#THE GALL TO BE DROP THE EQUIVALENT OF A “Hope this helps :)” AFTER THE MOST INSANE SHIT I'VE EVER READ

[datanazush]

Every once in a while I think of this utterly insane description on the Starsector wiki

[honeymoonjin]

enjoy your stay - chapter seven

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

A/N - Just for now, I’m trialing not putting in chapter links on this post to see if it helps more people see it since the tumblr search function cuts out posts with links. If there’s not a big difference, I’ll put them in later, but to see the first chapter if you’re a new reader, please click on my blog and check out my masterlist.

Warnings for sexual content in this chapter: public sex, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex, dirty talk, mild degradation, dom!Jimin but also slight sub!Jimin (you’ll see).

ENJOY YOUR STAY ↳Boss!Namjoon, Chef!Jin, Receptionist!Hoseok, Bellboy!Jimin, Bartender!Jungkook, Accountant!Yoongi, Photography student!Taehyung ↳Some inappropriate language and cursing. Later chapters have sexual content.

SUMMARY ↳Working the graveyard shift at a hotel isn’t the most exciting job in the world, but your coworkers are certainly happy to have you here.

CHAPTER SEVEN ↳You have a new roommate in your apartment, and you just hope he doesn’t burn the place down while you’re out on your road trip with Jimin.

It only took the energizer bunny a couple hours to move his stuff into the spare room and have some of the lunch (or what was your equivalent of a midnight snack) you made for him before he was acting like he owned the place.

You stood beside the couch, staring in complete bewilderment as he furiously smashed keys on his computer, headphones blasting echoes of gunfire around the small apartment and feet resting on the edge of the coffee table.

He had yet to take notice of you standing there, too hyper-focused on the flashing graphics on his screen. You suddenly felt the urge to call up his parents and ask them how the fuck they did it.

It was time for the two of you to leave for work, and while he was in his uniform, a slick black shirt and pants and his apron wadded up by his freshly shined shoes, but while you were ready to walk out the door, he was immersed in a shootout on your living room couch.

Was it your responsibility to get his attention? Did his parents tap him on the shoulder and send him on his way? You sighed and bent down to wave a single hand in front of his face.

He blinked wildly, and even had the gall to dry and dodge your hand and keep playing for a few seconds before he really paid any attention to what was going on.

He let out a little gasp and paused the game, tossing his laptop on the couch and bounding over to the door. “I have so much more time for activities, noona! This was the best idea ever!”

You flicked him your most convincing smile and took him outside to get in the car. You were beginning to think maybe it wasn’t the best idea ever.

After the two of you arrived back home after an exhausting night, squinting at the rising sun and trying not to scuff your shoes by dragging your feet, you sat him down at the kitchen island and told him some ground rules.

You were leaving in an hour or so to go to Jimin’s house, where he would take you to his competition and back again for the day, and you wanted to make sure Jungkook didn’t burn the apartment down in your wake.

“Okay, no oven while you’re gone, gotcha. Can I use the barbeque?”

You frowned. “I don’t have a barbeque.”

“Yeah, right there.” He gestured, and you followed his gaze.

Your mouth fell open. “You mean the stove?”

“Whatever you want to call it, yeah.”

“N-” You had to stop and take a calming breath before you could continue. “Do not use the stove, Jungkook. You have microwave rights in this house, okay? Anything more advanced than the microwave, don’t touch it.”

“Ah, this is gonna be so sick. Mom and dad never let me stay at home by myself for more than a couple days.” He rocked the stool back and forth and glanced around the apartment. It was basically just two bedrooms, a bathroom, and one big space where the lounge, kitchen and laundry all resided. That didn’t seem to faze him, and you felt like it was probably for the best that he had limited space to roam while you were gone.

“I’m not going to be gone a few days, I’ll be back early next morning.” Namjoon had allowed both you and Jimin a night off for the occasion on the condition that if Jimin won, he had to thank his amazing boss in his speech. Potentially Namjoon didn’t realize it wasn’t the Grammys or the Oscars, and the winners didn’t hold a trophy and give speeches, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, or so Jimin claimed.

The two of you would camp out at a hotel in the town over, one Namjoon personally recommended, and head back early the next morning so that you could sneak a nap before work on the Sunday night.

Surely if the doe-eyed kid in front of you could be trusted with an entire shelf of alcohol, he could be trusted to keep your apartment undamaged for twenty-four hours. God, you really hoped so.

Jimin’s house was pretty close to the apartment block, and when you pulled into his driveway he was already sitting on his porch, two massive suitcases propping him up.

The shock that came with seeing him for the first time in casual clothes almost made you crash right into his house when your foot came down on the accelerator instead of the brake, but once you safely parked, and he rolled his luggage over to you, you took the time to fully appreciate it.

He was just wearing a relatively loose white tee and a pair of high waisted jeans rolled up at the ankles, but he looked so good it was almost a crime to stick him in all-black while on duty. The whole bellboy schtick was cool, but the dark colors really took out all the definition. His shirt was thin enough that you could just about see through it when the sun shone right, and you busied yourself with the aircon buttons to avoid drooling.

He seemed a million times more comfortable in regular clothes, and when he hopped into the passenger seat, he gave you a blinding grin. You did your best to return it, but you were more than a little distracted by the way he rested the ankle of one leg over the knee of his other, pulling his jeans taught across his thighs, and the way his hands, now covered with several silver rings of various sizes, squeezed at the muscle absentmindedly.

Or maybe not so absentmindedly. His smile turned mischievous and his eyes glittered.

With a start, you realized he had asked you a question. “Yes, absolutely,” you stammered.

His tongue shot out to wet his bottom lip. “I asked you how you were. But if you’re that eager to get on the road, let’s go.”

You laughed nervously and backed out of the driveway.

“So, what’s your dance like for the competition?” you asked a few minutes later. “Do you make up all the dance moves yourself?”

You had furiously kept your eyes on the road this whole time, but even now you could feel his intense gaze on you. “It’s called choreography, and yes. I’ve been practicing for a few weeks to get it perfect.”

“Do you have a costume?”

“Why, would you like to see me in a leotard?” You spluttered a little, but he chuckled heartily before continuing. “Man, you really know nothing about dance, do you?”

“I haven’t actually seen a proper dance in real life before. Just never got the chance to, I guess.”

“So, I’ll be your first, then?” His tone was deliberately provocative, and the warm palm that came down to rest on your knee certainly didn’t help you concentrate on the road either.

You coughed a little and laughed nervously. “You can turn on the radio, if you’d like.”

“No, thanks.”

“Oh- Okay.” He waited for you to continue your poor attempts at small talk, but you didn’t know what to say anymore. His hand fell away from your leg.

It took almost half an hour of strained silence before you spoke up again. “Look, I’m really sorry if I’m making things awkward. I don’t want to ruin your day.” “Don’t apologize. My day is getting better every minute I spend with you.”

“Well,” you quipped, “maybe I should start charging.”

“I’d pay.”

“I don’t think you could afford me, Jimin. I’m not as cheap as Hoseok.”

He let out a laugh, the both of you relieved that he weird tension in the vehicle had evaporated. “There must be some other way I can repay you,” Jimin simpered in a high-pitched tone.

You snorted. “You can’t offer sexual favors as payment for sexual favors, you idiot. That’s a pretty poor business model.”

“I disagree. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. It’s a very common practice.”

“It’s only worth my time if you give me something that I couldn’t give myself. You’d have to show me something new, otherwise what’s the point?” You risked a glance over to the passenger seat and caught Jimin staring right at you, with a dark look in his eyes.

“There are many things I’d love to show you, baby,” he vowed in a sultry tone.

You were hoping he didn’t see the way your hips shifted, and thighs clenched, but his quiet chuckle told you he probably had.

When you arrived, Jimin directed you straight to the venue where the competitions were being held.

The whole affair was rather dull, at least for you, as he waited in line forever to get forms to fill out, went back in line to hand in the form and get a numbered sticker to slap on his shirt, practiced for a couple hours while you scrolled aimlessly through Twitter, sat through about twenty other dancers before he even went on, and by the time he did it was the sheer power of your horniness that kept your eyes open and focused on him.

There was something magical and extra-seductive about seeing him dance in person. His videos were good, but the flat angle couldn’t really compare to the rolls and turns playing out in three glorious dimensions. It was pure luck that had you swallowing your last gulp of water before he dropped onto his back and thrusted up into the air twice in time to the music. You were certain that if there was anything in your mouth other than your own tongue, you would’ve choked on it at the sight.

Jimin placed third, which, while still an impressive achievement, your vagina found incredibly ridiculous. You drove him, gleaming with sweat and grinning his head off, to the hotel, but he insisted on going in to reception himself.

You acquiesced and waited in the parking lot until he returned.

“So crazy,” he proclaimed, “there’s only one room left, and it’s only got one bed!”

You take a couple seconds to make a show of silently looking around the deserted carpark.

He smacks his lips and laughs a little. “Anyway, let’s go on in.”

The hotel room is nice, but it’s beyond cramped, and you wince as you see the single bed pushed up against the wall. “I’m not doing this,” you say to him as he unloads his suitcases.

“Doing what?”

“I’m not going to do the whole ‘oh, what a shame, we’re stuck in the same bed, let’s have sex’ cliché. It’s unsexy and overused. Work harder, Park Jimin.”

He pauses for a moment, hovering by the foot of the bed. “The lady doesn’t like clichés.”

“No,” you reply flatly.

He sighs but continues setting up the room. Once he’s done, he wipes his palms on his jeans and turns to you with a fresh smile. “Want to go for a dip in the pool?”

You glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Almost eight in the evening. “Can we get something to eat first?”

He shrugs. “The restaurant is buffet-style.”

“Fuck, that’s hot.”

As you had insisted, the two of you didn’t do the hotel room sex cliché that night. You top-and-tailed, one pillow each, and tried to avoid kicking each other in the face.

Both of you were early risers since you hadn’t actually slept during the night in a long time. Jimin took an early morning swim; you, who hadn’t thought to bring a swimsuit, lounged on the warm concrete, swirling your toes across the surface. As much as Jimin insisted pool-sex was definitely sexy and definitely not a cliché, you didn’t fuck then, either, and while keeping your dignity was morally admirable, your metaphorical blue balls made you irritable on the drive home.

Jimin can feel the tension but does nothing to stop it. In fact, you can tell that him offering to drive is just so that you can stare at him more. He fiddles with the rings on his fingers, stretches his neck so you can see his Adam’s apple bob up and down, and clenches the steering wheel so that his biceps flex.

He knows exactly what to do to ramp up your sexual frustration, and he laughs every time you wriggle around in your seat, helpless to do anything about it. Now that you’ve left the privacy of a hotel room, you’ll just have to sit and wait.

You gaze forlornly out the window in a last-ditch attempt to not get too riled up, but a sign that flashes past causes you to gasp.

Jimin glances at you, eyebrows raised. “What is it?”

“Gas station 1km away. Can we pull over?”

“Do you need to pee?”

“Don’t start playing coy now, Park Jimin. I need to fuck you or I’m going to go insane.”

He chokes, murmuring a low ‘fuck, finally’ under his breath before pulling into the gas station as it approaches.

The station itself, much to your dismay, is packed with cars filling up before they head to work for the morning. Instead of parking up front, however, Jimin pulls around behind the building to where the crusty old bathroom is.

It’s pretty out of view, and clearly not in high demand, but you whine at the thought of sharing bodily fluids while in that scummy concrete block.

Jimin hears you and tuts. “Should’ve let me fuck you in the hotel room. Or in the pool.”

The moment the car is in park you jump out and follow him into the bathroom, too aroused to care about anyone seeing you go in together.

The door locks behind the two of you and you whine again. The floors are filthy, and the sink has a concerning green sludge running down the side. “Good luck showing me something new in this hellhole.” You grab the ends of your shirt and lift it over your head.

He grins but doesn’t hesitate before skipping straight to unbuttoning his jeans and tugging the zip down. “It leaves me room for improvement for next time,” he reasons, “now take your pants off.”

You’re too startled at his urgency to protest, and once you get the ends past your sneakers, your jeans are crumpled up on the floor beside your shirt before you know it.

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Panties.”

You huff a little, sad that he didn’t once comment on the racy black number before telling you to take it off. A little slower, you slip off your panties and take a little extra care to make sure they don’t touch the slightly damp floor and rest on top of your other clothes instead. While you’re at it, you unclip your bra and do the same.

You stand before him in nothing but your shoes, and Jimin, still fully dressed, looks you over, running his gaze over every inch of skin.

You impatiently strut up to him and push at his chest until he allows you to walk him back against the wall.

His eyes haven’t left your body, but when his back hits the concrete he sighs out contentedly. A hand snakes around you, resting on your lower back and pulling you flush against him. The cold metal sends shivers up your spine and your fingers curl up around handfuls of his shirt.

His other hand reaches down to latch on firmly to your ass, and he cranes down to nuzzle into your neck, causing another wave of violent shudders to wrack your body.

While it’s a relatively sunny day, this bathroom block is in shadow behind the main station, and it’s too cold to be naked and not doing anything. You wriggle in his grasp, brushing your chest against the fabric between you until your nipples harden into peaks, more and more sensitive as they stiffen.

“God,” he whispers into your neck, so close that his lips brush against your skin, “I can’t fucking believe you didn’t let me do this in the hotel room.”

You laugh, but it’s more breath than sound, and the only heat that remains is the one blazing between your thighs. “Stop making excuses and just fuck me already. I’m starting to get a little concerned that the whole slutty bellboy thing is overcompensat-”

He doesn’t let you finish your thought, using the hand on your ass to lift you up onto him. You instinctively wrap your legs around his hips, but you don’t have time to process anything before he’s rolling his crotch up into yours in one smooth motion, the coarse fabric of his jeans catching on your swollen clit. “Ah!” Before you can think of muffling the sound, you’re crying out and jerking your hips inwards.

The arm behind your back is the only thing holding you up, and his other hand is clutching firmly onto your ass, so Jimin tips his head down, staring at his crotch before glancing back up with you, pupils blown with lust. “Care to do the honors, baby?”

You acquiesce, reaching down between you two to dip a hand underneath his jeans, bypassing his underwear completely and lifting his heavy cock out of his pants. It’s pretty average in terms of length, but the girth more than makes up for it. Fuck, you want it inside you.

“You know,” you state conversationally, although your voice can’t be much louder than a whisper, “the baby nickname is getting a little old.” You rub the palm of your hand roughly down the underside of his dick, batting your eyes innocently as he curses and chases your touch with his hips. “Maybe you could call me something a little hotter.”

He hums in satisfaction when you spit into your hand and begin to steadily pump him, mouth hanging slightly open in a sinful pout. His lips quirk up into a lazy smile. “Yeah? Would you like it if I called you a slut? A dirty whore that will fuck any of her coworkers if they ask nice enough? I’m sure a chef has talented hands, but you can’t beat a dancer’s hips.”

He lifts you up a little more and begins rutting the side of his cock against your slick lips, but your head tilts back and eyes fall shut at the thought of Jin using his gifted fingers to get you off. He probably had an amazing palate, too. You wonder if he’d like the taste of your-

“Fuck, you are a little slut, thinking about someone else when I’m right fucking here.”

You sigh dreamily and tip your head back down to him, trying to school your expression into something that resembled disappointment. “If I were you, I’d take that as a sign that I wasn’t doing a very good job.”

His eyes darken and the arm around your back slides down to your ass to join the other. You wobble, almost falling backwards before you link your hands around the back of his neck and stare at him in disbelief. You feel him shifting his stance a little below you before his mouth stretches wide in a devious grin. “I’m going to make you wish you never said that.”

Your eyes widen and you throw your head into his neck for more stability a second before he lifts your hips clean off of him, takes a moment to line up, and drops you down onto his cock without mercy.

It doesn’t go deep enough to hit your cervix, but the delicious stretch rips a guttural moan from the back of your throat, and you arch your back, to feel him move inside you.

“Yeah, you like that, baby?” he asks in a gravelly tone. “You like my cock buried inside your tight cunt?” The image of Jimin in his bellboy uniform, teasing you and flirting playfully feels like a world away from this Jimin, balls deep inside you, whispering the filthiest things inside your ear. “I’m feeling extra generous today, so you’re going to be a good little girl for me and take everything I have to give you, won’t you?”

You hum contentedly, enjoying the feeling of his cock pushing up against your g-spot when you tilt your hips just right. Jimin growls, and that’s your only warning before he pulls a hand around to your front and flicks your clit painfully. You cry out, foot shooting out and banging against the wall as you’re hit with the sudden burst of sensation.

“Won’t you?” he asks again in a low tone, giving the raw bud a serious of lighter flicks, enjoying watching your muscles dance at each one.

You whine desperately. “God, yes, I will! Just fuck me, please Jimin!”

He slowly pulls himself out, until only the head remains tucked inside, enjoying the feeling of you clenching desperately around him then snaps his hips, plunging into you yet again and setting a brutal pace. Your fingers curl even tighter into his shirt, knuckles going white, and the grip your legs have around his waist loosen as he drills into you.

Each thrust up into you hits a different place inside you, and you moan in rhythm with his relentless pace, breaking off into a whimper whenever he drags against your g-spot.

As he moves, you feel yourself clenching down on him every time he pulls out, and soon enough he’s panting. “Fuck, baby girl, I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“That’s, ah fuck, that’s not my problem,” you chime, feeling the momentum of pleasure building in your abdomen. Leaning so you’re fully stable against his chest, you reach down a hand and begin massaging your clit desperately, trying to propel yourself over the edge.

He replies in staccato, spitting out a word or two with every thrust. “You’re such a little brat,” he says, bending his knees a little so that he can hold you steady and just fuck up into you.

The increase in tempo, paired with an angle that rubs against your top wall deliciously, is too much for you, and your legs shake wildly as you move the fingers on your clit at a frenzied pace and fall apart in his arms, coming with a long, drawn-out cry.

He rides it out with you, but once you stop shuddering and your vision clears, he pulls out and lets you back down onto the floor gently.

Even after the satisfaction of an orgasm, you still feel a thrumming in your pussy that isn’t helped by the emptiness left behind, but Jimin’s much more desperate than you, running a shaky hand through his hair, head tipped back onto the wall, the other hand jacking off as fast as he can manage.

The sound of your slick as he moves is increased tenfold now that it’s not being muffled by your pussy, and you fix your shirt on the floor in front of him and fall to your knees.

He opens his eyes blearily when you push his hand away but breathes out a high-pitched whine when you take him in your mouth.

You often found guys to taste so much better when they were covered in your arousal, and it meant there was no risk of him cumming inside you, so you were happy to hollow out your cheeks and suck Jimin off, playing gently with his balls as you did just to hear him whine again.

Gone was the alpha male who took what he wanted. The Park Jimin gazing down at you with an open mouth was completely different; soft and needy, and letting out the most beautiful noises.

One of his hands fell to your hair, but instead of holding on so that he could control the blowjob, he brushed your hair away from your face so he could see you better and rested it on your cheek.

The intimate move triggered a warmth in you of a different kind that before, but you put all your focus into chasing his orgasm, using the flat of your tongue to provide some texture. It only took a few moments before the pace of his whimpers sped up. “Ah, ah, please, oh, I’m gonna cum, baby.”

Hot bursts flooded your mouth and ran down your throat. You swallowed around him one last time before pulling off and looking up at him.

He panted for a few seconds, thumb stroking your cheekbone, before he gave you a lazy smile. “It’s fifteen cents off a liter out there, I don’t suppose you need petrol?”

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[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Truth Pt. 14

Master List @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Request:

What’s up sug! sorry you’re struggling right now but I’ve come to help you If you could bring this to light for me I’d absolutely love for YOU TO DO JT So basically Bucky X Enhanced reader who are fuckin enemies. Hate each other to every last fiber of their beings bc Bucky is rude and she calls him out on it. AnywHs, they get drunk, truth or dare (go crZy baby) and LOTS LF dirty talk if u wanna do smut but if u don’t then buck taking care of her while she’s drunk cause she admitted her feelings

Pairing: Bucky X Reader (Enhanced)

Summary: Since The Avengers gave you a home the only blight has been Bucky Barnes, a ghost from your past that you can’t seem to shake. It makes you hate him. The feeling, it seems, is mutual. But… a simple game reveals that maybe things aren’t quite so simple. (Post Winter Soldier AU)

Warnings: Angst, feels, blood, pain, and... fluff

A/N: I’M NOT CRYING YOU’RE CRYING! 

FUUUUCK. Thank y’all so much for your support and love of this series. It’s been a runaway train from the beginning and I’ve enjoyed even the utterly painful parts. I thought I was gonna wait and post this on Wednesday like I usually do but honestly... after the last chapter I think everyone waited long enough. 

I hope you all enjoy this. Thank you thank you thank you!!!

Tags are open!

@midnightdream83 @mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415@peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @handplucked@buckysstar @sam-jae @marauderconvos –harder @for-the-love-of-the-fandom  @marvelousmeggi  @jewelofwinter  @fairislesheets @animegirlgeeky  @lydklein1  @katecolleen @siriuslycloudy2  @zannemes

The concussive force from the superheated air knocks everyone back. Free of Stark’s grip, Bucky hits his knees, gaping at the glowing pillar of white light reaching from the ground into the sky. It would be beautiful if he knew you weren’t trapped in the middle of it.

It only lasts for a couple of seconds before it’s gone. The sky cracks with thunder as it cools, clouds swirling in response to the unnatural disturbance. The ground shakes heavily for several minutes, buildings creak, a few close to the now leveled main building collapse.

Then… silence as rain begins to fall from the angry sky.

“J… Jarvis… talk to me…”

“The energy emitted… it was equivalent to a massive nuclear detonation… somehow Miss Y/N managed to contain it… had she not the city would have been decimated… The force caused an earthquake, around a five on the Richter scale. There will be damage but nothing major.”

Bucky hardly registers what any of that means. He bolts to his feet and begins running. Only one thing matters to him at this moment. He has to find you, no matter what shape you may be in he has to bring you home, he will not leave you here… he can’t. If Stark or anyone tried to stop him he’d kill them. That simple.

He’s about to jump into the crater that was once the main building when a hand grabs his shoulder. Spinning on his heels he’s ready to lash out at who ever had the gall to stop him. Steve’s mournful gaze freezes Bucky’s rage in an instant.

“We’ll find her Buck. I swear.” Bucky stares at him for a second before managing a nod and the two men slide down.

Desperately his eyes scan for anything that will give him a clue. But it’s just endless, charred, steaming rubble.

He hears Tony overhead, “Come on Jarvis, tell me you got something.” If Jarvis responds it’s not on everyone’s coms. Sam is also above them scanning, while Hill and Clint help Natasha down into the crater. No one seems certain of what they’re looking for, only that they have to look. Have to try.

After about ten minutes that feel like five hours Sam pipes up, “I think we got something!” He’s near the center, landing softly, no one sure how solid the ground beneath them is.

Bucky rushes over as Jarvis chimes in on all their coms, “Weak life signs. She seems to be in an air pocket.”

“Help me with this guys,” Tony goes to a large slab of wall. Carefully Bucky, Steve, and Tony lift the slab and lay it gently down, not wanting to cause the debris to shift too heavily. There’s still an unnerving groaning sound from somewhere beneath their feet.

They move more debris, working at a miserably slow pace. Finally, they lift a piece of strangely warped concrete and…

He sees you, the debris around you curved and almost melted forming a sort of cocoon. You’re on your back, large patches of your tac uniform have been burned away, your exposed flesh black and red and blistered, your right arm is pinned under your back at a sickening angle, clearly badly broken. Blood trickles from your mouth, nose, and ears. But you’re alive.

Unthinking Bucky drops down hands reaching, aching to touch you. “If you touch her I’ll put a bullet in you Barnes,” Sam barks settling next to you. Bucky glares, “Moving her you could kill her and I’m not going to fucking let that happen. We clear?”

He’s right. Bucky nods. Thankful for Sam.

“Jarvis we need the Nightingale.”

Within five minutes you’re on some kind of Stark tech stretcher. Sam carefully arranges your busted arm, while straps gently and automatically hold you in place.

“Let’s get her home,” Clint says from behind Bucky, patting his back in an attempt at comfort.

Everyone is quiet on the ride back. Sam monitors your vitals, your worryingly faint heartbeat drops over and over and Bucky feels himself die just a little each time. Thankfully you’re still hanging on when they land at the tower.

Medical is prepped and ready. Instantly they surround you, Dr. Cabot barking orders in her stern tone. Bucky follows but Steve grabs him, “Let them help her.”

“Get the fuck off me Steve I can’t-”

“You can’t go in the O.R. Buck,” his grip tightens, “you can’t. But they’re gonna do everything they can. She’s tough as nails. She’s gonna pull through this.” Tony walks past them guiding Natasha and Bucky shoots him a murderous glance. “Come on.”

Bucky refuses to leave medical while you’re in surgery. Everyone but Tony waits with him. Even Bruce joins them looking stressed. It’s just as good. He’s of the mind to literally rip Stark’s spine out.

Six excruciating hours later Dr. Cabot comes out. “We got her stable.” Bucky shoots up. “Some… some of the injuries were unique… the heat…” She shakes her head, “We did our best. Now we wait and hope.”

He feels like he’s gonna be sick. “Can… c… can I…”

“Soon,” The doctor gives Bucky a tender smile. “Get cleaned up and by the time you’re done we’ll have her ready for you to see.”

Bucky nods but can’t seem to bring himself to move. Clint and Steve coax him to the elevator. All the guys come along to the locker room they use for post mission clean up. No one willing to leave him alone.

Cleaned and changed they all head back up. Natasha is sitting with Hill, their hands clasped, in the little lounge area when they get there. Both looking morose.

“You can go see her,” Natasha’s voice is far away. “Wanted you to be first.”

Bucky runs the short distance to the private rooms the medical bay has. In the door, he freezes. You’re black and blue, bruises already blossoming. Bandages cover your arms from the burns, plus a few on your face.

“She’s breathing on her own,” Dr. Cabot comes up from behind, startling him. He jumps, but doesn’t lash out. “Sorry.” All he can manage is a nod in response before stepping in.

“That’s a good sign,” her tone is trying to reassure him but it’s not working. “She’s gonna need a new shoulder but that can wait… Just… there were internal burns. We aren’t sure how they’ll heal… and the head trauma… that’s always tricky.” She sighs, “Time will tell. Being enhanced… changes things, hopefully in this case for the better. No one should have made it through that… She’s strong.”

He nods as if anything she said sunk in and walks over to the bed collapsing on the chair next to it.

“Talk to her,” he looks up and she’s smiling. “Let her know you’re here. I’ll check in later.”

As soon as the door clicks behind her hot tears begin to stream silently down his face as he stares at you. He’s terrified to touch you, so scared that he’ll somehow make this worse. And talk… his tongue feels like lead in his mouth. Even his brain is swirling with different languages, unable to lock on to his mother tongue.

This is his fault. That’s the only solid thought he has right now. He shouldn’t have let you go in that room. Shouldn’t have let you anywhere near this mission… You hating him forever for being a controlling asshole would be better than this… at least you’d be alive.

Then he realizes there is one thing. One thing he has to find a way to say. Russian, Mandarin, French, Spanish, they all try to come out before he coaches his tongue to the proper English syllables. Leaning close to your ear he whispers, voice thick with regret and grief, “I love you, Y/N. I’m so sorry…”

-

Five days later and your bruises have faded some, the burns healing, but you haven’t opened your eyes… Bruce assured him that you clearly have brain activity, that’s supposed to mean you’re still with them… still fighting. It’s not much comfort.

Bucky has hardly left this room, he’s spoken even less… well to anyone but you, and even then only when you’re alone. Steve and Natasha have kept the most vigil with him, he thinks they’ve worked out some sort of six on six off schedule. The others come in at least once a day, sad smiles and soft words. That is everyone but Stark who’s kept his distance.

Steve finally convinces Bucky that he needs to step away for more than five minutes. Well, convinces isn’t the word… he practically begs. Bucky agrees on the grounds that they won’t leave the tower and Jarvis is to notify him immediately of even the smallest changes to your condition.

They only go up to the roof for about a half hour. The air and sunlight actually do feel good, they clear his head just enough.

As the two men ride back down Bucky turns to his friend, “Thank you.” Steve looks shocked for a moment before relief floods his face. They’re the first words he’s said to him in days.

Without a word, Steve pulls Bucky into a bone crushing hug. In all their years of friendship, Bucky rarely let himself be weak around Steve. He needed to be strong for the scrappy little shit because no one else was gonna… but now, in this elevator after both their worlds have fallen, risen, and now Bucky feels as if it’s fallen again he leans into Steve’s strength for just a minute. “You got it, Buck.”

As they approach your room music spills from the open door. Bucky feels the blood in his veins turn cold. Stark.

“I know you have to hate this one Sparks, so feel free to tell me what a lame ass I am… berate me… anything…” Tony’s voice is rough. He’s leaned back in a chair balancing on two legs by your bed, hands cradling the back of his head. “The 90’s were a tough time for music but there were some gems.”

“Bucky, don’t-” Steve warns. Stark shoots up as Bucky barrels into the room.

He grabs Stark by his tee and slams him against the wall. Surprisingly though all the hateful things he’s thought to scream at Stark over the last few days won’t fly from his lips now. Instead, he holds him there, cold eyes boring into him.

“For what it’s worth I wanna kick my ass too…” The sincerity in Stark’s voice hits Bucky like a blow and he releases him though he doesn’t move away.

Stark’s eyes wander behind Bucky to you, “It was the one thing-” His voice cracks and he clears his throat trying to gain composure before continuing. “It was the only thing she ever asked of me. I asked her to trust us, to join us. I asked her to play hero… fuck.” He runs a hand over his face, catching the tears before they can fall. “She never asked anything of me… until you.” Bucky turns away, not wanting to hear it but unable to leave.

“She asked me to promise that if shit went sideways I would keep your dumbass safe because she knew you’d try to follow her into any deathtrap that came up. The only thing she asked.” His voice is shaking with emotion, “And you can hate me until the day I eventually eat it but I’d do it again in a heartbeat for her.”

Silence rings between the three men, only broken by the sounds of the music. “Even if you hate it play the music. There’s some stuff I know she’ll like. And even if she doesn’t… maybe she’ll get annoyed enough to wake up and have at me.”

As Tony pushes past him Bucky’s arm shoots out, holding him in place. He doesn’t look at him, scared that if he does he won’t be able to say the words. “I don’t hate you, Tony.” Finally, he turns, Tony’s face is bereft, “Keep the music coming, she likes your shitty playlists.”

A sad smile curls Tony’s lips. “They’re only shitty because you’re too old to know what’s good, Manchurian.”

-

Day 12 rolls up and Bucky begins to feel himself shutdown in a way he hasn’t since he’s been here. It’s a detachment he was familiar with as the Soldier, as though he’s observing the world through plate glass.

He’s going through the motions they all expect. Eating, drinking, talking when he needs to, even managing a half hearted smile here and there. All of it is muscle memory though, autopilot to get through the times when other people are watching.

Honestly, it’s easier to feel that way. Easier when they’re there and he has to play a part. When they’re gone… he feels it. It’s like there’s a crushing weight on his chest. He thinks he’d take the chair a thousand times over this grief. Rather mind numbing pain than this slow suffocation.

But still, he stays by your side. He plays Tony’s playlists, some of his music, some of yours. Sometimes he sings to you, softly, old songs he remembers from his life before. Maybe he tells you about something he remembers or old dreams he had of who he’d be. Over and over he whispers those those three little words he should have been saying long before now.

By day 17 he’s just numb. Your bruises have faded, the burns almost healed leaving pink scars in places that may linger for a few years. The doctors insist that your brain activity is promising but you haven’t even fluttered your eyes, not even a squeeze to his hand, nothing… despite the times, alone in the wee hours of the morning, that he’s begged for you to.

On day 21 he thinks this is worse than death. Just watching you lay there day after day night after night. Performing for the others. Hoping and hoping and hoping for something that may never happen.

Tonight he doesn’t sing, doesn’t play music, doesn’t tell stories. He lays his head down on the bed, silence holding you both tight. Tears stream from his eyes and he counts your breaths until oblivion takes him.

-

No one ever tells you what it’s like to almost die.

There’s always the wondrous stories about people who die and come back. The white light, loved ones telling you it’s not time and all that shit. People just don’t seem to talk about the almost. They don’t talk about the void of pain, the fear of dying that lingers after your body ceases to listen to you. There’s no beautiful light or love when you’re screaming but no one can hear you. Nothing poetic in pushing through the endless darkness of unconsciousness.

You’ve been here before though. Many times. The almost is like an old friend that rises to greet you when you feel the roof give way beneath your feet. It’s happy to drag you under as the debris settles around your body, still pulsing and glowing with pure burning energy.

Unlike those other times though you don’t beg for death and you don’t pull through to spite the reaper either. This time you fight because there’s something worth living for. Someone, or someones rather, who you aren’t willing to leave behind. Not yet. So you push back against that insidious pull of death, scream and beg your body to obey you to move just a little, just something so they know.

It seems like an age before you feel the pain sear through your right shoulder. For a moment you don’t remember why your shoulder should be hurting or why the hell you’re sleeping on your back. Then it all barrels into you. The pain is less of a nuisance then, you savor it because it means you won, you’re still alive.

The room is silent but you can hear a familiar steady breathing to your left, feel a familiar weight across your torso. Bucky sleeping, his left arm over you, right hand tightly gripping your left. You have to open your eyes, have to see him… You don’t know how long it takes you to force your eyes to open but it feels like hours.

Slowly they creak open, heavy and strangely sore. Even though the light is dim it feels like looking into the sun for a second. Eventually, they adjust and you drag your gaze to the left.

Your heart rises in your parched throat. His eyes look puffy from tears, lips chapped. His beard seems so much longer… how long were you… it didn’t matter.

First, you try to open your mouth, but nothing happens. Your tongue feels heavy, thick, unsure of how to function anymore. It takes a few frustrating minutes but finally you get it under control.

You squeeze his right hand as tight as you can manage. He shifts a bit but doesn’t seem to register until you squeeze once more. Instantly he shoots up, eyes wide.

“Y/N?!”

Your voice is nothing but a rasp, barely even a whisper, but you have to say it… just in case you never get to again. “I love you.”

Those spectacular eyes of his well with tears instantly, his chest heaves, like he hasn’t taken a breath in days. “I love you too, Y/N. So much baby doll. I love you.” That’s all he manages, words stumbling over themselves, before he breaks.

Bucky's lips crash into yours silencing his sob and you tangle the fingers of your left hand in his hair. His forehead rests against yours, his gaze making your heart skip a beat.

“I thought I lost you, baby.”

“You’ll never lose me, Bucky. I’m all yours.”

-

The next few days are a strange, disorienting blur. You feel like you forgot how to be awake.

Despite almost a month of unconsciousness you constantly feel yourself drifting off. Dr. Cabot tells you that your body is still healing. It was a massive trauma and even super soldiers have a breaking point. Still… it’s annoying. You want to be awake, to study the faces of your friends, dry their tears, hold on to every single moment.

Unconscious or awake though Bucky is there. His reassuring warmth a constant by your side. But… you can see what this has done to him. He’s ragged, barely sleeping, his eyes haunted. The relief that floods his face every time you wake up nearly undoes you.

Four days later Dr. Cabot comes in, a smile on her face. “Good news. I’m clearing you to go home.” That one little work sends warmth flooding through you. Home. Home with Bucky. You turn to him, your face hurting from the smile that just burst across it.

“Don’t get too excited though, you’re not done seeing me. I’m still going to be checking in and as soon as Tony has your shoulder replacement ready we’re scheduling your surgery.” As much as you hate the thought of being under, you’re sick of having a useless arm, you nod. “But since you live here I think being back in your own space will be good. For the both of you.” She gives Bucky a stern look.

“Thanks, Doc.” You eek out despite the emotion welling in your chest.

A couple of hours later and you’re in the elevator, thankful you talked your way out of a wheelchair. It felt good to be on your own two feet, even if you were leaning on Bucky for support.

When the doors slide open a welcome banner hung above the door greets you.

“Are they going to jump out and yell surprise when we walk in?”

Bucky looks down at you, clearly just as caught off guard as you were. “No idea.”

Cautiously he opens the door but to both of your relief no one jumps out, in fact, no one is here at all. What is here are sprays of flowers and a ton of food. A lump rises in your throat as you pick up the hand written card left on the bar:

We all thought you two would like some time alone. Enjoy the snacks, pizza will come later. We each picked a movie we think you’ll like, they’re queued on your TV. Jarvis has your ‘Welcome Home’ playlist ready to go for whenever you want to annoy Ice Man.

Glad you’re back with us, Sparks.

-The Team

PS

I picked out the flowers, because we can’t trust these boys to get that right.

-Nat

Bucky wraps you in his arms, pulling your back flat against him, “We’re home, doll. Really home.”

The weight of those words almost make you weep from pure joy. Hydra had tried time and time again to take everything from you both, to prevent you from finding home and happiness. Hell, even your childhood home was nothing but a lie… But here… With these people, with him, together you had all found something special. More than home, you found family.

Turning in his arms you grasp the back of his neck with your good hand. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

His lips are soft against yours, this kiss unhurried. After all, why rush something so sweet. It truly hits you then that you want nothing but this for the rest of your days, no matter how many or how few there may be. Nothing but him.

Pulling back from the kiss you stare into his face. You want to remember every line, every freckle, every single detail of how he looks in this moment.

“What is it?” Concern flashes across his features for an instant.

“Truth or dare?”

“What?” He laughs.

“Come on. Truth or dare?”

“Um, dare.”

“I dare you to marry me, James Buchanan Barnes.”

The laugh that tears through his chest is pure joy. Every ounce of exhaustion slips from his features as he lifts you up and sets you on the counter top. He doesn’t say anything, just takes your face in his rough hands and kisses you until you can hardly breathe.

“Well? Do you accept my challenge?” You grin up at this man you love.

“I do.”

“That’s supposed to come later I think.” You tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

“I will happily accept that dare, Y/N.” Another laugh falls from his lips before he kisses you once more. “My turn,” he says breaking the kiss. “Truth or dare?”

“I feel obligated to chose dare, it got us into this whole mess originally after all.”

He nods in acknowledgment. “I dare you to take my name.” All you can do is smile at him. You already planned on it, your original last name left a bad taste in your mouth after everything. Your silence seems to unsettle him though, “I know it’s old fashioned but-”

“I’d love to.” He looks shocked. “Y/N Barnes. Has a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah,” he covers your face in kisses, “it does.”

Epilogue to come.

[overcaffeinated-creative]

Snippets from a never to be finished Fullmetal Alchemist Fanfic

Seriously, I went digging through my old files on the laptop I fixed and found some things. I give it a little polish to add some clarity and decided to post it.

“None of those points are suitable for an actual debate,” Bly pointed out, willing to martyr herself to cut this short. While organizing her thoughts she rushed to eat some of her chocolate ice cream. “Religious morals are subjective to the institutions that create them. Any points you bring up from such materials then present as facts are completely unsubstantiated.”

Dark eyes looked down to mourn the sundae she would not get to finish. Matilda planned to buy her another one later for this effort.

“Furthermore, those religious morals vary between individuals. What I believe and what you believe are not the same thing. Even all of the followers gathered beneath the umbrella of Elohim’s religion have different interpretations among themselves. How can you hold one higher than any other with the intent to apply it to the nation? If my holy texts claimed that the sky was green would that trump science? Does it mean everyone has to agree that the sky is green entirely because that is what my religion believes?”

“Anyone can look up and clearly tell it’s not green,” Rolanda shot back in the most matter of fact tones. “That would count as you being delusional instead of an actual question of morality. My point is how innately corrupt alchemy is. Everyone uses it to skip the natural order of things in hopes of getting ahead in their mortal lives. There’s not true rules for alchemy, no morals, or anything to rein it in. The entire thing is flawed and corrupt from the first application.”

Matilda eyes flitted to Karoline who was seated next to her. She appeared to be busying herself with the last of her ice cream cone instead of giving the debate any mind. In truth, she would be listening to the entire debacle. Rolanda threw all credibility to the wind yet again. All the two had left was to watch the rest of the train wreck unfold.

It was painfully apparent Bly had to fight off the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she knocked the rest of her long ponytail over her shoulder. “Alchemy has rules and regulations just like all other sciences. We are scientists and do have advancements. Alchemy has innate rules with the biggest one being equivalent Exchange. How we apply our knowledge is the only thing that differs from other branches. We use transmutation circles and symbols to help analyze, deconstruct, and reconstruct our experiments. Beyond those laws, we have government regulations. Certain types of transmutation are forbidden and punishable if caught.”

“Who gets to make up those rules and enforce them? None of us common people are involved. Just those of you who practice and regulate it. I know they’ll cut their own some slack. If alchemy was just outlawed for everyone it would be prevent needless debates and wastes of life.” 

Matilda bit her lip to avoid cutting in before Rolanda’s next lines. They all knew what was coming next, Rolanda’s absolute favorite talking point: Human Transmutation.

“Who stops those who commit the sin of human transmutation? Elohim’s the only true creator in the world yet you alchemists spit in his face time and again. What stops people from perfecting that abomination? No one.”

“Those who have committed human transmutation stop themselves.” Matilda deadpanned while swirling her lemonade around the paper cup. Her brows furrowed as she fought back the ball of tension building up within her stomach. She was sick of having to defend herself and her likes against the zealotry of those around her. However, the corner of her mouth did turn up at Bly and Karoline’s stifled laughter. “Have you seen the after effects of a fully rebounded transmutation circle? I burnt half my hair off with a fire mishap. One for something like that kills those involved every single time.”

 -

-

-

Hands dropping, Rolanda tried to utter an apology but Matilda coldly cut her off. “Save it. I’m happy to know where I fucking stand with you now.” Full lips pressed into so thin of a line they all but disappeared. “Just pray for me like you seem so wont to do. Plead with your fictitious sky god to forgive my little heathen soul. Waste your time sending thousands of unheard and unanswered prayers in hopes of being absolved of your guilt.”

Fire raged in her as heat flooded her body at the gall of Rolanda so callously throwing the Ishvalan War into this. Quick to her feet, she picked up her cup and was forced to acknowledge the tremor in them. Her barely suppressed rage wanted to force its way out. Glancing at Karoline’s tear stained face broke her. Her cousin came back from that war physically whole but in pieces. There was worries his best friend, who came back the same, would off himself before it was over. Alchemists knew something was wrong with how Ishval happened. Even the young ones like themselves held pain awareness for just what their powers could be used to do. 

“Pray until your little heart bursts from how much you care. But, don’t you dare fucking tell me a single thing about it. Keep it to yourself along with your sermons. You can say whatever you want about alchemists but there’s one thing we do that your kind doesn’t: we actively show we give a damn. You can recite your scriptures and sing your hymnals all you want but it changes nothing. Your type pities the hungry, offers them hollow words, and then run along to your church feats. If they’re lucky they get your scraps. I want no part of your hypocrisy now or ever again.” Matilda turned on her heel then stormed with a pointed grace.

[plumoh]

[HQ!!] Then again

Part 1 | Part 2

Word count: 1348

Summary:  Atsumu is the better alchemist, after all. / FMA AU.

Note: AO3 link. Slightly more based on 2003 than on mangahood!

Chapter 1: Then again

You know you've always been the most childish, or that's what people keep saying; you speak the loudest, you complain, you pull pranks on your brother, in short you're the little brother, despite being born before Osamu. Technically, you are the older brother, but many people dismiss the mention since you guys are twins, it doesn't matter who got out of your mother's womb first, you're identical anyway. Yeah. Yeah, identical, identical hair, identical face, right down to the right dimple when you both smile, identical legs that run just as fast, identical hands that draw symbols and circles to perform the best alchemy.

You both love alchemy, you started studying together and still do, but at one point it turned into a competition—who could transmute the fastest, who could add the most details, who could learn a trick the easiest. Osamu has always been the more level-headed, but you pride yourself in being the focused one when it comes down to alchemy. You can, and you quote Tobio, 'absorb anything like a sponge', whereas it requires a little bit longer for Osamu to grasp the concept you understood twenty minutes ago. You can't help but be smug and gloat about it, because hey, you're not identical anymore! You're clearly the superior alchemist, you know more than Osamu and you read more than him, nobody can tell you it's not impressive.

“That's good for you, 'Tsumu,” 'Samu has the gall to say with the most neutral expression he's ever worn.

“Come on, don't tell me you're not jealous!” Because there is no way 'Samu isn't feeling the teeny bit frustrated. You've fought for the last piece of cake, you've fought for the top bunk, you've fought to get first into the bath, there's no way the topic of alchemy will be disregarded that way.

“Well, I'm a bit envious, that's true.” 'Samu shrugs and takes a bite of his pudding (hey, when did Mom buy puddings? You wanted one too!). “But I'm not as passionate about alchemy as you, you know? Like, understanding and creating stuff is nice, I guess, but I'm not going to smother you with a pillow because you're better than me.”

You stay silent. This...is not what you expected. Osamu looks perfectly calm, staring at you with his sleepy eyes, like he just announced it was only four o'clock and that you could eat snacks. It's unnerving. It doesn't satisfy you.

“Wait, so you're willing to smother me with a pillow for other reasons?” you point out, gasping and widening your eyes. 'Samu rolls his eyes.

“If you come down and try to wake me up again for one of your stupid jokes, I won't hesitate.”

“That's fratricide, 'Samu!”

Osamu shrugs again and decides his pudding is more interesting. To this day, you don't know if he deliberately dropped the subject because he sensed something was off.

***

You are twelve when you come up with a formula for human transmutation. Mom died two years ago; you feel you should have studied harder, should have dug deeper into Dad's books, because two years are way too long to come up with one single formula you're not sure will work. Osamu helped a bit, though you didn't tell him what you were researching; you spouted some lies about healing alchemy and preventing other people from dying because of illnesses, and Osamu might or might not have bought it, but in the end you managed to achieve what you intended to do.

On a sunny morning at the Kageyama's dining table, you whisper to your brother, “I know how to bring Mom back.”

'Samu doesn't move. He doesn't drop his fork, nor does he tear his gaze away from his plate.

“That's what you've been researching,” he flatly says.

“Yes.”

He slowly, slowly turns his head towards you. “Human transmutation is impossible.”

“You don't know until you try,” you argue with a frown. “The world is huge, there's at least someone who succeeded.”

“And why haven't we heard from them? If they succeeded in something impossible, then I'm sure every alchemist would know.”

You grit your teeth. No, you can't hesitate now, after looking and looking and finally found the last shard of hope.

“Maybe they didn't want people to know, with notoriety and all,” you suggest.

'Samu finally puts down his fork in his plate and lets out a heavy sigh, staring at you with worry, anticipation, confusion? That's too many emotions, 'Samu.

“I don't know, 'Tsumu. I can't think of an exchange equivalent enough for Mom's body and soul.”

“I have everything figured out, don't worry, okay?”

You offer him a grin, one you always used to show whenever you thought of a good prank to pull on Tobio, and somehow it's enough for 'Samu to give back a tiny smile that makes his dimple appear.

“I kinda figured out you wanted to bring Mom back. I'm not one hundred percent sure about this, but I trust you, 'Tsumu. And you're better than me at alchemy, after all.”

Hell yeah you are. You know you are. That's why you took it upon yourself to find a way to recover the happy family you've lost.

Tobio comes back from the kitchen, and frowns that adorable frown when he sees you're still not finished with breakfast.

“We're gonna be late for school,” he mumbles. “What were you talking about?”

“Your little head won't understand it, Tobio-kun!” you cheerfully reply.

“Alchemy again?”

“It's not as if you don't spend your days inhaling some sort of oil or dust in that workshop of yours!”

“Well, we're not so different then!”

“'Tsumu, stop teasing Tobio and eat your food, he's right,” 'Samu butts in.

“Yeah, yeah, school.”

Who needs school when you have the most awesome plan in existence?

***

No. No. No, no, no, no.

No no no no no no no—

This isn't what you wanted. This isn't what was supposed to happen. No. Gods, blood. There's blood everywhere, splashed on the ground, on the walls, on your clothes, on your face and—

Red, flaring pain shooting from your leg that drags the paint over the whole room as you crawl, cheeks tear-stained and throat strong enough to let out rapid, choked breaths. You can't think, you can't process what's happening, yet your brain is full, full, full, on the verge of taking control of your body to keep moving, to do something.

You're dying.

“'Samu...”

Osamu is nowhere to be found, and only a pile of clothes lies where he stood. You choke on the smell of blood and the bile you just threw up, eyes stinging and ears ringing, head swimming in a fog you can't clear out.

This isn't what you wanted.

“'Samu...”

You crawl, nails digging in the concrete of the basement, elbows scraping on every tiny rubble. The gaping hole left by your missing leg grounds you in this reality, and then you lift your head and empty eyes stare back at you. Your mind is reeling; you saw things, black tendrils reaching for you, eyes watching with hunger, and they all come together to snap in your brain and that's when everything becomes lucid.

The armor drops on the ground as you punch it. The helmet comes off. Biting your lip in pain, in regret, in hope, you dip your finger in your blood and trace an array inside the armor, on your arms, on your chest, on your forehead, the symbols and the form springing up as if you've always known them. You believe the shaking of your hands is due to adrenaline (not fear, not fear).

“Bring Osamu back. Give me my brother back!”

You slam your hands on the array. Bright blue light envelops you, taking you to a white, blinding place.

The black Gate is sneering at you.

You scowl back. You demand your brother's soul—you stand proud, unwavering, just as It takes your toll.

It's okay. You will fix this. You're the better alchemist, after all.

.

.

.

.

Osamu wakes up with knowledge he didn't ask for.

[puckconnolly]

@thescorpioracesfestival Tourist Challenge 5: The Scorpio Festival

shoutout to my partner in crime, @colestclairs

links to challenges one, two, three, and four

Challenge 5 under the cut

Every day since Rowan had found out Claire was a rider, she went down to the beach and watched her. There were plenty of good riders and plenty of terrible riders, but no one could touch Claire. She and her capall were on the same brainwave. They just understood each other. Claire was patient and gentle with Elemental, while the other riders were brash and sometimes even vicious towards their own capall uisce.

Then there was Finnigan Kendrick. He failed to ever get off his high horse (pun intended) and looked down on every other rider, while simultaneously flashing an irritatingly dazzling smile to the small crowd that gathered each day to watch the training. He thinks he’s got this in the bag, Rowan noticed. Although Rowan hated the guy on principle, she couldn’t help but notice two things. One, he really is quite a beautiful boy, even if he did have the personality of a raisin, and two, he’s Claire’s only real competition.

Rowan watched Claire and Finnigan the most. She watched as Claire would tread dangerously close to the water, and fair quite nicely, and then see Finnigan discretely try to attempt the same thing without much luck. Elemental and Quicksilver were the same breed, sure, but they were nothing alike. Quicksilver just barely tolerated Finnigan, and even then, she was still prone to trying to buck him off. Elemental and Claire, on the other hand, seemed to be cut from the same cloth.

They almost seemed to be friends, if such a thing were possible.

In the days Rowan spent watching the training, she and Claire had become fast friends. Claire and Rowan would laugh about silly things Quicksilver had caused Finnigan to do that day, or Rowan would tell Claire tales of her home.

“New York City,” Claire sighed happily.

Rowan caught Claire’s eye and raised a bemused eyebrow. “It’s just, that’s where I want to go.”

“Really? Why?” Rowan asked. She loved NYC, but Rowan was a born and bred city girl. She wasn’t sure how a Claire would handle all the nonstop commotion all the time.

“Thisby isn’t home,” Claire started. Rowan just stared, confused. “Ok, obviously it is my home, but I don’t feel like I belong here, if that makes any sense.”

Rowan face broke out into a wide smile. Claire laughed, “Right, I forgot who I was talking to. You’re the queen of not belonging here.” Rowan laughed at that and knocked shoulders with Claire.

Suddenly, Claire stood up and yanked Rowan up with her. She dragged Rowan to the edge of the beach, where the incoming tide tried to pull their ankles back with it, without much luck. Rowan looked over at Claire.

She was a different person than she had been reading to the sheep. Has it only been one week since I met Claire? The girl standing beside her was as wild and free as the ocean. Truth be told, Thisby was too small for Claire. Even Rowan, who had only known the girl a week, knew it to be true.

“This is my last year standing on this beach,” Claire said to waves. Rowan cocked an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. “I’m going to win.”

Some of the islanders are batshit crazy, Rowan decided. “Wasn’t that already the plan?” Rowan teased.

Claire, not catching the teasing tone, or simply not caring, answered, “I didn’t mean it before. Not really. But I do now.”

Some of the islanders are batshit crazy. But Claire? Rowan added, Claire just may be the craziest of them all.

And only the craziest of them all get their dreams.

The following evening was the Scorpio Races Festival. It was the equivalent to a county fair, but with more folklore and cinnamon rolls, Rowan had decided.

“They aren’t cinnamon rolls,” Chester announced. “The Big Apple’s never heard of November Cakes? Despicable! Absolutely despicable!” Chester joked and bought three.

Rowan had just finished taking her first bite of gooey goodness when Claire appeared next to her. “You’re here!” she greeted Rowan with a hug. Rowan attempted to hug Claire but her fingers were sticky from the pastry.

“I had to rearrange my horribly busy schedule, but alas, I am here,” Rowan said with gusto. Then she turned to face her grandparents, and they answered before she even asked her question.

“Go,” Amelia smiled, “have fun with Claire. But don’t get into too much trouble!” She called after the girls, who had run off immediately after Amelia’s first word.

Claire dragged Rowan over to the ferris wheel. It wasn’t very tall, at least compared to the skyscrapers Rowan had grown up with, but it was tall by Thisby standards. It cleared the rooftops of every building in Skarmouth.

“The ferris wheel? Seriously?” Rowan scoffed.

Claire ignored her distaste. “It’s a new addition. It’s only been here for a couple of years.” Rowan sighed in defeat and the two of them got in line.

Once on the ferris wheel, Rowan could see the entirety of Skarmouth. It could fit within the limits of Central Park, Rowan thought. I can see why Claire wants to get off this rock as badly as I do.

Like every other ferris wheel in existence, Rowan and Claire’s car stopped to let new passengers on. There weren’t at the tip-top, but one below. The two of them were giggling about nothing important when their car starting shaking like mad.

Rowan looked at the other cars, frantic, but none of them were shaking. “We’re going to die,” Claire whisper-yelled.

“You literally ride a horse that could tear you to shreds at any moment,” Rowan deadpanned.

Before Claire had time to retaliate, a figure dropped into their car. The car stopped shaking.

Finnigan Kendrick.

Of course.

“You know you’re supposed to get in at the bottom of the ride, not the top, right?” Rowan said.

Finnigan batted his infuriatingly long eyelashes and replied, “Oh, but it’s more fun this way.” He pushed Rowan out of the way and sauntered, as much as was possible in the small space, over to Claire. “This is between the two of us.”

Claire looked to Rowan with panicked eyes. Rowan knew the basics of the feud between Claire and Finnigan, but then again, that was only Claire’s side.

To Claire, Finnigan Kendrick started out a nice boy, who grew meaner and angrier with each cycle around the sun. They were friends as children, but that dissolved quickly. She never knew why he started hating her. Her mom had pointed out that when a boy is mean to you, it means he likes you, to which Claire replied that if that was the case, she hoped no boy ever liked her ever again.

To Finnigan, Claire was everything his family hoped he’d be. She was kind and patient, which made her good with animals, especially capaill uisce. She was universally adored by the citizens of Thisby. She was everything Finnigan wasn’t, and his family not-so-subtly reminded him of it whenever they could. So, he grew to detest Claire more and more until he was so filled with rage that he did terrible, stupid things, like winning the Scorpio Races just to get in his family’s good graces.

Finnigan saw Claire arrive on the beach that first day. He saw that her capall actually seemed to respect her, unlike his own Quicksilver. He was sure he had no competition, until that damned horse ran across the beach twice as fast as Quicksilver ever did and then returned to Claire when she called.

When he saw that, he knew that the only way he’d win would be by threatening Claire to drop out.

He saw his opportunity when Claire and the O’Brien’s granddaughter got on the ferris wheel the night of the Scorpio Festival. He cut in line and got in the car behind them. One of his friends was the ride operator, and he was in on the plan. Stop the ride with Finnigan above the girls, so he could easily jump into their car. Then, when Claire couldn’t escape, he would make sure she dropped out of the race.

He was supposed to win. He was the grandson of Puck Connolly and Sean Kendrick. It was in his blood.

When he saw how scared Claire got as he approached, he smiled a vicious smile.

“What do you want?” Claire’s friend snapped.

“Stay out of this!” he snapped back. Who does she think she is? Finnigan thought.

Claire said nothing, just cowering on the bench. “Claire,” he drawled, “you’re going to drop out of the race, or else I’ll slit the ankles of your precious capall.” His grandfather had inadvertently given him that idea, from a story he had told about Mutt Malvern.

But her friend had other plans. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

He whirled around to face her, “Yeah?” he asked. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Finnigan didn’t have to wait long to find out. He was still in disbelief that this, this mainlander had the gall to call him out, when he was hit with a huge rock to the jaw.

No, not a rock. A fist.

Rowan’s fist to be exact.

Finnigan saw stars for a split second, then hit the floor.

Rowan stepped over his form and squatted down next to Claire. In that moment, Claire was a little afraid of Rowan. But also in awe.

“So let me get this straight,” Rowan said slowly, “you caught and regularly ride a murderous horse, but you can’t handle one mean boy?”

Claire shrugged. She knew it didn’t add up.

“I think you’d do surprisingly well in New York,” Rowan said. The ferris wheel started moving again. Rowan sat down next to Claire and thought for a moment. Then said, “I have an idea.”

Claire finally spoke, “Yeah?”

“When I go back home, I think you should come with me,” Rowan announced.

“To you grandparents’?”

“No. To New York City.”

Claire smiled, “I think that’s a grand idea.”

[hazelwilliamsblog]

Red Eye Reduction: The Frequent Flyer’s Grooming Guide

How is your summer shaping up? Weddings, weekends away, holidays and business trips aplenty? Sounds busy, but how do you stay looking your best when you’re always on the go?

A while ago we boarded the same London to Los Angeles flight behind legendary fashion designer Tom Ford. He turned left, we turned right, naturally. When we were reunited at the cabin doors 12 hours later, we stood in awe: he looked like a wax work – there wasn’t a wrinkle, a crinkle or a hair out of place. He was so spotlessly preserved in comparison to our crumpled, sweaty selves, that we assumed he’d been stored upright for the entire journey and carefully unpacked just before landing. Of course, the level of wealth Mr Ford enjoys is like an invisible force field. The rest of us, often wedged into economy like market cattle, need a few more tricks up our sleeve to arrive with the same level of polish.

Well-groomed male model Richard Biedul gave us this sage advice on how to travel better: “In my line of business, you often have to travel on extremely short notice, so I keep a weekend bag containing my travel essentials packed and ready to go at all times. It only took me seven years to figure this was the most efficient way to prepare, but hey, I got there in the end,” he says, giving us all hope.

Delve into his Aspinal weekend bag and you’ll find, “a universal plug adaptor, a spare iPhone charger, a back-up book, my passport, which now calls this bag ‘home’ to save turning my house upside down every time I’m going somewhere, and crucially, an integrated (detachable) wash bag containing a small (travel size) grooming kit.” So, the golden rule of the well-groomed traveller is a simple one: always have a pre-packed dopp kit on standby.

What Should Be In Your Travel Kit

All pro-flyers know the drill: nothing over 100ml, packed transparently, and you’ll whip through security, leaving the idiots fumbling. Your carry-on grooming kit needs to be in a clear wash bag (not a zip lock freezer bag or one of those pathetic plastic baggies handed out by security), of which Stow London make some of the most stylish.

Take it from Richard: this little flight bag should never be unpacked. Keep it in your holdall or suitcase when out of service, that way you know the essentials are covered. A really good moisturiser is a must; beyond that it should include:

Eye Drops & Lip Balm

Cabin air often leaves us chapped of lip and blinking sandpaper within an hour in the clouds. Eye drops will keep you comfortable for the entire flight, and applied just before landing after a red-eye or night flight to give you a brighter eyed appearance. A quality moisturising lip balm will also keep your lips protected from the intense dehydration.

Facial Spritz & Sheet Mask

Hydration, hydration, hydration: this is the most important mantra to any in-flight grooming routine. Sheet masks are perfect for flights because a) you’ve got the rare opportunity to just sit there with a mask on, b) the individual sachets mean you won’t taste it on your toothbrush later, and c) they pack a juicy punch for your parched epidermis. Starskin do good value masks; La Mer and 111Skin make some of the best. Locking in a little extra hydro in the form of a facial spray will also be beneficial and refreshing, just apply moisturiser after each spritz. We like Aesop’s Immediate Moisture Facial Hydrosol spray.

Eye Roller

A caffeinated eye product with a massaging roller or cooling metal tip is really going to help here, such as Clinique’s Super Energizer Anti-Fatigue Depuffing Eye Gel. Swollen eye bags and feeling fatigued are the most common long haul woes, so look for something invigorating as opposed to heavy or creamy. Stick it in the hotel mini bar when you arrive for an extra refreshing hit in the morning (or whenever your body clock tells you it is).

Toothbrush & Toothpaste Tabs

This should be your dedicated travel toothbrush because there is nothing more irritating that forgetting it or not having one right by the sink when you’re hauling your jet-lagged backside to bed. Maintaining the daily ritual in the air can also help deal with changing time zones. With toothpaste tabs (check out Lush and Georganics), you can carry all you need for the trip and still freshen up if turbulence leaves you seat bound. Fresh breath is essential in cramped surroundings and particularly when you’re heading straight to a meeting on landing.

Ear Plugs & Eye Mask

The better airlines used to hand these out complimentary so we had a free supply. Now, they are all so concerned with the bottom line these tiny luxuries are a thing of the past unless you travel up front. The quality of sleep, or rest, that you get in-flight can help determine your jet lag and an easier transition into a new time zone. Seasoned travellers know that to get maximum shut eye on a red eye you need to skip dinner, ignore the siren call of free entertainment and go “straight to bed”.

Block out light with a silk eye mask, which won’t crease the skin or sap moisture like synthetic equivalents. Pop some ear plugs in (or use noise cancelling headphones) and you’ve given yourself a better shot at actual sleep. And try to resist the booze trolley – it only adds to the furry tongue.

Fragrance & Deodorant

Lugging a full-size anything onto a flight is just asking to have it confiscated by security. Travel-sized atomisers by the likes of Frederic Malle and Byredo mean you can take your favourite scents along for the ride. Travel versions of your favourite products – like Malin+Goetz’s deo – also save space and are less galling to leave behind. And you’ll need to freshen up after sleeping in your clothes.

Concealer & Brow Gel

To achieve that elusive post-flight polished look that celebrities seem so capable of, it’s worth considering this power duo from Tom Ford himself: the concealer will cover up under eye shadows and the brow gel will groom and fix the eyebrows into shape, while the tint fills out any gaps making them look slicker and bushier. For something deceptively simple, it works.

In-Flight Exercises

We know sitting down for a long time isn’t good for us, so we tapped movement expert, Roger Frampton, author of the The Flexible Body, for some tips: “The best thing to do to prevent cramp and tightness on a flight is to make sure we move around at the airport,” he says.

“As for the flight, as soon as you are able get up from your seat, look for a place where you can stand or get small movement in. Try to spend no more than one hour at a time sitting in your seat. You might feel silly getting up and down numerous times,” he says [reading our mind], “but you’ll be having the last laugh when you feel a lot fresher at your destination.”

While seated, “shake your legs out and do the standard calf stretches and upper body spine rotations to keep the blood flowing. Standing on one leg is a really good one for getting a good amount of movement in. For added intensity try closing your eyes,” he advises. For a full post flight workout, head to his Instagram page @rogerframpton:

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