on this one. So if you come with us you’re a wanted man” Steve speaks clearly, making sure Scott knows exactly what he’s signing up for. Steve has always been a worthy leader, careful at all times to make sure that his team is informed and willing, careful to never take advantage of the loyalty he inspires. It’s why you liked him, why you trusted him, why you…

“We should get moving.” You startle slightly as Bucky speaks beside you bringing your focus back to the situation. You glance up at him, noticing the tension in his chest again as he feels the pressure of the ticking clock.

“Veil helped us to get a chopper lined up,” Clint responds, immediately clicking into work mode. Steve smiles slightly, appreciating the reliability of his friends. Suddenly a siren sounds as a German voice echoes over an intercom throughout the parking complex.

Everyone tenses and looks around, Bucky listens carefully to the announcement before explaining a translation, “They’re evacuating the airport.” He pulls away from you as he stands firmly upright to face Steve glancing around to watch for any intruders.

“Stark,” Sam growls slightly, looking around as if he expected his ex-teammate to suddenly appear. 

“Stark?” Scott questions, looking confused.

Steve nods as if making a decision before announcing to the team at large. “Suit up. I’ll go scope out the helicopter, draw Stark out if he’s here, you all split up and explore other exits and escape routes.”

You all nod, Scott snapping into a serious salute, “Yes Sir, Captain America.” You can’t help but laugh at Scott’s nervous demeanor as Steve smiles slightly, “Except for you Mr. Lang, I need you to come with me.”

Steve and Scott waste no time in suiting up as the rest of you move quickly about gathering your gear. 

“Here buddy, I think I grabbed a piece that’ll fit you.” Clint advances on Bucky as he looks nervously at you for reassurance, you nod softly as he consents to follow Clint to the van.

“Y/N, hun, I think Wanda has something that will make you very happy.” He tosses over his shoulder as Bucky follows him. You move quickly towards Wanda as she reaches into the car.

“Hey, Clint says you have something…” She pulls out of the car, pulling with her a familiar pile of clothes. Your suit.

Your hands run happily over the flexible corset and close fitted leather jacket, smiling widely as you find the stretchable strong fabric of the pants, littered with pockets and holsters for all your favorite knives.  

You smile happily up at Wanda as she hands you a rolled piece of fabric. You roll it out on the seat to reveal your vast collection of knives. The only pocket empty was the one for your Scorpion dagger, which was still safely secured against your thigh.

“Thanks, Wanda, I… Thank you.” She smiles happily at you receiving your thanks as she pulls out her own duffle. “You heard Cap, suit up.” She smiles as she begins to undress, swapping her civilian clothes for her gear.

You follow her quickly, stripping off your jeans as you swiftly slink into the close-fitted black fabric, stripping off your shirt for ease of buckling the high waisted pants. You move quickly, loading your knives into each of their designated pockets.

“Hey, we have to get going soon, are you all almost ready?” Sam speaks plainly, looking at you and Wanda, his eyes briefly grazing over your exposed chest, only covered by a bra as you load your knives. Bucky and Clint walk around the van, coming to listen to Sam’s plan.

Bucky’s eyes flash briefly to you before widening, his fist clenching slightly at the discomfort of your exposed body around Clint and Sam. He moves quickly, stepping towards you to block the view to you as he reaches for your corset on the seat. 

“Doll?” He says sweetly to you as he hands you your top.

You glance up at him, halting in your ministrations, seeing the discomfort on his face before glancing down at your top in his hand. 

“Call me old fashioned but…” He whispers quietly. It dawns on you why he’s so uncomfortable and you quickly grab your corset from his hand, wrapping it around your torso as you begin to do up the clasps.

“Sorry… we change in front of each other all the… I just don’t really think much about it… never really had to...” You whisper as you finish the clasps, moving quickly to lace up your knee high boots and grab your leather jacket.

Bucky nods, as his shoulders jut forward, hunching defensively. He turns from you and moves around the side of the van as Sam calls to everyone for a strategy design meeting. 

“I… give me a minute, I’ll get him.” You say to an annoyed Sam, turning quickly to follow Bucky around the other side of the van.

“Bucky… Hey, what’s going on?” You walk forward in front of him, his head hangs down again, biting his lip as his brow furrows. “We never… I know I don’t have… We never talked about it but…” He stumbles as he tries to find the words. “I just…”

He tries to pull back, away from your grip, but you hold onto his suit, locking your fingers into the belt around his midriff, pushing yourself forward against him as you slide your arms around his waist.

You rest your head against his chest, hugging him closely. His arms rise up defensively for a moment before softly wrapping around you. 

“It’s ok… I’m here, I’m right here beside you…” You pull back slightly, your hands moving up to frame his face and pull his gaze down to meet yours, his arms still wrapped around you.

“I’ll stay here as long as you’ll let me…” You kiss him softly, feeling a small tingle press down your spine as his fingers flex against your back and he pulls you closer.

“You…” He pulls away slightly, pressing his forehead against yours as he sighs heavily, his voice shaking ever so slightly “you matter to me… it’s been a long time since anything’s mattered to me… but you…” He whispers softly, his eyes blinking open to look at yours.

His eyes shine down at you. You gaze into his blue stare, feeling as if you could see the whole meaning of life in his sad eyes. Your head swims as you breathe deeply, feeling as if an addictive rush was coursing through your body.

“I love you.” You whisper quietly, your mind blurs as your adrenaline skyrockets higher than any fight had caused it to before. You bite your lip nervously as you gaze up at him. Unable to take back the words that you had never before been able to say.

He smiles widely, his eyes sparkling with the vulnerable joy that you had only seen once before in bed. His arms wrap strongly around you as he pulls you into a deep and passionate kiss, his hand sliding up into your hair to pull you tighter against him.

After a moment, you kiss down his neck, settling into the comfort of his embrace, his hand still pressing softly into your hair. “I love you.” He breathes, his lips pressing gently against your forehead as a smile cracks across your face.

You both stand there, arms wrapped around each other, smiling slightly as you both breathe evenly for the first time in the last 48 hours.

“Umm…” Wanda interrupts awkwardly, stepping around the van, you pull sharply away from Bucky, turning towards her as she stares at you for a moment, her eyebrow-raising, before her eyes dart to Bucky, widening her smile.

“Sam has a plan; you need to come be briefed quickly. Cap’s about to move forward with Scott.” She reports, the knowing smile tugging at her cheeks. You nod tensely, your eyes glaring at her, knowing exactly what she was doing.

You step forward, Bucky moving beside you towards Sam. Wanda grabs your arm for a moment, holding you back, “In love? Certainly not what I was expecting to overhear… I guess, congratulations?” She chuckles as she teases you, causing your face to go red.

“It’s not nice to read people’s mind Maximoff.” She rolls her eyes at your teasing before placing a quick kiss on your cheek. “I just want you to be smart and stay safe.”

She smiles as she links her arm in with yours, moving you forward towards Sam and Bucky, “And I want to keep Steve from killing you,” She teases, her eyes flashing forward to appraise Bucky’s large form, “Or him.”

You chuckle slightly, tension present at the edge of your laugh as the memory of your argument with Steve flashes in your head, giving way to the image of his kiss with Sharon… You step up beside Bucky, looking to Sam as he continues with his explanation.

Your eyes flash up to Bucky, his tall form standing close beside you… His perfect jaw darkened with thick stubble, pieces of his hair flittering forward into his bewitching blue gaze. His eyes flash to you for just a moment, catching you staring at him.

He smiles broadly at your gaze, his eyes twinkling with the hint of a laugh. Your chest relaxes, a feeling of calm and certainty washing over you. You matter to me… People have before… But never like this… You… you are what matters to me.

PART 18

Authors Note: I kinda love this part so I hope you guys do too. The character I reference, Veil, is from @thewintersoldierprogram sequel piece. It has a different reader, Veil, but gives a happy ending to Steve, something you will not find here. I always love hearing from you guys, so drop a line with thoughts or predictions!  Tagging is open, just ask, if you are on my tag list and your username has changed PLEASE let me know!

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