#I actually drew this way earlier this year but various things had it slide onto the backburner

[kobochasketch]

A cool Lady rockin’ a fur coat! (inspired by @fabdante‘s lovely Devil May Cry art of all the various fun alternate outfits and fabulous fur coats!!!) ;D

[autumnslance]

Thavnairian Nights!!! (The name intrigues me)

WIP Ask Game:  Post the names of files in your WIP folder, regardless of how  non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title  that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell  them something about it! and then tag as many people as you like.  

Also requested by @elveny and @earthlystar!

Sadly(?) it’s not very “Arabian Nights” like. At least not the famous Sheherazade part. It’s a working title to remind me which fic it is; who knows if it’ll change!

This actually got backburnered because of the FanFest Showcase and the announcement we’re finally going to Radz-at-Han; I was originally working on this for Femslash February--a first for me, but I was fiddling with a F’lhaminn/Nashmeira fic, set when our Songstress and her self-appointed bodyguards fled Eorzea at the end of A Realm Reborn and ended up in Thavnair where, as we learn in the Dancer quest chain, Lhaminn met a certain troupe principal and became fast enough friends they have endearments and familiar nicknames for each other.

F’lhaminn’s been holding onto Nielle’s memory for years and it seems she doesn’t let many close. But the Banquet’s consequences have had lasting repercussions for the Scions, and far from home and full of fear for her loved ones, she needed some understanding and comfort.

I don’t think it was a passionate romance; they’re both too practical, and F’lhaminn always meant to go home as soon as they knew it was safe--or as soon as Hoary and Coultenet felt strong enough themselves to do something about the situation (hence their undertaking the Trials of the Braves while there).

However, now Nashmeira is in Eorzea and has handed the reins of Troupe Falsiam to her protege, and F’lhaminn’s using her contacts and connections to aid the dancer in her teaching others the kriegstanz and perform while seeking out the corruption the Dancers fight, so...perhaps these two ladies will find more time for one another as well.

But now I kinda want to wait until we see Radz-at-Han and can explore it and know more about Thavnair for realsies instead of me making more things up! I only had a few scenes drafted and various note outlines in between, mostly from Lhaminn’s POV and starting with getting off the ship until the day the trio of Scions leave to return to Eorzea.

Excerpt under the cut:

---

“You’re not alone, F’lhaminn,” Nashmeira said, voice softer than usual. F’lhaminn turned to debate that, but the words faded as she met Nashmeira’s intense gaze. Nashmeira smiled and raised a hand, fingertips gently brushing F’lhaminn’s cheek. “Not while I’m here.”

Like a pair of Ironworks magnets they leaned closer, Nashmeira’s hand sliding back into F’lhaminn’s hair as their foreheads touched. “Call me Lhaminn,” she whispered.

“If you call me Meira,” the other woman replied in kind.

“Yes,” F’lhaminn answered, just before their lips connected.

The kiss was soft and careful, full of warmth and reassurance that left her dizzier than any other since…

Menphina help her, since her Nielle.

In the many years since losing him, there had been only a singular handful of times F’lhaminn had given into her loneliness, her body’s wants. They had all been rushed, desperate moments. Some had only been interested in the Songstress. Some, even unaware of who she used to be, had been more interested in sating their own desires.

Meira understood being seen as an object, not a woman. She understood loss, and the loneliness of life, and the need for understanding from another. To receive as much as one gave. She felt like the softness of rose petals, tasted like the berry wine they had sipped earlier in the evening.

The cautious kiss ended, eyes opening to gaze at one another until their breaths began again. F’lhaminn sighed and rested her head on Meira’s shoulder, her arm wrapped around the dancer’s waist. Meira’s fingers carded through F’lhaminn’s hair, other hand gently stroking up and down her back. They simply sat for some time.

“Thank you,” F’lhaminn began. “You know I cannot stay.”

“Your daughter and the Scions need you,” Meira replied, her usual matter of factness tempered in this moment. “But for now, you are here with me, and that is enough, dear Lhaminn.”

They held one another for awhile longer, until by silent agreement they rose and made their way through the rooftop door again, hands clasped, as Meira drew F’lhaminn along to her room.

The principal’s chamber was as practical as the woman herself, despite the sumptuous decor in the lower levels of the building. Veiled drapes hung around the room, keeping out insects and affording some hazy privacy while allowing air to flow through the muggy nights. Silky pillows piled on the low bed, thick rugs protected bare feet from the cold, hard floor.

There was no rush as they shucked their house slippers and put aside their glasses, taking turns washing their faces in the elegant basin sink. Not much more was said; it was comfortably quiet, considerate requests and answers, a few light laughs. A kiss pressed to the nape of a neck as a bodice was unlaced, fingertips sliding over bared shoulders after unhooking a chemise. The sheets were turned down, the lights put out as they embraced, close despite the warmth of the night.

[its-always-the-witching-hour]

Hero vs Villain

(Let me know if I should continue this)

Hey guys. I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted something original on here, but I just had no motivation to write anything. Here’s a story I’ve been writing to make up for it. Just to let you know, I probably won’t continue the Apocalyptic AU, because I’ve run out of ideas. 

Word count - 1707 words

Warnings - (Slight spoilers) Mentions of brainwashing, basically kidnapping, a mention of stabbing, someone being manipulated without their knowledge

---

“Why do you want to kill me so badly?” The Hero managed to ask as they struggled to free theirself from the Villain’s grasp. The Villain stopped, causing the Hero to trip and slam into them.

“What gave you that idea?” The Villain asked, sounding offended as they reached out to steady the Hero.

“W-well you’re always trying to attack me or my friends when you see us, and you’re literally kidnapping me right now!” The Villain hurriedly slapped their hand over the Hero’s mouth as their voice raised in volume. They dragged the Hero behind a building as another group of heroes ran past yelling instructions at each other.

The Villain sighed as they looked the Hero up and down as they struggled helplessly against their restraints. “For your information, this is not a kidnapping. I’m trying to help you.”

The Hero managed to shake the Villain’s hand from their mouth. “So you call attacking my group on patrol, grabbing me, tying me up and shoving me behind a building helping?”

The Villain looked away, almost guiltily. “This was the only way I could think of that didn’t involve me breaking into that top security base of yours. What’s the deal with that place anyway? It seems designed so nobody can get in or out.”

“None of your business.” The Hero started to struggle again, their hands sparking as they tried to summon a wind current to help them out. The Villain just stared at them in boredom.

“You do know that the ropes I used to tie you up are woven out of multiple shape memory alloys. If I touch this flame to it…” The Villain drew a lighter out of their pocket and flicked it on, “then the metal will return to it’s original form, which is much spiker then you’d like. So unless you would like to bleed out from various stab wounds, I’d suggest you keep your weather powers to a minimum.” The Hero growled in annoyance, but stopped attempting to form a storm overhead. “Good. Now, if you would please follow me inside, I may consider releasing you from your bounds.” With no other option, the Hero reluctantly followed the Villain into the building.

-

“So, why am I hear again? And is that amount of locks really necessary?” The Hero asked in bemusement as they watched the Villain slide various dead bolts into place and snap locks closed on all sides of the door.

“Can’t be too careful when dealing with the ‘hero’ community. I know you have someone who can open anything by just imagining the inside of the lock. Unlike you, I take notes on my opponents and their capabilities in battle. I bet you don’t even know my power.”

The Hero opened up their mouth to answer, seemed to think for a few seconds, then closed it again, glaring at the Villain.

“Finally, you start to see some sense. There might be hope for you yet.” The Villain grabbed the end of the Hero’s restraint and strode off again, pulling the Hero so that they had to jog to catch up.

“W-wait!” The Hero called out, stumbling as they turned a sharp corner. “You never even told me why I’m here? Why would you target me, out of all the other more powerful people?” The Villain entered a dark room and pulled the Hero inside, locking the door behind them. “Um, what is this place?” the Hero asked tentatively, trying to get a hold of their surroundings even though the entire room was pitch black.

“Sorry, I had to make sure that we weren’t being followed. The reason I bought you here is that I know you aren’t actually one of them.”

“What do you mean? One of who?”

“The so called ‘protectors of the city’, ‘defeaters of evil’, the self-proclaimed ‘saviors of the human race itself’.” The Villain punctuated every title with air quotes that the Hero could barely see. “Those are the people you work with, are they not?”

“Yes, but they would never-” The Hero trailed off as the Villain flicked on a projector. The slightly blurred image cast onto the back wall showed an image of one of the head heroes holding a case that was locked closed. The image was grainy as though it had been taken from far away then zoomed in greatly.

“This was taken a few days ago. Even though the quality is regrettably…” the Villain pulled a face as they searched for a good word to use, but gave up, “bad, you can clearly see that this so called ‘hero’ is doing something not very ‘hero like’.”

“That’s just one photo, and they could have been doing something completely different then what you think. You better have more of this so called ‘evidence’ if you want to convince me to join you.” The hero scoffed, slightly more confident now that they knew torture wasn’t on the Villain’s agenda.

“Well, when was the last time you got to choose where you did your daily patrols?”

“Um, I-”

“Did you design that suit yourself? Or did someone else tell you to wear it?”

The Hero pulled at the sleeves of their costume uncomfortably, looking uncertain.

“Have you ever had a holiday or day off?”

“Actually last week-”

“Do you even have a family to go home to?”

“Hey! That’s personal information that I would never dream of sharing with a villain!” The Hero glared daggers at the Villain, who just smirked.

“Touchy subject I see. It’s okay if you don’t have anyone. I didn’t either.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is have you heard of anyone ever leaving the Hero facility?”

“Why would anyone do that? It’s amazing there. We’re treated very well there, and choose to defend this city to repay them for helping us!”

“Helping, or brainwashing?”

“They wouldn’t do that to any of us! They saved us from our own families, who were afraid of us.”

“Saved is one word for it, but I prefer to use the term ‘kidnapping’,” the Villain paced around until they were standing directly in front of the Hero, “I too, was ‘saved’ by the Government. My family were also afraid of my power. They hid me away from everyone else in fear that people would start making rumors. I was usually left alone for hours while my parents went to work and my siblings to school. That’s when the heroes showed up. One of my neighbors had gotten a glimpse of me using my power, and had called the police. They took me away, promising big things such as honor for my family and fame for me. They promised me friends. So, as any young child would, I went with them. My first few years at the academy were great. I met people and honed my powers to almost perfection. My friends that I made at the academy were always behind me. Did they ever tell you what happens to the people who aren’t cut out for battle, who aren’t strong or brave or smart enough?” The Villain stalked around the Hero, watching them intently for a reaction. “They never told us either, but one by one, people started to disappear from class. People who were my friends. When I asked about it, they said that other parts of the country needed heroes, or that my friends were sent home because they didn’t have what it took. None of us had ever had a home before the academy. When people started disappearing after asking too many questions, we had nobody to turn to. You never knew who you could trust.

“I was one of the more curious people in my class, as I had lived a very sheltered life beforehand. So naturally, I decided to see what would happen if I vanished. Not being able to continue with becoming a hero wasn’t an issue to me. I had never really agreed with what they were offering anyway. Honestly, trying to be subtle enough to make it seem like I didn’t want to get caught in the act of spreading rumors was the most fun I’ve had in years. Eventually, they found me, of course. I was sent to a place similar to a mental prison, except for the fact that instead of being helped, you are tortured, and no one has ever left alive. Except for me, of course. I asked you earlier what my power is. The short answer? I can create illusions so authentic that they look more realistic than actual life. It wasn’t a strain to create a guard’s eyeball from memory for the retina scans, and confuse the security cameras. I then made my way back here and decided to lay low for a couple of years. I kept clinging to a small hope that someone else would realize how twisted this society has become, but I found nobody. Until you came. I saw it when you were on your first mission, to arrest a citizen who had shoplifted food in order to feed his family. When you were told to hit the man for resisting arrest, you hesitated. That’s when I knew you were different. Sure, they had managed to brainwash you into obedience, but there was a part of you that knew what you were doing was wrong. I managed to break that man out of jail a week later, by the way. Wanting to feed you family isn’t a jail-worthy crime.”

The Villain watched the Hero carefully, trying to gauge their reaction.

“Wait. You’re the one who broke out of Redemption institute? The person who managed to escape and left no evidence behind about yourself at all?” The Hero tried to turn around to face the Villain, but forgot that they were attached to a chair and nearly fell over.

The Villain caught the back of the chair and stood it upright so that the Hero faced the Villain. “That’s right. Glad to see you haven’t been learning only useless information at that academy. Now that you have seen my side of the argument,” the Villain extended one of their hands towards the Hero, “will you help me bring down this twisted society?”

[i-writeandread-blog]

A Portrait of a Tortured You and I - Chapter 5

His tongue was tangled with mine, dancing around my mouth. He tasted sweet and the way he smelled was utterly divine. I didn't want to break away for anything let alone air, but it had to happen. I was both exhilarated and drunk on his entire being. The dichotomy not lost on me. My head was spinning. In that moment I would have given anything to have him rip off my clothes and take me right there. I didn't realize how much I missed the touch of a man, but I was made fully aware by one kiss.

He completely pulled away from me and I felt a surge of panic moving it's way up through my chest. He regretted it. The kiss changed his mind. Fuck! This is what I knew would happen. He turned around and saw me.

"No, no, no kitty cat. It was perfect. I just needed some distance because I could have fucked you right on this rock in front of everyone." Jared squashed the doubt in my head running rampant.

"That would have been nice." I said coyly.

"You're gonna be trouble, aren't you? I'm an old man you know!" He joked.  "Maybe you're not as shy as you seem, hmm?" He walked back over to me and ran his fingers through my hair. "I look forward to finding out your true self.  But that will have to wait.  For now, I'm going to walk you back to your cabin and make an appearance around the island."

He descended the rocks and helped me down the last section onto the beach.  Taking my hand in his and lacing his fingers through mine, he said a simple thank you, then took my hand to his mouth for a chaste kiss.

We walked about a hundred feet and then he let go of my hand.  I knew what this meant.  We would be getting closer to the activity of the others, crew and Echelon.  I understood.  We were meant to be just fan and celebrity for the duration of camp.  I had to from this minute going forward, slide right back into who I was three hours ago.  It shouldn't be too hard, but I was a typical girl that wanted to immediately jump head first into all things Jared.  I had to resist that urge regardless of where we were.  It had been the demise of all my relationships, I'm sure.  I got too needy, too quickly. 

As we walked further and further towards the tents, cabins, and facilities, he started walking faster and faster to where I was lagging behind.  By the time we saw the first few people meandering around I was at least ten yards from him.  People immediately started bombarding him.  I guess most of these people were either new to Mars or never had been to any camps/ vip's.  You didn't see that happen much in Malibu.  People would stop and wave, say a quick hello, maybe he'd talk to a few people here and there, but there wasn't any bombarding.

He didn't seem to mind and once it happened it alerted a few of the counselors.  About five minutes later Kennon was by his side to escort him around unscathed.  It was the first time I had seen her, surprisingly.  I took the chance to explore this part of camp and took in all the sights, sounds, and smells.

Everyone and everything was so colorful and the atmosphere was light and cheery.  I was now more than ever so overjoyed to be here.  I finally spotted people I knew.  Not only knew, but these were MY people. My friends. Dana, Jen, Trish, Joey, Rachel and Mike were all over by the pool. I waved at them and then made a mad dash to be by their sides.

I had met each of them through the years at various events, and together we had all become the most eclectic group. We mostly only had Mars in common, with the exception of Rachel also being a writer. She was more successful than I, as she just completed her first novel and had sent it out into the publishing world. I was only slightly envious of her tenacity, but she cheered me on and gave me words of encouragement to keep powering through my block. It was her I needed to see and thank the most.

"Oh. My. God. You guys." I drew out the z sound on guys... I grabbed Rachel and hugged her. "I'm writing. Well sort of. I wrote two chapters earlier. They're not any good, but I'm writing. Thanks for encouraging me!"

"Catherine, I knew you could do it!  I'm sure they're really fantastic!" She exclaimed.

"Chatty catty, if you don't get over here and fondle me right now, I just know something isn't right." Joey said laughing. He was the funniest one of us all. I wrapped my arms around his waist and squeezed his butt as he did the same to me.

"Get a room!" Dana said.

The next few minutes we caught up. I told them about my upgrade and they all agreed that I deserved it. Not a one of them felt slighted or upset. These really were my friends and cheerleaders.

Everyone was in their swimsuits but me and as we were all talking, I walked dangerously close to the edge when Mike got close and pretended to push me. I almost fell in from trying to avoid him. Everyone laughed until Natalie actually walked by me and sent me flying in anyway. People were shocked and I heard a few muttering around saying that it was wrong of her. The next thing I knew there was a splash next to me. I didn't see who it was, but I wasn't in the dark long. People were cheering and jumping in left and right. It was Jared, fully clothed. He came up for air, saying to me and only me: "You fall, I fall. Fuck her."

It was honestly the sweetest gesture and he had no idea how much it meant. He actually stayed in the pool and played with everyone. He periodically dunked and splashed people, even partaking in a game of water volleyball, if one could call it that.  About thirty minutes later, he got out.  Everyone was staring including me.  His clothes were clinging to all the right parts of his body.  He lifted his shirt up and over his head and the sounds of ovaries exploding left and right made him turn to us all and wag his finger at us.

"Ladies ladies... there's nothing to see here."

Joey chimed in and said, "That's right ladies, he's all mine."  Jared busted a gut at that and went full on Rayon.  "That's right, honey.  I'm all yours." He slapped his butt.

The hilarity was too much.  After the snickering died down, Jared told everyone how much fun he had, but that he needed his rest because he was of course an old man.  Why he insisted on saying that all the time, I'll never know.  He was younger at heart than any of us and God knows he looked it too. 

I finally emerged from the pool and Trish, who had not gotten in brought me a towel.  A few counselors were walking around telling us that there was a campfire with s'mores and a sing along in ten minutes.  I wasn't too keen on either the s'mores or singing, but I wanted to warm up by the fire.  I invited everyone to come check out my bungalow while I went back to change.  Everyone was eager to see what they looked like.

"So this is how the rich live?" Mike said.

"Oooh does the mini fridge have alcohol?" Joey opened the door.  "Whaa! It doesn't."

"Joey, you know camp is dry..." Dana added.

I went into the bathroom while they all looked around.  When I emerged, they all hushed.  "What?" I asked wanting to know what they were talking about.  And in unison they asked, "who did this for you?"

"I can't say."

"But you know, don't you?" Said Rachel.

"Yes."  That was all I could tell them.  Shannon didn't want even me to know, let alone my quirky pals.

"Okay... it's just kind of crazy, if you ask me.  When I asked how much the packages were, I was told 13,500 dollars.  But keep the secret."  Dana seemed annoyed.

"Maybe she isn't allowed to say?  Maybe it was Jared and she had to sign an NDA."  Joey joked.  "Is that it, honey?  Are you and Jared having a clandestine affair?"  My cheeks became flushed.  He was only half right.  Geez, this was going to be hard to keep from them.

I shook my head, but was afraid my body would give me away.  They left well enough alone and we left to go find the campfire.  Upon arrival I noticed Natalie off to the side flagrantly gawking at me.  It was unnerving.

"What's her deal, y'all?  Like does anyone have any idea why she is acting this way?  Last year, she was fine."  I knew none of them knew because we had discussed this right after the Vyrt incident, but Jen who had been conspicuously quiet most of the evening shifted her feet.  I was almost certain she knew something and I was positive this is why she was being so muted.

"Okay, Jen.  Spill the beans.  What's going on?"  I was going to get her to talk if it killed me.

"Ugh, alright Catherine.  But I'm warning you, you may not like what I say."  I acquiesced and let her know to continue.  "Remember the last night of camp?"  I vaguely did... "you know, when we had church of mars?  You went onstage during Rescue Me, along with Natalie and several other people."  I did remember that, and I was fairly certain I was about to have a lightbulb moment.  "Jared danced over to you and winked at you.  It was subtle.  No one from the crowd noticed, but Natalie did.  Then he twirled you around.  Not once did he really pay Nat any attention, but he was all over you."  I let her words sink in.  But I was obviously in denial about what happened that night because I don't remember him being paying particularly any more attention to me than anyone else.

"Oh Cat, come on!  He was all about you.  You have to remember that?"  She added.  "Okay, Jen, lets say that is how it happened.  What difference does it make?  I've seen him do the same with her before." I said.

"Yes, but she took it to mean that you were being flirty with him."

"Uhhh all women are flirty with him!"

"Yeah, but she actually think she has a shot with him.  You can't be this naive.  You've seen her Facebook posts where she says she's in love with him and she calls him her man.  She's actually delusional.  She thinks you're trying to steal her man."  Jen looked over at Natalie and shook her head mouthing "nutjob."

"I suppose this makes sense.  But to go the lengths she has seems too crazy, even for the most rabid of Echies."

"It doesn't stop there.  At the last show of the tour, in Phoenix... you went with your sisters.  You had VIP, your sisters decided last minute to come to the show and they didn't have it.  So you were conflicted about it."

"Yeah, but I went in and left them behind at their behest."

“Yeah, well when you and Trish were talking about how you felt bad about them not being able to come inside and none of you had the extra money to pay for them to do it.  Well, she overheard Jared... who must have heard you two talking, he... well he said to someone to make sure at the end during Closer to the Edge, that anyone that was with you, got up on stage.  She saw him point directly at you.  You and Trish were too busy talking to notice, but she saw it." 

This was all so surreal.  I couldn't believe what I was hearing.  I remembered them being pulled onto stage and how excited they were.  We were all at the back of the pit because my sister was slightly claustrophobic.  I was surprised that someone had come to us and told us to go up. The memory of how it happened was a blur now.  But it was slowly coming back.

"So, I was online a few weeks after she attacked you on Vyrt and saw she had posted about this all, and how she was going to make sure you couldn't get close to Jared again.  I'm pretty sure she's even more pissed off now, that you're doing the VIP.  I'd really watch your back around her, Catherine.  I don't think she's finished trying to ruin you."

I looked at Natalie and noticed the devilish grin on her face.  I think Jen is right.  Natalie had something up her sleeve and I was certain things were going to go south fast.

@msroxyblog @callmeasyoulove

[hannahmcne]

Our Town Too - Chapter One, a Greatest Showman Fic.

There were lights. There was color. There was sound.

Charlie spun on the ropes that hung down around the arena for the trapeze artists and aerialists(like himself) to hang onto. The crowd shouted and screamed as he faked a miss of the rope and dove towards the ground. Five dancers spun back around in perfect formation to catch him just before he hit the ground and to launch him back into the air with a mighty heave. He rocketed back into the air and snatched the rope as the audience screamed. Far down below, the two honorary 'Barnum boys', Adam and Fredrick, were breathing fire as his cousin Emma Wheeler and her little, white, half-brother Dan performed cartwheels and back handsprings with long, colorful streamers attached to their wrists and ankles. They looked like a colorful wind rushing through the audience.

The crowd pounded their boots against the stands and screamed the words along with the singers down below: "This is the greatest show!" They echoed.

Down below, the dancers dispersed as a mass character change occurred. Charlie spotted his dad rushing on from offstage in his red coattails, sliding in the sawdust and popping up onto his feet, all the while twirling his baton around his head. Lettie Lutz, the bearded lady, took up the center, but Phillip Carlyle remained the center of attention as he led the crew through the lighting cues, the music cues, and pieced together the show's finale.

Charlie lowered himself onto the ground and dropped to the sawdust in a perfect split before he joined the circus members in kicking up dust and drawing sweat, pounding the floor and showing the audience what a real good time looked like. As their closing number drew to a close, he turned and sprinted with the others to the center of the stage and watched a lithe, dark-skinned woman drop out of the sky and land next to Phillip, just in time.

Only the eldest four of the five Carlyle children were of performing age. The youngest was backstage with Helen Barnum. Three children of various skin shades gathered around Phillip and Anne, but Charlie didn't join them. He knew the rest of the circus's eyes was on him, but this wasn't the first time he hadn't joined his family for bows.

Carlie Carlyle was eighteen years old and the oldest of five children. The youngest was barely a year old. He was the only child with his dad's pale looks which, trust him, was absolutely horrible. All his life, there had been double-takes, there had been questions, there had been people frowned when they looked from him to his parents for the first time and realized that no, this kid with manners and education was not 100% white. Charlie could tell you for a fact that there was nothing worse than someone looking between him and his parents and then backing away slowly. He'd lost friends, he'd lost acquaintances, and he'd made a whole lot of enemies by simply existing.

Phillip kissed Anne, and the lights went out up above as someone drew a damper over the reflector that kept the tent lit. Then, they brightened and the circus patrons split to go an either remove costumes or show customers out of the tent. Charlie felt his little brothers and sister's eyes on him as he walked backstage, carefully undoing his wrist bindings.

Charlie found a quiet corner and a soft bale of hay to set his foot upon as he worked the knots around his ankles, undoing bright blue tape. that was there to help the audience catch onto his movements easier and to protect his joints from being pulled out of their sockets. His pale skin was red under the bindings, but it would be better within a few minutes, just like it always was. He must have just put it on a bit too tight tonight, he thought as he rubbed the joint.

Heavy footsteps fell behind him, and Charlie didn't need to look up to know who it was. "Dad." He greeted as he switched feet and began undoing the other binding. Phillip Carlyle was removing his red coat behind him. He dropped it onto the bale of hay and sat down.

"You did well out there tonight," Phillip complimented him with a tight smile. There were permanent smile wrinkles around his mouth and eyes, and the corners of his eyes had gone leathery with age.

"I always do good." Charlie rolled his eyes and scoffed. He began to roll the bindings up to be used tomorrow night.

"You do." Phillip acknowledged softly as he watched Charlie work. "Your mother and I are a bit worried about all that, actually. You've been working really hard lately. We miss having you around."

"Look-" Charlie huffed, undoing the first few buttons on his bright blue costume and turning to give his dad an exasperated look. "If this is about the whole bows thing, Phillip, it's nothing. I'm just – getting older. Parents aren't cool anymore." He tried to laugh the whole thing off with his hands in the air while not showing how annoyed he was with the whole conversation.

"Family is important, Charlie." Phillip sighed as his son began to stalk off toward the dressing area. "If you were a little older, if you'd known the circus before, you'd understand that. Back when the circus started, most of us had no one."

"Whatever, dad," Charlie grumbled, quickly weaving his way through the props and the equipment that had been left off-stage. He kicked up some straw into a pile of dung that the zebras had left and went to go and do checks on the ropes for the trapeze artists since it was his night tonight. As he came around the bend, an arm snaked out and grabbed around his waist. He was spun sideways into a dark room and found himself staring into a pair of bright blue eyes.

"Hello, handsome." Mireille smiled as she put her arms around Charlie's neck. Charlie smiled and bent forward to press a kiss against Mireille's forehead, missing her pretty dark brown curls by a few inches.

"Hi, Mireille." He whispered, carefully putting space between them, because she was a lady, and this was how ladies are to be treated. "You did great out there tonight."

Mireille was one of the earlier acts, so she had already changed back into her plainclothes. Blue glitter remained smudged around her eyes and a pretty pink color rested on her lips, the only marks of what had identified her as one of Barnum's employees.

"You too." Mireille complimented him. Her smile had faded somewhat. "I saw you didn't go stand by the rest of your family again."

Charlie groaned and let her go. He turned away, shaking his head. "Not you too." He complained. He pulled up a chair hiding in the shadows and sat down.

"That's the ninth time." Mireille frowned. "You're perfectly fine when you're alone with everyone, why are the crowds so different?" She sat down on a wooden chest that was filled with extra costumes beside him.

"It's not about the crowds." Charlie defended himself. "Just Phillip and Anne-"

"What's with this Phillip business?" Mireille wrinkled her nose. "He's your dad, not your coworker."

"Technically, he's both." Charlie disagreed.

"Technically, he'd be your boss, not your coworker. He owns fifty percent of the show." Mireille reprimanded him. She set a hand down on his forearm and squeezed. "Is this about the whole mixed-race thing?"

"No!" Charlie exclaimed defensively, wrapping his arms around himself like a shield from her words.

"Because, trust me," Mireille continued, "You're not mixed race."

"I'm one-fourth black." Charlie furrowed his brow. "There's not much else to it."

"Okay, so maybe you are mixed-race." Mireille acknowledged with an eye-roll as she crossed her ankles delicately. "But really, why does it matter so much to you? It's where you came from. And you look white anyway. You're not like your mom or siblings. They actually look mixed. By all means, you blend right in." Mireille laughed a little in thought and skootched closer to him. "So, you don't want to go bow with your family in front of all your darker-skinned siblings because you don't want people to know you're mixed race? I still go and bow with my mom, Charlie."

"Don't compare you to me," Charlie said angrily. "Your situation and my situation are very different. For one, your mom is an act, not the ringmaster. Of course, she's a famous act, but an act all the same. Your mom and uncle weren't ever runaway slaves. And you and I were brought into the world on very different scandals. Being a bar sinister is not the same as being a hybrid." He stood up and began to stalk away, again. He seemed to be doing that a lot these days.

"Hybrid? You've been reading the Herald again." Mireille frowned as she stood up and followed him. She wasn't like Phillip, Mireille was. She knew how to pick fights with him. Phillip had never really exerted control over Charlie; he'd only pulled him aside to explain the principles of things to him as he got older. Charlie didn't step out of line much, so Phillip didn't have to chuck out very much advice.

"So what if I have?" Charlie snapped back to his girlfriend, stepping into the now-empty ring. All the guests had been ushered out and people had gone to turn in for the night. He pulled the lever that released the coiled ropes from above, even though now he'd have to make the journey all the way up top to re-coil them after he checked his own portion of the trapeze equipment. "It's good to be informed." He claimed as he coiled a rope around his fist and began to climb, hand over hand.

"You know that Mr. Bennett takes particular joy in ridiculing us." Mireille frowned. She couldn't follow him up the ropes, being in her dress. "Maybe it's good to be informed, but if you only fill your mind with criticism, there won't be any room for discussion on the other side."

"Desegregated, uneducated aberrations." Charlie recited, focusing on the top of the tent. "You know that's what they call us? And you know what else?

"I don't-" Mireille started before Charlie interrupted her as he swung back and forth between two ropes above her head.

"An archaic clan of grotesques who seem to be consistently interbreeding and spreading their egregious tropes throughout the honorable members of our lower-class societies." Charlie narrated.

Mirelle snorted. "That's the first time I've ever heard 'honorable' attributed to 'lower-class'." She commented, crossing her arms as Charlie tangled his legs in the rope and flipped his body upside down. "And I was going to say I don't need to hear any of that because I know it's not true." She flipped her hair back over her shoulder and straightened her spine. "I have talent, like everyone else here. We're modern, and accepting, and free. Don't you want freedom, Charlie?" Her boyfriend twisted his legs into the rope and hung upside down, on eye-level with her as he started to recite again, even louder.

"Their uncommon traditions even extend to the leadership of the Barnum business, as expressed by the miscegenous relationship practiced by Barnum's business partner." Charlie hissed. "Do you know who they're talking about? Those are my parents, Mireille. People don't talk about your mom and her one daughter, who is one of society's prettiest people since Jenny Lind came to tour, like they do my dad, the white man who married a mulatto woman in an unratified, taboo ceremony and proceeded to have five bicultural children." Charlie untangled himself as his face began to turn purple and gently let himself down from the ropes. Mireille watched his curly hair in the light as he wiped sweat off his brow and began to tie two ropes into a square knot so that he could swing on them.

"You're full of big words tonight." Mireille frowned.

"Biracial." Charlie scowled. "Multi-circumferential. Desegregated. Mixed race. Mulatto."

"Imagine if your mother heard you say that." Mireille scolded. "Can you imagine how that'd hurt her so?"

Charlie's expression softened. "I know." He sighed. "I love my mom, I do. But I just… want to make my own name away from theirs." His shoulders slumped.

"Well, how much money do you need for university?" Mireille asked. "I know that's what you've been doing all the extra acts and working outside Barnum's Circus for."

"I'm so close." Charlie groaned as he untied the knots and gave the ropes a tug. "And yet so far. What well-respecting college will let in a man whose mom ran from slavery as an illegitimate, mixed-race child?"

"It doesn't matter." Mireille rolled her eyes. "You're smart, you're a hard worker, and you don't look black. They'll let you in."

"And kick me right back out when my family shows up to see me for the first time." Charlie despaired.

"Take them to court," Mireille advised. "Or, just go to Brea College." Brea college had been founded after the Civil War ended, ten years before Barnum's first circus had burnt to the ground. It was the first college in the south to be racially integrated. Brea was where Mireille wanted to go for college because, on top of allowing both blacks and whites, they also allowed for boys and girls.

"Frankly, I think you're making this out to be a lot harder than it is." Mireille continued. "You can't change where you come from and if your parents hadn't fallen in love, you wouldn't be here, so you might as well not resent them for it. That's the whole point of the circus; respecting where people come from and learning to find family in what makes us different."

"The circus was a money-maker for Barnum." Charlie rolled his eyes.

"And our parents made it into a refuge." Mireille smiled and stepped forward, resting a hand on Charlie's upper arm. "Phillip Carlyle, Anne and WD Wheeler. Lettie Lutz." Mireille kissed Charlie on the cheek. "We came together here and made it so that we didn't have to hide from society anymore. It's a beautiful thing; I don't know why you're so anxious to hide where you came from, even if everyone already knows." Charlie stiffened, and Mireille's smile faded. "Your parents won't be here forever, so you should respect them while they are. Besides, we can live in a world that we design."

Charlie chuckled at the reference to Barnum's song, but Mireille didn't stop there. She loved to sing. "I close my eyes, and I can see." She whispered, batting her long eyelashes at Charlie. Charlie laughed as closed his eyes, wrapping one fist around a rope as he put an arm carefully around her waist. "A world that's waiting up for me… That I call, my own."

Mireille had inherited the brightest, clearest pair of pipes anyone had ever heard from her mother, Lettie. Barnum had wanted to organize a tour the likes of which had traveled with Jenny Lind, but Lettie had kept a tight hold on her baby girl and told Barnum not to approach her until she was at least eighteen. Since then, Mireille had only gotten better and better. One of her dreams was to meet Jenny Lind and see how she compared to the Swedish Nightingale.

"Through the dark, through the doors, through where no one's been before. But it feels like home." Mireille leaned her head onto Charlie's shoulder, and Charlie gave the rope a sharp jerk. He heard a sandbag slip off the rafters up above the same moment he felt his hand launch away from his arm. Mireille gave a little shriek and curled her legs up under her dress as the took to the skies. Charlie laughed.

The sounds of four kids hitting the sawdust hit their ears. Mireille and Charlie's head whipped around to see Adam, Frances, Fredrick, and Emma rushing to the ropes in laughter. The four kids snatched up the ropes and began to swing through each other in a dazingly familiar pattern. Charlie let Mireille fall half-way and watched their combined momentum pull them down enough for him to set her on the ground before he launched up into the air.

"They can say, they can say it all sounds crazy." Mireille sang from the ground, letting her high soprano voice bounce off the walls of the tent and carry back. She stood in the center of the circle and watched the five people above her spin circles. "They can say, they can say we've lost our minds." She laughed as Emma switched over to Fredrick's rope, and the two of them began spinning in dizzy circles around each other, arms outstretched like they were flying together. "I don't care, I don't care if they call us crazy. We can live in a world that we design."

Frances and Adam hit the floor and began a hypnotizing dance while they sang along to the Barnum's song. Adam was Caroline's first son. He had caramel locks and brown eyes, like Barnum. Helen still hadn't married, so he had no cousins, but he found many friends in the circus. Even though he was only fifteen, it was blindingly clear that he and Frances had something special between them. This worried Charlie because Francis was his little sister. She was fourteen, with skin like her mother and waist-long locks in the same shade as her dad's. Charlie was the only person in the family who had actually inherited his dad's skin. When they stood together, people thought she was the oldest child because of how different he looked from each of his siblings.

"Cause every night I lie in bed and the brightest colors fill my head." Mireille and Adam sang as Frances rolled over Adam's back, caught his hand, and spun straight into his grasp. "A million dreams are keeping me awake."

Charlie flew up to the supports of the tent and rested from his flight. He watched Emma and Fredrick spin around each other in tantalizing patterns. Emma was his cousin; WD's daughter. After WD had gained a stable income, he'd brought his wife up to live in New York with them. Sarah Wheeler had, unfortunately, suffered an attack by a white man that left her pregnant with a child that was not WD's. Still, they raised the white-skinned child in their family surrounded by all the little black ones like nothing had ever gone wrong. Emma was, of all her siblings, closest to Dan because the two older ones had grown up and moved away. Fredrick was Adam's brother, Caroline's younger son. He had a goofy smile and freckles and loved the circus more than anything in the entire world. Charlie could see him growing up, falling in love with Emma, and raising a family here, just like his parents had.

Down below, Mireille continued to sing soprano with pretty chords that made Charlie's ears feel like they were being given a massage. "I think of what the world could be; a vision of the one I see. A million dreams is all its gonna take."

Charlie found himself mouthing the words: "A million dreams for the world we're gonna make."

A million dreams. A million thoughts. A million colors. He had all that, somewhere inside his head. He had something that none of his siblings or friends could understand. A drive to prove himself. A drive to be something. More than a backup dancer or an aerialist. More than Phillip and Anne's little boy and more than the son of a mixed-race woman. If he could get to college, work hard and strike out on his own, he could make it. He could be a businessman; an overseer of factories. Maybe he could move to Pittsburg. That's where all the big names were making it big. He could work in rubber; rubber was big right now. Or maybe textiles, since textiles would never go out. So long as he could stay on top of designing new patterns and colors, he'd have a business. And since he'd grown up here, maybe he and Barnum could become partners and he could supply the circus with costume materials, and everyone would see that he'd done it. He'd made it big.

Far down below, Adam switched the hand he was holding Francis's with. She gave him a smile and twirled into a pretty dip, with her black hair hitting the floor just like Uncle Phillip had taught him how to do back before he'd realized the young man would use his tricks to sweep his daughter off her feet. His heart was racing, and his ears felt warm as his cheeks took on a pink color. If his mom saw him now, dancing with the pretty black girl and holding her hand and not caring at all that he was getting all covered in sawdust and sweat, she'd scold him. Caroline, after her years of being a prima ballerina, had learned to respect the circus for providing for her education. She spoke kindly with the performers and let her children play with their children. But she didn't want her kids to grow up and intermarry with the circus workers. It would be best, she had decided, to take separate paths. But Adam loved the thrill of the circus. He loved the screams of the crowd and the costumes and the life and light of the performers. And he loved the feeling he got when he glimpsed Francis's bright smile as she bowed with her parents, danced in the light, and let her wings spread.

"There's a house we can build… every room inside is filled. With things from far away." Mireille sighed happily as she watched Charlie reappear from the rafters above Fredrick and Emma, who were spinning in dizzy circles around each other. Fredrick was trying to show off. He swung close to the pillars and began to sprint across the vertical beams that supported the tent.

Charlie swung his legs up and around the rope and split center stage, whirling to the bottom as the rope coiled around his waist and rolled him, arm over arm, to the floor, where Mireille was waiting with a small smile. "Special things I compile… each one there to make you smile." Charlie walked forward and rested his hand on Mireille's cheek. She leaned into him with an even brighter smile. "On a rainy day."

Adam and Francis jumped to the ropes again and began to pull themselves up, hand over hand. Their arms were strong from years of practice.

"They can say, they can say it all sounds crazy," Mireille whispered as she leaned up, lifted a foot off the ground, and leaned into her boyfriend's frame. The two pressed their foreheads together. "They can say, they can say we've lost our minds."

Charlie released the rope and curled both his strong, calloused hands into Mireille's thick, curly brown locks. Both of them failed to notice the crucial scene happening above their heads.

Fredrick, who was still chasing his rope around the circumference of the tent supports, felt the rope that was holding him dead center snag on something along the center. It snapped him back, and he fell to the beams. The rope swung out of reach as Fredrick's head slammed into the wooden beam. He barely managed to dig his fingers into the wood to keep from falling to his death as his vision went black. Emma swung towards him and helped him sit back up. His nose had been crushed, and a stream of blood had started to run from both nostrils. The two quickly tried to stifle the blood, and neither noticed as a single sprinkle of blood fell from his nose, past the wood supports he was trying to keep from falling off of and hit the floor of the stage.

The world started spinning; even more so for Fredrick. Only Charlie and Mireille failed to notice as she sang with her hands twisting the back of Charlie's costume with a bright smile upon her lips. But around them, things seemed to be shifting. Lavender mist rose up from the ground, and the fabric walls were replaced with sturdy brick and wrought iron. The smell of things old and stuffed replaced the smell of animals and sweat and rum.

"Run away to a world that we design!" Mireille let out a breath, and she and Charlie moved in synchronously for a quick kiss. Before their lips could touch, however, a man's loud belt of a singing voice came from the rafters.

"Every night I lie in bed." A man with neat hair, a top hat, and a brown vest called as he walked down a flight of stairs that had suddenly appeared where ladders had been posted. What had previously been the supports to the trapeze equipment and the tent was now a circular walkway surrounding a stage circle smaller than any of the ones the kids had ever seen before in their lives. He twirled a baton in his hands as he descended the steps with a bright smile. "The brightest colors fill my head; a million dreams are keeping me awake."

Adam and Francis hit the floor again, hand in hand. "Grandpa?" Adam whispered.

It took Adam's words for Charlie to put together what he was seeing. PT Barnum, at least twenty years younger than Charlie had ever seen him, was walking across the sawdust towards them. He stopped and stared at him, examining each of the kids. Charlie was sure his eyes were playing tricks on him as he looked at the stage, the rafters, the solid roof above their heads. They were in a building the likes of which Barnum hadn't owned since… the fire of 1865.

Mireille detached from Charlie and covered her mouth in blatant surprise. Fredrick and Emma carefully climbed down, with Fredrick still trying to stay the stream of blood gushing out of his nose. Barnum pulled a white kerchief out of his pocket and handed it to the lad as he frowned at the kids. Charlie stiffened.

"You know my song," Barnum said in a curious tone. "We don't sing that here at the American Museum. Where did you hear it? You seem to know every line."

"A-ha!" Mireille squeaked. She latched onto Charlie's arm and squeezed. Adam swallowed thickly and he and Fredrick exchanged cautious bewildered glances.

Charlie cleared his throat. "Ah, our parents used to sing it to us. Must be a coincidence that's it's your song." He chuckled nervously.

"My wife and I wrote it," Barnum said in a flat tone. While he had originally appeared pleased, he seemed a bit upset at their surprise and the way they were shifting their feet. He crossed his arms. "Performances are over for today as well. You're trespassing on personal property. What are you doing in my stage room?"

"Trespassing?" Adam squeaked.

"American museum?" Charlie whispered. His mind started to work at a million miles an hour. Old building… young Barnum… dated name. Holy crap.

"Are you going to give me an answer, or do I have to call the police?" Barnum growled. "Did one of my performers let you in?"

"No!" Mireille exclaimed. "We just, uh, were here after the show and we really admire the Barnum Circus and we don't mean to trespass and…" She trailed off, looking desperate to add something, anything onto the end of her statement.

"Circus?" Phineas Barnum frowned like he was contemplating the name, but he quickly brushed his thoughts aside.

"We'd like to audition!" Charlie blurted out. Mireille, Adam, Francis, Fredrick, and Emma all shot him panicked looks. "That's right, we want to be a part of the show. We know all the steps, all of the choreography. Look, Francis, Emma, and I made our own costumes in advance, and when Mireille, Adam, and Fredrick heard what we were doing, they decided to come with and see if you'd give us a chance because…" He trailed off, suddenly doubtful of his own plan.

"Because we're tired of hiding in the dark," Mireille added, looking relieved. "But you'd already closed auditions, so we decided to try and catch you after hours. We waited in the stands after the show today and hoped we'd be able to catch you, but we never saw you alone, so we've just been waiting all this time, hoping you'll give us a chance."

Charlie watched the surprise flicker over Barnum's face and swallowed. He hoped Barnum would buy it, otherwise, they'd be out on the streets in, if he was correct, 1864. He also hoped everything Mireille was saying was true because he didn't know for the life of him when Barnum had officially closed auditions, when shows had started, or even if Barnum had had a show at all today. If it were Sunday, the circus would be closed. Sure, he was wearing his red coat, but if Barnum picked a single lie out, they'd be on the streets in seconds. Charlie balled his fists up as beads of sweat appeared in his palm.

"You say you know every line, all the choreography?" Barnum asked.

"Yes!" Emma blurted out beside Fredrick, who was still dabbing at his nose. "We're massive fans."

Barnum stroked his chin and considered their words. Finally, he nodded. "I've got room for a few more acts." He nodded. "But I don't want to take in people who are behind. If you can dance our closing act properly, I'll let you stay in and board with the other performers."

Charlie let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as Mireille looked up at him nervously. "The closing act?" She clarified. "The Greatest Show number, right?"

"Yes." Barnum nodded. "You do know it, right?" He gave Mireille a scrutinizing look, examining her long sleeves and the long skirt to her plainclothes.

"Of course," Mireille said in a high-pitched voice. Her eyes were wide as she stared at Charlie, begging him for help.

Barnum crossed his arms and examined them all. "Would you like me to call in some of the dancers to help guide you through it?" He asked softly.

Mireille relaxed instantly, and Charlie nodded gravely. "Yes, please sir." Fredrick squeaked as he finally managed to clot the blood streaming out of his nose. "We're not used to doing it under scrutiny; you'll have to excuse our nervousness." He tried to rub his red hands on the handkerchief, and then held it in a palm, unsure of whether or not he should hand it back to Barnum. Barnum held out his hand, and a blushing Fredrick placed the bloodied rag in the older man's hand.

"There's a water spigot out back," Barnum advised them. "Run and wash up, and I'll fetch a few of the dancers." He turned and headed back up the stairs. The four older kids came together in a close circle as Emma and Fredrick sprinted to find the water spigot before Barnum came back.

"What are we going to do?" Francis hissed, mostly directing her question at Charlie, the oldest.

"That's not what you should be asking." Adam frowned, standing erect and straight. "How are we here?" His feet shuffled in the sawdust from first, to second, to third and fourth, and finally the fifth position, before shifting back around again. He and Fredrick were trained in ballet and walked with the posture as such. Meanwhile, Francis and Charlie were used to extending their limbs to make them seem larger than life, throwing out their chests, and holding tension in every movement. Acrobats.

"Charlie." Mireille yanked on his arm. Her eyes were wide with panic. "I don't dance. I'm the glorifying entertainment, remember? I open the show and soothe the audiences, so they never see what's coming next."

"You'll have to." Charlie shook his head. "It's not hard. It's just the same routines we've been doing the last few years. Just remember: there's less of us, so we'll need to be loud to have a similar effect." He rubbed his clammy hands on his pants as Emma and Fredrick came sprinting back. Fredrick was soaked to the bone and shivering, but clean aside from a smudge on his shirt.

A sudden thought struck Charlie. "Dear God." He whispered. "What if someone recognizes us?"

"Not recognizes us," Mireille corrected. "The circus is still called the museum. It hasn't been called that since the very, very beginning. We don't exist here. But if anyone comments on how similar we look to, say, Phillip Carlyle-" She gave Charlie a stern look as a vein throbbed in his head. "-things could get messy."

"I think you're safe," Francis said in a somewhat snobbish tone. "Your face is clean. No one will draw the similarities to Lettie Lutz without her famous beard."

"She's slim, too." Adam nodded. "But the rest of us – we all look like someone. If Fredrick or I even stand close to Barnum for too long, people start pointing out things all the time. Too many questions and-" He shrugged helplessly.

"This is insane," Emma whispered, pressing a hand to her head. "What if he only decides to hire some of us?"

"We need to stick together," Mireille said firmly. "As much as possible, until we figure out what is going on." Her dark eyes flickered over Charlie. "But here's a problem; he's going to ask our full names. Two Carlyles, a Lutz and a Wheeler all in the same place will be suspicious. At least the Thompson's are safe – there are lots of those." Adam and Fredrick nodded in agreement.

"Well, maybe Charlie and I can use Grandma's last name. Wasn't it-" Francis started.

"Wait!" Charlie interrupted her. An idea was quickly forming in his head. "I can go by my middle. That's what I'll do. Charlie Mason. That sounds distinguished, doesn't it?" He looked around for approval. "But Francis..." He trailed off, biting his lip. This was his chance to truly sever his ties with his history and begin a life by himself, as Charlie Mason. But if Francis took the same last name as him... Charlie scrambled to come up with a passable reason Francis shouldn't have the same last name as him. "Francis, won't it be suspicious if, since you look so much like Mom and I look so much like Phillip, that we have the same last name? You can go by Hall, Grandma Wheeler's maiden name, and I'll stick with Mason."

Francis's expression grew stormy and hurt. "What?" She asked. "You want to pretend we're not related?"

"Charlie-" Mireille sounded scandalized as she opened her mouth to protest. Adam, Emma, and Fredrick all looked equally uncomfortable.

"Are you ready?" A gruff tone asked from the second floor. The six children snapped their heads up to stare as Barnum descended to the circle with around seven different dancers behind him in their plain clothes. There was the woman in gold, the Russian knife- throwers, the tattooed man, and others. Not Lettie, nor Anne, nor W.D. were among them.

Francis broke off of the group with a stormy expression. She turned a cold shoulder to Charlie and addressed Barnum. "Yes, we are." She proclaimed. "I'll be substituting as ringmaster. Can I borrow a baton?"

The tattooed man and one of the throwers looked to Barnum. Charlie wasn't sure why. Barnum had shared the role of ringmaster equally with Phillip in the early days. It wasn't like it was unique for Barnum to not be leading them through the moves. Barnum's mouth straightened into a line, and then he tossed his cane down towards the sawdust. Francis caught it and planted her feet in the sawdust. "Charlie, Mireille, and Fredrick are going to take stage left in standard positions. Adam and Emma will be on stage right. Can you please come down to where you'd normally be so we can space ourselves accordingly? We haven't exactly had the opportunity to perform in the ring before."

Charlie felt a surge of pride for his little sister's professional attitude before he looked up. The performer's eyes were on him, looking at the wave of his hair and the slope of his spine. He straightened up. They might have known Charlie Carlyle all his life, but Charlie Mason was someone different. He could stand out in his professionalism and in the way that he held himself. Immediately, they looked away, and Charlie knew they'd realized he was someone comfortable in popularity and wealth – just the person he wanted to be seen as.

The performers took their places in staggered windows on the stage. Francis exchanged an uncomfortable look with Mireille and Adam, and Charlie could clearly see why. This was Barnum's original choreography, which had been mostly abandoned and revamped since the museum opened. Panic welled up inside Charlie. He hadn't danced this in at least seven years – since he'd been nine. He'd only seen it occasionally performed by the original members. He closed his eyes and prayed – prayed hard that they remembered it, prayed hard that they'd be good enough to get in.

There was no music. No movement ques other than Francis's baton, which he wouldn't be able to see all the time. Charlie swallowed, and looked at Emma and Adam, across the way. Then, before they could start, he slowly moved out of formation and went to the side of the ring.

"What are you doing, young man?" Barnum barked from up above.

Charlie walked to the stands and found, similar to in the circus tent, ropes bound in figure eights to the posts of the room. Trapeze equipment. He unloosed it and held the end up to his friends. Emma breathed a sigh of relief and left her position to help him unravel it and drag it into the arena. She took it from him since they both knew she was the better trapeze artist. Above them, Barnum stood stone-faced as he watched Emma take a new place on stage. Adam, too, found a second rope and navigated it into place from the ground. Everyone heard the clicks of safeguards locking into place as they pulled the trapeze equipment into place. Emma and Adam stood staggered center from Emma with the ropes coiled around their hands.

"I'll be substituting for Anne Wheeler," Emma announced.

"And I'll stand in for W.D Wheeler." Adam choked.

The performers exchanged looks. One of the throwers shook her head. "Don't bite off more than you can chew."

Charlie frowned. "We've all been trained with trapeze." He explained quickly. Mireille sent him an alarmed look, and Charlie had to quickly backtrack. "We… trained ourselves based on what we saw you guys doing." He said slowly. Barnum's brow furrowed, but he didn't say anything. "And we're quite good," Charlie added. He gave the rope a sharp tug and heard something slip and lock into place above his head. He left the rope in Emma's capable hands and returned to his spot onstage. He nodded to Francis. "On your count." He whispered.

Francis stared at him for a few seconds. He felt like her eyes were boring into his skull and making his hair stand up on end. Then she turned and put her head down, planted her feet, and dug the tip of the baton in at an angle. "Ladies and Gents." She announced in a booming tone that made it seem as if she'd taken on an ethereal state. "This is the moment you've been waiting for."

The background members all leaped in to complete the background noise and Charlie felt himself entering performance mode as he threw everything he had into the dance. Maybe he was rusty. Maybe they did this specific routine once every six months to a year and he himself didn't usually participate. But by god, he had grown up dancing and he would dance himself into a grave before he let them all be thrown out into the streets.

Francis introduced lighting and music cues like a pro, lowering her voice to hit all those reverberating notes just right. "And buried in your bones there's an ache that you can't ignore. It's taking your breath; stealing your mind. And all that was real is left behind…"

Emma and Adam shot into the air spinning so fast Emma's hair whipped around and coiled around her neck as she went. They were good enough that no one could spot the differences to Anne or WD if the two originals weren't performing side-by-side. It was the perks of going up in Barnum's Circus. Up in the air, even in their plainclothes (Or, in Adam's case, his white shirt), they looked like they were made of strength and color.

"Don't fight it, it's coming for you, running at you. It's only this moment, don't care what comes after." Francis doubled back through the ring to present the Russian Knife Throwers and then gestured to where the albino twins usually were, even though they weren't currently present. Charlie saw Barnum pull an impressed face at her memory and skill before, on the same beat, every single member of the cast dropped to the sawdust and broke into dance. He used his legs to pull himself into a crab position before jumping his hands back and forth, and then rolling up so he could stop towards Francis with the others as she pretended to drag her fingers along the brim of her hat perfectly.

Charlie could say a lot about his sister. Aside from how she looked nothing like him and how she fell in love way too easily(he was the same way), he could talk for days about how annoying it was that she only ever wanted to do the role of ringmaster and never wanted to be a back-up dancer. He could go on and on about how she was a horrible cook and a horrible seamstress and complain until he was blue about how she was always correcting his dancing and trapeze. But by god, he could never say his little sister didn't have talent. She had the flare and the technique and the confidence to truly shine in Barnum's circus, and this became evident as she sped up on her feet, dancing around the ring on her toes, drawing Barnum's attention from their dancing, to their acts, to Adam and Emma soaring through the sky. It was incredible.

As they neared the third chorus, Charlie had a horrible thought occur to him. It had always been during the third chorus that Barnum had left the stage to flip roles with Phillip, who would rush in to finish the last part of the dance before dropping his mom into a kiss. Charlie watched Francis and realized she was anxiously looking up to the railing, wondering if she should leave or not. Truth be told, they're never actually done this routine without switching ring masters halfway through, but there wasn't a ringmaster in sight.

Fredrick zoomed past him in formation as Francis paused, gave a wild look around to the other kids, and froze. Charlie immediately dropped out of formation and circled around the stage. She watched him with a hard look but ran off to meet him.

Immediately, they knew there was a mistake. Barnum frowned down on them with pinched lips and a couple of the performers broke character to send each other bewildered looks as Francis handed the baton to Charlie and then rushed to take up his role of back-up dancing. As the performers staggered to the outskirts of the circle, Charlie dashed back in, skidding on the ground in a little 360' circle before popping to his feet. It was a trick he'd been able to do since he was six.

Charlie imagined he was PT Barnum, rich enough to buy his wife and daughters whatever they wanted, to bring Jenny Lind to America and to create a business that literally no one got tired of. He imagined he was wealthy and important, and notable, and his chest swelled with his imagined pride. He threw the baton out and put every muscle he had behind his dancing. No matter that he'd finished a show not even an hour ago. No matter that he had literally no idea what was going on or how he got here. He was here to prove himself.

'Look at me,' he demanded an imaginary crowd in his thoughts. 'Watch what I can do. Look at how important I am. I'm going to prove just what I can be, and no one will ever judge me for being Anne and Phillip's son again.'

They struck endpose, with Adam and Emma even tangling themselves up in the ropes to do a complicated in-air pose. Charlie caught Mireille's hand just like Phillip always caught Anne's, and he spun her into his arms. She couldn't stop a smile and leaned up to kiss his cheek before the rest of the performers dropped their pose and stretched their arms out a bit.

"Who!" The tattooed man exhaled. "I don't think we've practiced that hard since we first learned that routine."

"No kidding." The eldest albino twin smiled. "You kids sure have talent." She looked up to Barnum. "What do you think, Barnum?" She called.

Barnum nodded and looked away with a bright smile before he schooled his features. "Not bad!" He called. He hardened his face a little and squinted into the midst. "You, the darker girl who was the ringmaster, what's your name?" He called.

Francis took a few steps forward. Her expression had gone dark again. She glanced at Charlie, who nodded encouragingly. This only seemed to make her madder, though Charlie didn't understand why. It would only be more suspicious if they had different skin tones and the same last names. It was better to not be related, and that way he would be able to make up whatever backstory he wanted. He could be the orphan son of two English merchants who had been taken in by his uncle and raised until his uncle had passed away and he'd been forced to live on the streets. Or he could be from the south, brought north by the factory rush. The possibilities were endless.

"Francis Harper Hall," Francis announced, dejectedly. "You can call me Francis or Fran."

"Francis." Barnum decided. "What were you doing, leaving in the middle of the show?"

Francis seemed stunned by the question. She took a half-step back and glanced nervously over her shoulder. Mireille, Adam, Emma, and Fredrick were all equally stunned by this question. They couldn't remember a single time they hadn't switched ringmasters during chorus three. But something told Charlie they'd misinterpreted something. He looked up to Barnum and tried to adopt a bit of a distinguished accent as he spoke. "I know the last part a tad better than her, so I thought I'd step in and give her time to show her dancing skills." He announced.

"Hmm." Barnum huffed aloud. "Well, I hope you can dance the dance as well as all of your friends. I don't share the role of ringmaster with anyone."

Anyone? Charlie squinted in confusion. "What about Phillip Carlyle?" Francis blurted out. Charlie forced himself to remain indifferent to the name.

It was suddenly Barnum's turn to look confused. "Who?" He asked.

Francis shrunk back in complete shock. "Phillip Carlyle?" She asked, looking around at all the performers. They all exchanged confused looks. Charlie heard the woman in gold muttering: "You know who they're talking about?"

Phillip Carlyle, apparently, didn't exist.

A surge of relief ran through Charlie. Not only was he free of his last name and his brothers and sisters, but he also didn't even have to worry about anyone recognizing him as Phillip's son. He didn't look anything like his mom anyways, so this meant that he was completely safe. "Never mind." He blurted out. "What did you think? Are we any good?"

Barnum stroked his chin and considered them all. He pointed into the crowd again. "You, white girl with the long dress. Who are you?"

It was Mireille. She stepped forward, shaking a little but holding herself steady. "I'm Mireille Giovanna." She introduced.

Upon hearing her middle name, Barnum let out a little exhale. "That's a mouthful." He decided. "Mireille, can you do trapeze?"

Mireille's lip wobbled a little, but she held firm and locked eyes with Barnum. "No, sir. I wasn't trained like they were." Mostly because Mireille preferred being on the ground where she could act like a demolition team striking through anything. She didn't like being in the air, at the mercy of gravity and momentum. She could only do basic tricks, and never anything like the Carlyle and Wheeler kids could.

"Your dancing is behind everyone else's," Barnum said flatly. "So either you have a lot of catching up to do or I can't take you on as a performer."

"She can catch up!" Charlie interrupted quickly. "And besides, she's got lots of other talents too!"

"Charlie!" Mireille hissed, sending a scathing glare his way. He realized his mistake immediately. Assuming Lettie Lutz was with the circus and wasn't gone like Phillip was, she definitely didn't know she had a daughter. Meaning she definitely wasn't fending Barnum's greedy claws off of Mireille. And if this was before Jenny Lind had ever come over to America, then Barnum was still looking for a way to propel himself to the top dogs. Mireille didn't want to become his next victim.

But it was too late. "Like what?" Barnum demanded. Mireille looked up and squared her shoulders like a queen. She swept her beautiful thick hair over her shoulders and announced: "I write songs, I choreograph dances, and I can apply makeup and fix costumes like a pro."

"Hmm." Barnum huffed aloud again. He considered her words even further. "I still want you to catch up." He told her finally. "But I could use someone like you to teach everyone how to apply things and help with things get broken. Anne and Lettie are fantastic, but we need all the extra hands we can get."

And that settled it. Anne Wheeler and Lettie Lutz were definitely real people, wherever they were. Which was probably a very good thing to have confirmed, considering they'd announced Emma and Adam as WD and Anne substitutes.

"What numbers don't you know?" Barnum asked. He began to descend the stairs as he spoke.

The kids exchanged looks. So many new songs had been written in the past decade, like Sarah Wheeler's songs and then the ones they'd written. How were they supposed to know which ones existed here already or not? "We know all of them," Francis announced.

"So you know Come Alive and Cheer, Boys, Cheer?" Barnum asked.

"Yes," Charlie answered for the group, firmly. Barnum's eyes hovered on his in a somewhat distasteful way.

"What about Finnegan's Wake and Wait for the Wagon?" Barnum asked.

"We know all of them," Charlie repeated, even firmer this time.

"We even know This is Me and From Now On!" Adam piped up from behind Francis. Everyone turned around and cast him a few strange looks.

Barnum crinkled his nose. "I've never heard of those songs." He proclaimed. The blood drained out of Adam's face as Charlie's mind went into overdrive.

"Perchance…" He started slowly. "Have you ever heard of Jenny Lind?"

Barnum furrowed his brow. "I can't say I have." He admitted. "Is she a dancer?"

"Oh, just a singer," Mireille said in a lightheaded tone. "Those songs are related to her. Our bad. But yes, we know all of the circus's songs."

They were way far into the past. This was before Jenny Lind, before the renaming of the circus, before PT Barnum's most favorite songs. This was a world where Phillip Carlyle apparently didn't exist, where no one had any children yet and where some of the songs they knew either hadn't been written or had never been shared with the public.

"Hmm," Barnum said, again. "Well, I think that you're good enough." He turned to the Woman in Gold. "Martha, could you please escort Mireille, Francis and-" He paused to snap his fingers at Emma.

"Oh, I'm Emma Wh-" She cut herself off quickly, glancing around at her friends for help.

"Will Davis." Mireille supplied hastily. "Emma Will Davis. And these two young men are Adam and Fredrick Thompson." She gestured to the last two boys as they shifted their feet in a sloppily-concealed panic.

"No middle names?" Barnum asked with a raised eyebrow. Charlie let out an exhale. Their names were actually Adam Phineas and Fredrick Taylor, but they couldn't exactly use PT Barnum's names right smack in the middle of their own when they looked like younger copies of him, could they?

"No, sir." Adam stuttered. "Just Adam and Fredrick."

"Lovely." Barnum decided. "Martha, please take Mireille, Francis, and Emma to Lettie and ask her to help them settle in on the block. Constantine, could you take these young men to Daniel and have him help them. I'll have O'Malley add them to payroll."

Charlie looked over at Mireille. They were being separated, and far sooner than they would have liked. They had no time to come up with a story, and no way of knowing where they'd end up since the building was already so different from the tents. Charlie swallowed and put his head down as Barnum continued talking.

"And kids, I don't allow trespassers and I don't always treat them so kindly. Remember that next time you want to hang around somewhere hours after showtime." Barnum suddenly seized Charlie's shoulder and turned him around. "Look, boy, you're the oldest, yes?" He asked.

"Yes," Charlie answered, trying his best not to wilt under Barnum's imposing stare. Barnum carefully held a finger up in Charlie's face.

"I'm not sure how you know that song, but I'm mighty interested in hearing whatever story you come up with," Barnum told him in a lowered tone. Charlie swallowed. He was, of course, talking about A Million Dreams. Charlie had no idea what kind of story he could come up with on such short notice.

"Go on then!" Barnum waved. He took his cane back from Charlie and walked to put away the ropes. Francis and Emma followed Martha, the woman in gold, up the stairs as Mireille hovered near the base of the stairs. Charlie walked over, and they shared a quick kiss.

"Meet you here later?" Mireille whispered.

"Probably be best to avoid the ring for a while." Charlie murmured. "I'll try and come find you. Don't hate me if I can't, though."

Mireille nodded. She gathered up her heavy skirts and headed up the stairs. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god, they weren't going on the streets.

[alamanyar]

through the keyhole; [teen and up audience] character’s pov: martino ships: martino x niccolò summary: five times martino didn’t say I love you and one time he did chapter summary ⟶ you’re (amazing): domestic boyfriends. basically a future version of 'nel mio letto' maybe a bit more angsty (sorry)

chapter word count: 5.985 read below or on ao3 (thank you, if you do) ♡ I "Hm?" Martino was standing at the side of the bed in nothing but his underwear when Niccolò’s voice pulled him out of his trance. The black-haired boy he was entitled to call his boyfriend. He still couldn't grasp it at times. 

"What did you say? Sorry." He looked over to the desk where Nico was sitting at.

The latter peered over his shoulder and perked his eyebrows up in amusement. “I wanted to know what you're up to.”

"Well", he grabbed his boyfriend's pyjamas from under the pillow at the headboard, "I was thinking of watching some clips Giò sent me."

“Yeah?”, Nico called back, his voice soft, and yet, clothed in a tremble. It was barely audible, but Martino sensed that something was off. He looked over to the desk again just as Nico turned around in the chair. "What kind of videos?" He seemed to have bounced back already, his voice as clear and jovial as ever. Maybe he misheard, Martino thought.

He decided to let it slide- not every change in tone meant something. “Yeah", his voice merely a shadow as he fumbled through the action putting the pyjamas shirt on, "he wants my opinion on his latest skateboarding skills." He laughed then. Those were his best friend's words, and he wouldn't correct them. After he finished putting the pants on, he pressed his hands to his hips and caught Nico's eyes who seemed to be disappointed that he was dressed again- or so he thought. He shot him a reproving look, his lips forming an amusing smile, however. "And you know, since we’ve studied for a good while now by your parent’s request, I think we've earned a break. You said you wanted to draw, didn't you?” He took the blanket from the bed and shook it.

“I can always draw another time, you know?”

“True. But you also said you were inspired earlier.”

Nico’s lips twitched and he rubbed over the skin above his eyebrows. “You don’t mind?”

“Why would I?” Marti lay down on his side of the bed, wrapping the blanket around him like a cocoon.

It was a few days into the New Year and school wouldn't start until next week. They had spent most of the holiday together. On some days, Martino had merely come over to sleep next to Nico since his exhaustion hadn't completely worn off. Not that he minded at all. If there was a way he could help him coping, he'd do it in a heartbeat. He finished wrapping up and caught Nico's smirk when their eyes met.

“You’ll die of hot flush, Marti", he claimed, removing himself from the desk.

“I’m wearing your pyjamas, remember? It’s fine.”

The thing was, Martino often changed into his boyfriend's pyjamas and he always wrapped himself into a cocoon blanket when he was over, loving his scent, wanting to drown in this earthy, slightly made of cedar wood, dream-like smell that surrounded him with warmth he wouldn't want to miss.

Nico was giving him a side glance as he got rid of his own trousers, and seconds later, he was crawling onto the bed.

“You know, you could just wear your underwear underneath all of this.” He waved his hand over Martino’s posture.

“Your dad is home. So, no.”

“Ah, you’re boring like that, I almost forgot.” Nico chuckled and Marti would have been offended, if his boyfriend wasn’t all adorable laughing into himself.

“You wanted to draw, remember?” He tried to sound annoyed, but he was pretty sure Nico could see right through him. "That's why you got rid of your trousers", he emphasized just for the sake of it.

“Always so bossy.” He shook his head and crawled closer. “Have fun with your videos.” He gave him a quick kiss and was about to move away again, but Marti raised his head so that he could nudge his nose.

“Have fun drawing.”

He gently rubbed his nose against Nico's before he kissed it. Ever since the morning after that eventful night on the school's terrace, it had become their thing. Martino remembered how relieved he had felt. What he had hoped in his heart all along finally became certainty. Nico's feelings were genuine; they always had been. He was positive he'd never forget this moment of liberation that had rushed over him that night. It had carved its way into his skin- as a token, and as an abiding memory. And perhaps Nico's emotions weren't as heightened compared to his owns then, but when he had woken up the morning after their reconciliation, Martino knew that all the suffering had been - and would be - worth it. Such a stupid saying actually, at least, that's what he had always thought, but Nico, despite everything, smiling his sunshine smile that day, made him realize that it was true after all. It basically came down to love having the power to conquer every burden. Both in theoretical and practical terms. He got that now. 

So, naturally, he'd never get sick of kissing Nico on the nose since it always put him in a good mood. But he loved getting those kisses, too, and yet, before this thing of theirs could turn into something more, Marti drew Nico close by the collar of his jumper, gave him a peck, just so he could push him away, ever so gently, but not without smirking.

Nico heaved a sigh, but his eyes were shining and the corner of his mouth curved into a delicate smile. And so Marti let Nico collect some drawing materials which he spread out on the side of his bed. He tried not to look at his boyfriend’s bare legs which he had seen more than once, of course, but he still got all flustered when he saw them or any part of Nico’s body, that was. He still wasn't there believing that they were together for real now, even though he’s never felt this comfortable in his life. Naked skin and all.

He plugged the earphones in and clicked play on the first video while Nico started sketching beside him, legs crossed and sleeves pulled up, as per usual. His boyfriend got up from time to time, collecting all kinds of drawing utensils from his shelf. Every time he fetched something, Martino couldn't help but follow his every action. Sometimes it was something of daily use, like a rubber, a pair of scissors or another pencil, and sometimes he came back with a picture book he’d search for inspiration or pages he could use for collages. In the end, he used the sketchbook as drawing pad. Martino suggested that he'd better work on his desk, giving the fact that Nico had hoarded quite some materials which were now lying all over the side of his bed. He also didn't want his boyfriend to suffer from aching muscles tomorrow, but Nico wouldn't have any of that. Instead he came back with his next conquest. It was a kitchen tool Martino had absolutely no clue what use it held, but his boyfriend sketched it with great intensity and concentration.

It did something to his heart. He was positive he felt it flutter while he observed Nico’s aura in these moments. Brow furrowed with wrinkles, tongue sticking out merely a tiny bit, and hands guiding various pencils over the sheets of paper, emptying and filling his mind in equal measure− Martino was sure of it.

There was no doubt that he was far gone for the boy next to him, and in this very moment, he felt the devotion jumping out of his chest. He was aware, because for one, the corner of his mouth started to hurt from grinning, and two, his cheeks were heating up as well as his upper body.

Nico’s mouth moved then, pulling him out of his trance, yet again.

“What? I didn’t hear you?” He paused the video, grinning, probably looking like an idiot.

“I said stop looking at me.” Nico gave him a quick look of disapproval. “You’re distracting me.”

“Sorry, continue.” He pressed play again and chuckled into himself.

He’d be a liar, if he didn’t like the fact that he could hold such power over his boyfriend. Usually it was him who uttered those lines, so yes, this was a nice change for once. He kept glancing at the boy who was sketching in a medley of tranquillity and occasional outburst of passion. With vigorous movement, Nico guided the pencil over his artwork, or as it seemed, into his artwork, becoming one with it, so to speak. And every time Martino saw his boyfriend perform such an act out of the corner of his eyes, he smiled to himself, feeling the adoration he held for him in every fibre of his body. Giò had been right to call him a goner. 

After he had finished sketching the ominous kitchen tool, Nico gathered paintbrushes and colours around him. Martino was about to ask him why the hell he’d wanted to paint his sheets, but before he could say anything, the brush in Nico's hand landed on his face. Of course it did. His boyfriend knew he was ticklish and he fully took advantage of it. What a shithead. It didn’t take long though and the utensil was forgotten, and they were making out, exploring each other’s faces thoroughly, getting rid of the blanket Marti was still wrapped in while trying to stay on his side of the bed.

"I could paint you, you know", Nico breathed into his ear.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You're beautiful, Marti."

"Shut up."

Maybe he would let him. One day.

Nico was lying on top of him now, working on his neck, holding his face in place firmly. His grip made him feel as if he was something special. Someone special. Martino sighed.

He moved his head then so that he could capture Nico's lips into a kiss. He seemed to know what Marti wanted and started kissing him slowly, carefully even, while stroking his cheek with his thumb.

Perhaps those kisses were Martino’s favourite ones. When their tongues danced around each other, almost lazily, accompanied by his tingling skin and butterflies bustling about inside his stomach. When their hands roamed over each other, when Nico searched for his skin underneath the clothes, when he grabbed the hair at the back of his head, and when he bit down on his lower lip. The black-haired boy sent him to places he didn’t dare dream of, all in the span of seconds.

However, Marti had discovered quite recently that his boyfriend kind of responded every time he kissed the skin above his eyebrows. Oh, sweet revenge. When he rolled them over, that's when he had him. Under him, pressed into the pillow, defenceless. He took his time to tease him - first with feather-like kisses, and then, nuzzling his nose over the skin deliberately, tracing an invisible line – and watched how Nico shivered when he blew air over the sensitive spot. That was one of Martino’s favourite facial expressions on him. Eyes closed and lips formed into a content smile. If he were an artist like Nico; he'd paint him precisely like that. And so he forgot that he actually wanted to keep teasing him. He just melted into Nico's body effortlessly then, putting his hands under his shoulder blades, squeezing him and hugging him tight to his chest. Not wanting to let go. Why would he? This, sharing an embrace with Nico, was his safe haven. He's never really felt like he belonged before, not anywhere in this world, nor let alone to anyone.  

Elia would have called him a lucky bastard. 

They stayed like this for a while until Marti untangled himself abruptly, Nico protesting vehemently in the process, trying to tug him back to his chest, but Martino was quicker. He kissed the skin right above his elbow and pushed him back to his side before he wrapped himself into a cocoon again.

Nico rolled into some of his materials and they both laughed at that, Martino a bit more maliciously which Nico responded with flipping him off.

He was still grinning when his boyfriend put his trousers back on and continued working on his desk. He already missed him and the diverse sheets of paper beside him, but he was glad nevertheless. Just recently, Nico had told him that his creativity wasn't something that he could summon whenever he wanted. No, it attacked him sporadically. And when that happened, he had to get it out of his system before he imploded. That wasn't something he wanted for him, of course. Just the thought of the possibility made his heart heavy.

When he watched him sitting on his desk, he knew that it had been high time for Nico to get creative. His arm guided the brush over the paper- sometimes his whole upper body moved in union with it. Like a dance he had to carry out. Maybe, he thought, that dance was a battle all the same. Martino barely registered what happened on his phone anymore. He was utterly entranced until the shadow of Nico's voice burst his bubble of thoughts. For the umpteenth time today, he paused the video and removed one of the earbuds.

"Hm?"

"You're distracting me again."

"I'm not doing anything?" He claimed, his voice throaty, knowing exactly what Nico was hinting at.

"If I turn around now, I know I'll see you smiling."

"Is that so bad?"

"No, not at all."

"I'm sorry for distracting you." He really was.

Nico put the brush aside. "Let's have some coffee. I'm getting tired anyway." He turned around. "See. You're smiling."

Indeed, he was. Strangely enough, Nico's comment made him smile even brighter. "Let me help you." He was about to get rid of the blanket when Nico interrupted him with a dapper wave of the hand.

"No, no, I'm on it. You stay here. I'll be right back."

Marti protested, but Nico was already at the door. "Before you've put on your clothes, I'll be back already anyway." He scrunched his nose and slipped out of the room.

It was more or less a lie. It took him quite a while to get back. In the meantime, Martino made himself comfortable again and closed his eyes. His mind wandered to different places at the same time, and yet, he felt himself wrapped into an even warmth. Perhaps the afternoon sunbeams interloping into the room through the window were a reason for that, but Marti always felt comfortable in Nico's world. Whether it was here or at his place or whenever they were together. Hell, just thinking about Nico and how loved he made him feel never failed to amaze him. He always came back to thinking how it enveloped him, just as the rays of sunshine which were enveloping this very room with a calmness, so gentle and yet palpable.

Martino's favourite colour might be blue, but right now he was gleaming in all sorts of yellow nuances. Luchì would have said it showed.

And then, just before he dozed off, Nico slipped back into the room, his voice nonchalantly ringing in his ears, almost sing-song like. "Sorry, had a chat with my dad."

"No worries." Marti got up into an upright posture and tucked the pillow between his back and the headboard. "What were you chatting about?"

"Ah, you know, this and that." Nico positioned a trayful of biscuits and two cups of coffee on the middle of the bed. "He told me about his new project, you know."

"Which is?" Martino poured sugar into his cup and started stirring the beverage. For a fleeting moment he closed his eyes just to soak up the familiar scent. Not long ago he would have said it was his favourite smell in the world.

"Some building north the city." Nico was sitting cross-legged on his side of the bed now and took a sip of his coffee, glancing at him over the rim of the cup.

Unlike his boyfriend, he finished his coffee in one go. "You sound disinterested?"

"Naw, I just, you know, sometimes he talks for ages."

Martino chuckled, knowing exactly what Nico meant. His father's floods of words were quite endearing actually, but he wasn't walking in Nico's shoes on a daily basis. There were a few things he'd never fully grasp. He'd never know how much pain Nico actually went through, he could only ever imagine. And just before his thoughts could wander to darker places, he heard a clinking noise of porcelain hitting metal. When he looked up, a pair of curious eyes stared back at him. Martino knew that look well. Before he was able to form a coherent reasoning, a biscuit was stuck between his teeth.

“Stop that”, he giggled, while taking a bite off the sweet, leaving crumbs on the sheet.

“What? You don’t like them?”

“Don’t look so smug.”

“Why would I do that?”, Nico answered and leaned in to give him a peck on the lips.

“Your eyes don’t lie.”

“Ah no?”

“No.”

“Well, what can I say, amore, you make me feel things.” His boyfriend gave him one of his best lopsided grins. One of those that made him weak in the knees.

“Is that so?”, he raised his eyebrows, trying to ignore the butterflies in his belly.

“Oh, you haven’t noticed?” Nico took a bite of the biscuit in Marti's hand and then he gave him another peck on the lips, leaving crumbs there.

Marti laughed and wiped over his mouth with the back of his hand. “No. No, I really haven’t.”

They held their gaze for a moment. Martino was absolutely certain that he must’ve looked like a dumbstruck idiot. But it was alright. Actually, he had stopped caring about that a while ago. He knew he was one of those people who blushed easily, but Nico always looked at him with what he'd call a mix of endearment and boldness when that happened. And that made it even more okay.

Filippo would have called them sickeningly adorable.

“Will you show me your latest sketches?”, he broke the silence, being in desperate need for a distraction, but he was also curious about Nico's art, and seeing him so very caught up in it today, had gotten him even more curious.

“Huh? You’ve seen them. They’ve basically been in front of you the whole afternoon.”

He glanced at the drawings lying on the desk. He saw the early stages and knew Nico had worked on outlining miniatures of fairies once again. They were little superheroes in his eyes; sitting on one’s shoulder, always watching out for the ones in need, so he had told him. He had sketched some with a pen, and then later − after he had stopped using the brush to tickle Marti − he’d coloured the fairies in shades of green and yellow as well as the star dust around them. Nico had held up various sketches asking him which one he liked best. Martino was bad at deciding and he liked them all anyway. He always did.

“No, I meant the ones you’re working on when I’m not here.”

Nico’s eyes stopped track in time for a second. It was as if he was contemplating of what to say or give away. “Uh, I told you I’ll show you when they’re finished.” He scrunched his eyebrows. “Be patient, amore.”

“But most of the sketches from today aren’t finished either. And you’re not hiding them.”

“Listen, I don’t hide the others−“

“Yes, you are.”

He stuffed the rest of the biscuit into his mouth and looked at Nico who was eyeing him suspiciously.

“Are you taking the piss out of me?”

Martino snorted with laughter.

“You shithead!”

“Hey now, you fool with me plenty of times! It’s only fair.”

Nico’s eyes held a shine in them, twinkling almost. Martino noticed a ghost of a smile on his lips as well and started grinning when he looked back into his eyes. They told him how comfortable his boyfriend was. How happy he was that they were together and that there wasn’t anything between them that wasn’t right. That he could fool with him right in this very moment, in Nico’s room, surrounded by light yellow curtains and wooden furniture, where it was only them. Eva would have said they were a match made in heaven.

The outside world was okay, too, being with their friends and loved ones that was, but nothing came close to their moments alone. It was as if they lived in a safe house. Wrapped up in a shared blanket, waiting for sleep to take them. Even if it was merely imaginary.

“Hey, you have something there.” Marti pointed at Nico’s mouth then.

“Hm? Where?” He jiggled his head.

“Right there.” He propped his elbows up on his thighs - his boyfriend clearly waiting for him to close the distance - and slowly made his way up to kiss the left corner of his upper lip.

Nico’s lip twitched for a second. And then he traced the spot with his thumb.

“Biscotti flavoured kiss?”

“Biscotti flavoured kiss.”

He had the biggest grin on his face, and when he felt Nico's lips touching his own, he felt him smile into the kiss, too. He could say something, he thought.

“Hm-hm and a little bit of coffee, too.” Those weren't the words lingering on his mind, but—

Nico laughed. His shoulder trembled a bit and Marti melted into him. Again. His boyfriend’s laugh always did this thing to him when his cheek would just burn instantly. Not quite like fire, but with a certain warmth that was electrifying and calming at the same time.

The kiss turned deeper. Not like earlier. There was more hunger now. Tongues started grazing each other and fingers tugged at sleeves and elbows after they had gotten rid off the blanket again, this time more clumsily.

Martino took control whilst setting a slow, yet steady pace. It hadn't happened often yet, him, taking the reins. There still existed a certain shyness under all his eagerness to devote himself completely to their sexual intimacy. Nico had told him not to hold back, and it wasn't that he did it on purpose, but at times he was unsure if he was doing it right; whatever that meant. Maybe he was thinking too much about it. However, there was no way he’d get sick of Nico’s laugh. He always wanted to hear it. He wished he could kiss it away to put it in a jar that he could open whenever his boyfriend wasn’t with him. It made him all mushy and more in awe of him than he thought was possible. Yet here he was.

He rolled them around and slotted a thigh between Nico's thighs. While he stifled a laugh when they hit the tray, Nico cursed. Somehow they managed to shove it away with their hands and feet while their lips stayed glued together. He listened to Nico slightly starting to moan. It was more like puffing out air more rapidly each time their tongues parted, but it made him even more eager to kiss him absolutely senseless. Right here in this very room where he learned so much about him on one Friday afternoon. October felt like a lifetime ago.

Someway in between his attempt to make the object of his desire melt into the sheets, Nico managed to get a hand of his helix piercing with his thumb. It was enough to make him jolt. His boyfriend laughed into their kiss, his curls tickling his cheek, reinforcing the already existing tingling sensation going through his body.

“Ni, I swear...ughh.”

“Mh-mh yeah?” Nico kept grazing the metal with his thumb, slightly tugging at it.

“Ni, stop it, I swear”, he huffed in between smooches, digging his fingers into every spot of Nico's skin he managed to grasp.

“What?”

“Not now, your dad...”

“Who gives a fuck.” He felt Nico’s lips on his neck.

“I do”, he panted, feeling a throbbing heat to begin in his stomach.

“Of course, you do”, he sounded annoyed, yet his lips had arrived at his earlobe, biting down gently.

“Ah, I really don’t−“

“What?”, he asked more slyly and twirled his tongue around the piercing.

Marti's leg kicked the bed rest. He was at that point where he had lost control of his body, muscles doing whatever the fuck they wanted. He loved and hated it at the same time; especially in this very moment.

“Oh God, I swear, Ni...”

Nico ignored his plea. He really was insufferable. It wasn’t that he hated his boyfriend’s caresses on this particular body part of him, no, in fact, he loved them. It was just that he couldn’t bare Nico’s dad to interrupt them. Just the thought of that made him nauseous. How would he be able to look an older version of Nico in the eyes? They both shared the same pair of black curls and their eyes held the same shine in them. Martino was absolutely certain he'd melt in shame on the spot.

He managed to take a hold of his jumper's collar. “Ni, I swear... please...”

Nico's breath was hot and heavy on his skin, making his toes curl. “Marti... you drive me insane. It really isn’t my fault.” Another twirl around the metal followed by his leg kicking the bed rest again.

And then, a knock. Martino froze in a jiffy.

“Yeah?”, Nico called out, irritated.

“You boys alright?", a muffled voice called back.

Don’t open the door, don’t open the door, please don't open the door!

Marti buried his face in the crook of Nico's neck. It was bound to happen one day, he knew it. Perhaps he could disappear into the shielding niche of skin until the coast was clear again.

“Yeah, sure, pa", Nico called back while caressing his jaw with his thumb. Martino wished he'd stopped doing that, having trouble cooling down as hard as it already was.

“Thought I heard a dull noise, or well, something similar.”

“No yeah, Marti just stumbled against the bed...”

“Ah− you good, boy?”

He raised his head at the question, shooting a piercing look at Nico who was clearly entertained by his discomfort. “Every-everything’s fine”, Marti tried to answer with containment, but he felt his voice trembling. Nico snorted with laughter whereupon he nudged his shoulder.

“Oi!”, he cried out in fake pain.

“Niccolò?”

Martino thought he saw Nico’s dad trying to push down the handle of the French door.

No, no, no- don’t open the door! Don’t come inside!

He pointed to the door while trying to stare holes into Nico's eyes who was still terribly amused. What a shithead, Martino contemplated, trying not to grin at his own thought.

“Everything’s good, pa. Marti is just a bully, as usual.”

He nudged him in the shoulder again.

“We’re fine. Everything’s fine, don’t worry.” Nico said more earnestly now, putting his hands up in surrender.

“Okay.” A pause. “Listen, are you staying for dinner tonight, Martino?”

He turned his head towards the door, trying to regain his composure. “Um, well, actually I... I have a... dinner date with my mother tonight, so no.”

“Ah, what a shame− okay, you, uh, you boys continue. I see you later.” He listened to footsteps disappearing and heaved a sigh of relief.

Nico had started chuckling at one point and if he weren’t the lovesick puppy he had turned into, he’d truly be offended. However, it was really hard for him not to start laughing himself, so, with one final kiss to his boyfriend’s lips, he pushed himself off of him.

“I really hate you, you know”, he claimed, somehow grinning.

“Ah, you should have seen your face, amore, I swear I saw your cheeks turn burgundy in one second.”

“Funny.”

“That’s why you’re so incredibly fond of me.”

There it was again. That smug look of him, tongue sticking out for a millisecond behind his teeth, his eyes full of mischief.

“No, you got it all wrong, I really loathe you.”

“Oh really?”

“100%.”

“Okay. Then if you truly loathe me, you won’t mind that I won’t show you the sketches I am working on when you’re not here.”

“What?”

“You think I’m joking?”

“If you think you can blackmail me in any way...”

“I can’t?” Another challenge.

“Okay, fine”, he spit back angrily, almost on a level where he knew it was hard to tell he was joking.

It seemed to work, for Nico didn’t say anything. He felt his gaze, but he didn’t dare look. Two can play the game, he thought.

“Maaaarrrrtiiiii...” Nico stretched out his name, rolling the r’s endlessly it seemed.

He pretended he didn’t hear him and started looking for his phone which he remembered was lying somewhere underneath the sheets. When he had found it, he grabbed it, a sigh escaping his lips. It was really hard not to smirk, so he turned his head looking away.

“Really?”, Nico burst out, his voice an octave higher than usual.

He put the earbuds back in and was just about to get back to Giovanni’s videos, when he felt Nico grab his upper arm.

His finger hovered over the play button. “Yes?”

“Turn around.” Nico’s thumb dug into his flesh. “Look at me.”

He complied, putting the earbuds in his lap. Nico’s eyes were fixated on his and he blinked a couple of times so that he could hold his gaze.

“You didn’t mean that, did you?”

He was confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Um, that you loathe me?” His eyes fluttered and there was a crushing nervousness in his voice Martino absolutely hated hearing.

“WHAT? Why would I mean that? Are you stupid?” He searched Nico's eyes. He seemed to be dead serious and he felt like an idiot.

“Ni, I swear, I was joking. I’m... I’m sorry if it came off−“

He didn’t get to say more. Nico pulled him up by the collar of his pyjamas shirt and kissed him on the lips. Hard and frantic. Hitting his teeth in the process.

“Ouch”, he chuckled into his mouth.

“I love you, Marti. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey now... hey.” He took his head into his hands and pressed his forehead to Nico’s whose hands had fallen on his shoulder, gripping the shirt there.

I love you, too. It’s okay.

“I overwhelm you, I always do that.”

“Please cut the always, will you.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?”

“No. I promise you, you don’t. Sometimes I am overwhelmed that this is real. Sometimes I can’t believe it, you know, that we’re together?”

“No?”

“You’re amazing.” He took one of Nico’s hands and gave it a little squeeze while he kept their foreheads connected. “You amaze me every single day.” He half-whispered the last sentence and tried to lift his chin up, but Nico was shaking his head no. No eye contact for now, okay, Marti knew that much. And so he snuggled his nose against his neck, kissing the spot of skin with caution right afterwards. He repeated the action until Nico spoke, his voice in a mist of shame.

“I’m sorry I’m impulsive.”

“I’m not.”

“I’m sorry I’m so needy.”

“I’m not, really.”

“I love you.”

He started to tremble at his words. He was about to open his mouth, to say them back, because only a fool would believe him if he claimed he didn't love the boy who was clinging to him. Martino was chanting the words in his mind anyway. Ever since New Year's Eve – if not before that − when Nico had first said them, casually, as if they had slipped from his lips unintentionally. But Marti knew Nico had been sincere, just as he was in this very moment.

Now, if he could only say them back.

His heart exploded, because he felt so incredibly blessed and cherished and loved and there wasn’t anything to fear, and yet, he feared to say them. Those three little words. It was the most absurd thing he’d ever experienced. Here he was, holding his boyfriend, embracing him like the treasure he was, and yet, he couldn’t say them back. He truly was a walking contradiction. Nico moved him in every way a person could be moved. He should say something, he knew that. In fact, he should have said something a while ago. He could tell him right now that he loved him. It was neither a lie, nor a bad time. It could even soothe Nico's tension, if he thought about it. Still, shouldn't he say something so significant with nothing but joy between them? He felt a knot forming its way up his lungs, and so he buried the mental image and pulled his boyfriend to his chest. As if on cue, Nico started breathing erratically. He, too, didn't seem to get enough air to fill his lungs. Martino cursed himself, this was clearly his fault. Open your damn mouth. "It's okay, Ni, it's okay. I'm here." "I'm sorry, Marti." "Shh, shh, everything's alright. It's not your fault." Don't be sad, please don't be sad. It's okay. He losened their embrace and started to draw soothing circles on his Nico’s back and planted kisses - as tender as he could - on his hair where it met his earlobe. It took a while until he felt him relax, his head on his shoulder as if he had just ran a marathon and needed someone to support some of his weight. “A nap? Before you have to go?” Nico whispered into the crook of his neck, his breath tickling and making his flesh crawl at the same time.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They settled down in the middle of the bed. Nico was already captured in a sleepy trance, but he still held enough force to pull him down to his upper body, enveloping his arm around his back. Martino partly nestled down on his chest and partly on his shoulder, belly down, and face towards Nico’s middle.

I love you.

Nico's lips brushed his forehead. He shivered at that and moved his hand over the jumper until he felt his heart beating.

I’m sorry.

Some time later Nico found his hand and Marti entwined their fingers. He moved his thumb over his knuckles, trying to soothe him, or maybe he was trying to soothe himself. It didn’t take long and he felt his boyfriend puffing air into his hair.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six...

It calmed him down listening to Nico breathing, and feeling him under him steadied him. Grounded him, yes.

He was so damn lucky, he thought, shedding a tear at the very thought, feeling relieved that Nico wouldn’t have to worry about that as well. God, Martino hoped he knew how much he wanted to be with him at any giving time. The shame he felt over not being able to tell Nico how much he meant to him made him feel small. What a fool he was.

At one point, Martino started repeating his affection towards him like a mantra. In his mind, but he could have sworn that he heard himself whisper his confession into the silence of the black-haired treasure's room he was holding on to.

I love you so very much.

The approaching evening light was creeping into the room now, absorbing the yellow aura which was one of the many things about these four walls he loved.

He reminded himself that, however dark this room might get, the warmest colour was lying in his arms, and that he needed to be brave to make it stay that way. He justthis ineeded to be brave. I do, I truly do. ☆．。．:*･° 

When you move I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be When you move I could never define all that you are to me So move me, baby Hozier - Movement

[fanfictionized]

Help Me Help You - The New Weapon (14/?)

Character: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader / OFC

Chapter summary: Thanks to Bruce, the Avengers and Annabelle finally find out what influence the serum has had on her blood and body.

Wanda decides to give Anna lessons, trying to make it easier for her to control her powers the way she can.

Warnings: Mentions of death, scientific shit going on oh boi I have no idea if that even makes sense

Words: 4k

A/N: This thing down there is supposed to be a GIF I made but it somehow only plays on the mobile version (if at all). Either that or my laptop is crap. Welp. Enjoy.

Previous Chapter // Help Me Help You - Masterlist

Annabelle confined herself to exploring her room. That included trying to work the stereo, listening to new albums she had never heard of before, watching TV to catch up with the news of the past weeks and reading into a few books that had also been laying around. She loved how the room’s interior was already really cozy. Almost made her feel like home.

Hm. Home.

Tears had sprung to her eyes at the thought of her mother, probably dying with worry while crying herself to sleep at night. She wouldn’t know what had happened to her only daughter. Her worst fear was that she believed she had run away. She knew she needed to tell her somehow, she had missed her so fucking much over the course of her disappearance.

Asking Friday for directions, she got up at one-fifty to walk upstairs somewhere. She replayed Friday’s voice inside her head. Go to the elevator, drive up three stories, end of the hallway, right turn.

And she did exactly that.

She turned right at the end of the hallway and there she could see through the glass walls that separated her from the conference room. And sitting there, alone in a seat while running a hand through his hair, was no other than Bucky Barnes.

She chuckled to herself. Of cause he was. She entered through the sliding door and he only looked up at the sound of it, keeping his surprised gaze on her until she was standing beside him, her hands grasping the black leather-backrest of the chair next to him.

“Do you mind?” She asked timidly and as if she had pulled him out of a trance, he suddenly shook his head rapidly. “No. Y-You can sit there.” He stammered and cleared his throat as he sat up straighter in his chair. She pulled it out from under the long glass table and let herself slump into it, a deep breath rushing past her lips.

“You okay?” He asked her. Her head was leaning against the headrest, turning slowly to face him. “Sure. Why not.” She didn’t seem pleased with the whole situation and Bucky didn’t know how to respond to that. He fidgeted in his seat uncomfortably, his leg bouncing underneath the table, she could see it.

“I’m sorry, that’s a stupid answer.” “It was a stupid question.” Her brows drew together in surprise and confusion. “No it wasn’t, don’t worry. I guess I’m just not as exited as I should be. I mean… should I even be exited?” She shrugged her shoulders “I think so.”

“You don’t have to pretend.” He mumbled, looking down to his bouncing leg. “It’s a strange situation to be in.” “Hm.” She answered and turned her head to look at the ceiling again. “I am the, uh… what is it again? The thing you do tests on?” He turned his head in confusion. “Guinea pig?” “Yes. I am the guinea pig. People get to look at me to see what their tests have done to me.” She sighed deeply. “I guess it’s not the best metaphor, but I hope I’m still that old guinea pig I used to be, you know?” He nodded. He did know.

“Well, hello there.” Sam said suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows as he entered the room along with Natasha. He looked back into his lap at Sam’s expression.

“Who do have we here? Beauty and the beast.” “Oh, fuck off.” Bucky hissed and sent him a glare. “Don’t worry, you’re not the beauty. Belle over here is.” “Oh my god, that’s actually perfect. She even has the same name!” Wanda squealed as she entered the room behind them, slinging her arms around Sam’s shoulders, making him tumble backwards.

She winked at Bucky as Sam yelled in protest and a tiny smirk appeared on his lips. “See, I can literally take you down without my powers, point proven.” She let go of him and quickly grabbed the other seat next to Annabelle. “Hey, that was mine!” He whined, but Wanda only stuck out her tongue at him. He grumbled as he sat down at the other end, next to Natasha who had sat down next to Bucky.

Even though they had all proven themselves to be very amusing, in that moment she didn’t feel joy. Her heart was pounding. She was on edge from what Bruce had found out and what he was about to say. She nibbled on the nail of her right thumb as her left fingers thrummed on the armrest.

They were sitting so close, the others, lost in their own conversations, didn’t even notice Bucky’s hand moving over to take a gentle hold of her wrist, immediately stopping her actions as she looked down at his flesh hand on hers and then up to his face with big eyes.

“It’s gonna be fine.” He said quietly so that only she could hear it and she nodded slowly until he smiled fleetingly at her and let go as soon as Tony entered the room along with Steve, Bruce and Vision.

Her expression was still that of a deer in the headlights, but she managed a smile as Tony send her one.

“Gather ‘round, children!” He said as he walked up to the end of the long-ish table. “And let the doctor speak.”

Bruce stepped beside him and pushed his glasses up his nose.

She tried to tell anything from the look on his face, her cheeks blushing with anxiousness.

“I, I think I’ll start right away.” He stammered and called up an invisible screen floating in the middle of the table and Annabelle leaned back as if it could actually touch her.

“Anna, I’m glad to see you here.” Bruce said and smiled faintly at her. She did the same. “I just… I want to know.” She hesitated and she hoped the others couldn’t hear the shake in her voice. She needed to know.

He nodded back at her. “Well, we’re not going to push you away. We’ll include you in all the knowledge we have on this case.”

Her heart was racing.

“I… I think maybe it’s better if you start with, uh, the enemy we’re dealing with.” Bruce looked at Steve and he just nodded, turning to face her.

“The ones that took you are part of a terrorist-criminal organization called Hydra.” He had a concerned look on his face, as if he didn’t really want to expose Annabelle to the ugly truth. But the only unknown truth there was, was that she, out of all of them, could handle it the best.

“They were the ones we fought in the second world war and they’re the ones that experimented not only on Bucky, but also on Wanda.”

“They gave us our powers.” She spoke up and when she looked at her, a reddish glow – one that she had only seen on TV before – emerged between her fingers.

“And they wanted them to use it for Hydra’s plans. Control them how they wanted to force their will onto the world.”

The puzzle-pieces started to align and match up. Not about her abductors but also about Bucky’s past.

“And you would’ve been their next toy to play with.” Tony said and sat down.

“Nicely put, Tony.” Steve glared at him and Tony shrugged, shaking his head “Tell me I’m wrong.” Steve sighed and continued.

“Hydra has been getting S.H.I.E.L.D’s attention for the past six months. Since they have started…” He seemed like he was hoping to get a little help from the others, but they looked like they felt just as awkward as him.

“…since they have started to scatter dead bodies with a chemical compound in their bloodstream we had never seen before.”

She didn’t know how to answer. There had been others before her. But she always believed that there was a plan behind all those injections, all the brain-shocking… Why would they go through it only to kill them? It made her realize that if she had been there for just a little longer, she would’ve wound up dead as well.

“They have been working on a way to combine both the serum that made Bucky and I so strong with the one that gave Wanda enhanced abilities.”

“And they have succeeded.” Bruce finally chimed in and the room got quiet once more.

He swiped to the next page with a movement of his hand and in front of them appeared a hemogram of dark purple blood cells with even darker centers, vibrating across the screen.

She has had enough years of biology in school to say that whatever that was, was not normal. Blood cells were red, most likely unmoving, but not quivering like they had a will of their own.

“Your blood sample from earlier matches with the ones they took from the other victims.” Bruce explained, but she couldn’t get her eyes off the moving picture. Goosebumps crawled over her skin at the sight. At the sheer thought of that filling her veins.

“I don’t know if you saw it when I extracted the blood from you” Her head cocked to the side in confusion. No. She had not. She had been trying to focus on not puking with her eyes squeezed shut.

“But it was various shades darker than regular blood. And my theory is that the discoloration of your blood cells is the cause of it.”

Her brows drew together. She was more than just confused at that point.

“But… that’s not the only thing I saw under the microscope.”

Swipe to the right.

“The minute I tried to poke them with a microscopic needle to extract their contents for further research…”

The animation showed the same twitching blood cells with a pointed head approaching one of them. They all watched curiously as the needle tried to breach the cell wall, she had seen this procedure a few times before, but the breach never came.

Instead, the blood cell suddenly stained darkly, carbon black, spreading from the inside out and tiny bumps formed on the exterior which formed into tentacle-like arms, starting to wiggle. The movement touched the cells surrounding it and within a fraction of a second it had alarmed the rest as well, turning into the same defensive mess.

Annabelle’s mouth hung open, along with all the other’s. Her scalp prickled with shock and her chest constricted.

That was floating inside of her. She had an own, built-in defense mechanism. Or whatever that shit was supposed to be demonstrating here.

“What the hell?” Sam blurted out.

“Seriously, Bruce. What is that?” Natasha added, equally shocked.

“This” He said and swiped right once more as the video started to replay itself “Is Hydra’s newest weapon.”

“I’m what?” Panic rose up inside Annabelle’s chest. She clearly looked like it as well.

“You’re not.” Tony interrupted and held up a stopping hand “You’re not a weapon. It’s what Hydra has been trying to change those people into. You’re just the first person to survive it.”

“Yes, of cause.” Bruce added, looking a little ashamed. “You- You’re not. They would’ve turned you into a, a weapon, but you’re still yourself.”

“Well, obviously I’m not!” She couldn’t breathe.

“Kid, you need to calm down.” Tony said slowly, cautiously. Realization hit everyone at the tone of his voice. This meeting could go another way if she wouldn’t.

All eyes were on her.

Her face was beet red. She didn’t know what to do.

“You’re enhanced, is what Bruce is trying to say.” Bucky said as he turned around to look her in the eyes. “You’re both like Steve, Wanda and I, but also you aren’t.” She seemed so frightened. “You’re something new and we don’t know what it is yet, but we will. Right, doctor?”

“I, uhm, yes. Of cause.”

He didn’t break eye contact with her once. “They would have turned you into a weapon if they had gotten the chance. But they didn’t. You’re here now and that won’t change if you don’t want it to.”

He looked at her, his eyes both calming and piercing with the depth of the blue in them. Like the ocean on a stormy day, she thought. It did in fact make her calm down. The tingling in her fingertips subsiding and the beat of her heart no longer throbbing in her head.

“Okay.” She whispered and nodded. He smiled at her softly before she looked back at Tony and the rest who were all staring at the two of them.

“I want to help. Whatever I have to do, I will. I want to control… whatever this is.”

“And we’ll help you with that.” Steve said and nodded back at her.

“From what I could tell, your… self… has an own awareness of your surroundings and instinctively wants to protect you from any harm” He scratched his neck. “My assumption is that this defense mechanism activates itself through your bloodstream, as we could see as an example from the reaction of your blood cells. Whichever Neurochemicals and hormones are released activate the serum.”

“And now in English, please.” Sam raised an impatient eyebrow. Bruce sighed.

“Extreme emotions trigger extreme response.”

The lab. She remembered what she felt back then. Pure fright and panic and just fear for her life. There must’ve been so much adrenaline rushing through her blood that her body consequently reacted.

“We still don’t know for certain what exactly includes said response, but doctor Cho and I will try our best finding that out as well.” Bruce assured her.

Well. That was insightful. More than she had hoped for for sure. In the back of her head she had already dabbled with that idea of what could’ve caused the outbreak, but here it was. Her answer served on a silver plate.

“Will she be okay?” Steve asked him.

“I think so. I mean, I – all of the exposed dangers in her bloodstream that the, uhm, serum has caused have either vanished or manifested themselves. There don’t seem to be any major genetic changes except for the mutation… the alteration of what was already there.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “What I mean is I don’t see you growing extra limbs… although the treatment did involve a certain level of radiation. Of cause we’ll have to see what the long-term effects are, but despite all your immune system is being very adaptive and your health is recovering incredibly fast.”

His smile seemed earnest this time.

“Could be the influence of the Super-Soldier Serum.”

“Okay.” She mumbled, staring onto the see-through table. That was a lot to process. But all in all… good news, right?

“I can help you figuring out your powers.” Wanda suddenly spoke up from next to Annabelle. She looked at Bruce, then at her.

“I know what it’s like being in your position and I had to figure it out by myself, but you don’t have to. I know all the tricks on that department.” She winked at her and Tony agreed.

“Sounds like a plan.”

***

Her current state had been discussed, further theories on Hydra’s position and plans reviewed and with that, the meeting had ended. Class dismissed.

“Hey, we can start right away if you want to…?” Wanda asked before she stood up, laying a hand on her shoulder. “I, uhm… okay. I mean, I don’t have anything else to do.” She shrugged and stood up as well.

“Great! We can practice in the gym, if you feel comfortable enough. Do you, uh, maybe want to put some gym clothes on?” She asked. Annabelle shook her head.

“No. I mean, I don’t know. Should I?” “Whatever you feel comfortable in.” She shrugged again. “I guess I’ll just… stay like this.” She looked down at herself. Oversized shirt and jeans with socks. “I’ll probably need a belt, though.” She groaned as she tugged on the loose fabric around her waist. “Don’t worry” Wanda grinned and leaned in to whisper “You can borrow my clothes; I’ve gained too much weight for them anyway.”

They both laughed as they exited the room along with the others.

Bucky stayed behind, watching the two of them.

“Are you okay?” Bruce asked the soldier and he turned his head around. The doctor was collecting the piles of paper he had brought in.

“I’m fine.” He said and stood up as some of the pages glided to the ground, bending down to pick them back up.

“Oh, thank you.” He mumbled as Bucky handed them over.

“Will she be okay, though?” Bucky asked sheepishly and looked back at the doctor.

He stared at him for a few seconds before he decided to response. “Well, I- I surely think so. She really is doing well, all things considered…” He hesitated, looking at the papers. “We will have to see how it develops.”

“The serum?”

Bruce shook his head, correcting himself. “Yes, sure. Of cause. I think, we’ll have to see how she develops as well. I believe the serum and her well-being are very closely related.”

Bucky stood there and listened.

“If, I mean, if she feels bad or, just anything in that manner… unhappy, frustrated, unwelcome… I believe it will show.”

“And what if it’s the opposite?”

“Well… I mean that could surely have an influence as well. Although I’m not quite sure what- how it would manifest itself.”

Bucky nodded.

“Then we’ll have to make sure she feels at home.”

***

“Relax.” Wanda assured her as she went to close the door behind her. The gym was big with high ceilings, long and even parquet dance floor with mirrors on the walls and lots of room to work with.

“I can put on some whale songs...?”

She turned around to her, furrowing her brows. “Why on earth would I want that?” Wanda let out a chuckle. “What do I know.”

She realized it was very silent there. Wanda grabbed a mat she rolled down in front of their feet. She figured that all the training equipment and weights must have been located in another gym.

“Come on. Sit with me.” She crossed her legs as she sat down, patting the seat in front of her. Annabelle did as she was told.

“Are… we going to meditate?” She asked, clearly confused. “No.” Wanda answered and closed her eyes. Annabelle continued to stare at her. “I want you to close your eyes.” She rolled them first, but did the same. “What are you feeling right now?” She heard her gentle voice, the low whir of the fluorescent light above their heads, a car speeding somewhere on the streets.

“I don’t know. Confused?”

She heard her gentle giggle. “If you have to ask me then I don’t think that’s what you’re truly feeling.” Annabelle breathed deeply and went into her train of thoughts.

“I feel…” Her head cocked to the side “relieved.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I finally know who did this to me and what it was that they did.”

“What else do you feel?”

“Tense. I feel tense.”

“Why?” This was beginning to feel pointless. She sighed, starting to be on edge.

“I don’t know. Maybe because the people that have done this to me are still running around somewhere? Because I can’t do anything about it? Because I don’t want what happened when I woke up here to be happening again?”

“That’s why we’re here. To turn those reasons into productivity. Because you can do something about it.” Her words resonated in her head. “Because you can control it if you want to.”

“What are you feeling now?”

She looked deep inside herself. Her heart was pounding. Either with Wanda’s hopeful promises or the building hatred for what she was yet powerless.

“Rage.”

A pause.

“Go on.”

Her breathing got quicker, already audible to the both of them.

“I want them to pay.”

“For all that they’ve done to you.”

A pang to her heart as it contracted. She felt it, the sting in her chest and the pull in the back of her throat where a lump was building.

“Yes.” She hissed.

“Good. Stay there. Right where you are now. What do you see?”

Her voice was no longer in front of her, but inside her head. She knew what she asked for and Annabelle kept digging, everything else faded down. Her hands balled up to fists as her subconsciousness dug deeper; The tips of her fingers had begun to tingle.

She dug her nails into her palms, leaving small, moon-shaped imprints. She felt it. The same rush in her veins she had felt back there in the lab, the same that had wanted so badly to creep back up this morning, but this time she let it. Welcomed it inside with no fear.

It spread through her chest and she could see it before her closed eyelids. Even darker shades of black winding through her already dark vision. Not like a movement she could compare. Not a snake, no kraken could wind their way through her self that way. It felt like a simultaneous tug at her insides, a quivering worm, one tortured with a burning lens. The motions were visceral, out of control.

And it settled in the pores of her skin, gushing out and pooling in the palms of her hands. She had to control that haunted creature and it gave in the second she let it in, still moving on its own, but not fighting its occupier. This was one vicious parasite.

“Anna!”

Her eyes shot open and she was looking through the eyes of said demon. That was until she felt something else yanking on her brain and she gasped with the sudden sharpness of a headache, clasping her hands above her head and hissing.

“I’m sorry, I had to.” She heard Wanda’s voice, it was so much closer than before. She turned around to understand what she was talking about and saw the girl crouched next to her, one hand held close to her temple and in the corner of her eye she noticed a red glow finding its origin from the tips of her fingers.

“What are you doing?” Her voice sounded raspy and her eyes were burning. Everything looked different. She got her old vision back for some reason.

“You were in it too deep.” Was her only response as the red glow faded away. She knew what this girl was capable of. America had made her stay in said country; a difficult and very public thing to handle. Why? Because of what she was able to do with her gifts.

That’s what they called them, but she knew damn well that it was a burden. One she had been blessed with as well.

“What do you mean?” She rubbed her head, the pain had gone but the question stayed.

“You got to it, Anna. You did it, but…”

She leaned back and sat down. “You couldn’t hear me anymore. I saw it dripping down your hands and I warned you, but you didn’t listen. I didn’t want to touch you I, I didn’t know… how you’d react. So I gave you a little kick.”

“In the brain?” Annabelle gasped.

“Just enough to pull you out.”

She looked around. There was nothing left. Staring down at her palm she only saw the imprints of her nails into her skin there.

“I’m sorry.” She croaked out.

“No! Don’t be.” She let out a chuckle, her eyes wide with amusement and enthusiasm. “That was- well, I thought we’d go easy, but that’s not a problem.” She laughed.

“See” She said and gripped Annabelle’s shoulders “You can call it up if you want to. That’s the first step of controlling your powers.”

The first, she thought, The first of how many?

Taglist:

@humanexile

[everlarkficexchange]

Feast Your Eyes - Chapter 3

by: @lovely-tothe-bone

Written by: @ra3lynn3 @savvylark @lovely-tothe-bone

Prompt 91: Peeta as the tatted, ex-rocker owner of bakery chain (like in in DC-Balto area called dangerously delicious pies). Katniss is an attached (engaged or otherwise unavailable) food critic or reporter doing a piece on him but she and P can’t deny the attraction. Angst and such ensue. [submitted by Anonymous]

Rating: M; later change to E

Warnings: References to child abuse, sexual innuendos, eventual smut

A/N: Surprise! Happy Friday! Here is the rest of Everlark’s Meet Ugly to kick off the weekend. It’s a lot more fun, and will probably make a lot more sense, if you read Chapter 2 again ; ) If you haven’t read any of FYE yet there is a link on Ch 2 to Ch 1. I want to thank @savvylark who had a fairly heavy hand in writing the actual dessert tasting. She took my fragmented descriptions and dialogue and created flowing structure. It was amazing how with such broken, random sentences she somehow knew what my brain couldn’t translate to the page. Together we tweaked and tweaked it to perfection, even up to last night! Her and @ra3lynn3 are absolutely amazing, I feel very lucky to be creating this with them.

Regaining her senses, she shoved her trembling hand into his large warm rugged one.

“Katniss Everdeen. Thank you for finally showing up.” She was not going to let him off the hook, no matter how attractive he looked.

Peeta’s cheeks flushed, “My apologies, I was held up at a bakery sponsored event.”

Katniss was vaguely aware that his voice resembled the one from the phone calls but struggled to reconcile what she had just witnessed of him with the kind way in which he spoke.

“Do you normally make a habit of overbooking yourself?” Katniss remarked.

“Not if I know a woman so charming as yourself is involved.” Peeta laughed lightly and winked at the silver eyed beauty.

“Mr. Mellark let’s –”

“Peeta.”

“Fine, Peeta,” she enunciated through clenched teeth. “I generally record my interviews, so if you could just sign this release form, stating you’re ok with that, we can finally get started.” Katniss tossed the paper on the desk and plopped onto a chair, preparing the recording app.

“No problem. Fire away when you’re ready.” After signing Peeta leaned back and checked his phone as he rubbed a finger at his temple.

“How about you tell me what that entrance out there was all about?”

His eyebrows rose at the question, then he nodded in understanding. “You don’t know who I am, do you?” he queried with a hint of a smile.

Katniss shook her head, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

“I’m a musician, I played lead guitar in a band called Nightlock.” He paused waiting for any flicker of recognition. “We were regionally popular with a solid fan base all over Washington, which turned out to be incredibly beneficial when I moved forward with the bakery.” He explained.

“So that fanfare is part of your routine?” Katniss cocked a brow.

“Ah, no. I mean, that is a…ah…common reaction, yes.” He paused, rubbing at the back of his neck. Gone was the charismatic rocker she had been confronted with, the change unsettled her.

“I usually avoid the front as much as possible. I mostly handle special orders and events, plus teach skills to my employees. When I’m here I am locked away in my own world; measuring, mixing, kneading, icing, piping, sculpting, molding, painting.” Peeta’s cerulean eyes burned brighter as he spoke.

Still, Katniss refused to dismiss his display earlier. “Then why did you come through the front today? Trying to show off?”

“No!” Peeta denied with his hands stretched out. He shook his head and looked down with a laugh, “I misplaced my store keys.” He admitted.

“So how does this bakery run if the owner isn’t on time and can’t keep track of his keys?” She challenged. Katniss was all too familiar with this type of behavior, this pattern of thoughtlessness especially set her off.

“If you must know, I was swarmed by a herd of tiny children.” Peeta deadpanned.

Katniss scowled, “What does that have to do with either of those things?”

“Have you ever wrestled your way out of a mob of sugar high six-year old’s? I’m lucky to have made it out alive. Apparently, the store keys weren’t so lucky, they were discovered at the scene of the attack.” He chuckled.

Messalla’s voice interrupted them, “Freshest possible, boss.”  He slid two plates filled with warm samples of baked goods on to the desk. The bakery manager flashed Katniss a proud smile and walked back to the kitchen.

Katniss admired the various confections, longing to dive in after the forty minute delay.

“Look,” Peeta continued, “you just caught me on an off day. You wouldn’t be writing this piece unless Decadent had generated enough buzz to catch your interest, am I right?” She reluctantly tore her eyes away from the delicacies to give him a half hearted nod of agreement.

Peeta smirked, “So, I must be doing okay, especially if The Feast sees fit to do a special interest feature on my bakery and I, rather than the normal dessert spread?”

Katniss nodded again but refused to look him in the eye. She was letting her nerves over the assignment and her frustration with Thom wind her up, taking it out on Peeta. She drew in a slow deep breath, willing herself to give Peeta Mellark a chance, even if he was a smidge arrogant–.

Peeta nudged a plate closer to Katniss interrupting her thoughts, “You’re the food critic, now is your chance to find out that we aren’t famous for our motorcyclist ex rocker. I’ll let the desserts speak now.”

Katniss glanced up through her lashes and found him smiling patiently. She eyed the plate and decided to start with a bite of black forest cake. Before she could contain it, a low moan slipped out. Peeta snickered as she clapped a hand over her mouth.

“I guess that means you’re convinced I’m worth your time?” He leaned back in his chair with a smug look on his face and laced his fingers together behind his head.

“Your wickedly delicious desserts are worth my time.” She corrected, swiping another bite of cake. “One delicious sample won’t earn your bakery a glowing review though, Pastry Man.”

Katniss froze, wondering where the words had come from and how it had sounded to Peeta but he was already moving on so she quickly dismissed the thought.

“Ok try this.” He handed her a portion of apple fritter, his fingertips grazed across her fingers as she scooped it up.

She pretended not to notice the tingling that unfurled where their hands brushed. She did notice Peeta’s concentrated gaze, Katniss foolishly suspected for a moment that he felt a thrill as well.

The journalist cleared her throat in an attempt to regain her resolve, “What else do you have for me to taste?”

At Katniss’s words Peeta gave her a look that revealed her double entendre. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth to try to explain just what she meant but Peeta graciously began a rundown of all the treats, pointing out Decadent’s best sellers. “These cheese buns are always sold out before closing even though we make two batches per day.” The lightly seasoned buttered cheese bun seemed to dance over her tongue. Katniss’s delight was as evident as it was contagious.

Peeta bit his lip at her pleased expressions.

As colorful as they were fruity, the tarts did not disappoint, with just the right combination of sweet to tang. Katniss couldn’t believe how incredible each one was, like bursts of spring and summer. Since her hiring at The Feast Katniss had had more than her fair share of cupcake tastings but even these simple creations were impressive to her astute palette. The croissants were beyond ideal, the crispy flakes shattering to reveal tender insides. She nibbled muffin bits, surprised at the unique flavor nuances in even the typically mundane classics. On and on it went, every dessert morsel as scrumptious and unique as the previous.

This baker was especially innovative, possessing a keen and discerning palate for flavor harmonies. She reasoned that Peeta Mellark was in no need of attention and praise though, once the article was printed he would see the flattering words.

“Well now I know they don’t line up around the block just for a glimpse of that pretty face of yours.” She teased the baker, reluctant to admit her true thoughts.

“You think I have a pretty face?” Peeta bantered back, batting his eyelashes.

She scowled and rolled her eyes while Peeta laughed at her reaction.

“So what’s your favorite so far?” Peeta asked.

“The triple chocolate eclair, I could live off those.” She groaned. “And the cheese buns. It’s a crime for one person to be so talented.”

Peeta’s hand covered his mouth but Katniss did not miss the earnest smile barely covered by his fingers.

“I worked hard to learn my crafts, Katniss. None of this has come easy. I committed all my time to honing each skill I possess.”

Katniss considered him for a long moment then returned to her notebook to compose the last of her reviews.

“So why a bakery?” She asked around a mouthful of cinnamon roll, licking icing from her fingertips.

Peeta’s eyes flitted away just before a bright grin overtook his face, “Baking runs in my family, on my dad’s side. The Mellark’s have always owned a bakery.”

Peeta’s voice grew wistful as he handed her half a pizzelle, “I learned how to bake cookies before I learned how to read. A couple years ago the band was ready to retire. I was ready to get back to baking and everything just sorta lined up. I catered a few high-end events, the right people noticed and offered to help with the startup. Really, I couldn’t have done it without – “

A harsh buzz drowned out his words, his phone started to slide along the desk before he grabbed it.

Peeta’s eyes flashed alarm but he immediately schooled his features, then he was on his feet.

“I have to go. I need to leave right now.” Peeta scrambled around the office, shoved his arms in his jacket, yanked both gloves on, and snatched his keys.

“I am so sorry Miss Everdeen; please can we reschedule?” His gentle blue eyes pleaded.

Katniss nodded mutely, too stunned to respond.

“I’ll send you a message!” Peeta threw over his shoulder as he dashed out.

Peeta clenched his fists around the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. He felt his rage building inside at the unfairness of it all. Eli was a child Peeta mentored, only 14, too young to suffer at the hands of the people he should have been able to trust.

“Home is supposed to be a safe place!” Peeta yelled to the empty seats in his vehicle.

No child should fear their own home. Peeta shook his head in disgust, at the injustice many foster children have dealt with, abuse in a foster home. Peeta had kept his cool as he filled out the report at the police station but on the drive home, privately, he was honest with his internal turmoil.

Eli came for his shifts the previous week at the bakery with several tell tale signs of physical abuse. Bruises in strange places, excuses that just didn’t fit, “I fell,” he remarked. “You know brothers,” he dismissed and “I’m just clumsy.” All excuses Peeta had heard before.

Excuses and lies that easily fell from Peeta’s own teenage mouth.

The young boy Peeta had taken under his wing wouldn’t admit any misconduct. Peeta asked further questions, only to be shut down. From his own experiences, Peeta knew he had to try a different approach. Unless the boy was willing to admit the truth it, it would have only broken the boy’s trust if Peeta called social services himself. He had to build that trust and earn Eli’s respect.

Peeta pleaded with the boy to tell his mentor if he was ever in trouble, without hesitation, Peeta would be there for him. Today Peeta had an especially terrible feeling in his gut. When Eli didn’t show up for his shift, he knew to keep his eye out for his phone. He didn’t want to cut the meeting short with the intriguing sweet and sour journalist, but when he received the ‘X’ sent from Eli’s phone, he knew what was more important.

With each of the teens Peeta mentored he had worked with them to set a plan in place. If they were to find themselves in trouble, they would send Peeta a text, a predetermined code. Peeta would pick them up when they needed help, ask questions later. Some of the kids chose to simply text an ‘X’  like Eli did.

As he drove, Peeta replayed the incident in his mind. The battered young boy, trying to hide his injuries, the pleading for mercy from his own foster parent, before Eli’s eyes met Peeta’s. The look of relief that Peeta saw wash over Eli brought a cold chill down Peeta’s spine.

It was all too familiar.

Peeta’s hands started to shake so intensely, he had to pull his car over.

[dancer4813]

Under the Mistletoe

Took some time today to edit/revise this fic I originally wrote for @teammompike​ a year ago, based on this post. It was a pleasure to revisit, and I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season!

Summary:  Keyleth gets in the spirit of Winter's Crest and takes full advantage of the opportunity. Words: 2.1k [AO3]

Pike was the first to notice the berries, when they were wandering through the streets of Whitestone examining some of the local merchants’ wares.

“Keyleth, is that mistletoe?”

Keyleth turned her head to smile down at Pike. “I’m so glad you noticed! I found some on a tree when I went out to the forest earlier, and thought it was perfect for Winter’s Crest!“

The gnome tiled her head to one side. “You know what mistletoe means, right?”

“Of course,” Keyleth said, grinning. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“I suppose…”

“Pike! Did you still wanna do the arm-wrestling contest?” Grog asked, coming over to them. “It’s startin’ soon!”

“Yes, but give me a moment!” she said, opening her mouth to say something to Keyleth before apparently changing her mind and turning back to Grog.

“Grog, do you know what mistletoe means?”

“Missle-what?”

“Mistletoe,” Pike repeated, gesturing up to Keyleth’s antlers.

“I mean, looks like berries to me,” Grog said with a shrug. “And I’ve never really liked green things, like the leaves on them. They never taste good.”

“Come here.” Pike gestured for Grog to crouch down and Keyleth went back to looking at the various jewelry on display, hiding a chuckle.

“Wait, really?” Grog exclaimed from behind her, and Keyleth turned to see Pike shushing him but nodding, grinning.

“Does that mean…”

“Only if you want to,” Pike said with a shrug. “But it’s tradition, so…”

She gave him a knowing look, and he stared at her for a moment before turning back to Keyleth.

“Do you know what mistletoe is?” he asked her. Keyleth laughed, unable to hide it, and nodded.

“I think so,” she said, and Grog considered her for a moment before stepping forward and placing a hesitant but firm kiss on top of her head, barely needing to stoop because of her height.

“Any more participants for the arm-wrestling competition?” came a general call from behind them, and Grog straightened up.

“Happy Winter’s Crest, Keyleth!” he said quickly, already backing away to get to the tables. “Pike can explain the mizzle-toes if you ask!”

“Thank you, Grog! Happy Winter’s Crest!” Keyleth shouted back with a laugh. She looked back to Pike, who was smirking.

“You don’t need mistletoe explained, do you, Keyleth?” she asked, and Keyleth shook her head.

“I think I’ve got it pretty well sorted, but thank you, Pike.”

“Well, I might as well get in the spirit of the season,” Pike said. “Right?”

“Of course! I mean-”

“Pike! Are you joining the arm-wrestling competition?” Grog bellowed from behind them.

“Yes! Give me a moment!” Pike yelled back, leaning to the side. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a smile, and beckoned Keyleth down to her level.

“Sorry I couldn’t stay a bit longer,” Pike said, but Keyleth only shrugged.

“Go kick their butts.”

“Anything for my favorite druid,” Pike murmured, standing on her tiptoes to kiss Keyleth on the cheek. “Happy Winter’s Crest, Keyleth.”

Keyleth returned the kiss and pulled Pike into a quick hug. “And the same to you, Pike.”

“Pike! They’re startin’!”

“Oh- gotta run!” Pike exclaimed, peeking around Keyleth’s shoulder. “See you later!”

And she ran off to join the other contestants at the array of tables in the square.

Keyleth, chuckling behind her fingers, made her way over to Scanlan, who was absentmindedly humming and tapping his foot along to a tune played by a lively string quartet. She lowered herself onto the bench at the table next to the bard, watching the musicians as he hummed.

“What’s the name of this song?” she asked, trying to sort out the rhythms and figure out if she’d heard them before. She didn’t think she had, but Scanlan seemed familiar with it.

“An old folk song,” he said, stretching and glancing toward her. “But the lyrics were…”

He trailed off, blinking twice at the white berries tied securely onto either side of Keyleth’s antlered headdress.

“What about the lyrics?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“The lyrics?”

“The lyrics to the song,” she said, gesturing to the quartet. “You said that the lyrics were…”

“Ah, yes,” Scanlan said with a short sigh. “The lyrics were lost to time, I suppose they’d say. I once met an older bard who knew them, but I was with Dr. Dranzel at the time and we were simply passing through, so I never learned them myself.”

“That’s too bad…” Keyleth said, trailing off as the song finished.

“You know, mistletoe has a particular meaning around this time of the year,” Scanlan said, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. “A very particular meaning, if you get my drift.”

“Of course it’s got an important meaning,” Keyleth said, reaching up to adjust the berries on the left antler, doing her best to hide a smile. “Why else would I be wearing some?”

Scanlan seemed at a loss for words for a moment, and Keyleth watched the musicians arrive at the correct pages in their music, and start playing together, an upbeat and vaguely familiar tune that Keyleth was sure she’d heard at a previous Winter’s Crest - probably the one in Emon a year prior.

“I really don’t think… Oh, fuck it,” Scanlan said, hopping up from the bench to bow to Keyleth. “May I have this dance?”

“Well, if you insist, though I’m not the best dancer…” Keyleth said, chuckling as she stood and Scanlan practically dragged her to the center of the square, where a few other couples had already started something of a jig.

Keyleth had never learned many social dances - the Ashari used dance less for communal purposes and more for representing the elements around them - and she had never really been one for coordinated movement. (Her father had always said her talent made up for her lack of grace.) And yet, somehow, Scanlan was managing to lead her around the dance floor expertly, skipping between couples and keeping up with her hesitant steps despite the large height difference between them.

Well, until the song drew to a close and Scanlan attempted to dip her, his arms hardly long enough to wrap around her torso, her weight too much for him. He whistled quickly, summoning Bigby’s Hand to support her, and gave her a quick kiss on the corner of her lips that she barely was able to return before he pulled back, grinning, his chest heaving as her own was while they both gasped for air.

“Thank you for the dance, my lady,” Scanlan said, adding a flourishing arm of embellishment to his bow. “And Happy Winter’s Crest.”

“No, thank you, Scanlan,” Keyleth said with as neat a curtsy as she could perform, her face flushed with excitement and exertion. “And a Happy Winter’s Crest to you as well.”

Throat dry and spirit light, Keyleth waved goodbye to Scanlan and made her way to the tavern, coming out with a tankard of water after only a minute or so and taking a seat at one of the empty tables lining the street, looking around happily at the festivities.

“That’s some lovely mistletoe you’ve got there,” came Percy’s voice from behind her as he sat down.

“Thank you, Percy! I think it’s a nice touch, don’t you?” Keyleth asked, smirking slightly as she turned to face him.

“Very nice. Winter’s Crest-appropriate, as well.”

“Exactly. Though, it is poisonous, you know, which makes it an interesting choice for decoration.”

“Is it?” Percy asked, a smirk of his own sliding into place on his lips. “I guess I’ve never had any reason to eat mistletoe and find out, but thank you for letting me know. Now I’ll be aware should anyone try to feed me some.”

Keyleth laughed, and Percy laughed with her. He pulled her into a hug with one arm, kissing her forehead gently before releasing her.

“Has Vax seen this yet?” he asked, gesturing to the top of her headdress.

“He’s next on my list,” Keyleth said, glancing over to where the twins were standing together, cheering on Pike and Grog in the arm-wrestling competition.

“I usually wouldn’t recommend lists, but I think that’s a good plan,” Percy said, chuckling. “I’ll have to keep watch for that amusing interaction.”

“I hope it will be,” Keyleth said, reaching up to check that the vines she’d druidcrafted to hold the berries in place were still holding strong. “Well, no time like the present, right?”

“None at all,” Percy said with a knowing grin.

Keyleth made to stand, and Percy grabbed her hand.

“By the way, Happy Winter’s Crest, Keyleth.”

“Happy Winter’s Crest, Percy,” Keyleth said with a smile, waving farewell as she made her way over to the twins.

“Hello!” she greeted, approaching the two of them.

“Hello Keyleth!” Vex said, the look she gave Keyleth mildly confused until she replaced it with a wide smile and a wink. Keyleth let her own grin grow for a moment, then worked to school her expression, waiting for Vax to turn around.

“Hey, Kiki,” he said distractedly, watching Pike take down a teenager whose smug smile had been wiped clean off his face. When the gnome stood up proudly and fist-bumped

Grog, he turned to look at Keyleth with a smile that fell off his face after only a moment, replaced with a look of confusion.

“You’ve got mistletoe,” he said, tilting his head to the side.

“No shit, brother,” Vex said, elbowing him in the side. He elbowed her back.

“I just…” he seemed lost for words, and Keyleth made a supreme effort to keep herself from laughing and continue looking innocent and just a little confused at his words .

“Yes?”

“Uh, well…”

“Did you have a question?”

“Well, umm… Do the Ashari have a particular meaning for mistletoe? Being a plant, that is.”

Vax’ cheeks flushed and Keyleth lifted one hand to hide her laughter as she pretended to think about her answer.

“Mistletoe to us means life and longevity, I suppose, and can be used as a symbol of love. It’s also said to grant protection from poison, though I always find that strange since it’s actually a poisonous plant.”

Vax gulped audibly. “Is it?” he asked, his voice higher than it normally would be. “That’s interesting…”

He swallowed once and breathed deeply, then continued. “So, is there any special tradition the Ashari use mistletoe for during the holidays?” Vax asked, shifting from foot to foot with awkwardness screaming from him. Keyleth was quite sure it was the sort she was usually victim of and not witness to, and she had to admit, it felt rather good to be on the other side of things.

“We hang it up around Zephra, I suppose…” Keyleth said, deliberately vague. She found herself glancing at Vex, who smirked and winked at her from over Vax’s shoulder.

“But is there any…”

Vax made a vague gesture to his face and puckered his lips slightly.

“Is there any… what?” Keyleth probed, making Vex catch herself on a laugh.

“Yes, any what, brother?” she chimed in.

“You’re not helping!” Vax shot back over his shoulder. “Any- oh, you know!”

“Do I?”

“Kiki!”

“I don’t understand, Vax,” Keyleth said, softening her eyes with extreme difficulty, since she wanted nothing more than to burst out laughing. “Any what?”

She knew their relationship hadn’t progressed much outside the bedroom, but she hadn’t imagined such a strong reaction from him when faced with a public display of affection.

“I think he means any kisses, darling,” Vex said, stepping forward, which was all the warning Keyleth had before the ranger planted a kiss square on Keyleth’s lips.

It was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one, and Keyleth returned the kiss happily before Vex pulled away, cheeks flushed and with a sultry grin on her face.

“Vex!”

“Oh, but brother, you were just going to leave your girlfriend hanging while you stuttered about,” Vex said, turning back to him.

“That didn’t mean you had to just- I can’t believe you-”

“Vax, of course the Ashari tradition involves kissing,” Keyleth said, side-stepping Vex. “Doesn’t every tradition with mistletoe?”

“Well, I suppose,” Vax said, still looking very uncomfortable, his cheeks pink. “But then why-”

“-Did I wear some?” Keyleth asked, stepping toward him and lifting her hand to cup his cheek. “Why, just to see the look on your face, of course.”

And she kissed him, closing her eyes as their lips met, the warm breath against her face contrasting sharply with the cool air around them.

The kiss itself was soft and gentle and not at all how she had intended to kiss him, but she couldn’t complain. They held it for a long moment, then separated, and Vax sighed before resting his forehead against Keyleth’s, his cheeks still a darker pink than the winter air warranted.

“Part of me wants to be mad at you, but somehow I can’t manage it,” he said, reaching up to cover the hand that was still on his cheek.

“Glad to hear it,” Keyleth said, taking his fingers in her own. “Happy Winter’s Crest, Vax.”

“Happy Winter’s Crest, Kiki.”

[midnightghostwriter]

close encounter

↬ summary: a trip downtown turns into more than you bargained for

↬ genre: fluff

↬ pairing: jay park x reader

↬ word count: 2.7k

a/n: okay so this is 100% just because i like this story and this week has sucked so here have more fluff. istg someday i will update with something new, but for now bear with me and have this instead.

i will probably change the title bc idk how i feel about it lol

The Pacific Northwest was known more than anywhere else in America for being rainy, gray, and cold, especially during the extended winter months. This fact only became more true the closer one drew to the various bodies of water dotting the state of Washington, leading you to wonder what had possessed you to go on this excursion. It wasn’t precisely far to reach the damp streets of Seattle, but it was far enough that by the time you’d arrived at the bustling hub of Pike Street, and managed to orient yourself at the bus stop a few blocks away, the rain was drumming a fiercer beat than the brave buskers trying to earn a few bucks from passerby despite the inclement conditions.

Hood drawn tight about your face, you dodged your fellow pedestrians as best you could with your vision so limited to what laid directly in your path. You were met with success, ducking into the blessedly covered marketplace. Past the inexplicable statue of a golden pig surrounded by flocks of tourists taking photos and into the warmth of the covered walkway that wound between stalls and established shops alike. The warm air was filled with a myriad of scents; soft florals of the multitude of flower stands, the distinctive smell of fish and seafood fresh from the nearby piers, the hidden sour smell of so many bodies packed into the space. It was almost overwhelming and yet you found yourself enjoying it. It was not often you were able to experience it, and you wanted to commit it to memory in as much detail as possible.

Across the cobbled floor, dampened from the rain soaked soles of shoes that had preceded yours, your feet carried you, slowing their hurried rush to escape the less savory weather to a stroll that allowed you to take in the sights. Past the famous flying fish stand where experienced fishmongers tossed the large sea dwellers into the waiting hands of patrons in the crowd; past the classy restaurant that had managed to claim a small section of the market for the more upscale customers; past a natural food stand and another selling an assortment of wares tourists would brandish to prove they had set foot in this cultural hub.

You allowed yourself to fall into the current of tourists and locals alike, you falling somewhere in the middle as you marveled at some wares and rolled your eyes at others. But nothing caught your eye, and you weren’t keen on truly shopping here anyway. So you followed the flow of people until the line of shops once again opened onto the equally bustling street, blinking a bit as you stepped into the dim grey light. Pausing, you glanced about you before deciding to make your way toward the more formal shopping district a few blocks away.

A slight detour to secure a warm drink from the city’s famous coffeehouse, and you were puffing warm air into the damp chill outside the entrance to H&M. Another stream of chattering people helped you through the doors into the store, some trendy song or another filling your ears as you moved off to the side to avoid being run into. Idly you circled some of the sales racks near the doors, picking at vibrant patterns, and simple colors in fashion-forward cuts.

Intent on your search, you didn’t notice the new rush of shoppers come inside just as you rounded the rack. Your indiscretion found you colliding quite abruptly with an unexpected presence, a flash of gratefulness that you’d consumed your coffee and thus avoided splashing the beverage onto them flitting through your mind. The empty cup tumbled from your fingers as you stumbled a bit and reached for the nearest thing to steady you, which just so happened to be a pair of well-muscled arms that had reached for you. As you took a moment to regain your balance, you couldn’t help a twinge of vague recognition for the tattoos that spread across the tanned skin from beneath the rolled sleeves of the person’s shirt. Hadn’t you seen that design somewhere before?

Then you remembered your situation, and a muddled rush of apologies came tumbling past your lips. The words were met with a low chuckle that had your eyes sliding up the body in front of you to meet your victim’s, the sight nearly tearing a gasp from your throat as your own orbs widened in surprise.

“Nah it’s my fault, I wasn’t paying attention,” the guy supporting you assured, hint of a smile playing at his lips. You tried to remember the second nature act of taking in oxygen as a red-hot blush swept across your face. This became infinitely harder when a full smile lit his features at the wide eyes and dropped jaw you were now sporting. “I’m Jay.”

“I know.” The words sprang unbidden from your gaping mouth and you snapped it shut, mortified. Your blush darkened as he laughed again, polite smile now a genuine grin. “I-I mean, I’m…” You eventually managed to provide him with the syllables of your own name and he nodded, repeating it back almost as if he were testing out the sound. Your heart flopped funnily in your chest, eyes darting away from his to focus on a pair of heels on the rack next to you.

“Hey, I’m actually from around here,” he started and you resisted the urge to tell him that you knew that too. “How about I show you some of my favorite spots? You know, as kind of an apology for almost body slamming you into those ugly ass leopard leggings.” At that exact moment you realized your fingers were still resting on his biceps and you tore them away to run a hand through your hair in a manner you hoped was casual, the other diving into the sanctuary of your coat pocket.

“Th-that sounds like fun!” You agreed, hoping he couldn’t hear the nervous strain in your voice or see how your smile wavered shyly under his gaze. You instantly regretted chancing a look at him when you saw his smile bloom again and your heart tripped across your rib cage.

“Great, let’s go,” and you were left no choice but to follow when he turned to lead the way out.

You hadn’t been sure what to expect when you unthinkingly agreed to Jay’s proposal. Maybe he’d bring you to a place in the warehouse district on 1st where he used to practice the dances he was so known for. Or perhaps some hidden corner of one of the parks where’d he sat and thought about the path he wanted his life and his music to take. Hell maybe he was just going to ditch you in some god awful corner of Columbia or something and leave you for dead.

But lucky for you Jay stayed true to you, guiding you along the crowded streets and weaving between alleyways on your own personal tour. Even when he brought you somewhere you had visited in years past, you smiled and laughed at the stories he added to your own memories of the location. With every minute that passed in his presence you found your earlier nerves about being in the presence of someone you so admired slipping, replaced instead with a fondness for the boy beside you.

Pleasant surprise reigned once again when you were dragged (though not quite so forcibly) to a quirky shop of some persuasion you couldn’t discern from the sign. Tucked safely within its warm interior, it suddenly hit you again just who you were with. Sneaking a peek at him, you were startled to find his eyes meeting yours, almost as if he had been doing the same.

“I-is this another spot on the Jay Park Exclusive Seattle Tour?” you asked, trying to tease him and cover up the race horse of your heart in your chest. With a chuckle he shook his head.

“Nope, just looked good and I’m starving,” he replied simply and you snickered.

“Ah, so even the great Jay Park can be won over through his stomach.”

“Is that so wrong?”

“Nah, it’s cute.” The words tripped past your lips before you had time to think, but the raised brow on Jay’s face shed some light on your Freudian slip. “I-I mean, uh, oh shit.” The amused smile on his lips split into full blown laughter as you panicked.

“Pay attention or you aren’t getting anything to eat.” The unexpected reprimand was accompanied by a playful smack to the back of your head, effectively cutting off any rambling apologies or excuses you may have had. Flustered, you glanced at the menu and spat out the first item that looked even remotely edible.

Cowed into silence by your slip of the tongue, you followed him to a table, trying and failing to not overthink every move you made now. Completely lacking any of your usual grace (if you could be said to have even a modicum of the stuff), you flopped into the chair across from him, eyes glued to the granite table top. Jay remained silent, allowing you to wallow in your thoughts that he probably thought you were ridiculous, or even worse you had made him uncomfortable with your comment. God, could this get any more awkward?

Before your brain could spell out each and every way things could be infinitely more awkward, you were started from your thoughts by the appearance of your food. You glanced up from the plate placed before you to find Jay settling back into his seat, already beginning to devour the sandwich he’d ordered.

“Sorry, I should’ve gone to get the food since you paid,” you managed after a moment, your voice hushed with nerves. The reassuring smile he flashed your way sent your heart spiraling out of control and you could feel your blush making its return. You ducked your head, hoping your hair could conceal at least some of the red tint from his vision.

“Don’t be sorry. You say that too much.” He reached across the table and stole one of your fries, smiling teasingly. “Now hurry up and eat or I’m taking yours. I did pay after all, so it’s technically mine anyway.” Finding a small sum of courage with his teasing, you scooted the plate closer to you, rearranging your features into mock offense.

“Nice try but you already gave it to me so it’s mine now.” As if to stake your claim, you lifted one of your fries and pointedly ran your tongue across it before dropping it back amidst its brethren. You repeated the stunt with the top of your sandwich, too caught up in your joke to notice the way his eyes followed the action. “See? Would you really want those now?”

“Jesus, you didn’t have to slobber all over them, Scooby Doo.” You stuck out your tongue again and he pretended to cringe away. With a giggle you picked up your food, taking a bite and finding that you liked it far more than you expected, just as you did your companion.

After the food was consumed (Jay still managing to take a portion of yours hostage, not that you minded terribly) and your energy appropriately restored, you let him lead you from the quaint restaurant and resume your wandering. A glance at the perpetually gray sky, now several shades closer to the black of night, told you that it was probably time to get going if you didn't want to be stuck in Seattle until the morning. Before you could voice these concerns and your need to find the nearest bus stop, however, Jay stopped abruptly, you nearly crashing into him for the second time that day.

“What the heck Jay, say something before you stop like that!”

“Sorry,” he murmured with the presence of mind to look a little abashed at your reprimand. “This is my stop, though.”

“Your-- what?” At last you glanced at the building before you and were surprised to find a hotel. Oh. Of course, he was just visiting so he was probably staying here.

All at once it hit you. This was it. Jay would go inside to his hotel room, you'd board an overcrowded bus, and you'd never see him again except on sns and splashed across articles by zealous netizens. He would go back to Korea and lose himself in his music, and his memories of this day would disappear somewhere over the Atlantic. Your heart twisted painfully at the thought, but you did your best to hide it with another teasing grin.

“Why Mr. Park, what will the keyboard warriors say if they find out I was at your hotel? I should probably leave before they find us!” You made a show of glancing around as if looking for spies in the long shadows of the streetlights and he offered you a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“You know… I'm still going to be around for a few days.” Your eyes dart back to him, though his gaze is focused on the cracked city sidewalk, hand resting on the back of his neck in blatant nervousness. You tell your heart to stop hoping so it won't be crushed later. “We could… Do this again.” Too late. But his words still take you by surprise, washing all other coherent thought from your mind.

“I… What? Huh?” Smooth.

“Today was fun, and I want to see you again,” he says, the words spilling out into the cracks between you rushed, as if he’s afraid taking too long will change your mind. A tentative smile spreads your lips.

“Really?” Your voice is small, hushed with the ghost of a younger girl with a dream like this, hoping against hope that it was really coming to life.

“Really. Gimme your phone.” You slide the device from your pocket and place it in his hand, committing the warm brush of his fingers against yours to memory. With anxious eyes you watch as they fly across your screen and then suddenly you're looking at a string of numbers with his name across the top. “Call me as soon as possible.” Bubbling over with happiness, a giggle escapes you as you tuck your phone away.

“Okay.” He smiles properly at your acquiescence and you think you could get used to seeing it, even if the return of your skipping heart tries to remind you no, you never would.

“It's getting late, you should probably go before it gets too sketchy.” You roll your eyes.

“This place is always sketchy,” you shoot back. “But I guess I should. If I miss the next bus I'll be stuck out here for another half an hour.” And yet neither of you moves. You, because you are afraid the moment you turn away this will all become a beautiful dream and he'll vanish with it, and he because of a reason you don't know and don't dare to guess. But it's now or never, so with your heart in your stomach you wave and turn away. You make it maybe three steps before those already familiar fingers close around your wrist, yanking you back around with a Wait.

And then before you can say anything or process how you're so much closer to him than you've dared to be all day, or the way his arms feel around your waist, or how wow his eyes are way nicer up close, his lips are on yours and holy shit this is the last thing you expected but you definitely don't object. Especially when you lean up just a bit and you realize that you can feel his heart beating just as fast as yours when it occurs to him that you're actually kissing him back.

It's only a second, a breathless, heart-pounding, everything you've ever wanted in the world, second and then he's pulling away, staring at you in a way that has your stomach doing back flips. And then, in true Jay fashion, he ruins the moment entirely to mumble you forgot this.

And fuck if that cheesy line doesn't make you want to kiss him again.

[snuckintobeacon]

Wheels and Feels Pt. III This is an earlier sketch of Skye by @white-rapier. She drew Skye perfectly. I love Skye’s dorky ass smile.

Skye is a Tsundere.

Skye: “NO I AM NOT!”

Andy: “Skye tell the truth. It’s not good to lie.”

Skye: “I am not a tsundere no matter-.”

Andy interjecting, “I’ll take away my fluffy ears from you.”

Skye: “I-THAT’S-YOU! ... .... ... ... Fine...”

Andy: “See.”

Skye and Andy also both have matching tattoos. Skye has a diving lark on the left side of her head that she keeps shaved. She also has a paw print tattoo on her ribs.

Andy has the same diving lark on her neck and also the paw print tattoo (I forget exactly where!)

Now because certain people asked for more... hehe. Here’s how they first met.

At Atlas Facility…                                                          

           “You’re going to love it here Skye,” the lady dressed in an Atlas lab coat said as she tried to wheel me through the sliding doors. I took control of my wheelchair and wheeled faster so she couldn’t push me.

           “I can push myself thank you. I don’t need your help,” I said annoyed. I was only thirteen years old but I was tired of being treated like I was disabled. It made me so mad when all everyone else ever saw was a little girl in a wheelchair.

           “Very well,” my newly introduced escort said. She sounded a little insulted, but it didn’t look like she minded. “As I was saying,” she continued, explaining this facility while showing me the way.

           The hallways were as long as her words, white walled and pristine. I looked around my new home with a burning in my chest. When I was much younger I got into an accident. I woke up days later to find out that I couldn’t use my legs, I couldn’t feel them at all. It was such a shock to me but my parents helped me through it and I continued my life. There was one problem, I was dependent on everyone else. Everyone saw me as just a girl in a wheelchair that needed help. I couldn’t stand that. I wanted to stand on my own two feet again, literally. One day, a man and a woman from Atlas said they could give me my legs back. All I had to do was agree to be a part of their experiment. My parents were hesitant but I accepted immediately and before I knew it here I was.

           “And here is your room,” she said, leading me into a lavish room furnished and extremely clean. “This will be your room for when you are here.”

           I took a quick lap around glancing at everything before wheeling back to the lady. “When do I get to start?”

           “I’m sorry, start what?” she asked confused.

           “When do I get to start walking again? When do I get to start training? When-.”

           “Whoa whoa whoa young lady. Not so fast. In time, in time you will get your chance to walk again. Of that I am certain,” she said calmly holding up her hands to slow me down.

***            Over the next week they either left me alone or introduced me to more adults. They told me that these would be the people that would be working with me for however long it took me to walk again. I tried to hurry them telling them I was ready and wanted to walk again already but again they stopped me and all my efforts. And so it was either me biding my time in my room or the areas I was allowed, or various other meetings or measuring sessions with the people here.

           I thought I was going to get to walk again but right now it just seemed like I was being put into school. I hated it. As I roamed around this facility I ran into many more adults. There weren’t any kids like me around. It was odd too because in what places I could see there were machines building things or labs doing tests. Actually, it seemed like everywhere, everyone was doing tests. It struck me that I hadn’t asked anything about this place or where I was before coming here or accepting the Atlas’ peoples offer. Shaking my head it didn’t matter, all that mattered was that they were going to help me get my legs back.

***            Finally after more days of taking measurement of my body and my legs and more tests they told me how they were going to let me walk again. They were going to build me a machine that would attach to my legs and my spine to let me walk again. It was going to be like I had never lost them at all. With the way the adults explained it was extremely complicated, but the leg braces would connect to my spine and my nervous system directly. I’d be able to feel and use my legs like they were new.

           After more fitting they told me they were going to now do some tests with my spine. I was happy and excited that everything was moving along finally. Soon I could walk. They laid me on a table and I faced down. I couldn’t tell what they were doing but it was silent except for them moving around and setting some things up above and beside me.

           “Are you ready?” an older man asked.

           “Yes,” I said confidently and impatiently.

           “This is going to hurt,” he warned me.

           “Okay. I’ll go through anything to walk again.”

           The man didn’t respond to me that time, he only gave me a weak smile before disappearing from my sight. It was a few seconds before the most excruciating pain lanced through my back. I screamed with everything I had. It felt like they were hooking my spine up to electricity. It arced and raced through my limps and jerked my body uncontrollably. After a while I couldn’t bear it and the screaming didn’t help.

           “St-stop! Please, stop!” I screamed and for a moment the pain subsided. I breathed in ragged breaths and cried rivers out from my eyes.

           The man reappeared, kneeling so I could see him, “You asked for this remember. This is how you’re going to get your legs back. If you want… we can stop.”

           “No!” I cried, “No, please. I want to walk again.”

           “Okay,” and without warning the pain began again.

           I don’t know how long it lasted but by the time it was over I felt like I had died. I almost wanted to die, my body ached and my back felt like it was on fire. I couldn’t even fight back when they picked me up and put me into my wheelchair. The other thing I could do was grunt and moan in pain and displeasure.

           “That’s all for today. You did good Skye,” said the older adult, smiling weakly.

           “Will this… Is this… going to make me walk again?” I mumbled.

           “Yes, yes it will,” he said putting a hand on my shoulder.

           “Good,” was all I could managed to say as I numbly began to wheel myself away.

           One of the ladies tried to stop me, “Skye, let me help you!”

           “I’m fine!” I yelled back, continuing to wheel myself away.

           Outside I wheeled myself through the hallways, barely staying awake. I was so tired, I was in so much pain. My wheels began to scrap the walls as I wobbled through the hall. I wasn’t even sure I was going the right way. Then I ran into a wall a bit too hard, falling face first out of my wheelchair onto the floor. The shock of slamming into the ground made me shriek in pain, grabbing at the throbbing lightning that shot through my lower back. I had heard my chair fly backward away from me and I tried to crawl toward it but it was too far away.

           I had begun to cry, “Stupid chair! Stupid freaking legs! Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

           With my ear so close to the ground I heard the pity patter of someone’s feet running towards me. To my utter surprise, and for the first time since the weeks I had gotten here, I saw another girl. She skidded to a halt, rounding the corner and spotting me laying on the ground.

           “Are you okay?!” she said worriedly and then saw my chair across the hall from my stranded body. “Oh my Gods!” The girl ran up to me and began to drag me to my chair.

           “I don’t need your help!” I tried to yell at her as she grabbed under my armpits and dragged me across the hall.

           “It doesn’t look that way,” she grunted.

           As we neared my chair I managed to shake off of the other girl and land on the ground. “I can get into my chair myself! I don’t need anyone’s help!”

           The girl stared in disbelief at me as I began the long climb back into my chair. She slid over and held its handles, steadying it so I didn’t fall out of it. As I reseated myself in it I moaned in pain, having to lean back against my spine. The whole time the other girl didn’t let go of the handles.

           “Thanks,” I said, “You can let go now.”

           “You’re welcome,” she responded but didn’t let go of my wheelchair.

           “I’m fine, really. You don’t need to keep holding on,” I told her.

           “Can I… at least take you back to your room?” she asked.

           I wanted to yell at her and tell her to go away but I seriously doubted that I could even wheel myself back now. “Fine,” I relented, “but just this once! I could’ve done it myself.”

           “Okay!” she said and gently began to push me, “Which room is yours?”

           “172, in the dorms,” I told her as she began to make turns, apparently knowing the layout of this place. “I didn’t think there was another girl here.”

           “I just got here a few days ago,” she told me, “I thought the same thing too when they brought me here. Oh sorry, I’m Andy.”

           A hand appeared over my shoulder and weakly I shook it, “I’m Skye. Are you here for an ‘experiment’ too?”

           “You too?!” she exclaimed, almost making me run into a wall.

           “Whoa!” I yelped, “Yeah well…” I hesitated, not wanting to tell this new girl everything. Then again she tried to help me and seemed nice enough, plus it appeared like she was in the same situation as me. “Well, the Atlas scientists said that they could give me back my legs, let me walk again.”

           “Oh,” she said a little quietly. “How did you lose them?”

           I cringed, that I definitely didn’t want to talk about. “It was in an accident long ago. Anyways, my rooms is right here. Do you… want to come in?”

           “Sure!” Andy said joyfully.

           Inside my room I found myself a nice spot while Andy took up one of the sofas. It was odd, this was the first time while I was at this facility that there was anyone my age. She seemed so much like me too. Andy seemed about the same age and height. Her hair was bright orange, cut short so that they reached her shoulders. I wondered…

           “So Andy,” I started, “Why are you here? You obviously can still walk.”

           Andy laughed a little uncomfortably at my joke. “Well, I don’t know how to say this.”

           “Come on,” I began to loosen up, “Can’t be as crazy as being able to walk again is it?”

           “Oh, no but uhm… they want to turn me into a faunus,” she said.

           “They what?!” I exclaimed, falling out of my chair again and crying out in pain.

           Andy leapt up and helped me onto one of the couches without asking.

           “Why do you keep helping me?” I asked her as the pain went away once again.

           “Why not?” she said back. She didn’t shoot it back but just said it kindly like asking if it wasn’t normal to help someone else.

           “Well I’m fine on my own you know. Anyways, why are they trying to make you into a faunus? That doesn’t make any sense,” I said.

           Andy chuckled a bit and then put her finger to her chin thinking, “I don’t know or understand it myself but they are and they want to try to make me into one.”

           “But why volunteer for something like that? You did volunteer right?”

           “Haha yes I did and well, it just seemed interesting you know? Like, becoming a faunus just seemed so alluring,” she said dreamily, gazing off into nothingness.

           “You’re weird.”

           “So are you! Not letting others help you.”

           “I didn’t need help, I just had fallen out of my chair!”

           “You would still be in that hallway if I hadn’t help you I think.”

           “I’m sure I would’ve made it back just fine. Just because I can’t walk doesn’t mean I can’t do things myself.”

           “I never said that you couldn’t do things by yourself. You seem very capable.”

           “I! Well! You know! But!” I stammered, unprepared for something like what Andy had said.

           She laughed as I stumbled through my words, “Capable or not I still would have helped you. It’s just… the right thing to do.”

           I crossed my arms and pouted, knowing that I had lost this little argument.

           As I turned back we both spoke at the same time, “Hey,” “You.” Then there was that awkward silence as we both waited for the other to continue.

           “You go first,” I told her, wanting to hear what she had wanted to say.

           “No it’s fine, you can go first,” she said kindly.

           “It’s fine Andy, go ahead,” I tried again.

           “No you…” she paused and eyed me, “Same time?”

           I grinned back at her, “Alright.”

           “On three,” she said through a likewise grin.

           “Okay, One,” I started.

           “Two.”

           “Three.”

           And at the same time we shouted, “Do you want to be friends?!”

           We both stared at each other for a moment in disbelief and then began laughing hysterically. I laughed so hard I fell onto the floor… again.