#They both cared about him tremendously and wanted him to be safe - wanted the Winters family to be safe - so they kept secrets

[hamartia-grander]

You know, I'm almost grateful that Chris never told Ethan the plan throughout the entirety of Resident Evil Village. Sure, it’s a convenient plot device that’s anywhere from slightly annoying to deeply confusing, depending on your interpretation of Chris’s character. And yeah, it would have saved Ethan (and the player) from a lot of trouble if Chris had just told Ethan what was going on, as well as saved Ethan from spending over 24 hours thinking that his best friend killed his wife. But overall, it offers some players - with basic thinking skills - a unique perspective in that, we get to see just how misogynistic most of the fans are in how they’ll give Chris a pass for keeping a secret out of fear, and then turn around and despise Mia for keeping a secret out of fear. 

[honeyhenry]

Sweet as Pie

With some much needed time off, and excitement crisp in the air, you had flown over to Jersey with your husband Henry for Christmas to stay with his family, and they had been delighted to have you both back on his homeland. You settled in to Henry’s old room, unpacking all of the gifts you had brought for his family. You knew his nieces and nephews were going to love you even more when they saw what would be lying for them under the grand Christmas tree in the living room. Secretly, you were their favourite - not that they’d ever tell their poor Uncle Henry.

The large home is tidy, but scattered with family members in every room, all feeling at home in the place where Henry and his brothers grew up. You’d been able to catch up with the relatives you didn’t often see, and promise to spend some quality time together over the holidays.

It was so sweet to watch all the children’s faces light up on Christmas morning. You were glad that you and Henry could be spared an extra few moments in bed, being the only childless couple in the house. Yet moments later, Kal had leapt onto the bed - much to Henry’s annoyance; “down Kal, careful now” -  as soon as he had heard the pattering of his small friends’ feet out in the hallways. And what Kal wanted, you usually gave him.

Which is why, at 6.45am, Kal dragged you and in turn, dragged Henry down to the living room where the rest of the family sat, with the kids lit up like the Christmas tree that their plethora of presents laid under, grinning to their bleary eyed parents who’d barely had a wink of sleep on the cold winter morning.

“You’d think after 6 years it gets easier” you’d heard someone murmur, and so you’d decided to put the kettle on for those poor souls. Luckily for you, 45 minutes later, you’re able to snuggle back into bed with Henry, warming your feet on his legs to annoy him. You kiss the offended pout right off his face, before feeling his beefy arms wrap around your waist. It’s the last thing you had recalled, as you dozed off in his arms only seconds later, feeling his fingertips rub against your hip softly.

------

The kitchen was bustling with about 10 bodies all completing their various tasks; cooking, washing, baking, roasting, timing and tasting. Well, you had kicked your husband out of the kitchen for sneaking a taste of your dessert before it was ready, chastising him out of the door. 

“You can either help properly or go and play with your siblings” you had bargained while he’d grinned, leaning against the doorframe. He raised an eyebrow, looking you up and down like you were a pastry he was keen to ravish himself; “But who is going to compliment the chef?”

With that, you’d folded your arms across your chest, blushing at his words. The cheek of that man was not lost on you, and it still got you every single time. 

And you loved him for it.

------

The meal was a total success. A wonderful soup starter, followed by a small appetiser, and then the most magnificent turkey. Feeding over 20 people - now probably closer to 30 if you were to include the children who were growing up so quickly in front of your eyes - had proven to be difficult, but it was a challenge the family had clearly tackled before.

You had been so excited to prepare the desserts, and present your dish. However, halfway through the day, somewhere between the main course, watching your nephews with their new toys, and the dessert course of the delicious homemade Christmas feast, you’d fallen asleep on the sofa completely tuckered out. Your legs rested on Henry’s lap as he’d covered you with a hand-knitted blanket that he’d once slept with as a boy. Henry’s mother speaks up, careful not to wake you. She has a gleam in her eye, not that you or even Henry notice, too wrapped up in your own cozy sleepy bubble together by the fire.

“Dessert can wait” his mother says to the gaggle of children and adults swarming the living room, “go out and get some fresh air.”

She turns to the children, specifically.  “Do not disturb your Aunt, okay?”

------

Your cheeks are warm as the fire heats the living room, and after a particularly competitive game of rugby with his brothers, nieces, and nephews, Henry quietly checks on you. He had left the room earlier when you had shifted your legs slightly, taking the opportunity to get some fresh air himself. It had indeed been a long day. His brothers had questioned your tiredness briefly, making sure you were well. With the knowledge that you were simply sleepy, they had begun to joke that you obviously just couldn’t keep up with the rest of the Cavills - despite having married into the family for 2 years and been around for the holidays for 4. Henry had promised them that you were fine -  that you still weren’t used to the long trip back to the island for the holidays. 

Not exactly a fib, he’d thought.

Kal was laid beside you, loyal as ever, watching out for anyone who may disturb your rest, sending a rumbling growl towards anyone who approached. Except Henry. 

While checking on you now to make sure you were still comfortable and resting well, he smiled, taking a picture of you wrapped up cosily by the fire, at peace in his childhood home, completely at rest and ease with him and his closest relatives. Petting Kal softly, he thanks him for looking after his mama so well.

“So?”

His mother, he hears. She’s alone for once as there was no one rushing to check for updates on food, no enquiries about the house, or any funny stories woven into a ten minute tale from her grandchildren. She’s alone, with her hands on her hips and her eyebrows raised.

Henry stands up straight. There’s nothing that can wipe the tremendously cheesy grin off of his face. He can’t even speak. Even after dessert had finished, you were the one who would be doing all the talking, the telling, the explaining.

“Mum-”

“Henry. She’s not ill. and i know you’re sensible enough to not be up the whole night with your wife...at least under my roof. So…?”

He looks over at your peaceful form, and then scratches his neck, blushing at being caught out, but also ecstatic that he can finally say something about it.

“She’s eleven weeks. We’re expecting a baby next summer”

With that, his mother almost leaps with joy over to her son, who she hugs closely despite the obvious height barrier. 

“Oh i knew it, I knew it! I’m so happy for you Henry, for you both. I thought, ‘She normally loves that bread for starter’, hm? Oh my boy! A father!”

With her proclamation, Henry finds that he has tears in his eyes as he holds his Mother close, finally glad that it’s not just a little secret between the two of you - well, the two of you and Kal, who had already been a stellar protector and big brother.

“We had planned to tell everyone after dessert…we’ve known for nearly 2 months and it’s been killing me that I couldn’t say. We’ve had to be so careful-“ 

“Henry?” he hears your quiet voice from across the room, as Kal’s collar jingles. He turns to see you sitting up from your nap with Kal booping his nose at your stomach. You’re scratching at his head, thanking him for being such a wonderful boy, while looking up at the two Cavills.

It takes less than a second for you to realise what is happening in front of you. Your jaw drops and louder than your previous call, you exclaim, “Henry you told her?”

“She worked it out! Practically forced it out of me.” he grins, holding his hands up as his Mother pretends to smack his arm.

You stand, watching not to step on Kal or any stray Legos that your nephews have left strewn across the floor, and walk over to hug her. She’s been so caring and kind since you’ve joined the family all those years ago, and you know that she will be an incredible Grandma to your little one. 

Breaking apart from the hug, you find Henry pulling you to him carefully, letting you melt into his side. Kissing your forehead he asks, for your ears only, “Good sleep? No pains? Sickness?” He has a small crease of worry between his brows and you always do your best to soften that small tense area with regular updates and sweet kisses.

“Yeah i’m okay honey” you reassure him, patting your stomach, “this ones growing up a storm in there”. 

And they really are. Henry’s mother cannot believe she’s seeing it, and mostly can’t believe she missed it. You’re already showing, but a large loose sweater -probably one of Henry’s old ones that has since become yours - over your dress, has hidden a sizeable roundness to your stomach that you were excited to finally show.

“How did I miss this!” Your mother-in-law gasps, causing you to grin, and Henry’s chest to puff with utter pride and excitement.

“I know it’s bordering on having too much to eat, but we’ve been hiding it for a couple weeks now. Doctor thinks that baby’s gonna be big. Just like their daddy.” You explain, giving your stomach another gentle rub, surprised to find Henry’s hand there on it already.

If you’d thought Kal was protective, Henry was another thing altogether.

He’s still grinning as you kiss him, before you pull away to speak more to his mother about all the details, especially when you’ll be coming over to Jersey again. Kai follows you closely, making sure you’re staying safe. He’s known that there’s something up with his mama, there has been for weeks, especially with the way his master looks after you now.

Henry, deciding to be sneaky while the two women in his life are currently distracted chatting, takes another taste of the dessert you made, now set out on the kitchen. The worst part is, he thinks he’s got away with it.

He realises he doesn’t the second you smack his hand from the dessert.

“Strike two Mr Cavill! Step away from the pie.”

“And if I don’t?” he raises an eyebrow, watching your reactions as you hold a butter knife in your hand trying to look at least vaguely threatening - failing miserably. “Maybe i’ll strike out tonight, hm?” he continues with that wonderfully mischievous glint in his eye, taking cautious steps towards you. “You look even sweeter than your pie with this little bump here. Maybe I’ll have a taste later after all.” 

Henry’s mother had not been right in her assumptions, for under her roof, you and Henry were not sensible at all.

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please let me know what u think! i am v nervous to post but excited!!!

[bookofmirth]

I’m seeing a lot of people dismiss Elucien by claiming Elain doesn’t want him and “shrinks” away from him. I wanted to get your take on this. Cause how I see it is Elain desperately wants to feel in control again which is why she is pushing Lucien away. She has suffered tremendous trauma from being kidnapped by Hybern, turned into a fae against her will, being told she has a mate, her fiancé leaving her, having powers thrust on her she doesn’t understand, being kidnapped again, losing her father, and now having to pretend everything is fine because she sees how her sisters were struggling with their own trauma.

All these things happening to her and she hasn’t dealt with any of them, and that includes the mating bond. She hasn’t rejected it or accepted it. She just ignores it’s existence including Lucien himself. Given she has had over a year and still won’t even discuss the bond makes me think that is her way of taking control back. That she’s telling the Cauldren or the Mother or Fate to fuck off by deciding the bond doesn’t exist.

So seeing some other people claim that she doesn’t want Lucien I have to question that if that was definitively the case why doesn’t she outright reject the bond? Why drag out this feeling of limbo by ignoring Lucien or “shrinking” away from him? I see it as her taking control of her life back. She’s deciding she won’t deal with this thing that was pushed onto her by some divine entity. Same way she has pretended until ACOSF that her powers were gone.

And regarding the other unnamed ship for Elain I think that’s also a control thing. I think she genuinely cares about him. He saved her life many times and made her feel safe in this new crazy world she was pushed into. I just think that connection she has to him is the same as any traumatized person would have to someone who rescued them/experienced that same pain. I think maybe Elain is pushing for more in that connection because she feels this is a choice she made and not Fate. This relationship would be her taking control back. Which is why I could see them sharing intimacy that essentially will leave her feeling unfulfilled, especially considering his POV is more about what he thinks Fate owes him. Basically they would both be using each other.

Sorry I seriously could go on for another few paragraphs talking about how even in ACOTAR Elain was portrayed as the easy going one and that may be further evidence of her not dealing with her feelings… there I go again. This is a lot [insert I just have a lot of feelings gif].

This is really long, and I love you for your thoughts, and I am not one bit sorry that this took me like 45 minutes to write.

This argument is honestly the one that drives me crazy the most because we literally do not know what Elain wants. People keep saying “she’s not interested” or “they never talk” or “there’s no interaction” etc. Are they supposed to discuss the mating bond and their deepest feelings and thoughts about one another at Starfall, or winter solstice, or some other family function in front of literally everyone they know??? 

I’m sorry, but did we get an Elain book that I missed? A Lucien book? No, we’ve gotten Feyre’s story, and Nesta and Cassian and a bit of Rhys. Not once have we gotten a POV in which we could see Elain and/or Lucien discussing how they feel about one another without someone else present and/or interfering, without that information being filtered through someone else’s perception of how they feel.

And tbh? I think that’s telling. To me, that means it’s being saved for a future book.

Regarding the way that Elain supposedly shrinks from Lucien - again, if she really didn’t want to be around him, Feyre and Rhys would make that happen. 

In acowar, their interactions were quite different because she had just been Made, her powers were still unknown, she was still mourning Graysen and her father. Elain had a lot going on. I always like to compare it to feysand, and what Feyre’s reaction would have been if she knew about Rhys being her mate as soon as she met him in acotar. There’s no way in hell should would have just instantly thrown Tamlin over for him. Why would we expect Elain to be able to make that shift in her affections so easily?

In acosf, page 311, there is “tightness” in her face when she makes an excuse for not being around, and this is Cassian’s POV.

Page 602, again Cassian’s POV: “Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that new-found boldness to be seen.”

Any conjecture about why she reacted that way is 100% pure speculation. 

She could be feeling what Lucien feels because of the bond, and from what Cassian says it’s not a pleasant feeling. 

She could be unsure of what Lucien expects of her. 

She could be repulsed by him.

She could have such strong feelings that she shrinks because she has a difficult time hiding them (and she’s usually really good at hiding them). 

She could feel such an intense pull towards him that she physically withdraws. 

We literally do not know!!!

To me, it mirrors Wings and Embers when Nesta and Cassian were attracted to one another and he licked her neck, then she kicked him in the balls. I mean we literally have examples of this with the other mated couples where they are drawn together but still turn away from one another. However, we also got to see feysand and nessian one-on-one, from their own POV. We haven’t had that with elucien yet so any argument that says the above (she’s not interested, they never interact, etc.) has no basis in what we know. 

What we do know is that she hasn’t rejected the bond. Whatever those reasons are, Elain could have rejected the bond a thousand times over by now, but she hasn’t. I actually don’t think she runs from her problems, at least not all the time. I know that people keep arguing that, but I’m not convinced. I’ll make a separate post about that. 

Hell, Lucien could have rejected the bond a thousand times over by now!!!! Elain isn’t the only one who can do that, right?! And why would he choose to let it remain, when this pull is having such an effect on him? When Rhys said that it can make people go crazy if it’s not consummated? Like? Lucien has agency in this too, and of the two of them Lucien has a much larger stake in not letting this continue. 

There is a year of potential interactions between them that we have zero evidence of and so claiming that they haven’t happened is like one of the priestesses saying that the sky doesn’t exist because they never see it.

My final point is that I think that we haven’t gotten this information because it’s endgame, because it will get its own book and become fully developed when it’s not filtered through other characters’ perspectives.

Okay my actual actual final point is that idgaf how Az plays into all of this because she can want to kiss him in that one scene, and everything I said would still be true. I think you’re right that they can find comfort in one another because he rescued her (and he also rescued Gwyn) and because he was trying to put her at ease in acomaf (because it was his job), and Az intentionally made himself seem unthreatening. Elain doesn’t feel the same pressure or expectation from Az as there is from Lucien, so yeah, she feels more comfortable around him. She can smile blandly and he can say “no Elain can’t do that” and it doesn’t challenge anything about their lives.

-fin-

[backdraft-bimbo]

rule number two

After years of avoiding his trauma, Bucky finally confides in Sam. 

Words: 2893; Chapters: 1/1

James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson; Episode: s01e02 The Star-Spangled Man Coda

ao3 link

“Why don’t you get some shut eye, Buck? It’s gonna be a long ride home.” 

Bucky glances at Sam from his makeshift cargo perch across the fuselage. The bags under his eyes must be getting bad. Leah gave Bucky the impression last week that he needs concealer for his skin or something. But he’s a 106-year-old ex-assassin; who the hell is he trying to impress at this point?

After a few seconds pass, Bucky notes that he should probably respond instead of just staring blankly, because that’s what people do, right? They talk to each other, they share, and they trust so easily. It’s such a simple question, but Bucky’s urge to deflect any possible social interaction has decided to rear its ugly head tonight. Sam can’t be a fan of it either, since he’s the charismatic one of the two of them. He’s not the guy with the staring problem.

It’s just… Bucky doesn’t have normal conversations without being reminded of the restored freedom to speak his mind. The habits HYDRA drilled into his brain incite an unpleasant knee-jerk reaction– don’t speak or they’ll beat you –but Bucky has gotten better at managing the vestiges of his trauma. At least now he’ll be able to defend himself if his careless mouth puts him in hot water. And maybe he could just be honest with Sam; it wouldn’t hurt anything. But that almost kindles a burst of laughter in Bucky: the concept of himself not hurting somebody. What a world that would be.

Don’t get him wrong–Bucky used to like talking to people. He used to be good at it. But that was a long time ago; far longer than anyone should be able to recall. Even now, Bucky’s early 20th century days as a staff sergeant feel like a distant dream. He almost misses the wartime; when everything was simpler. Sure, it was bloody and violent and horrible, but at least Bucky knew how to fucking talk to people he considered friends. When it comes to his loose tongue nowadays, there’s an ugly history waiting to make an unwanted appearance; bared teeth and all.

“I don’t,” Bucky answers finally, his voice trembling a fraction more than he’s comfortable with. He doesn’t think he can do more than two syllables right now. If Bucky somehow musters up the courage to tell Sam about his nightmares, he won’t make it through a single sentence without bursting into tears like a twelve-year-old.

The fact that Sam could somehow see Bucky’s eye bags across the shadowy fuselage does not convince Bucky that Sam didn’t hear that slight embarrassing waver in his voice. But even if he did, the guy doesn’t comment on it. Sam has been laying in a supine position on the flight seats for the past hour, drifting in and out of sub-consciousness, and really, he’s the one who looks damn tired. It’s been a long day for both of them; they’re bruised and achy after their loss against the Flag-Smashers–more proof that Bucky shouldn’t bother Sam.

But this is here and now. The sky is starless as a humming inky black abyss, the RS-834 cruising about 40,000 feet above sea level, far beyond the stratus clouds, and everything feels tranquil in that seldom gentle way it does sometimes. It’s as if the world consists only of Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes, and that illusion is a tremendous comfort to the ex-assassin. When it’s clear that Bucky isn’t going to elaborate, Sam lets his neck muscles relax, drooping his head back to face the opposite wall that reflects the drowsy slur of his voice.

“C’mon, man...I know at least three percent of your body is metal, but that don’t mean you never sleep.”

Bucky pauses. Tries not to glance at his left arm. He has to be careful; guys like him have a tendency to overshare when it’s late. It’s just that something about the night brings a facade of protection, as if anything he says can be written off as a dream, so he can bare himself to the bone in front of anyone he wants. It doesn’t matter since it will be forgotten in the morning. The night is unreliable, thus Bucky uses that to his defense.

“Aren’t you worried I’m gonna like...”

“Kill me?” Sam snorts, a bit of energy returning to his voice. “I think if either of us really wanted to kill the other, one of us would be lying in a heap by now. Just saying.”

Bucky can’t argue with that. Like Dr. Raynor so elegantly puts it, it is so sad, but Sam is probably Bucky’s only real friend at this point. Add that with the fact that he doesn’t really want to kill anyone anyway, and someone who doesn’t know better might call what Sam and Bucky have a “healthy relationship.” Bucky swings a hand around Sam’s vicinity, willing his voice to level out this time.

“Are you tired? You should go to sleep.”

A deep sigh resonates out from Sam’s dark corner. “Man, I forget sometimes how good you are at that.”

“What?”

“Changing the subject.”

Oh.  

Bucky wonders which part of him that came from: James “Bucky” Barnes, or his HYDRA-conditioned brain. Perhaps it was just a defense against people trying to crowbar their way into his thoughts. As long as he can distract them, he’s safe. Bucky exhales a heavy breath, combing a hand through his greasy hair.

“Look, I just... I’m not the most pleasant person to sleep with.”

A moment of unwonted silence passes. Bucky’s gaze wanders away from his hands and toward Sam. By the time his eyes have adjusted, the guy has propped himself up on his elbows, teeth shining through the dimness in a quiet grin. The suggestive phrasing of Bucky’s words finally catches up to him. His cheeks redden. Well, if Sam decides to take it that way… Bucky technically hasn’t gotten laid since the 1940s. From what he remembers, it hadn’t even been very good. But hell no–that’s the kind of mental rabbit hole Bucky isn’t in the mood for. He coughs and slaps his thighs.

“We have like three more hours. Go to sleep, Sam. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Now you gon’ make me feel bad about it,” Sam smirks. “Shame on you, Barnes.”

Bucky ducks his head in exasperation. “You’re an idiot. What, you want me to sing you a lullaby?”

Sam visibly brightens at that. “Ooh, for real? You know any?”

Great , so now Sam is standing up, walking toward him, the grin on his annoying face widening. And because Bucky is a fucking mess, his tongue gets tied up in about fifteen knots before he gets the chance to open his mouth, and he’s already forgetting what he was going to say. Hell, if Sam smiled any brighter than that, he’d be the fucking sun.

“Uh, well, y’know,” Bucky says eloquently. “HYDRA was kinda lacking in that department.”

Sam laughs again, making himself at home on the red seats adjacent to Bucky’s perch, and Bucky feels a miserable sort of swell in his chest. Why is Sam purposefully gravitating toward him? Who the hell wants an ex-HYDRA assassin in close proximity?

“You gettin’ shy on me, Buck?” Sam tilts his head slightly downward, gazing up at Bucky with his big brown eyes and thick eyelashes, and what the fuck. “You ain’t gotta look so shook up; I don’t bite.”

“That’s a surprise,” Buck replies weakly, trying to force his face to cool down. There’s so much spit caught up in his throat right now, and Bucky knows it’ll look weird if he swallows in front of this guy, like he’s some nervous teenager with a school crush. Sam just laughs softly, the corners of his cheeks tightening, his lips curling up in a way that is too fucking charming to be on the face of a man sitting right across from a mass murderer. But honestly, Bucky can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed anymore; any time Sam laughs because of him is a win.

God, maybe I am good for something.

An overlay of silence reigns over the two men, and the white noise hum of the plane almost makes Bucky want to doze off. When he blinks himself awake for the fifth time, Sam’s familiar cadence cuts through the air like a knife to warm butter. He sounds wide awake.

“Nightmares, huh. So that’s why you don’t sleep.”

Bucky pales a shade, shifting atop his crate in discomfort. He supposes he wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was being. Sam lifts his hands in a placating gesture, his voice much more benign now. “I used to get ‘em sometimes too. Hell, even nowadays I do; service will do that to you. Not tryna say I completely understand what’s going on in that big cyborg brain of yours, but…I get it, to a degree.”

Bucky wonders if Sam behaves like this whenever he’s talking to veterans in his therapy group, or if he’s reserved this for Bucky alone. He finds himself craving the latter to a degree that is both confusing and hopeless. “I…” he mutters, pointedly not looking at the other man. The miserable swell from before is morphing into something much more sad, and Bucky doesn’t know what to do with it.

You’re alone. You have no friends, no family.

The harsh words bounce around Bucky’s head like a game of Pong, contrasting starkly against Sam’s kind and gentle tone. A spark of indignation thaws the insides of his chest. It’s not fair, it’s not true; Bucky’s got proof right here. Fuck you, Dr. Raynor. Despite all you think, at least I’ve got this dumbass with me.

Sam speaks again, leaning back in his seat. “Look, you ain’t gotta tell me anything you don’t want to. I’m just lettin’ you know that you ain’t gotta fight this alone.”

Bucky hates tip-toeing around his trauma like it’s some massive landmine. Part of him just wants to lay it all out; explode with everything he’s never willingly told another soul; reopen his wounds and expel all the ugliness in the hopes that maybe he’ll heal up properly this time. He wants to scream to Sam that he never got a fucking break; it was abuse upon abuse. HYDRA buried him alive just to water his grave in guilt and horror and self-hatred. There had never been the option of peace for the Winter Soldier. He was the asset, the weapon, the tool, the plaything, taken out of a dusty closet any time somebody wanted a turn with him.

“It was never a fight,” Bucky whispers. “They never gave me a chance.”

Sam looks slightly taken aback, as if he wasn’t expecting the ex-assassin to actually respond. Bucky would be surprised too if he didn’t feel so utterly lost right now. Instead, he settles for staring past Sam’s shoulder into the back of the fuselage, trying to find answers in the dim blue lights blanketing them. Despite how hard Bucky tries not to see it, Sam is shifting, his face crumpling into...something. He can’t put his finger on it but hopes to God it’s not pity. Steve used to give him that look, always catching himself doing it, and then getting all guilty about it afterward. So before Bucky can stop himself there, let his words fester in comfortable ambiguity, he’s taking off and nothing is going to stop him.

“So yeah, Sam,” Bucky continues, gritting out the words, “I get nightmares. I remember every single human being I murdered with this stupid fucking metal arm, and now I have to deal with it for the rest of my ‘overextended life.’ Is that selfish? Is it selfish of me to say that I wish I died in that fucking ravine when I was supposed to? I don’t belong here, Sam. Just the fact that I’m alive in this era is unnatural. But I’ve gotta make amends with my laundry list of everyone I hurt, because dying just isn’t going to cut it. ”

Bucky still isn’t looking at Sam by the time he finishes, snapping his mouth shut like an animal being muzzled before he can bite anyone else. Even though Bucky can’t tell what Sam is thinking, can’t see how his expression has undoubtedly contorted from pity to hurt, Bucky is overwhelmed by instinct. He doesn't know which side is currently winning over: the Soldier’s desperation to submit before his handlers put him through “corrective treatment,” or Bucky’s longing to apologize to Sam for hurting him. Make amends, make amends, don’t hurt anyone. Rule number two.

The latter ends up taking the tug of war, and Bucky whispers out a choked, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Sam, I–”

“Hey.”

Sam is standing close beside him, their shoulders almost level while Bucky is slouching. He can’t suppress the shiver that shoots through his body like lightning as a hand carefully grips his flesh arm. “Hey, man, look at me,” Sam says–somehow firm and gentle at the same time. His thumb brushes over the fabric of Bucky’s sweater, and Bucky wants to let his hand come up to clench Sam’s, but hell if he doesn’t know how that’ll end. It’s been so long since he’s been touched in a way that doesn’t end in bruises.

“Hey, hey… Listen to me, man. I hear you,” Sam says warmly, burnishing the chasm where Bucky thinks his heart used to be. “And it’s gonna be all right. You may not think it yet, and I should’ve said something earlier, but…” Sam trails off, pauses, then nods to himself. “You’re a good man, Bucky.”

A tight, burning ember of anguish flares up in Bucky’s throat.

A good man.

The Winter Soldier seldom got oral approval from his handlers, and even when he did, it was for chaos and carnage disguised as HYDRA’s regurgitated “gift to mankind” bullshit. To James “Bucky” Barnes, praise was a concept he never considered, since he’d have to be deserving in order to get any. Goodness is reserved for people , and Bucky crossed the line of humanity a long time ago. He isn’t a person anymore–just a monster.

People who fall under the category of “good” are the ones like Steve. Like his sister Becca. And like Sam Wilson specifically, standing here next to him with the true mantle of Captain America; a man so much damn worthier of that title than Bucky is, and he thinks Bucky is good . The same guy who has killed more innocent people than he has fingers and toes. And that’s not counting the unnameable ones–the collateral damage–caught in the crossfire.

Just the thought of all he’s done makes Bucky want to fervently deny Sam; to prove him wrong; to show Sam his track record with big red letters at the bottom of the page emphasizing that Bucky isn’t good . In the memories of hundreds, maybe thousands of people, he’s the cruel, terrifying mercenary with a history uglier than most want to comprehend. If Sam saw all that Bucky had done, would he change his mind? Would Sam look at Bucky the way he looks at himself in the mirror?

Sam is saying something now–maybe his name. But Bucky can’t hear him. He doesn’t know when the tears began, so he quickly ducks his chin so Sam can’t see them streaming down his face. God, it’s so fucking cold. Sam lets out a soft hum–not sad, but caring–and Bucky knows he’s failed at hiding again. Sam’s hand brushes up his arm and around his shoulder, pulling him gently against Sam’s warm body. Eventually Bucky leans into it, shutting his eyes tight.

“Been a while,” Bucky mutters, almost a whisper; it might just be a vivid thought.

“Yeah, I know, Tin Man. I mean it, you’re a great guy. And before you start, I know you don’t believe me, but I’m gonna keep reminding you till you do.”

“Yeah,” Bucky sniffles, voice muffled as he buries his face into Sam’s shoulder. “Thank you, Sam.”  

The words, the touching–it’s all too good to be true. It has to be too good to be true, because if it’s real, then Bucky might just have a bit of hope left. And if he has hope, then he can’t jump into battle without care for his own life anymore. He’s going to have to exist correctly this time around. So if Sam means what he says, if he really thinks Bucky is a good person, then Bucky is going to live up to that image or die trying.  

Once they pull away, it’s felt like hours. The plane is still going steady through the early morning, the lights still that calming shade of blue, but something has shifted in the air, something neither Sam nor Bucky can seem to put their finger on. It’s a certain kind of rawness; an ache Bucky is thoroughly familiar with; a feeling that always comes with the moon and foolish amounts of trust. Bucky mumbles a flustered apology for the wet spot now stained into Sam’s sweater, but the guy just shakes his head and grins in a way that makes Bucky fall in love with him.

“Anytime.”

[gerbiloftriumph]

The Silence Between Snowflakes

(also on ao3) ~ 7/8 - The Ice Queen

~*~*~

Rosella wanted to be the first down the tunnel, and she was annoyed that Number One insisted on taking the lead. “I rescued you,” she said. “I’ve got this.”

“Even still, Princess. Should something attack, then you shall be able to step in and rescue me, instead of the other way ‘round,” No1 said. “You’ve already proven you’re quite good at that.”

“Well. I suppose that’s right,” she said, glumly. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought it sounded a bit like No1 was hiding a grin behind his helmet.

The lower they descended, the louder the clanging sounds got, and the less well-defined the walls became. At some point they’d passed beyond dungeon carved blocks into what felt like either natural caves or something that had been scraped out by hand tools. The guards spread out a bit behind Rosella, watching their backs carefully, hands on swords, ready to defend at a moment’s notice. They weren’t going to be caught flatfooted again, not now that they knew what they were facing.

No1 threw out a hand, a gesture to stop, and Rosella almost walked into him. She frowned, about to complain, when she realized they’d reached the end of the corridor, into a cave that swooped out around them. The Daventry team huddled against the wall, peering around the corner.

It appeared to be a tidy little mining operation. There were a large number of rock goblins with shovels and picks carving out huge chunks of snow and ice, widening the tunnel into twice, thrice its size. They were yanking stalactites from walls, shoveling huge and heavy snowman-ready globs of snow into hampers and wheelbarrows. Another team was pushing the snow laden carts up a huge ramp, feet slipping and sliding as they strained beneath the load, vanishing around a corner but probably going some distance up into the castle, while others with empty carts were sliding back into line, waiting for a fresh fill.

Graham always kept her away from the goblins. Rosella stood on her toes, as far out into the tunnel as she dared. The chance to finally see some of this species up close probably wouldn’t come again. No1 cautiously held his arm in front of her, keeping her back, and she leaned against it, inspecting the activity before them. She was eager, longing to get closer. She remembered the stories, the famous tale of the prison with its glittering fungi and be-costumed captors.

But these goblins just looked tired, not at all pouncy and fun like Graham described. They dragged their shovels along the ground between snow piles, picks rattling off walls in shaky hands. A small number of ice guards stalked among them, criticizing work, directing steps, keeping the work moving at a flurry. One of the goblins had simply stopped and was pouting in the middle of the floor, leaning against its shovel and not working. Rosella watched an ice guard march up behind it and backhand the little creature, yelling at it in that odd backwards language, and the goblin scrambled away, its tattered leather slippers failing to find any purchase on the slick floor.

“What are they doing?” No3 whispered.

“Nothing good, I’d bet,” No2 said.

No1 was glaring. “I have a suspicion,” he said. “A blizzard, from a central point. And here’s the central point’s starting point.”

“That’s what I said, nothing good,” No2 repeated.

No1 shot him a stern glance.

Rosella watched. The hampers’ wheels skittered over slick patches on the floor, and the goblins kept losing their footing, falling against the hampers and sending them spinning across the floor. They scrambled after the carts, crying out in their gravely language, while the ice guards made no movement to help. Icicles stacked like firewood logs clattered and rang against each other, accompanied by the click of guards’ feet on the floor and the scrape of shovels.

The ice curse was turning Daventry into fuel to take, to crush and chip apart, to feed to the castle. To keep the ice curse going. To keep the weather cold. To make more ice. To feed the castle. These working goblins, a likely recent addition, increased the intensity of the resulting weather, increased the power of the castle. Suffocating countries under snow as the castle traveled. Including Daventry.

“We should put a stop to it,” she declared.

“Pardon?” No1 drew back a little to look at her.

“We should stop them.”

“M’Lady,” No1 said, “I do not believe this is an operation we”—he glanced over his shoulder to confirm he still had everyone—“seven can safely control.” At least he counted her in the ranks, Rosella thought. That was more than he’d done in the past.

“We’ve already spent half the day in a cell,” Kyle added cheerfully.

“You’re defenders of the crown,” Rosella said. “And I’m the crown. And I might just need defending.” She started to step forward. A few steps more and she’d be in the mine.

No1 and No2 had known her all her life and could anticipate every silly too-tall-tree-climbing/too-high-cliff-jumping/too-deep-river-swimming/too-big-opponent-fighting move she could make. They both reached out and grabbed her arms and pulled her back instantly, fluidly, without hesitation. “Princess Rosella, please. Direct action is not the right idea here.”

She couldn’t beat either of them in the Battle of Wits board game, either.

“Oh, all right, fine, not that way,” she grumbled. “Fine. But I still say this needs stopping. You know Daventry can’t survive much more snow.”

“I agree. But I count six ice guards and at least thirty goblins. We would be able to take care of the guards if they were alone, but certainly not the others.”

The others. The goblins. Rosella sagged. This wasn’t what she’d hoped to see after her dad’s stories. He’d described them as being so vibrant. Violent and lazy, but clever in their own ways, and eternally creative. These goblins were slow, exhausted. Instead of fairy tale costumes they wore scarves and mittens, and even still she could tell they were shivering. In normal times, they probably burrowed deep in winter to stay cozy warm.

She watched the one that had been slapped picking through ice chips on the floor, throwing them up onto a cart. It kept its head low, slyly eying the ice guards, before ducking out of sight behind the cart and slumping down, curled up with its arms wrapped around its knees. It miserably huffed a little cloud of air, sulking. It was close enough to the Daventry team that Rosella suspected she could have easily called out to it without being heard by anyone else.

“I do have an idea,” she said, very slowly, trying not to scare the shreds of her thought away like the concept was wispy and delicate and easily shredded.

“Not running in swords blazing.”

“No, not that.” And she told them what she’d thought of.

“That’s just as risky, Rosella. If not more so,” No1 said sternly.

“No, I don’t think so,” Rosella said, watching the little goblin behind the cart. It had decided it was safe enough and alone enough to pop off its helmet, revealing huge drooping ears pierced with iron bangles and a scrambly tangle of black hair, and it was rubbing its eyes and wiping its drippy button nose on its arm. “I think he would like to hear a good story right about now. We simply need to convince him to come over here to hear it.”

~*~*~*~

The throne room in Daventry’s castle was warm and comfortable. Rich tapestries hung along the walls, and the carpet leading up to the throne itself was the plushest the castle had to offer. Huge twisting metal candelabrums illuminated the corners and gave the whole place a soft glow.

The throne room of the ice palace was the opposite: freezing and unwelcoming, with light that danced through the reflective walls until it was a bitter sort of bluish white, almost clinical. It had tapestries, yes, but frozen ones, arching down from the high, high ceiling. Torches cast cold flames. The throne was the most ostentatious thing Graham had ever seen, huge shafts of ice sticking out from it like piercing thorns.

Currently, the throne was unoccupied. The ice guards pushed Graham and Alexander forward anyway, depositing them in front of the empty chair. Graham supposed they were meant to wait for the owner of this castle to swoop in and make a tremendous entrance.

The throne wasn’t completely empty, Graham realized after a moment. A black cat preened there, lounging on a cushion. Cats often looked smug, but this one had a certain glowering triumphant nastiness to it. That was probably just its face, though. Graham liked cats, as a general rule. Their no-nonsense purrrrsonality was sort of endearing. A cat may look at a king, as the old saying went, and no one could tell it otherwise. He was fond of that sassy, adventurous spirit.

Alexander, though, was petrified. He was staring at the cat with open faced fear, and Graham wondered if the young man was dreadfully allergic. Maybe someone on Valanice’s side of the family? No one on Graham’s side had allergies. He tried to speak words of encouragement, but instead of comfort, another voice said, “Ahh, the brat returns, dressed in fancy airs and still short of decent manners. Moron.”

And that was Manannan’s voice.

Graham stepped back, startled, into the ice guard standing behind him, staring at...at the cat.

“And his idiot high and mighty father, too!” said the cat. Said the cat. “Now, this is too lucky. I wasn’t expecting you, Graham. The whole family, here! And I didn’t even have to do anything but show up and open the doors!”

Graham’s heart sank. Manannan knew Valanice and Rosella were here. He’d feared as much. He glanced around, nervous he’d see them tied and silent somewhere, but the room was empty other than the ice guards lining the walls, watching them.

“Manny?” he said, warily, staring hard at the cat, certain it was a trick.

“In the fur,” the cat confirmed, and he flicked his tail. “Of all the curses, I suppose this one makes being in an ice castle the most tolerable. You, Graham, look half frozen. That stupid cloak not warm enough for you?”

He ignored the cat, looking at his son instead. “Alexander, when you said ‘couldn’t do much more than scratch.’ Back when you first came home. Did you...do this?”

Alexander nodded mutely, staring at the cat, clearly wishing he was somewhere else.

“How?”

“I’ll tell you how,” Manny interrupted. “Your brat doesn’t understand boundaries. I tried to beat some sense into him, but that awful Cracker curiosity, ugh. Couldn’t hit that out of him with a thousand switches. Not that Mordack and I didn’t try. Well. Mordack didn’t try, after I ordered him. I found more...compelling methods to try and shake that abundant curiosity, right, Gwydion?”

“Don’t call him that,” Graham snapped, the anger blazing up again.

“He’s been Gwydion so much longer than he has Alexander,” the cat purred. “It’s his name. The greatest gift I gave him, birthday to birthday. You weren’t even there to celebrate a single one, Graham. My dear little Gwydion. It suits you much better, you know. Alexander is so stuffy and spoiled sounding. Not at all reflective of the hard work you used to do so well.”

“He will never be Gwydion again,” Graham said.

“Graham. You weren’t there. You didn’t raise him. Your opinions just don’t matter. In fact, I’d rather like it if you stopped talking.” Manny nodded sharply to the ice guards, and one of them clamped a hard hand over Graham’s mouth, yanking him back and pinning him, pulling him up on his toes to keep him off balance and helpless.

The king grabbed at the ice hand with his good arm, struggling, pulling, feeling the cold in his cheeks, in his teeth, but the guard was as sturdy as a glacier. He clung to the guard’s wrist, but he could do nothing. It was like being held by a marble statue.

“Isn’t that so much nicer?” Manny said, after a minute of watching Graham struggle uselessly with frightful glee. “This conversation should be between you and me, Gwydion. You’re the reason I’m here, you know. You’re the reason I bothered to come back to this drainwater ditch of a country. Daventry, ha. Piddling and useless in the scheme of the world. I’d moved on to greater countries. Llewdor has so much more to offer.

“I couldn’t imagine anything better to do to Graham than watch him destroy his own country through misplaced grief while I was privileged to raise you. Once I knew you were properly ready for it,” (beaten into utter submission, Graham thought miserably), “I was going to teach you magic. I was going to use your anger and loss and funnel it. You didn’t need to steal my magic. I was going to give it to you freely, and then I was going to set you on Daventry. It was going to be yours to rule, Gwydion. I was going to give you all the rights and power, and you would have been so much happier with my guidance. We all would have been happier. Me, with Llewdor, and you, with Daventry. We would have made it something great.”

Manny flicked his tail irately, “But you got bored, didn’t you, Gwydion. Perhaps my lessons weren’t good enough. You wanted to learn magic on your own. This curse is bad enough—what else did you steal from me? Gywdion, you’ll never be a good ruler if you steal things.”

Graham made a muffled protest behind the ice guard’s hand, which Manny ignored.

“There is still a chance, Gwydion,” Manny said. “If you return me to a human form, we could go back to Llewdor. You’ve begun your magic training already, even if it was by your own power, but you show incredible aptitude for it. My training, austerity and precision, has sharpened your mind and made it receptive. I have molded you perfectly for this.”

Again, Graham complained, and again, Manny ignored him.

“This cat curse,” he continued, “is very impressive magic. I haven’t been able to figure out its counter, despite all my searching. But I’m sure you have an answer. I had to seek you out. You took the spell book with you—did you bring it here to Daventry? I must have it. I must have you reset this. Mordack doesn’t have any magic. I suppose that’s my fault for not teaching him anything, and I can’t teach him anything in this shape, but you, you clever observant twerp must have learned from watching me. Gwydion, you must fix this.”

Alexander said nothing.

“I have been forced to call upon the services of the lady of this castle for assistance,” Manny continued. “But I’m afraid she can’t restore. She only seems to have ice-based skills, which doesn’t help me. I don’t want her to freeze Daventry solid, Gwydion, at least not at this exact moment. I want you to have a reward at the end of all of this. But if you do nothing, then I can do nothing, and the castle will remain here, and the snow will get deeper, and I’m afraid that your citizens, your Feys and your...oh, I suppose the Hobblepots are probably dead by now, aren’t they? Not even those bats could live forever, and good riddance. Well. The rest of the citizens would soon join them. It would be a pretty poor country, then, boy.”

Graham said, “Mmnhff!”

Alexander said nothing.

“I can have her move the castle away,” Manny continued. “She can go away, and we can be at peace together in Llewdor again. You needn’t be a slave, now—not that you were in the first place,” he added, thoughtfully. “You were a servant, learning patience and perfectionism. And now you’ve learned enough to move to apprenticeship.

“But if you don’t help me, Gwydion, I think she will have to leave the castle here. I’m sure by now the kingdom is struggling under the snow—but when the spring comes and it never melts, what then? What will the little lanes of the town look like? The farms? All that...ah...” he hesitated, apparently looking for something a peasant might like, “farmland?”

Gwydion said nothing.

Manny waited, tail thumping the cushion impatiently. In other shapes, he probably had a decent face for gambling, but that tail was giving away all his thoughts.

“Perhaps you need to think about it,” he said, after a very, very long pause. “But I don’t think there’s enough time for that, Gwydion. I’m sorry you’re so slow, so thick, can’t make easy choices—I can’t improve the speed of your mind, as much as I would love to. Perhaps that’s something we can work on together in Llewdor.” Somehow, Graham could hear the promise of rope and nails and various vile potions in that sentence. “But maybe we can do something else? Perhaps your father could convince you? He should try, of his own power, before I add my own pressure. Although, Graham, you should know...I do really want to add my own pressure. Specifically, to you. As a method of persuading your son, of course, no other reason.”

He nodded to the guard, and the weight on Graham’s mouth eased. The guard let go, stepped back, and Graham sagged, rubbing his mouth with his good hand. The chill from the ice creature had settled deep into his bones, and he felt his knees threatening to give out. He would have fallen, but the guard caught him again, supported him. Graham clutched at his bad arm, the dizziness only growing stronger with the persistent cold.

The cat’s face twisted into as like a frown as its features could get. “You weren’t held that long,” Manny said, suspiciously. “You’re very pale, Graham. Is something wrong?”

“No,” Graham said.

“What’s wrong with your arm?”

“Nothing,” Graham snapped, shifting his weight so that his cloak fell forward, hiding his entire right side.

“Then you wouldn’t be holding it like that. What’s wrong? Something painful, I hope. I want to see,” he ordered. The ice guard shifted its grip from support to captivity again, yanked Graham's arm forward—Graham yelped involuntarily, and they all heard ice crackle as his shoulder straightened, that same strange ice-in-lemonade sound his fingers had made earlier with Valanice—and the guard ripped Graham’s gloves off, revealing one ordinary hand and one clear, blue, sculpture-like hand. The digits were as inflexible as icicles, and the wrist and elbow were completely locked in place. It caught the light, reflecting chilly shadows across Graham’s chest. The ice guard released Graham’s arm after showing it to Manny, and Graham, breathing raggedly, the pain only adding to his dizziness, cradled the cursed arm close, leaning into the guard and hating his helplessness.

“Oh,” Manny said, and startled cackling. “Ohhh, look at you. And is that it there, too, spreading up your neck?”

Graham’s good hand immediately reached to check, and the look that crossed his face as his fingers brushed the hard blue surface just barely visible above the collar of his cowl made Manny curl up on the throne with peals of shrieking laughter. His tail thumped a terrible beat.

“That’s excellent!” Manny leapt down and padded near Graham—not near enough that he risked getting kicked. He inspected the ice. “That looks like the same curse the dear lady of the castle suffers, but it’s spreading so much faster. You’ll be surprised to know this wasn’t my idea, although I rather wish it had been. Look how stiff your fingers are! You, if you’ll pardon the petty little joke made at your dreadful sense of humor’s expense, are becoming a pop-sicle. I do wonder if it’s survivable if it’s spreading so quickly.”

“I came here to find a way to lift it,” Graham muttered through gritted teeth, trying to coax his stiffening shoulder back so that he might hold it more comfortably.

“Aaaah. What a pointless waste of time. There isn’t.”

Graham said nothing.

“Every pitiful second you have left must be purrfectly agonizing,” Manny said. “How delightful. I do wonder how fast it spreads. Perhaps we should pause” (paws, Graham thought, automatically) “this conversation and reconvene in a few hours to see the changes. For scientific reasons, of course. Gwydion, consider this lesson one: we shall evaluate the speed of this curse, dissect it, and then increase its power.” He barked an order, sharp and odd in his cat’s throat, and the ice guards again clamped their hands tight on Graham and Gwydion’s arms.

Before the ice guards could start hauling them out, though, a door near the throne opened and the queen of the castle swept in, her icy skirt skating over the floor. Her dress’s train twinkled behind her, little ice specks arrayed like diamonds. She looked over Graham and Gwydion with a practiced royal haughtiness, and said, “Cat, you did not tell me we had other guests. There are so many visitors to my castle today, and I fear I am being an impolite host with my attention so divided.” She flicked a hand lazily at the ice guards, and they instantly released their captives, though they did not step away.

Graham realized he was staring. Her voice had an odd resonance to it, like it was laced with an echo from the deepest, coldest cavern, but he knew that voice nevertheless. Her face was sharply lined, frozen with clear blue ice in the same way that his arm was transforming, but flexible, with features that he knew without a doubt. Her high cheeks and button nose and large eyes were features that couldn’t be hidden even under a veneer of magic.

“Valanice,” he breathed, blinking at her.

“Pardon, sir, but do you address me?” the queen asked, her voice cold as a blizzard.

“Valanice,” he repeated, louder.

He remembered. A castle, walking through the clouds. Warm blankets and pillows banked up in piles near the cooking fire to stave off the chill. Two princesses sharing the same regal name and the same trapped fate, doomed to wander until true love broke an antiquated curse. Cuddled together around a book, around a puzzle, laughing together while he tried to make pancakes.

One princess in particular lounging in a sunny patch with her chin propped on her hands as she told stories, one princess in particular slapping down the winning card in a game with exaggerated triumph, one princess in particular dancing in the starlight and the reflective glow of the spell holding them all captive. A dear friend who had slowly drifted away once they had all escaped, had cut herself off, had stopped answering their letters.

A dear friend who, Graham suddenly realized, had been still trapped by one curse even as they escaped another.

“Valanice!” Graham stepped forward. The guard behind him raised its hand ever so slightly, to catch him and drag him back again should he act aggressively.

“I’m afraid, sir, you may have me confused with another, somehow,” the ice queen said. She tossed her snow white hair over her shoulder, her blue crown glittering on her brow. “That is the name of my other guest. It is a delightful name, though. I do feel rather fond of it. I wanted to speak with her, but Cat said we both ought to rest before enjoying an official audience.”

“V-Valanice,” Graham said, uncertainly, pressing down panic starting to bubble in his chest. His queen, his wife, his Valanice, locked away in some freezing room awaiting ‘hospitality.’ With Manny as host, that probably meant something very nasty. “What have you done to her?”

“Let her sleep, of course. Cat said she must be worn out after coming all the way to my home. She was so exhausted, she could not keep her feet when we met. She couldn’t even finish the lovely tea Cat ordered for her, so I told her we would speak later and left her to her rooms.”

Graham had a pretty good idea what sort of tea Valanice had been given. Probably forced to drink at knifepoint. Chamomile almost certainly was not involved. He could only hope that the wizard, in this be-clawed shape, couldn’t craft any more of that rare but potent hypnosis powder. “Manny, if she’s hurt, you are going to pay.”

“A good night’s sleep helps us all,” the cat said. “I should like you to sleep, too.” Never had an innocuous sentence been spoken with such venom and threat.

“’Tis true,” the ice queen said, and she gracefully settled into her throne. “My name, sir, is Queen Icebella, and I welcome you to my home. May you find it a warming balm on your soul after your travels, for I fear that my home is very far from civilized parts. You may introduce yourself and your ward.”

“You know me,” Graham said. “You know me very well already.”

She frowned, her imperious expression frostier than ever. “I find that impossible, sir. We have not met.”

“I am King Graham, ruler of Daventry, and you are Princess Valanice of Kolyma, and we have traveled together in the past, together with my wife Valanice, whom you have drugged and locked up somewhere. Valanice, please! You must remember me! Remember her!”

“I do not take kindly to presumptions and liars,” Icebella said sharply. “You must be king of a very poor country indeed, unless you are lying about that as well and have stolen airs for yourself.”

Stolen airs. Stolen heirs. Stolen lives.

“Valanice,” he began again.

“My name, Graham,” she snapped, biting out his name with no trace of remembrance, not a hint of warmth, “is Queen Icebella, and I do not tolerate impertinence.” She looked like she wanted to strike him down, beginning to rise out of her throne with all the unstoppability of a glacier.

“My sweet lady,” Manny cooed, breaking her focus so easily, drawing it back to himself. He padded back to the dais and leapt onto the throne arm, tail swishing gently against her wrist. “Do not waste your temper on rabble. He certainly is not worth your effort. You are intended for better, dear Icebella.”

“Dear Cat, you are always so wise,” Icebella said, and she gently stroked the silky black fur, her frozen fingers catching the light. “This audience goes poorly.”

“My Queen, I was going to have these two ruffians removed until their tempers are more refined. I thought a brief stay in one of the guest rooms would relax them; I suspect they are as tired as your other guest. And then, perhaps, we can all meet together with manners befitting royalty. Although, perhaps, these two are entirely unmannered. It may be best, My Queen, if you did not have to look at them again. They can be removed permanently if you command it. I shall have the guards remove them from your sight, esteemed lady. Guards!”

“No, Cat, wait,” she said, raising a hand. “Permanently? I find that displeasing. We have so few guests. I do wish to speak with them and learn of what they have seen outside.”

“My Queen, if you desire that, we may. However, they are very unrefined. Another guest would be better. These two should be escorted away and replaced with someone more appropriate for your level of royalty. Guards!”

“No, Cat, I rather do want to hear more from them. The one in red is annoying, but interesting. If he believes himself a king, he may have some information for me about his country that I should like to know. Do not have them permanently removed.”

Manny’s face twisted and his tail thumped hard as some unconscious sign of his displeasure at being overruled, at having his sly manipulations ignored, although Icebella didn’t notice as she was too busy studying Graham. He said, voice tight with politeness, “As My Queen commands. They shall return for a brief audience with you later, after they have rested. Guards.” The order was flat and bored and disappointed sounding.

“Graham,” Icebella mused, blissfully ignorant of Manny’s irritation. “It is a nice enough sounding name. Pleasing. I should enjoy your company as a guest in my home, but next time we speak, do not anger nor insult me, or I shall indeed lose my temper, and that is unbefitting. In a few hours, Cat, I should like to set the appointment, and I look forward to it. Do see to it, my friend. You are so good at commanding my guards to work quickly and precisely.” She spoke with pure open honesty, not a trace of irony or sarcasm. And with that, she left the room, skirts ringing as decorative ice droplets dripping from the fabric clattered against each other.

[dboliklover]

Tainting the Angel so That She Falls - Subaru 

Existence had always been unkind to you, as a Nephilim.

A child of both worlds.

An abomination.

You never really ‘belonged’ anywhere, born too sinful to join the angelic ranks, too holy and powerful to live amongst the human children.

Your mother had tried her best to raise you and keep your parentage a secret from the other village folks - she tried to ensure you had a safe upbringing, but it was not meant to be. You were too strange to fit in with the other children, and it showed.

Eventually, your mother even gave her life to protect you from the villagers’ harmful intent, believing you to be a demonic child, not an angelic one. Then again, to them, there would be little difference. You were dangerous in their eyes because you were a mystical being unknown to them.

And they feared that which they did not know.

So you ran. You ran far and tried to find your place in the world, though it was tremendously difficult and the road was ever-weary.

It was a tremendously painful life, full of challenges to just stay alive - never belonging anywhere. Through the centuries you adapted from one place to another, from era to era, keeping mostly to yourself because you knew no matter how hard you tried, that you’d never be accepted by the humans.

And that was when you met him.

He was a vampire. You didn’t sense that at first - only the vague sense of solidarity between yourselves. From the very first moment you met him, you felt connected to him.

You were both still children. You’d been older by a century or two - but by immortal standards, this was nothing; and though your innocence was gone due to era after era of horrible treatment and observing the sins of humanity, your body had yet to mature.  Immortals aged far slower.

His own innocence was almost gone, when you met him.

He was a sweet boy. Your meeting had been an accident - you were in a forest when you saw him - he was picking wild roses and flowers, when you stepped on a branch and accidentally made yourself known. He hissed, thinking you an enemy, only to raise his eyebrow in surprise when he saw a weak-looking, starved girl show herself to him.

Feebly, you introduced yourself as simply “(Y/N)”.  Nothing more, nothing less.

Subaru allowed you to pick the flowers with him and explained they were for his mother; he wished to do something nice for her that would make her smile - “she’s been unhappy a lot, lately.” He told you, that day.

Once the sun began to go down, you stood, wishing him and his mother well, turning to walk back into the woods. You had the sweetest little hut you had found in the woods back about a decade or so, it was small and quaint and well-hidden, and thus ideal for you. Perhaps, it was cold, and winters were harsh, but you loved your small hut for one.

From the moment of your fateful meeting onwards, you and Subaru spent more time together. He’d come to visit you, especially when he had terrible days, and you let him see your hut.

For a little while, everything was good. Your life, always so chaotic, was...good, and you were truly happy for the first time in forever.  

Seasons changed just as they did each year, but for the first time, you noticed the beauty in everything. The rusty autumn leaves, the frosty spiderwebs, the spring daises, the sun-encased trees.

And, as time passed, you and Subaru only became closer. Childhood sweethearts; not-quite-lovers. Simply two young souls who adored each other, who understood each other, who felt a bond. The type of relationship that is filled with “almost”.

Almost kisses, almost lovers, almost romance, almost eternal;

Until, one day, he stopped visiting you.

You had no idea why - you tried to find out, to go to him, but you did not know where his house was. For all you knew, someone or something might’ve killed your best friend in cold hands.

You stayed up all day and night for weeks on end hoping he would come, searching your forest high and low, but there was no sign of him.

Dejected, you had to accept the outcome that either he was now dead, or, the dreadful outcome; he was tired and bored of you.

It also turned out that one of the nearby villagers had seen you, and they gathered to expel you from your hut. Unfortunately for you, the village nearest to the forest had been overflowing with superstitious fools who, as all humans did, chased you out with flames and curses.

Years and decades blended together undistinguishedly, and now you were sitting on a church rooftop, petite but glorious wings on your back, loosely relaxed. You’d been accepted, at long last, by the angelic order.

You still had no idea why they allowed you into their order - you, who they viewed as a disgusting being for so long - but you were glad because at long last you finally ‘belonged’.

Except you didn’t really feel as if you did. Being one of them was great - what you’d dreamt of since you were a child, but now you found it so...devoid of joy.

Subaru still crossed your mind, more often than he ought to. You wished you had more time with him, but Fate was a cruel mistress. Whatever happened to him in the end, you could only hope it brought him peace, even if it was death.

The card that Fate threw at you, however, mere months later was as unexpected as could be.

Walking down the streets, wearing a charm that concealed you from human eyes, you tried to locate your new human charge - they were going to let you observe humans and assist some guardian angels to train yourself to someday become one, too.

It was there where you saw him, but you could not believe your eyes - it was a hallucination, it must be.

You stood across from one another in the street, baffled, until Subaru was approached by what you could only assume were his brothers and a sweet-looking blonde girl, pulling him away from staring at the girl across the street.

He looked...good. Shaking yourself out of that state, you turned and continued walking to your destination, trying to focus on the task at hand. Subaru was your past.

Being an angel...this was your future.

It was your future...but you felt drawn towards him, you always were.

The next time you saw him, it was months later. You spent those months working and sucking up to make yourself seem worthy of your lowly angelic ranking - they had a change of heart and allowed you to join them in the first place, you weren’t about to be lazy and make them think they made a regrettable choice.

As one who never fit anywhere, this was going to be as good as it got for you. Humanity was overrated, so at least you had that in common with quite a large portion of some more...spiteful angels.

This time, you had a different kind of task. Your tasks as a pupil for being a future guardian was going well, but they wanted to test your abilities to protect your charges from evil beings, and thus you were given the responsibility to ‘take care’ of some small negative influences - nothing extreme, you were always going to be a Nephilim, and thus weaker than a full-on angel when it came to powers. You had to get rid of some slightly-negative spirits, helping them pass over to the other side. Not the easiest job, but not dangerous, either.

It was during this time that Subaru approached you, breathless, just as you watched a spirit fade into the light, feeling you with warmth. Subaru had watched you in the shadows as you gently explained to the ghost that they were dead and that their confusion was valid, but they needed to let go. It was beautiful.

“(Y/N).”

You gasped, turning around and staring at him, fighting against your immediate instinct to run into his arms and hug him as you cried. He was your past, now, not your future.

“Subaru…”

The awkward tension was endless. What could he possibly say to you? What could you possibly say to him?

“I…” he paused, gulping, ashamed. He had never gone back to visit you, never said goodbye, and the shame from that was hitting him - hard. He’d abandoned you like he feared to be abandoned.

He did to you, what he feared would be done to him. There was no amount of apologies that could ever atone for that.

When he did go back, months later, your small cottage had been burnt to the ground, as with the woodland closest to it. He recalled how much he wept, thinking you dead.

And now here you were and with wings this time around.

“You’re an angel now,”

“-Yes.” your responses were curt and simple - you couldn’t be mixed up with him anymore. If someone saw you...well, you would risk falling and that would be worse than if you remained half-way between two worlds.

Subaru cursed himself into infinity, throat and chest feeling too tight - he couldn’t breathe.

“I must go,” You stated, taking him off-guard, and left.

And just like the first time he lost you, you took his heart with you.

He couldn’t sleep for weeks on end, dreams of you haunting him, regret overcoming him. He needed to find you - to explain himself - to, perhaps, make things right if at all possible.

Subaru knew he didn’t deserve your forgiveness. You’d always been too soft, too sweet, too loving for him. But he had to try.

A monster he may be, but he’d be damned if he didn’t even try to atone.

Finding you was harder than he thought, however, since you were evading him - when he got sight of you, you would see him and hurry away.

It frustrated him to no end.

You tried your hardest to be strong, to stay away from him. Your heart longed for him for so long, but you couldn’t allow yourself to be seen with him, to fraternize with him.

Except you were weak, and after the nth time of seeing him and his dejected face, you sighed and went down to him, allowing him to talk.

He then, badly, attempted to redeem himself - explain himself - in front of you, stuttering over every other word as his emotions overwhelmed him and made him want to punch the nearest wall, and he did. His sudden affinity for violence shocked you and made you flinch, caused pain to strike through his unbeating heart.

You were scared of him, now, because he couldn’t control his forsaken temper!

But you, foolishly, agreed to forgive him - and from then on, though you didn’t particularly go out of your way to see him, if you happened to then you were just as kind and sweet as ever.

He missed you so badly, he hadn’t even realised how much until now.

And he wanted you to be with him - like you always should’ve been - but you were on the angels’ side now, and he knew better than to try and ruin something so beautiful for you.

So, when you had a fallout with some upper angels, and realised how miserable you were, you went to find him just to lament your fate - he was the only person  you could go to in this situation, and you just hoped he wouldn’t mind your ranting.

He understood, then, that you still felt like you did not belong even with the angels.

But he dared not suggest anything else -  anything about you stepping away from that Holy Order.

And, when you were discovered, he knew he had to do something right by you, for once, and tried to place all the blame on himself; he tempted you - and all those bullshit ‘unholy’ acts - to frame himself as the sinner, which he was, in this case. You, however, were having none of it.

Even if you hadn’t announced that you were fine with falling, you would’ve fallen regardless; an angel was meant to be incorruptible, which you clearly weren’t in their eyes.

But the fact he still tried warmed your heart, and you appreciated it oh-so-deeply.

Gods, you loved him - oh God. You loved him. Though you supposed it had always been that way.

And...if falling was what it took to be with him - to be allowed to be with him - then so be it. Because by his side, and only by his side, did you feel like you belonged.

- Mod Rozalia 

[andrawmedae]

A fireplace tale

The fireplace had always been Rowena’s favorite place to think. To fantasize, to ruminate, to bounce some ideas back and forth, even if, let’s be honest, she always ended up hurting herself with some gloomy thoughts.

At the edge of the tall pines, tremendous blazings had given way to dying embers, and the traveling companions divided the watch quarters among themselves.

As she stirred her spoon in the hot broth Sindri brewed, turnips and pine nuts along with some leftover bread, the young dwarf replayed in her head the events of the last days.

The party had been on the road for a few days, and the young bard was feeling a bit agitated, to say the least. How can one think about such trivial things when children are missing? How can one feel so jaunty and cheerful when talking to a special someone when some moments ago, people were murdered in front of one’s eyes? How can one(/cut)..

Sindri: … your soup?

Rowena: Sorry cousin, what?

Sindri: You need to eat a bit more Rowena, I think the night won’t be a quiet one, the woods are teeming with life, and I’m not sure it’s the affable kind.

Rowena: I… yes, yes I’ll eat up.

The two dwarves were sitting side by side on a heavy branch, by the fire where a cauldron was quietly bubbling. A few meters away, three makeshift tents stood tall, right on the fringe of some ominous pines. The warmth of the flames was welcome as the cool midnight breeze was beginning to pierce through the layers of adventurers' cloth.

Sindri: You don’t seem as chipper as usual, is something on your mind?

Rowena (not very convincing): Well yes of course I mean, the children are still lost, we don’t yet know what awaits us beyond these cursed woods, and the nights to come are not going to help me calm my mind.

Sindri: Rowena, I have roamed these lands for 200 years longer than you, and yet you honestly seem to think I can’t see when you are hiding something from me?

Rowena: Oh come on cousin, don’t play that old trick on me, truly it’s nothing in particular

Sindri (amused): Oooh I see I see. You know, it is my mind who is surely playing tricks on me, because I was quite confident it was related to yesterday. You know, the fact that when we decided to break the buddy system for last night’s vigil, and that you would have loooved finishing your conversation with Iaus(/cut)

Rowena (quick, afraid): Oy shut up, shut up they’ll hear us, you don’t know if everybody is asleep Sindri!

Sindri (joyful): Aha, perceptive as always your good Cousin Sindri, Heh? Rowena, you can’t fool me, it's not because my beard is whiter than yours that I no longer perceive the flicker, that flicker, in people's eyes.

Rowena: It’s not what you think, or not exactly, not all, I mean I (stumbles) (pause)

Sindri: What is it cousin? (pause) I’m sorry for teasing you a bit, I could not help myself. But it was so tempting, you know? I promise, you can tell me if you want to, you know I won’t judge you.

Rowena: Yes, yes I know, it’s just that I’m a bit embarrassed talking about that with you. I mean all I know about, you know, your love life, is that you have been married to Pia for quite some time now, which is wonderful of course, but that’s it! I don’t know all the foolishness from your younger years, the silly things you won’t tell without one or two tankards full of ale. So well it’s… weird I guess, for me, talking about that, because well, you don’t know much about me either, and a vigil doesn’t scream “Comfy and safe time for coming out to your long lost cousin”

Sindri: Coming out you say? Wait, I thought it was about Iaus?

Rowena: Well, yeah it kinda is? But at the same time it’s a little more complicated than that, and I feel a little uneasy about it. I’m 80 but I still feel like such a child! I mean (whispering) having a crush in these peculiar circumstances would already be a bit challenging to deal with… but having several, on people who know each other and work together it’s ooooh- I would love burying my head in the earth and disappearing.

Sindri: You know what little cousin? I think it’s time for me to tell you more about my -how did you put it, oh Pelor give me strength, - my love life, while you drink your soup.

Rowena: ...

Sindri: Well to begin with the part that you know(/cut)

Rowena (intrigued): The part that I know?

Sindri (amused): Rowena, it would be easier for me to tell you about that time if you drank your soup peacefully. Now, as I was saying, you know I’m happily married to Pia. Back in the day, it was as wanted the tradition, but our union was also beneficial to not only our two families, but a lot of other people. Some trades and arrangements were made, contracts and apprenticeships, we knew our clans would have some steady years as a result of our families becoming one. The part that you don’t know, and where I’ll be glad if you take a generous gulp right… (Rowena takes a spoonful) oh, thank you dear. I am so much more than Pia’s husband, and she’s so much more than Sindri’s wife. Because hmm, you know, when, you know when we met, well. There were a lot of people in the Crag you know? And… (silent)

Slowly, gently, Rowena swallowed her mouthful before sitting on the ground, in front of Sindri. She held his hand as she said quietly

Rowena: Were you in love with someone else?

Sindri (smiling, quietly): Well, as a matter of fact, I still am! Rowena, I have been in love with two wonderful people for over 100 years, who know each other and that I love both of them : my dearest Pia, who gives me love and strength everyday, and who gave me adorable children, and Amonak, who also gives me love and strength everyday.

Rowena (loudly): Oh my gooood that’s amazing!

Iaus (alerted/groggy/from afar): What? Are we being ambushed?

Rowena: (Oh shit, laughing) Sorry, no, all fine, you can go back to sleep! (lower, but very fast) Tell me more about Amonak, about everything!

Sindri: Hahaha, I’m glad to see your ardor, it warms my heart a little, being able to talk about both of them to my charming cousin, and to feel elated and relieved about it. I wish to tell you about the time where we met, because I assume you are experiencing quite a similar phase right now. I met Amonak before meeting Pia. He was about (/cut)my age

Rowena (bursting with joy but trying to keep her voice down): He? Amonak is a man?

Sindri (amused, lighthearted): Shhh, finish your soup first, you can grill me later! Yes, Amonak is a man, a dwarf from the FrostIron Moun(/cut)… (thinking) has anyone told you that the FrostIron Mountains folks are positively… open minded with who one should love? It is a sacred sentiment after all, a blessing, and when one lucky person falls in love with another, it is always celebrated fondly. When I met him, all I could see was a young dwarf radiating with such a calming but firm presence, so much aching but so much joy, and all I wanted to do was listening to him explaining passionately how one could smith a well-balanced axe, or how to cure a bad beer induced hangover. Yes, I may have experienced the last one while being cared for said hangover.

Rowena: Oh you need to tell me the secret recipe for that, Cousin

Sindri (light laughter): Aging 100 years should help you greatly! Being close to Amonak felt like floating in the clouds, bathing in the sunlight without suffering from the heat, feeling strong as Moradin, but as light as the wind too. The Crag was still the Crag of course, but thanks to him, the hardship seemed less terrible to endure. I won’t bore you with all the petty details, but we spent days discovering each other slowly and gently, then months sharing and caring for each other. A few years later, Pia and some others arrived in the Crag. She too made me feel like a ray of sunshine was brushing my ski, gently painting my cheeks pink each time she spoke to me. Some other newcomers were also fascinating people, I know for a fact that Amonak did bind with some of them. After all those years talking with the same company, It felt for both of us like a breath of fresh winter air… I could have convinced myself that I was 50 years old again. I took advantage of every stolen moment with Pia to get to know her, then the discussions got longer and longer, whether they were just between the two of us, with Amonak or the other newcomers. I was falling in love with her too. And it was such a delightful feeling, such a special blessing that I wanted to talk to Amonak as soon as I understood it.

Rowena: And you did? Were you not afraid of breaking his heart?

Sindri: Well to be honest, I don’t see one’s heart as a breakable thing. For instance, a mighty tree could be a beautiful picture to represent that strong force of nature, but I think it rather is closer to… well, water? It can bend, it won’t break. And yes, sometimes it can freeze, but with a little warmth, a soft conversation or a prayer it can easily melt back to an impetuous torrent, full of life and joy, full of light and love. I was not afraid of breaking Amonak’s heart. I knew that even if it froze for a bit, I could easily help my beloved unthaw it, making him feel unique and adored. But the beauty of this moment was slightly different that you could have guessed, because well, Amonak fell in love with one of the newcomers too!

Rowena: Nooooo, for real?

Sindri (amused): Yes, yes, “for real”. I don’t know if Pelor blessed us, or if I am one of the luckiest dwarves that ever lived, but since that day, my heart is held not by two, but by four hands, and it never felt cold anymore.

Rowena: Sindri, that’s so beautiful, thank you for sharing such a cherished memory, it makes me wanna burst into song.

Sindri: It would be an honor, but I don’t think our new friends would feel the same that late in the night!

Rowena: Haha, you are right. (pensive) Does it make this journey harder for you? I mean, I know for a fact that you did not see Pia for a long time, is it the same with Amonak?

Sindri: Well, sadly yes. I had to protect them both. But I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. When Pia and I got married, we enchanted our rings so that they could communicate with each other. It's not much, we can't have a conversation, but thanks to that, I can know if Pia is in good shape, if she is happy, and to know that it fills me with joy and serenity. And do you see that locket holding my cape? Everyone thinks that's a sigil for Pelor, a sun with a sunflower, that would be totally appropriate. But the truth is quite different as you will have already guessed.

Rowena: Amonak have the same sigil?

Sindri: Well not quite identical, Amonak is a cleric of Moradin, his own sigil has an anvil with a sunflower. Here let me show you. As Sindri places a hand on his locket, as to warm it a bit, he says with a gentle voice Sindri: Hello sunbeam, I hope you are alright.

Then, putting his hand on his knee, the sun began to revolve on itself, while the sunflower above it began to rotate in the opposite direction. A few moments later, two eyelid-like shapes opened, and a calm metallic voice responded. The Locket Warm. Love. Safe. Time

Rowena: Did he? It? Who?

Sindri: Amonak seems to be fine according to our lockets, and he misses me. ó elskan mín.

Rowena: That’s so… magnificent! Can you teach me how to do that? I could enchant my own harp and… well I have other instruments who can..

Sindri: In time I could show you that my dear, but I think you ought to yourself to have some heartfelt conversations with some other people over there, before saying Hey, this magical harmonica will tell me if you are alive and well, and by the way I have a crush on you

Soren: Oh, you have a crush on who?

[sinner-as-saint]

Safe Haven

SAFE HAVEN

Bucky Barnes / The Winter Soldier x Reader headcanon

 Reader and Bucky Barnes’ life post Endgame. (Definitely not requested but I needed this myself)

 Themes: POST ENDGAME (SPOILER ALERT), FLUFF, language, SMUT, FEELS, slight angst.

 A/N: His little side part i cannot, he’s so pretty my angelic little baby boy. Also, not advisable to read if you haven’t watched Avengers: Endgame. Literally, the first line is a MAJOR spoiler. And for those who have, I hope you like it :) 

  ·        Things weren’t the same ever since everyone got back from Tony’s funeral. Hearts were broken, and you all had collective internalized the fact that nothing was going to be the same again.

 ·        As an Avenger yourself, having fought alongside Tony for years, you had trouble imagining a world with him. You couldn’t believe Earth lost her best defender. And neither could Bucky. Or anyone else really.

 ·        You, Bucky and Sam always had each other’s back. And now with Steve gone and Sam having new responsibilities on his shoulders, it was mainly just you and Bucky at the compound.

 ·        Yeah, the lot came by sometimes. You’d hear someone in the lab and you’d instantly know that it was Banner. Wanda came by many times, whenever you needed a girls’ night in. Thor was getting great at technology so he and the Guardians video called you a lot.  Clint stayed in touch and so did Scott and Peter.

 ·        Basically, you all were doing your own thing, but you knew that if you ever needed their help, they had all assured you that they were only a call away.

 ·        Bucky was never quite the talker, so he kept to himself most of the time. However, you noticed that that started changing quickly.

 ·        He would actually make an effort to talk sometimes. Sure, he was still the grumpy old man he is, but he would try his best.

 ·        Given that the compound was way too spacious for 2 people, you started noticing that he would try his best to be in the same room as you often. He would come the gym at around the same time as you did, which was literally in the middle of the night. He would wake up around the time as you just so he’d have company at breakfast.

 ·        Bucky and you had been friends in the past, but you were never close. You barely talked to each other outside of missions, so this side of Bucky was new to you.

 ·        He soon started getting more and more involved with everything you did. He’d help with dinner sometimes, he’d give you a helping hand whenever you needed advice on how to execute missions.

 ·        And soon, he talked a lot more than he did in the past, he’d make jokes, and sing along to songs and watch movies with you and Wanda whenever she came by. It was a beautiful friendship.

 ·        Time went by and living with Bucky became a habit. And you didn’t realize how much you cared about him until one day, he came back home form a solo mission, wounded.

 ·        You didn’t notice the tears falling down your cheeks as you tended his injuries.

 ·        “Hey, doll. I’m fine, I’m home now. Don’t cry,” he whispered, caressing your cheek with his bloodstained metal arm. And that’s when you broke into sobs, hugging him tightly. You couldn’t lose him. Your friends were away, and you had no family. Bucky was all you had, and you couldn’t lose him.

 ·        Ever since that day, you started sensing a sweet tension in the air whenever he was around. And you believed he sensed it too because he did whatever he could just to be close to you. He’d slowly inch closer to you as you sat on the couch. He’d swing by your room because he needed help with his phone. He’d even make you dinner on days when you were sick, or tired.

 ·        The nicknames came along little by little. He developed the habit of calling you ‘doll’ and ‘sugar’ you started calling him ‘Buck’ – which wasn’t weird unless you were in the company of the other Avengers.

 ·        The first one to notice was Banner. One time when he came over to work in the lab, you guys were having breakfast together and Bucky just casually said, “Doll, can you pass me the syrup?” followed by a “Thanks, sugar,” and Banner gave you a sly smirk and you spent the entire morning convincing him that no, you and Bucky were NOT dating.

 ·        After Banner left, the rest of your friends texted you immediately, teasing you about the nicknames. You blushed and smiled at every text, but you didn’t let Bucky know that you liked the names he called you.

 ·        Sure, nothing was always smooth. Some days, you had trouble adjusting to the tremendous changes which occurred in such a short span of time. But Bucky was always there to help. He’d calm you down by telling you stories about his past, whichever ones he could remember. And for some weird reasons, the sound of his voice helped a lot.

 ·        Some days, he had trouble sleeping. He had this reoccurring nightmare which showed him that everyone abandoned him and he had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. After dreaming about losing all those he cared about, including you, he couldn’t be alone in the dark of the night. So one day, he knocked on your bedroom door at around 2 a.m., sheepishly asking if he could sleep in your room. He offered to take the couch or even settle for the floor but you said you didn’t mind sharing the bed.

 ·        So you each slept on your own side of the bed, sharing the blanket. And soon, that became a little routine.

 ·        Every night, at some point, you’d hear knocking on your door and you’d unlock and open it to find a sleepy Bucky with his pillow tucked under his arm and messy bed hair at your door. You’d smile and let him in, every night.

 ·        Then slowly, you made little alterations to the routine. You started leaving your door unlocked so he could just walk in instead of knocking. And he started leaving behind his pillow.

 ·        Then one day he brought his own blanket, and left that too. And you had gotten used to it. You had gotten used to feeling a robust body in your bed. You had gotten used to the faint scent of his cologne and the fresh smell of his body wash on your sheets. And his bright red blanket, in contrast to your all black and white room interior.

 ·        Before you knew it, Bucky started leaving behind more and more stuff that he owned. And you never complained because you knew that it was eventually gonna lead up to this. And soon enough, you both started sharing the room. Even though you never talked about it, you were both happy to share the space.

 ·        As days went by, you grew more and more accustomed to living with each other. It was peaceful and you smiled whenever you found something belonging to him among your stuff. Like his random shirts would find their way into your closet. Your hair bands would end up on his bedside table – which he often used, and never returned, thinking you never noticed. But you did.

 ·        Falling for him was never planned, but it wasn’t hard either given that he was always so caring, attentive and so honest with you. And all the little things he did caused you to catch more and more feelings for him.

 ·        Like, he had all your food orders memorized. He’d often drive you places you needed to be at. He knew when to fool around making jokes and when to be dead serious.

 ·        Slowly, cuddling and touching each other became normal.

 ·        You started by sharing a blanket when you watched movies in the living area. Then you’d place your head on his shoulder and he’d lean his cheek down on your hair.

 ·        Little by little, you started cuddling in bed – knowing how much you both needed reassurance that someone was there, and they weren’t leaving anytime soon.

 ·        One morning you woke up, arms wrapped tightly around you and you smiled, knowing you were safe in the arms of the soldier you were rapidly losing your heart to.

 ·        Bucky got used to your touch as well. Whenever he had too much work to do, be it planning your missions or paperwork with the government or the other Avengers – any work which required him to sit at his desk for hours, he knew that he could expect you to walk in and give him a quick massage to loosen his stiff neck and shoulders.

 ·        He would always be the big spoon, making sure you were comfortable and safe in his arms.

 ·        At night, whenever you woke up and rolled over, you always saw his metal arm shining and the soft snores leaving his lips. And all was good in the world.

 ·        Bucky developed feelings for you too. Actually he liked you for a long time now, but he just never knew how to express it. He was too scared he’d blew it or that you’d never like a killing machine back.

 ·        But he decided that he should try his luck. He started by randomly buying you flowers, and placing them on your desk in your study room, with a little note which said his name. As if someone else lived with you.

 ·        His sweet gestures made you smile throughout the day; he showed you he loved you in numerous ways.

 ·        Whenever he woke up before you did, he’d carefully free his arms from under your body and make his way downstairs to make you breakfast.

 ·        When you acting more than friends but less than a couple, he was sort of nervous the first time you both got intimate in the bedroom. He was used to holding you and, many times before – way before living with you, he had thought of you while stroking his length. But this was different, because when you looked up at him with your big e/c eyes, all he wanted to do was to bury himself deep inside of you as you moaned out his name, loud and clear – letting it echo off the walls of the empty compound as he took you.

 ·        Bucky making love to you could leave you blushing for days. He left marks of his adoration for you everywhere on your skin, mainly in places where only he could see.

 ·        He was passionate, and slightly controlling in bed. He liked seeing you on your knees, lips wrapped around his length as he held your head, gently guiding himself inside your wet mouth. And you never once complained.

 ·        He loved the sounds you made in bed; your mewls, your moans and whimpers as your body squirmed under him.

 ·        He strongly disapproved of you being in possession of any sort of toy or vibrators. Because he believed that you didn’t need any of those to get you off while he was around.

 ·        He loved the feeling of having your bare skin pressed against his. And he liked your body heat.

 ·        Another thing he loved about you was that you knew he wasn’t very good at expressing his feelings through spoken words, yet you still managed to understand whatever he tried to convey. You knew when he needed a long hug. You knew when he needed to be left alone. You knew when he wanted you. You knew it all without him ever having to say a single word.

 ·        You helped him discover the culture, music, new cuisines and he was grateful. He was confused a lot of the time because he had missed out on so much and so many changes occurred during the time when he was the Winter Soldier. But you helped him through it all.

 ·        Once you showed him your playlist, he randomly decided that he liked the song ‘I Found’ by Amber Run. And you listened to it all the time because it reminded you of him.

 ·        Despite it all, you were still not an official couple. So when you confronted him about what he thought of your ‘relationship’ he said something which nearly brought you to tears.

 ·        “Doll, you’re more than just my girlfriend. You understand me like no one ever did and like no one ever will. When I’m with you, I don’t feel like a weapon. When you’re around, I don’t hear the screams of all the people I’ve hurt in the past. You help me through my nightmares and my darkest days, you love me unconditionally even when I don’t deserve it. You’re more than just my girl, babe, you’re my soul mate.”

 ·        And that was one of the rare times when Bucky poured his heart out and genuinely meant what he said, given that he was never a vocal guy.

 ·        Truth be told, he was your soul mate too. You knew it deep inside your heart.

 ·        Yet, just like any other couple, you had your ups and downs as well.

 ·        Bucky was someone who got really jealous really fast. And despite the fact that you rarely argued, whenever you did it was mainly because of him being caught up in a fit of jealousy and saying something hurtful, unintentionally.

 ·        Bucky tended to be quite controlling, even outside the bedroom. He liked knowing your whereabouts at all times. He had to call you every hour just to make sure you were okay, if ever you were away. And you were someone who cherished your freedom and freewill. Naturally, that caused some arguments to heat up sometimes.

 ·        However, you were both very quick to apologize because you couldn’t bear being mad at each other. And Bucky promised that he’d work on his issues as much as he could.

 ·        Your arguments often led to you both getting all the stress, tension, frustration and anger out of your systems by fucking the brains out of each other. You never complained while in the moment, however the next day, you couldn’t walk right. And seeing you struggling caused Bucky to walk around the entire day with a smug look on his face.

 ·        You never blamed Bucky for being too possessive or over protective. He had lost almost everyone he ever cared about, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.

 ·        Late at night, wrapped in each other’s embrace, when you couldn’t sleep; he’d tell you about all the memories he had of the time spent with Steve. And every time he did, he’d get emotional about it. It made you sad as well.

 ·        “I guess, this is where the line ends, right? I don’t blame him though, he gave me a second chance and went on to live his life. The happy life he deserved. Plus, I got you now so I’m not complaining,” he say, wiping the few fallen tears which rolled down his cheeks.

 ·        “You deserve a happy life too, Buck. I will try my best to give you one, I love you so much baby,” you’d say, kissing him on the forehead. And he’d smile, realizing that you were the best thing that ever happened to him. And that he’d absolutely lose his mind if something ever took you away from him.

 ·        You guys eventually telling everyone about your relationship when they all came over for Christmas. And the rest of the team couldn’t be any happier.

 ·        “I leave for what, a year and now you’re dating the Summer Soldier? I’m happy for you Y/n. And hey, fall soldier, treat her right,” Sam a.k.a Cap would say, teasing the both of you.

 ·        Little did they know that he treated you better than anyone ever could. And you loved him, you loved him tenderly. You loved the crinkles by his eyes, the way his confusion could clearly be seen on his face whenever something was too complex for him to understand. You loved how hyper he’d get whenever he had too much sugar. You even loved him when he was grumpy for no reason. You loved how old fashioned he was, and how he could sometimes love you carefully while other times he’d pound into you like he owned your body.

 ·        And he loved you slightly more than that. You were his rock. His serenity; he knew he could turn to you whenever no matter what and you’d be there welcoming him with open, loving arms. You were the solace he sought ever since they wiped his mind and turned him into a weapon. You were his safe haven and you were the shelter he’d always come back to whenever the world got too dark and too cruel.

 ·        Neither of you knew yet, that the proof of Bucky’s unquestionable love for you was steadily growing inside your womb as the days went by. Neither of you knew about the blissful future which was to come. All you knew was that as long as you had each other, all will be fine.

[qhostqizmo]

It’s sink or swim

a split second decision

The wind was biting; almost savagely cold, but by far she felt she was far more frigid. There was no ice, no snow, no speck of white dusting the trees or dirt; winter was coming but had not arrived, but there was no denying the frost in her veins. She dared not to look down; to see where all her warmth had bled out in the red stain on her shirt. Her teeth could almost chatter. Her skin was crawling, clammy; much too cold. Dangerously chilled.

As the half-elf took another swing at her, Essätha saw it coming, and prepared. She stumbled her way through a dodge; she’d take a near-miss over even a nick as she panted for air, and brought up her hand. Arcs of electricity crackled from her touch. Her swipe missed his skin but the conduct of the metal armor he was wearing enough. The charge of her touch crackled, meeting the plating wrapped around his arm, and the man yelped and cursed in a vile string.

She spat blood on his face as he turned to snarl at her. It splattered into his mess of long brown hair.

The man said something and staggered, swinging his sword again. Another miss; he was losing his edge. Essie could dimly make out and hear the others around her; shouting and cursing and roaring with triumph and anger. Her hearbeat pounded in her eardrums, and in her head. The cold was numbing making her head throb and causing a wave of dizziness and nausea to swim through her senses.

Keep your focus, she chided herself, shaking off the alarm at just how tired she felt. Tired to the bone. Exhausted deep, deep in every fiber of her muscles, she wanted to fall to her knees and sob weakly of it.

Enraged as she attempted to jab him with a dagger; the blow glancing off the collar of their armor and narrowly missing carving through their throat, the elf swung again. Cold steel sliced against her ribcage. A hiss of agony escaped her.

Drawing back his sword, the man struck her in the chest with the hilt and broad edge.

There was no catching feet from beneath her, not this time.

Tumbling back, Essätha let out a startled shriek. She hit the ground; found that the slope and soft soil beneath her was not stable in the least, and began to slide. Her voice cracked; a raspy gasp that soon turned into a terrified screech. Her hands blindly grabbed at grass steams and a few gnarled treeroots, but it was too late to catch herself.

The embankment slid off, and she hit the torrent of the river; frothing water and rocky shoreline, with a tremendous splash.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Snarling; his teeth bared like an animal, Amon whirled and hacked his sword into the nearest enemy. He advanced again, and again; his blade flying away with a menacing amount of blood flying out of the man, splattering them both and the ground. He was almost an animal; drove into the mindset of the frenzy of the fight. They were in good number, and they were driving them away from each other; separating them for easier pickings.

He had heard Adela’s shouting first, and had went to assist the sorceress in fending her off of the swordsmen who’d cornered her in. On her own, the tiefling wasn’t going to be able to stand up to them for long. Luckily Sulhadur had not been far behind the former heir of the Illiad legacy; an intimidating sneer and column of fire bellowing out of the Dragonborn’s throat and melting the armor on some of the corpses that now littered the ground.

The sound of Essätha’s cry could almost go unnoticed, if he wasn’t so attuned to the sounds of her voice. He damn well might not have recognized it otherwise among all the howling and barbaric cries of battle.

His eyes tore towards the last place he’d spotted her; seeing only a single figure now standing there. They wavered, clutching at their arm as though it stung.

His breath stuck in his throat. Feverishly, his gaze swept over the terrain.

In the lapping waves of the river winding down the path, a brief glimpse of black hair and a flailing hand. He could just barely make out her expression through the tossing and turning of the current, but her mouth was agape and the distant wide-eyed look of terror was one that made his heart stall.

The water.

Fear coated his tongue like bile. His boots anchored to the ground in a moment too long’s hesitation. The realization hit him a few seconds later.

It was the water, or it was Essätha.

It was the fear, or it was Essätha.

Essätha.

Essätha.

Essätha.

Essie.

His Essie.

If he stood there petrified any longer, he knew the panic would take hold, and he would not act. Stripping off his belt which held some of his weapons, and his cloak, he charged the riverside headlong.

Don’t think. Don’t look back.

He took a deep breath; slid and nearly fell down the alarmingly loose soil that sloped down closer to the riverside, and dove in to the first clear area without any large rocks.

Hitting the water was like hitting a goddamn wall of stone. The air was knocked out of him; the water had to be at or near freezing but was moving too fast to ice over. It wasn’t even just the tremendous cold that threw him off, it was the sheer shock. Memories flickered. Nightmares just beneath his eyelids. The lake. The sailing ships. The gnarled teeth, and blade at his neck. The black splotches in his vision as he swore that his dying breath was going to be as he bobbed around in the sea, sinking to the bottom. A deadweight above and below water.

Part of him; a small part, briefly wanted to curl into himself. Give in to the cold. The memory was so raw; so real. Struggling was going to make it worse. It was weighing him down; the numbing cold, the heaviness of that day.

And then then the recollection immortalized so softly, amongst a faint glow wreathing her head and the faintest outline of her soft eyes and honey symphony of a voice. He felt sun-kissed by heaven itself in her golden eyes, in that moment. Dazed and unaware, but entirely at home. Safe. When that sweet voice had offered him rest and sanctuary in her presence, he knew there was no other place for him. No where else he’d rather be then beside the owner of such a lovely, caring, warm voice. So achingly considerate; a touch so distant but so fair.

Amon’s head broke the surface; and he sucked in air as deep as his lungs could take it. Gods he was cold. It was almost unbearable. But there was a fire somewhere deeper in his chest; burning in his heart. The river might yet be a new layer to the night terrors, but no hell on earth or in death could stop him from being by her side, and saving her, come what may.

Treading water proved a hazard; the jutting of rocks and boulders cut here and there through the riverbed and the waves pounded and disoriented his every view. Difficult, but not impossible. He was grateful that the stones were not especially dense; they were easy to navigate away from so long as you threw yourself bodily into the right current. And, with a little luck, he managed to spot a weak thrashing ahead.

The river went into a bend ahead; a shallow area with more stagnant pools near the river. It would be their best bet getting out, or chance being dragged too far down the river, and whatever lay behind that bend.

Passing a boulder, the nobleman used it to kick off; propelling himself faster down river. He was soaked through; his sodden heavy clothes pulling him down. His head came up again, gulping in air-

He’d never felt such joy to see such a soggy mess of a woman in all his life.

Reaching out, he tried to scream her name; to tell her to reach out to grab for him, but water lapped into his mouth and he gagged. Cursing inwardly, Amon fought against the waves, alarmed as he was tossed around, seeing the paleness of Essie’s features; the flat, unfocused look of her eyes.

He pushed forward with every last bit of strength in his tingling muscles; lead weights more than anything now.

Grabbing her arm, he held firm. As they were tossled and flung about, they surfaced again in a throttle of bumps, and he yanked her back into his chest.

A weak cough escaped her. A beautiful cough. His heartrate stammered, clutching her closer. She was a deadweight; her head lulling, and watery-pink-red escaping her corner of her mouth.

There was hardly enough power left in him. He couldn’t keep them both afloat; sinking and rising uncontrollably.

Blindly, Amon hoped for the best, and rolled them, half-drowning in the mercy of the river, towards the left, hoping they would make it in time to the banks and shallow pools.

Seconds felt like eternities. His head broke the surface, and he forced Essie up as he was dragged back under. For gods sake, he hoped she had enough time to gasp for air before they were both dragged too deep again.

His side struck a rock, and he grunted; sucking in frigid water. His lungs did not thank him; he nearly retched.

Within moments, an uncomfortable clatter of riverrocks slammed into his backside. Or perhaps, it was the other way around. He rose and fell; taking in a gasp of air as suddenly he was below and Essätha above. The sky, above them both, greeted them. A cloudy overcast; the sun beneath heavy clouds.

More stone rubbed against his back. He winced, realizing that the water was no longer a rapid, but a steady and slow pull on his body.

Grunting, he tried to reposition himself into a vertical position.

His feet touched the stony bottom.

Amon cursed in clipped tones. He hurried to pull Essie into his heavy arms; looking down to see the discoloration in her lips and the alarming paleness of her skin. If he looked half as bag, he probably looked dead.

Coughing, shaking, he dragged them both on legs that felt made of shattered glass and stone pillers to the river. He nearly dropped her twice; twitching, moaning, and gagging in his arms, but dug his fingers painfully into her back. It made him feel guilty, but it helped him to feel something through the pins and needles, and that was better than feeling nothing and mistakenly allowing her to slip back and hit the gravel below.

Cradling the sorceress to his chest, the nobleman collapsed at the riverside, wheezing.

“Essie… Essie… Essie.”

Shallow breathing. Her eyelids flickered, but refused to raise to greet him. Bathe him in sunlight. The crimson coloring on her clothes, which had washed out significantly in the river, was beginning to grow splotches of color once more.

“Come on,” he groaned, lying her carefully on the ground. He rolled her to her side, giving her a side blow on the back with a wince-

She choked, hurling out a mouthful of riverwater and blood.

Heaving a sigh of relief, he pulled his hand back to strike her with his palm again-

An arrow came whistling from the treeline, piercing his arm.

Letting out a garbled curse, Amon looked up.

Furthur upriver, in the sparse trees, a figure holding a shortbow began to reload as they walked their way.

They were helpless.

In the river, they were dead.

Out of the river, they were dead.

Pawing himself; Amon pulled out all he had left on him: his enchanted dagger, and another dagger. He found one of Essie’s still on her; the other likely lost to the river.

Holding to their only protection, he kneeled over this woman, shaking. Water dripped from him and on to her shaking form.

There were so many things he wanted to tell her. His throat tightened, his mouth opened, trembling-

He looked up to see the notched arrow, and the drawstring pull back.

Instinctively, he threw himself on top of Essätha as the bowman let loose. This time he was more lucky; the arrow stuck to the padded leather armor beneath his jerkin.

Quietly, Essie groaned beneath him. Amon reached out, cradling the side of her face with his quivering hand.

“You’ll be okay Essie, I’ve got you,” he promised; his voice shaky as he trembled with the cold.

To his amazement, her eyelids groggily lifted the tiniest of slivers. She groaned, quietly and muffled, “Amon.” Not a question. A sigh. Recognition.

If he was going to die today, at least it would be someone worth dying for.

Grabbing the knives, he pushed himself up to his unsteady feet, facing towards the man now moving briskly their way.

The nobleman threw the first knife as he swayed on his feet, and it clattered into the dirt.

He readied himself as the man pulled a sword out from their scabbard.

Just as the snarling figure began to pick up speed, a series of explosion of fire and horrifying black tentacles appeared before the man. They screamed; hellish and in pain, and as they writhed and burned and howled from the assault. Just as they began to crumple towards the ground, twitching and moaning, a hatchet came flying out from the wilds, and struck the man square in the head.

Dumbfounded, Amon searched higher up on the ridgeline.

Never had the sight of those six idiots been more relieving in all his life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Her head and body were twenty times more sore than they had been, and now she was sniffling and chilled as the first snowflakes began to descent from the sky. Nothing made much sense outside of the ache deeper than words could describe in her body. All she was aware of was that she hurt, and no matter how many times Pri’cha and Sulhadur healed her and reassured her, their words were nothing more than muffled cotton in her ears.

She wanted to sleep. Desperately.

While the others talked, Essie stared at the ground. She looked at the cloak, wrapped around her shoulders. Picked at it, and drew it closer to her chest. Fir trees and tonka beans, a splash of rosewater and leather. Her head was swimming; she could only lift her eyes in search of who she sought, and not her head.

Amon stood by her, shuffling his feet unsteadily. Silent as the grave.

What happened?

Asking was out of the question. She could barely keep her eyes open; could barely concentrate, could barely make out a word. All she wanted to do was slump over with this cloak, cry a little, and sleep, and sleep, and sleep. Unfortunately, none of these were an option at the moment.

Digging her fingernails into her palms as she made fists; forcing her blood to move and to feel something, the sorceress’  breathed in and out, deeply. When she felt her breathing grow a bit more steady, she carefully placed her hands on the ground, and pushed herself to stand.

She threw up more riverwater, staggered, and nearly fell into Amon who was swift to grab her with an alarmed grunt.

“Sit a while longer.” His voice was strangely clear, close to her ear. Warm. She wanted to turn into it; to press her mouth to that warmth and seek it out. Perhaps warm her, too.

If she’d not been so chilled, perhaps the thought would have made her blush. Instead she sighed, trying to force herself upright as the world became a haze and lights and darkness spun in her vision.

“I’ll be fine.”

Her words came out slurred, though she didn’t know it. Her nobleman merely looked confused as she glanced at him. Relying on her stubbornness, she took a few steps forward. Shuffled, really, her teeth clattering as she held the heavy dense fabric of the cloak tightly in her fingers. Her skin felt too tight against the bones in her hands.

“Let me carry you,” Amon protested, his voice wavering as he rested a hand to her shoulder.

“I’ll use the trees, I’ll be alright.”

“You will do no such thing,” he retorted in a scolding voice.

She groaned, shuddering beneath the cloak. He was almost as cold as she was, but it was the outline of his hands against the fabric that stirred something inside of her. A longing. A desire to be held.

“You were in the river, too,” she reminded him in a garbled voice. “You’re not carrying me.”

Her nobleman stepped in front of her, staring down into her face. There was a fierceness in his expression that she couldn’t recall seeing aimed at her before. It made her shrink back, just a bit.

Without thinking, she whispered swiftly, “If you insist, let Sul do it-”

“I don’t want Sul to carry you,” he coolly replied. “I want to.”

She shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. There was something in his gaze; in his eyes. Possessive, maybe? Prideful, certainly. But there was something more, something broken, and hurting and… scared?

She didn’t want to want it. She wanted to be stubborn, and put up a fight. It wasn’t fair to him. He’d been in the river, too. He was just as much at risk of hypotherma as she was, and shouldn’t be carrying anything, let alone some soaking-wet hundred-something-odd-pound Yuan-Ti.

All Essie wanted to do was crawl into his arms for the remainder of the day. Or week. Or month. Or year. Or the rest of her life and pretend like this terror of this venture never happened. Let them pretend this chapter of their life did not exist, and they didn’t need to fight cult members and monsters and try to puzzle together one great big mystery of a god-being. It was a far better life, a kinder life, to just be held in his arms. Even if they were cold right now, there would be warmth again. Even if it was hard right now, there would be safety between the two of them.

Everything was exhausting. Too much. And even as she blinked at him, tired and stupid as she felt, each blink was refracted pieces of the river. She was going to die. She’d known she was going to die.

And then at the river’s edge, the vaguest shadow hanging over her, the most heartfelt vow. Softly; a promise, a swear, almost an endearment…

You can’t think that way.

“I would like to walk,” she mumbled, tiredly, aware that she was even rocking as she stood in one place, unable to keep her balance. “However,” she went on, feeling the energy shift around him; hurt, rejection, a stubbornness that would not let him back down, “If it concerns you so much, I will… let you do so. On one condition.”

“Name it.” Why did he sound so breathless? Her knees would be knocking if she wasn’t already so damn focused on standing up straight. Or trying to.

“You hand me over to someone else when you grow tired.”

He grimaced. His expression smoothed. “Done.”

That was too easy. He wouldn’t last long-

Nothing could catch her off guard more than her Lord Amon, stepping beside her, and with little grace as he groaned and hissed but great care, pressed his arm behind her knees and one behind her shoulders, and scooled her up in his arms.

Essie flinched and let out a pained gasp, scrunching up her face. Her heart hammered; expecting to be dropped…

He did not drop her.

She looked up to see his expression slightly strained, but nonetheless, he kept her pressed against his chest as though his very life depended on it.

Their attire was both still quite soaked through; despite magic and dry cloth to pat themselves down with. Essie shivered at the cold, pressing one hand over his chest; near to Amon’s heart, and the other lifted to his hair. A whisper of words beneath her breath, and with a glitter and wispy aura, heat spilled out of her fingers.

Someone was talking to them, but she wasn’t really listening. She was looking up into the nobleman’s eyes, as he stared at her. His jawline was trembling strangely, and his eyes looked fearful still, like he’d seen a ghost.

Whatever exchanges were said next, she wasn’t paying attention. Casting her magic; trying to envelope warmth into Amon as he nodded and arrangements were made. Back down to the village before nightfall, or something of that sort.

Her head rested against Amon’s shoulder. She closed her eyes.

“Don’t be scared,” she whispered quietly. “I’m here.”

She could swear she’d heard him swallow, loudly. Snowflakes must have melted on her face, because she felt a few wet spots before she drifted off to sleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Luckily, the quiet tavern still had the same rooms available for them upon return. The owner of the establishment; none the wiser, was pleased to see them, but seemed rightfully concerned about her and her nobleman appearing quiet wet. When they revealed a ‘misstep’ by the river, he discounted their stay and offered to send for the doctor, which lived outside of town. They awkwardly turned it down. They wouldn’t make it by morning anyway; when they’d be setting out, and explaining their freshly-healing wounds would only tie up more stories. Bandits could only be used as an excuse so many times before the stories grew suspicious.

To Essie’s immense surprise, Amon did not hand her off once, even as she slept. Sulhadur confirmed this, teasingly, as she was sat down for the first time for the nobleman to offer payment to the innkeep. Her face felt warm, but lacked depth of color from this knowledge. What a fool, that man was. An adorable, protective fool.

Picked up once more; this time more delicately despite the fact he should be fatigued by now handling her, Amon took her up the stairwell. She felt the warm feeling creeping to her ears and down her hairline and neck to her chest as the others watched, including their host who seemed both surprised and flustered. If he was flustered, how was she supposed to feel?

“You carried me this far,” she reminded him with only a little protest in her voice, “I can have taken the stairs.”

“I’ve carried you this far,” he agreed, “I can carry you the rest of the way.”

He was calm about his answer, leaving her little room to argue. She rested her face to his shoulder, bundled up still in his cloak with his fur mantle bunched around her neck. It would be damn cozy if she still didn’t feel half-way towards death’s door.

Amon was gracious enough to allow her to unlock the door, mostly because his hands were full of, well, her. She turned the knob and pushed, and he used his foot to swing it slowly the rest of the way as he shouldered his way inside. There wasn’t enough time to put up an argument for her to insist on putting her down; he merely took her to the bedside, and slowly slid her out of his arms and on the mattress.

It was dark in the room. The curtains drawn. Chilly. Essätha shivered, staring up at him. Dark hair, darker eyes.

He looked about ready to turn away, but hesitated. They seemed to hold each other in a sort of trance.

He’d faced a fear for her. A big fear. A huge fear.

She bit her lower lip. He licked his lips. The energy was crackling with a sort of uneasy tension.

“… Thank you.”

“… You would have done the same.” His voice was shy; modest.

Cracking a smile despite herself, she reached up for him. Her heart begged for it; screamed for it. She had to touch him.

“I would not have been so skilled as to accomplish the feat, though.”

He rasped a weary chuckle. “Who knows, you surprise me all the time.”

Her brow knit with concern. Caressing his face, the nobleman leaned into her hands. Wanting. Craving. It was the unspoken and unnamed thing between them; unacknowledged. The yearning for touch. The way both of them sought it out; even unintentionally. Pinkies hooked in public, fingers intertwined on a walk, hand resting to back, arm-in-arm, shoulder-to-shoulder, face pressed to shoulder. It was the close that was still, somehow, never close enough.

Essie pulled her hands back, a little.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Wide-eyed, Amon found himself physically needing to remind himself to breathe. She was so flawless and stunning; such a picture perfect beauty so close. She looked better than earlier, though still not quite herself, but there wasn’t a single thing about her even now he did not adore. The tangles in her hair, the tiredness of her eyes, the pale complexion, the rings beneath her eyes, the colorless lips. He could would do anything for her, here and now.

Her hands cradled his. Gentle, soft; but cold. Colder than usual. He wanted to grab her hands and rub them vigorously. He wanted to kiss the heat back into them; watch her turn pink as he breathed on them and tenderly pressed his lips upon them.

A terrible thought. He banished it far into the depths of his mind.

He nearly sighed; nearly closed his gaze and allowed himself to succumb to her hands, when she began to retreat from him.

He was desperate. Leaning in; chasing her touch. He’d nearly lost her today. His heart surged into his throat; making him feel sick. His half-mast gaze refocused as he looked at her, still following her touch like a moth to flame.

Essie fell back further and further. He followed her; instinctive and needy.

The position would make him flush, if he’d had half a braincell to work with. As it was, he seemed as magnetized as she was; not to the intimacy, but to the feeling. In his desire to remain with her hands; her careful loving hands, he had slipped his knees upon the bedside and hovered upon her now in a position most unfitting. Her beneath, him above, hovering. The world was flipped upside down; with the sun looking up at him and he, staring right back.

She breathed out, and all at once, he did too. A synchronized unison. Together as one.

Her mouth moved, barely. He could not make out the words, but the warmth caressing his cheeks told him all he needed: the spell, her magic, her giving warmth.

He could have lost her, today.

Almost.

So unbearably close.

He didn’t feel worthy of this touch; tender and kind. His eyes closed a little more; mere slits as she cradled the weight of him gently in her palms. He felt so tired. So horribly tired; and so dreadfully… guilty. Terrified. The water; the waves, his Essie, his Essie, his Essie…

She scooted out from beneath him, just enough to sit up. She leaned in closer; so close he could smell the river still on her, and the faint scents of bourbon vanilla, jasmine, and rose on her skin. It felt like a trick on his imagination, but he could swear he’d smelt more rose more and more these past few months. Mocking him, or teasing him, perhaps.

Lightly, her forehead pressed to his. Her gaze, sparkling golden butterscotch, stalled the air in his lungs. He had to empower a bit of willpower not to take her face, and drag her in to kiss her. Just a touch; but even a little was shameful enough. Such thoughts were sinful; she’d hate him if she only knew. As angelic as she was, to be thought of in such a vulgar manner by someone like him, it was more than she deserved.

“Thank you.”

Barely at a whisper’s level. His heartbeat stirred.

“Essie-”

“I know that must have been frightening. I’m sorry I put you in that situation-”

He reached for her, and took her face firmly but carefully in his hands. “I wasn’t scared of the river-” his voice cracked, and he swallowed. “I was, I mean. But I was more scared of losing you.”

A glossy shine began to enter her rounded gaze. Her lip wobbled, just a little.

Don’t break my heart like this, sweetheart.

Nothing hurt more. Not the ice-cold river water, not the rocks, not the swords or arrows. None of it hurt more than that expression.

He carefully wiped the pad of his thumb beneath the moisture pooling beneath one of her eyes as she sniveled.

“Don’t cry,” he urged. Anything but the tears. Anything but the tears.

“I’m not,” she fibbed, stubborn. Another sniffle, and she looked away as he wiped another stray tear. “It was- cold and dark and I didn’t- I couldn’t-”

“You’re safe now-”

“I was cold and scared-”

His heart ached. “I’m sorry, I should have been there-”

“No-” she hurriedly corrected him, grabbing his shoulders instead. “No. You saved me; you jumped into a rushing river to come after me. You could have drowned-” her breath hitched.

“But I didn’t,” he reminded her, cupping her cheeks in his hands. “I didn’t, and neither did you.”

Again, she blinked rapidly a few times, shedding the last glimmer of tears welled up in her eyes. Her hands slipped around his shoulders, to ring around his neck.

“… Does it sound stupid if I tell you I knew it was you?” she nibbled her lower lip, and he could see the hue of her skintone shift. “I… I couldn’t think of who else would be my guardian angel; my knight in shining armor, in that moment. Even if I couldn’t really see you, couldn’t feel you, couldn’t… well I just. Knew. It had to be you. It could only be you.”

He hoped she couldn’t tell how clammy, and awkward, and sweaty his palms were feeling now. His heartrate was quickening, and he found it once again difficult to find any air.

“I told you I’d protect you, once,” he stated hoarsely.

She smiled at him. One of those Essie smiles, that he swore was meant only for him. Soft and secret; fond and doting. It made him feel special. Wanted. Worthy; the thought shaking him to the core.

“I’m… overall fine with that, so long as you come out unscathed. Who am I, without m’lord Amon?”

“Who am I without you, Essie?” he echoed; blurting it out thoughtlessly, in a husky rumble. He blushed a faint pinkish tone.

Quietly; tiredly, she laughed. Her body sank towards him, and he let go of her face to pull her into his arms, where she belonged. Nothing ever felt so right. No one ever felt as perfect.

Her hands moved down his back, along his spine; a muted word, and warmth spilled into his skin.

Guilty he could not return the favor, he rubbed her back a bit vigorously in return. She laughed again; that musical, sweet sound.

“I think we should consider fresh, drier, warmer clothes,” she reminded him quietly.

Gruffly, he grunted in agreement. “Then I get to hold you some more.”

“Insistent on that, are we?”

“Very.”

“Fine, fine,” she mumbled; the fatigue returning once more. “But I get to hold you, too.”

“… I would like that.”

“Me more than you.”

He snorted with disbelief, resting his head against hers. She made a noise; or said something, that was in clear disapproval of his own noise, and turned to press her lips to his temple. Amon thought he’d melt if he were a little warmer.

They didn’t let go of each other still, for a few more minutes, as if parting was too painful to bare.

And perhaps, that was entirely and wholly, the truth.

[collecting-stories]

Preparation - Bjorn Ragnarsson

It's so hot so fast where I live, and I wish for fall and winter to come again 😂😂😂 do you think you could do a modern!Biorn imagine where he and the reader (maybe she's pregnant??) live in a cabin, and he's like chopping wood in prep for the cold months. Like "I gotta make sure baby Mama's warm for winter" 😍😍 or something along those lines? Thanks lots!!! I always love your writing

A/N: There is a brief mention of miscarriage.

Preparation - Bjorn Ragnarsson x reader

You woke up cold, having kicked the blankets off in the middle of the night. Autumn was fast approaching but it was still warm at night, especially combined with your just-starting-to-be-noticeable baby bump and Bjorn sleeping beside you. There was no noise inside the cottage aside from soft murmurs coming through the baby monitor on your bedside table. You stretched in bed, thinking about letting the oldest two occupy themselves for a little while longer and enjoying the empty bed. Sometimes it was nice just to stretch out and there was never room for that when Bjorn was around. Even though you’d invested in a larger bed your husband had a tendency to keep himself close to you at night and when the girls joined there was just a sliver of space left for you.  

A grunt sounded, not from the monitor but from the open window in your bedroom and you forced yourself out of bed to find Bjorn in the backyard, chopping away at thick wooden logs. Saturdays were spent doing chores around the house and judging by the pile he had woken up early to complete this particular one.

You turned off the baby monitor and headed for the girls bedroom, finding them both on the bed of your eldest Leonie. Both girls had their dolls spread out on the bed and they were whispering to each other, pretending to play.  

“Oh my goodness, a twister must’ve hit in here.” You laughed, picking Poppy up off the bed and holding her on your hip as Leonie stood up on the mattress.

“We were playing dolls. Daddy said not to wake you up.” Leonie replied, climbing down off the bed.

“Well that was very nice of you and Poppy.” You kissed your youngest on the head as you spoke.

“Breakfast?” Poppy asked.  

“Breakfast.” You confirmed, leading the way to the stairs so you could make them food. The windows were open in the kitchen and you could hear Bjorn outside, the bay window giving you a better view of your husband as he continued on the growing wood pile.  

You put Poppy down in the living room and told Leonie to keep an eye on her as you headed outside to “see what daddy’s up to” as you told the girls. Despite Ragnar having five sons and his father before him having two so far you and Bjorn had only girls and were expecting another. It was something you thought about quite a bit, more with each child born, and you wondered if he minded. His brothers all had a least one son and even his sister had two sons.  

Careful not to startle him when he was chopping wood, you walked into his line of vision. Bjorn brought his axe down into the tree stump he used as a base and took off his gloves when he saw you stop in front of him. You could practically hear the question on his lips as he eyed you over the bottle of water he was drinking from. Had he woken you?  

“It was cold for once.” You teased, “I must be so accustomed to over-heating that it woke me up.”

“Are the girls still in their room?”  

“I brought them down for breakfast, wanted to see if you wanted anything too?”  

“I’ll be in.” He replied, already starting to pull his gloves on again.

“You know we don’t need firewood yet Bjorn. It’s barely September.” You pointed out. It was far too hot to use the fireplace right now and if things went the way they did last year it would continue to be warm far into October.

“I want everything ready before it gets cold, don’t want you worrying about anything once you’re further along.” Bjorn replied, a softer look in his eyes as he glanced toward your stomach, protruding slightly from the pajama top that was becoming too small.  

“Next week is as good a time as any.” You suggested, reaching for his hand. “Come inside with me?”

Bjorn pulled you toward him, letting go of your hand and wrapping his arms around your shoulders so that he could keep you close. You hugged his waist and placed a kiss on his neck where your head was tucked. “I don’t want to forget anything.”  

Despite this being the third time that you were having a baby Bjorn had the same reaction with every baby. He got nervous the closer it got to the due date and silently worried if he had done everything he could do to prepare for the upcoming child. When Leonie was born, he’d almost missed the delivery he was so panicked about the car seat fitting into the car the right way. And when Poppy was born, he spent countless nights pouring over baby books that told him what every ailment might be. She had a nasty case of cradle cap and he was convinced she was terminally ill. He’d mellowed out with the girls that older they got. Now if Leonie fell off the porch and got a cut he only told her that she’d be fine and there was no use crying. He was the same with Poppy. But now that you were pregnant again his internal fears resurfaced and he worried tremendously, enough for both of you.

“Do you think...” you pulled away from him and he let you go, arms going to his sides. “Do you think you’d be less nervous if it was a boy?”

“No.” Bjorn replied, not even hesitating on the question. In truth some of his fears were not irrational.  

Leonie was six and Poppy was two, a wider age gap that Poppy and the new baby that existed because you had miscarried. The only boy you had ever been pregnant with and you had miscarried mere weeks before he was born. The doctor told you early on that you stood at a greater risk to have complications but you never thought they would result in the loss of your child. It took you three years to even consider trying again.

“Have you been thinking about him?” your husband asked, watching as you subconsciously rubbed your stomach.

“Not entirely. Just...Sigurd called the other day to say that they’re expecting another boy. It’s silly,” you shrugged, “an old tradition but, all your brothers have boys and you have none.”

“It is silly, you’re right.” Bjorn agreed. “Silly that you should think that matters to me. All that I care about is that you and the girls are safe and healthy and happy. And part of that is finishing with this wood pile so that you stay warm in the winter.”  

You laughed, shaking your head at his ability to switch from being serious to joking in a matter of seconds. Especially about something that was bothering you so much. “I’ll see you inside then?”

-

This is short. It’s been like a million years since I've written Bjorn. 

taglist: @thinkingsofamadwoman @mixedwiththemoon @titty-teetee  @queenmissfit @marvelismylifffe @iluvmesomemarvelndc @absentmindeduniverse @his-paradox @breathlesssouls-blog @lif3snotouttogetyou @demonhunter1616 @flowers-in-your-hayr @alwaysadreamingoptimist @ms-allenbrown  @arses21434 @glopsifum @aelfenpath @moose-squirrel-asstiel @vikingalexthedane @another-life-addict @born-in-19-96 @naaladareia @mysticthinking @ariellostatci @thorins-queen-of-erebor

[imhereforbvcky]

Watch Me Run - Part 11

Masterlist  -  Series Masterpage  -  Part 10 -  Part 12

Summary: You inherit a family relic that gives you the gift of foresight but there are others who are interested for more nefarious reasons. You turn to the Avengers for help. (Bucky x reader) Chapter: You and Bucky settle into the safe house and set a plan B. Loki begins executing his next plans.

Warnings: probably swearing, angst of course

Word Count: 2124

A/N: Not gonna lie this one is a little slow. But they’re starting to trust each other, and care for each other a little more than just mission-mindedness.

“It’s uhm… cozy,” you nodded, looking around the tiny cabin.

The small wooden structure huddled quietly into the thick dark woods that surrounded it. Light was a resource out here, not a given, and the darkness that threatened to swallow you and Bucky both on the short walk from the rusted old pick-up truck to the creaking door of the cabin was felt very differently by each of you.

To Bucky it was safety, a blanket of natural protection that guarded you both from unwanted watchers and the danger still lurking in every corner. To you it was the danger, or at least the opportunity for it. Everywhere you couldn’t see was a place something deadly could hide. You hadn’t learned to use everything around you like Bucky had.

Sometimes, though, you could fool yourself out of fear with sarcasm.

“Very Grizzly Adams.”

Bucky grinned, shaking his head as he hauled his gear past you into a corner of the living space where a small wooden dining table stood, just big enough for two mismatched chairs.

“It’s functional,” he corrected.

“It can be both,” you shrugged. “Bit rustic, but the fireplace is nice, and all the cozy blankets. I bet it looks like a Thomas Kinkade painting after a good snow.”

“You don’t want to be here in the winter,” he chuckled.

The mere click, whoosh of unsnapping holsters and removal of his weapons was loud enough to fill the tiny space. The heavy clatter of the steel firearms and leather sheathed knives onto the wood tabletop was downright thunderous.

You didn’t argue, instead stepping further into the cabin, and slowly circling each area, taking it in. There was a large stone fireplace taking up one wall, surrounded by worn and sunken furniture. Behind the sofa stood the table where Bucky unloaded his modest personal armory. That “small” amount just about filled the room.

Behind Bucky stood minimal kitchen with an old porcelain sink, the kind that would run rusty water for a bit when you first turned the spout. A small wood-burning stove stood in the corner, dark and industrious. There was a refrigerator too, small with rounded edges, like it had been placed there in 1956 and left to rust. Orange streaks raced down from the metal handle, but it hummed loudly, proving its life. Maybe you’d been wrong about that old rusty truck being stolen. It seemed to fit right in.

On the opposite side of the cabin stood the sole bedroom, so tiny you wondered how any furniture had been moved into the tight space. No, surely the house had been built around the queen sized bed that reached within 2 feet of every wall. There was no other way.

“So where is ‘here’ anyway?” you asked, completing your spin.

“North.”

“Uh huh, uh huh. I gathered that when we got on the northbound freeway. But drove for hours. Can I get a little more than that?”

“It’s more than you need to know.” Bucky grumbled as he sunk down onto the undersized couch. Its tired springs and ancient frame groaned louder than he did.

“Really? I disagree.”

“You’re not going anywhere without me. So, yeah. It is.” He stretched out over the couch and crossed his arms over his chest, curling into as compact a shape as someone of his size could form on so diminutive a piece of furniture.

After the taxing beginning to this mission, the relief of his safe house sank through his entire body with tremendous weight. Need began to supersede want and civility. Starting a fire could wait. This conversation could wait. All he needed right now was sleep.

You had other ideas.

“Look, I just left everything that feels safe to me behind, all of it covered in blood.” Bucky slowly turned, reading every frantic expression as your voice rose in pitch and volume. “Every time I close my eyes a god from another world is destroying everyone and everything I touch. He is hunting me and I can’t run fast enough. I don’t know what these dark dreams mean but they are more than real and there is nothing I can do except sit in a truck and follow orders. So please!”

You blinked quickly, willing the fear and the grief you’d been swallowing for days back into the box that you kept far from the surface, far from where they were currently clawing up your throat and spilling at the edges of your eyes. Your gaze had remained on the floor as you spoke, but now it flickered to the calm grey of Bucky’s.

He only stared at you with an impassivity that was oddly comforting. Nothing could rattle him, nothing frightened him or chased him away. He was an immovable granite shelter in the icy storm that had begun to rage around you a week ago.

“Please, tell me something,” your voice had dropped to a whisper. “Anything so I can pretend that I still have a modicum of control over my own life.”

He nodded slowly. A quiet understanding and a silent agreement. Bucky understood control better than anybody. He perpetually worked to untangle the complex knot of both fearing and needing it.

“We’re in northern Canada. In a cabin on an unincorporated piece of land half an hour from a town you’ve never heard of.” His voice was even and low. This information was no more useful than what little you had before but it was something to think on at least. “Nobody’s heard of it. That’s the point. Nobody will find you here. You’re safe.”

You nodded quickly, shoving at tears with the heel of your hand.

“And in the impossible event someone does come, you remember what to do right?” He was sitting now, tired grey eyes soft but clear. He tugged on your wrists,demanding your focus, asking you to rehearse his instructions.

Another nod. “Yeah, um. The cellar door in the floor of the closet.”

“Mhmm.”

“There’s a key to the truck down there. Soon as it’s clear, I take it and run.”

“You get in that truck and you go. Anywhere but here.” He ducked a little to meet your eyes and found them little calmer, a little less frantic, but still wide and watery.

“What if I can’t?” you croaked. “Run, I mean. What happens to you when I leave you behind?”

“If it’s anyone but Loki: nothing happens. I’ll be fine; I’ll find you. And we’ll keep running. You and me,” he explained, smoothing his thumbs in light soothing sweeps over your skin. “But if it is him? You can’t wait to see what happens, you hear me? With that staff he’s got… I’m just as dangerous to you as I am useful. Best I can do is buy you time.”

You nodded, chewing your lip, apprehension in every bite. It made sense. It did. Loki was a well-trained combatant, with other-worldly strength and magic of which only legend told. It would take only one stumble, one missed shot, one tap of that sceptre, and Bucky your protector would become your hunter. The most prolific assassin in a century.

But the fact remained: you weren’t sure if you could. Leave Bucky to the hand of fate.

People like to think they’re logical, that they do things with thought and reason. But the truth i they are driven by instinct, by fear and learned responses, regardless of rationality. And you had learned as a very young child, curled up in the icy wreckage of a car waiting for rescue, watching the snow greedily seep the life from your family, that time is precious. People are precious. You don’t give up on them, and you don’t leave them to ruin in the cold.

He gave your arms another squeeze. “You’re not here to look after me. I’m protecting you. You’re my mission. Only time I’ve ever failed a mission was to save my best friend. Who was … also my mission.” He smirked slightly at the bittersweet memory. Just a hint of his lips ticking up at one corner. “I’ve got you, alright?”

Something between a chuckle and a sigh left you: relief. “Thanks.”

Carefully, you curled your hands to wrap around the underside of his forearms, holding onto him in return because in the end, whether either of you had chosen it, you were in this together now. He was all you had.

With a deep breath you let your fingers unfurl and felt his drift away, brushing over your skin. You missed it already, the comfort of his hold on you.

“I guess you weren’t kidding when you said ‘north,’ huh?” With arms wrapped tight around your stomach, fighting off a shiver, you glanced out the window.

“No,” he laughed, easing back onto the couch again.

“The Great White North.”

“It will be soon,” he promised.

“Hey, Bucky?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, eyes already drifting closed.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” A tired mumble spoken into the cushion.

“Who is looking out for you?”

He laughed at that. He didn’t mean to, but it burst out of him. The sort of laugh that comes only when the truth is too unpleasant to actually speak. And so instead, something cynical and dismissive had ripped forth instead.

“I’m serious,” you continued, your dangerously empathetic heart bleeding all over that lonely cabin, so obviously designed around stealth and escape and fear. “When’s the last time you got to be safe?”

A sigh would probably not suffice for an answer, he knew. “Wakanda. There was some time... I had a little place on the edge of the capital. Kept some goats, if you can believe it.” He chuckled at the memory. It seemed so far off now, so small in the timeline of his life, he almost questioned whether it was real.

“You weren’t there very long.”

“No,” he agreed. Not long enough. It never was. He’d become so tired of war, but it always found him. Drafted, then used mind and body alike, then drawn by guilt into whatever battles fell from the sky. This was his penance.

“Any other time?”

“I guess after SHIELD… HYDRA went down… that was running not fighting.”

“That doesn’t count,” you frowned, sitting on the floor beside the couch and curling your knees.”We’re running now and it’s anything but serene.”

“Then… Before the war, I guess.”

“The war…? As in, the World War?”

“Mhmm,” Bucky burrowed deeper into the couch. He was tired in so many ways. “Second one.”

“That’s… That’s like eighty years, Bucky!”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t you want to rest? Don’t you need a break?”

“You tryin’ to get rid of me?” You could hear the smile in his voice

“No.” You chuckled and he liked that. Liked the sound of complete relief, not a single trace of the fear from moments ago.

“No, you’re right. I’m retiring,” he teased. “Should we go to the beach?”

“Yeah!”

“’Kay, right after this nap.”

Hardly a moment later Bucky drifted off to the last sound he expected to hear on mission: a giggle.

Loki had chosen his target well. Waiting, always waiting outside the Avengers Tower, he studied the flash of badges, learned their roles until he found just the right one. She was a loner, awkward and frustrated. He’d followed just twice to make sure.

Once: in disguise, to a bar where she sat at the edge of a group of complaining software engineers. It must be hard, he thought to himself, always working in the shadow of someone like Tony Stark. They were full of complaints, and hers were often spoken over.

He considered that she might help him out of spite, but reconsidered. Best not. The risk was too great. Fear would ever be a far greater motivator than irritation. Spite could run out, anger could diminish, could be soothed. Fear… fear could be reapplied time and again.

The second time, the woman had gone straight home. No happy hour today, no grumbling except to her cat.

He waited in the darkness until the house went still, and then waited more.

She woke to a cold sharp metal piont at her chest, like the tip of an ice cube. Except it wasn’t. In her startled haze, and the pitch black of her room, all she could make out was the shimmering blue orb.

Next she noticed the silver blade stretching down to the center of her chest and her eyes snapped wide.

Dark hair and a sneering face were her last memories before her eyes clouded with the same blue as the orb. A lone command echoing in her head choked out the protests, even the scream already scratching at her throat.

Find all possible safe houses.

Chapter 12 >>

[jakozz]

Naruto: The Very Last (Fanfic) - Chapter 2

- characters: Naruto Uzumaki, Hinata Hyuuga, Hanabi Hyuuga, Konoha 11, Sasuke Uchiha, Hiashi Hyuuga  - pairing: Naruto x Hinata - genre: romance, humor, friendship - rating: T

summary: This is a follow-up story to the Naruto movie 'The Last' - Naruto has finally declared his love to Hinata. But what happened next? Because Naruto obviously isn't the perfect womanizer. After all, he just began to differentiate between the love for Ramen and the love for Hinata in his head and heart. So he has to learn by force how to behave as a partner and caring boyfriend. As a result, he is often pursued by misfortune. Trouble, drama, fun and action are sure to follow.

Join Naruto und Hinata on the various aberrations of love, and experience the development of a relationship between two people destined for each other by fate from birth. Even if they have some difficulties to express their feelings properly now and then. Follow the couple on their path to true happiness.

---

external links (english version):

ff.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13595659/1/Naruto-The-Very-Last

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24369799/

---

external links (german version):

ff.de: https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/582d28cc0000682122f79b2b/1/Naruto-The-Very-Last

animexx: https://www.animexx.de/fanfiction/autor/656680/371771/

wattpad : https://www.wattpad.com/story/90373948-naruto-the-very-last

____________________________________________________________

Naruto: The Very Last

Chapter Two: Dreaming

"You let me down!"

A young man with long brown hair stood before Naruto, who was frozen in terror.  Shaking all over, the blond man looked at his counterpart with eyes wide open. Slowly Naruto's mouth opened:

"Neji! What are you doing here?"

The other person didn't react. Instead, he slowly raised his right arm. Then he stretched out his index finger and pointed directly at Naruto.

" Because of you, I'm dead!"

In panic, the former hero of nations turned and tried to run away.

There was a loud bang. He had hit something very hard. A painful impact followed. Naruto shook his head in irritation, then his eyes widened again in shock.

"Jiraya-sensei!"

His old teacher looked down on him. Darkness surrounded the white-haired man and his voice sounded almost contemptuous.

"It's your fault, Naruto! How could we ever trust you?"

The blond boy didn't move. His body felt numb. What happened here? He couldn't find an explanation. He just wanted to leave. Away from them. Away. Far away...

"LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!"

Naruto suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream and sprinted off. Other people showed up. Hundreds of them. They were all blurry. Faceless expressions of a distant time. They were chasing him. On and on...

…

…

…

"NARUTO!!!"

Suddenly the fox boy sat upright in his bed.  Sweat was pouring down his forehead and back. What had happened?

At once, his gaze wandered across the room. Everything seemed normal. Someone was next to his bed. It was Sakura. She had wrinkled her brow deeply and bent over him worried. Apparently, she had been the one who woke him up.

Still slightly dazed, Naruto wiped the sweat from his nose.

"What are you doing here so early in the morning, Sakura?"

She ignored the question and slowly straightened up. She still looked at him suspiciously.

"You were talking in your sleep. What were you dreaming?"

Without even looking at her, he jumped out of bed and started to dress. Finally he answered:

"Nothing. All is well."

But Sakura didn't give up that easily. She went around the bed and confronted Naruto with sharp undertone:

"You called out certain names. Neji! Jiraya-sensei! It's still those nightmares, isn't it?"

Naruto paused briefly as he tried to put his shirt on. For a long moment, they both looked at each other silently. The blond boy's uncertain face. The worried expression of the Kunoichi.

All of a sudden, Naruto grinned and shook his head.

"It's really nothing! You don't need to worry."

Sakura wanted to contradict again, but before she could do so, Naruto had already opened the window wide with a cheerful laugh.

"WUUHUAAAA! What a beautiful morning."

The azure eyes sparkled in the sunlight. Although the winter time had actually begun, a pleasant warmth flowed through him. The inhabitants of Konohagakure, who were already on the streets, looked at him at first in shock. But when they realized that the loud call came from Naruto, their hero himself, they all started laughing and waved at him. Joyfully, he also raised his hand.

Finally, he turned to Sakura.

"So you still haven't told me why you're here?"

Though the pink-haired woman hadn't yet put the matter aside, she gave in for the moment. After a short sigh, she walked to the door and finally turned on her heel.

"The Hokage wants to see you. He has sent me to you."

Naruto looked at her in wonder.

"Kakashi-sensei?! What does he want?"

Sakura stepped through the door. She looked hurt.

"How should I know? Ask him yourself."

She slammed the door shut. Naruto put his head to one side and looked confused at the spot where Sakura was standing a few seconds ago.

"What was that? Women are strange."

But he didn't give it another thought. He quickly got ready to visit his former teacher. With deft fingers, he tied the Konoha headband around his head. Then he tapped his fist firmly against his chest and grinned.

"Yes, sir! Now I am ready!"

Completely in a hurry, he jumped out of the window of his little apartment in a tremendous leap. As if in slow motion, he took a last look at his nightstand, where a single red piece of cloth was lying. The remains of a scarf. This sight also made him feel a comforting warmth. He did not know where it came from. But suddenly he felt light and elated.

Finally, he swung out far, made a big leap forward and landed on the ledge of the nearest house. Without hesitation, he jumped from one roof to the next, doing somersaults in the air.

His exuberant mood also carried over to the people watching him. They cheered him, greeted him and were happy. They could not be blamed. After all, this blond boy had saved the world several times before. He was considered the symbol of freedom. And he was one of them.

Naruto arrived at the Hokage House in no time. From afar, he shouted with enthusiasm:

"KAKASHI-SENSEI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The young man had plunged through the open window of the Hokage and crashed directly into a brute pile of documents, which immediately collapsed and buried the chaos ninja.

"Ah, Naruto. There you are at last."

As quickly as possible, the addressed person freed himself from his 'grave' and looked at the tall man with the tousled, grey hair, who was behind the large desk. His old master, Kakashi. The sixth Hokage.

"Excuse me, Kakashi-sensei!"

Embarrassed, Naruto scratched the back of his head as he realized the mess he had made. Suddenly, a voice resounded at the door.

"Why can't you just take the main entrance like a normal person?"

Shikamaru had entered the room annoyed. His gaze stared at Naruto lying on the floor. The fox boy grinned.

"It's much more fun that way, isn't it?"

Kakashi looked at him with a smile. Although only his eyes were visible, because the rest of his face was covered by a mask, it was easy to tell what mood he was in.

"Well, we must admit that Naruto contradicts the principles of a 'normal person' one way or another."

Shikamaru uttered a sigh and then smiled:

"You're right, Hokage."

All three began to laugh. Finally, Naruto stood up and joined Shikamaru. Kakashi looked at them and began to speak:

"The mission two days ago is considered an absolute success among the allied superpowers. You have done really well. I'm glad you all returned safely."

Naruto and Shikamaru both smiled with satisfaction. Suddenly, Kakashi took things a little more seriously.

"Still, there was a feeling of insecurity within our ranks. Kumogakure has exhibited a new and unknown weapon with far too much destructive power. Besides...", he hesitated briefly. His gaze fell on Naruto, who swallowed heavily.

"Besides, they would have razed you and the moon to the ground. This unscrupulousness must be considered. All Kage meet to discuss the given situation in a proper setting."

Shikamaru's eyes narrowed to slits. Then he addressed Kakashi directly:

"What is your personal opinion, Hokage?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead he stood up and silently looked out the window for a brief moment. Suddenly, he spoke in a low voice:

"We must preserve the peace we fought so hard for two years ago. Caution is called for now! If we judge hastily, it could end fatally."

Naruto opened his mouth but said nothing. Sweat dripped from his forehead once more. Fragments of memories from the war shot through his head. Neji. Jiraya-sensei...

All of a sudden he felt sick with fear. His mind was spinning. Hinata. Hinata... Hinata...

He quickly tried to pull himself together and shook his head intensely.

Kakashi and Shikamaru were already having a lively discussion. They hadn't noticed anything about his absence. The strategist had just taken the floor:

"I will accompany you and clarify my facts of the matter. We must make Kumogakure understand that they can rely on us in the future and that they do not need to resort to such methods."

Kakashi nodded to him.

"Thank you, Shikamaru. That was all I wanted to discuss with you. You both are dismissed."

Shikamaru turned to the door and was about to leave when he noticed that something was wrong with Naruto. Kakashi also looked at the blond ninja forcefully.

Naruto looked absent-mindedly at the floor. The man with the braid put the hand on his shoulder and shook him with gentle force.

"Hey, Naruto! Are you all right?"

Once more, the fox boy gulped heavily. Then he smiled weakly at his comrade.

"Y-Yes... I'm fine!"

Shikamaru smiled, too.

"Good. Because you should be happy," the longtime friend winked at him mischievously, "Because there's a very special person waiting for you outside. So next time, I recommend that you take my advice and use the main entrance."

Naruto looked at him confused and surprised at the same time. Kakashi also listened.

"A special person awaits Naruto?"

Shikamaru laughed and turned at the door one last time.

"I think, Hokage, you'II find out soon enough. Right, Naruto?"

A furious wind came up. Shikamaru was pushed lightly against the wall with a sudden jolt as a shadow scurried straight past him.

"Hey, hey, hey! Naruto!"

The blond boy had reacted immediately to what Shikamaru had said and stormed out of the house. Passing a surprised Shizune. Opening every door in the house. Down all the stairs. Right to the exit. Bright daylight.

That's when he saw it. The dark blue hair. Immediately, a big smile spread across Naruto's face and he jumped the last meters.

"HINATAAA!!!!!"

The named girl had waited patiently in front of the Hokage House. She was not sure how to behave when she arrived. But now that she saw him, she felt even more happy, and her beautiful smile appeared on her face as well.

"Naruto!"

Everything seemed so incredible. His hands reached out to her. People watched the spectacle with wonder. A dream that had come true. It was like a scene from the theater where the prince could finally embrace his beloved. Like a fairy tale which...

DONG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Naruto had rushed forward so furiously that his head crashed directly into Hinata's head. They both collapsed painfully.

Kakashi and Shikamaru had been watching the spectacle from the top window of the Hokage House. The strategist facepalmed while the former teacher laughed amusedly.

"It seems that I am not up to date since the last mission."

Naruto lay over Hinata and grinned. He tried to apologize instantly. He rubbed the painful spot on his head.

Hinata also held her head. At first, her eyes were filled with tears but then she laughed. A good sign.

Shikamaru closed his eyes and relaxed.

"Yes, a lot has happened. But I believe everything will be fine from now on."

They watched the couple as the sun slowly climbed higher in the sky. There was not a cloud in sight.

Terrible things were yet to overtake the shinobi world. Peace never seemed to last forever. But for the moment there was no reason to worry about it. Because, just now, the young love existed. And it took all the attention for itself.

Before the shadow would rise again...

...

[suddeninklings]

New Fic!

Hide Your Fires. A little over a year after the events of the Dover-Birch case, Detective David Loki has a chance run-in with a former classmate. Equally lonely souls, burdened with pasts they would like to forget, the two reconnect in ways neither expected. Detective Loki x OC. Romance, Thriller, Comfort. 

Monday. 

Spring had come to Conyers, Pennsylvania. Winter had finally released its grip on the city, dragged away kicking and screaming by the force that was Mother Nature. Citizens braced for the warmth and the wet that the season would bring. The streets, once desolate and achingly monotone, took on new life as greenery flooded the landscape. Deer returned from the isolated centers of the forests, flowers began to bloom, children ventured out into the open finally free of heavy coats and worry-stricken parents. Soon summer would come and people would venture back in doors to escape the humidity. But for now, the city would revel in the pleasantries of the season.  

“David?” 

Detective Loki looked up from the trunk of his car. The first day of his HR-mandated paid time off had been decidedly mundane. He had his car washed, gone to the market for groceries, and taken care of the other errands he had been putting off. He stood in his driveway, playing with the idea of transporting all the bags in one trip, when someone called his name.

It was a woman. She stood in the drive across the road, a small but warm smile on her face. He hadn’t seen her before. So how did she know his name? His neighbor, as far as he knew, lived alone. His daughter, maybe? David thought. She looked to be in her early thirties, around his age. But David was under the impression his neighbor had no children. Or family. The only person who ever came to the house was an older man who always wore scrubs. A caretaker, most likely. There was something about her though, some shred of familiarity that tugged at the back of his mind.

She was fairly lanky, with broad shoulders and long legs for her height. Her hair was a light honey brown, several pieces of it clipped back out of her face. She wore slim, black jeans and a somewhat crumpled denim blouse. A bulging leather messenger bag hung on her shoulder and a tan trench coat was draped over her arm. Odd, as it was a fairly cold day given the date. Patches of heavy, dark clouds hung low in the sky; a stark contrast to the traces of surrounding blue. The first of the spring rains could not be far off. 

“David Loki, right?” She said, stepping across the road between the two lots, not bothering to look in either direction. She came to a stop at the end of the drive. 

“Yes?” He said, still trying to place her. He let his hand fall from the raised trunk door and fit both of them into the pockets of his coat. 

“Grace.” She said, gesturing to herself. “Grace Abbott? Georgia High, class of ‘99?”

The name sparked something in his memory, but the details remained elusive. 

“I used to wear glasses.” She offered. Shrugging the coat up higher into the crook of her elbow, she lifted both hands up to her face, creating small circles with her fingers and planting them playfully around both eyes. 

“Oh yeah,” He said, blinking as an image of a much younger girl flashed in the back of his mind. She had longer hair then, usually tied back in a long ponytail or braid and yes, a pair of round, thick-rimmed glasses. They had not been friendly in high school, he hadn’t really been friendly with anyone, but he remembered that they had shared several classes together. Algebra, Chemistry, Gov & Ec, Composition…

“Grace, Hello.” He stepped forward and took her outstretched hand, shaking it once. Her skin was icy against his. 

“Do you live here?” She said, eyes shifting to his house. The two homes were similar in style. Both were crafted of white wood, with the same roofing and basic layout. While hers was a two-story, his was a ranch. He had chosen it mainly for its location. After five years of apartment living, he had grown tired of sharing his space, craving something of his own; both indoors and out. The street, Lakeview Drive, backed up against one of the states many gaming lots. Far from the main road, it was long and winding, the homes one each side were spaced several dozen feet from one another. It offered the privacy and quiet he craved. And, true to its name, the northern side of the street was set against Bonner’s Lake. One of his first improvements to the home was to build a deck in the back. In the warmer months, he would sit out there, taking in the calming atmosphere of the water below. It did mean a longer commute into town, but he did some of his best thinking in the car and the time it allowed him was more welcomed than not.

“Uh, yeah.” He said, following her gaze. 

“For how long?” She asked. 

“About four years.”

“The Browns used to live there.” She said, a nostalgic gleam in her eye. “I used to have such a crush on Wyatt’s older brother. You remember them?”

David nodded, even though he didn’t. High School had been...a failed experiment in his mind. Having spent most of his schooling days at the St. Francis’ School for Boys, he’d practically begged his foster mother for a chance at public school away from the rigors and rules of the private system. The culture shock proved difficult to navigate. He didn’t do well in most of his classes, choosing instead to focus his attention and energies into more unseemly ventures. It was a period of his life that he wasn’t proud of. One he was happy to bury. 

“I’m surprised you’re still here.” Grace said. “In Conyers.” 

“You are?” 

She clasped her hands together in front of her and shrugged wistfully. “I don’t know. You just had that look about you. Wanting to escape or something.”

The comment struck a nerve. He could remember her more clearly now. She had been a nice girl. A good student with a close group of friends, but she was always watching people. Scribbling in notebooks. Most people paid him little mind, aside from the occasional sideways glance, thanks in no small part to the rumors that spread around school upon his arrival as a sophomore, but every so often he would catch her looking. Observing. Not just him, but anyone and everyone. 

“Just visiting?” He asked. 

“Um, well, Martin died.” She said, drawing the coat up in both arms to her chest. 

Martin Howser. His neighbor. 

“My step-father.” She clarified, sensing the question before he could ask it. 

He hadn’t even realized the old man had passed. Was he even all that old? Of course, he had hardly been home in the last few weeks, choosing instead to focus on his work. It was what prompted HR to enforce his paid time off in the first place. The hours had been piling up, they said. If he didn’t use them, it could mean trouble. For them. Not for him.  In David’s opinion, it was the last thing he needed. On the first of the month, word of Keller Dover’s sentence had finally come through. The trial had been a waking nightmare. Both sides had aimed to drag it out. It wasn’t uncommon for cases such as these. But it didn’t stop David from loathing the process. He had been forced to testify. As had the Birch family. And the Dovers. Reporters from all around the county crowded the courtroom. Sensationalists made themselves known. Even though the verdict was what he had been expecting, it still ate away at him. Gnawing at wounds that were still fresh, both figuratively and literally. 

He had been lauded for his work on the case. The offer came down from PSP, even government recruiters had reached out to him. He had rebuffed them all. Anna and Joy were safe. For that he was tremendously grateful. But he could not forget Alex Jones or Bob Taylor. The case was over, the guilty party was dead, but the suffering would continue. David could not, would not, forget it. He should have pushed back on Keller. He should have searched the entire apartment complex at first suspicion. Procedures been damned. He could have found Alex Jones earlier. Stopped things from escalating as they did. His chief had told him not to shoulder the blame; had even taken the weight of the responsibility with the public. But David knew the truth. Work was the only thing that could keep him afloat. And now, to be denied even that...he knew he wouldn’t last long at home. But he had no desire to go anywhere else. He felt tied to this town in ways too strong to overcome. 

“I’m sorry.” He said, leaning against the back of his car and crossing his arms over his middle. 

Grace shook her head. “Don’t be. He had a heart condition. When he was a kid they told him he wouldn’t live to see his thirties. I think he always felt he was living on borrowed time.”

She looked over her shoulder at the house, her feet shifting underneath her. Her hand went to her head, tugging absentmindedly at a loose lock of hair that curled up over her ear. David sensed that she was hesitant to go inside. He couldn’t blame her. Even after nearly eight years with the department, the sight and feeling of a dead body never grew easier to stomach. The weight of it always lingered, even after it had been taken away. 

“Umm,” She glanced at a watch wrapped around her wrist. “I know it’s kind of early but, I just took the train in from the city and...I’m starving. Would you want to grab a bite? Catch up?”

David didn’t bother to look in his trunk. He knew what was there. Microwave friendly meals. Most either too bland or too salty. Nothing he was looking forward to. All that waited for him in the house was a television...and quiet. Neither of which could distract him from his thoughts, a barrage of “what-ifs” that haunted him day and night. From Keller Dover or Bob Taylor or Alex Jones.  

He nodded. “Sure.”

-

He took her to The Mystic, a bar in the town center. It was situated below the only hotel in the city. The interior was all done in dark woods, with old Tiffany-esque lanterns hanging over each table. It was quieter than most of the places, especially given that a game was on that night. They sat themselves in the back corner away from the bustle and chatter of people at the bar. 

“Boy, this town hasn’t changed at all.” Grace said, her eyes traveling from one side of the room to the other, taking it all in. “I remember Julie Dawes and I tried to sneak in here once when we were kids. Mitch chased us out so fast, I thought my lungs would collapse.”

She spoke with an expected fondness, but there was something hollow behind the words. As if they weren’t entirely genuine. Forced. David managed a smile. 

“Thanks for this,” She said, hitching her elbows up on the table and resting her chin in one hand. The bags under her eyes were more prevalent in the low light. 

She must have traveled far. David noted. 

“I felt weird going somewhere alone and...I don’t know, it’s strange being in that house after all this time.”

“When was the last time you were here?” He asked, his thumb tracing the rim of his glass. 

“Oh,” Grace said, her free hand went to her ear, tugging gently on the small ring of rose gold. A nervous habit. He didn’t mean to note it. Catalogue it. But he found it was harder and harder for him to turn off that part of his brain. He relied so heavily on it. To understand his work. And people. Was it irony? That he could so easily gauge the fault lines of a person’s soul based purely on their little ticks and peculiarities and yet connecting, truly connecting, with the heart of a person seemed like an impossible feat?

“Not for...ten? Eleven years maybe?” She said, just as their food arrived. “It’s not that I avoided it...completely. But work takes up so much of my time- Thank you,” She said, smiling up at the waitress. 

“What do you do?” He asked after she had swallowed her first bite. 

“I’m a reporter.” She said. “I work at the Inquirer.”

“In Philadelphia?”

“MmHmm.” She said, beaming with pride. “I was at the Daily News for a while, but my boss got an editor’s position and he brought me along with him three years ago.”

David fought the frown. She didn’t seem like the type. Usually, he could spot a reporter as easily as he could a lawyer these days. There was something about them, always searching for that story. It showed in their eyes. She was poised and articulate, but she was missing that aggravating verve that he was used to. 

She’s note working now, though. He reasoned. And she doesn’t know that I’m a-

“What do you do?” She asked before taking another bite of her sandwich. Despite her best efforts, he could tell she wasn’t particularly interested. What could be interesting about an old classmate from Conyers? He almost wished he had another answer prepared. 

“I’m a cop.” He said. 

“Really?” Her attention shifted from her plate and back to him. 

There it is. He thought. It was quick, like a bold of lightening, but he had caught it. That flash of hunger in her eyes. It bordered on desperation. Sometimes he hated being right. 

“I wondered,” She said, suddenly reminding him of a fox. “What with your car and all.”

Normally he wouldn’t dive into a pool such as this, but after a few sips of beer (a rare indulgence for him) he was feeling more generous than usual. 

“And all?” He asked, his own curiosity slipping past his carefully constructed walls. 

“Well,” She started, mulling it over. “The clothes, the shoes, you have that look about you, I guess. All buttoned up. It’s surprising, don’t get me wrong. I mean if you told me David Loki would become a cop...you never seemed like the uniform type.”

“I’m not,” He said, the first genuine grin snaking across his face. 

Grace nodded as she swallowed down another bite. “A detective?”

He nodded back. 

“That...makes more sense.” Grace said with a wry wink. “Any interesting cases?”

In what way. He thought, but chose not to voice it.

“Here and there,” He said. The walls were rebuilding themselves. He never liked to talk about his cases with civilians let alone reporters. He made a note to look up her work when they were done here. 

Surprisingly, she didn’t press him any further. 

“So how long are you here?” He asked. 

“Just a few days.” She said. “I have to go through all the stuff in the house tomorrow. I’m meeting with a couple agents on Thursday...hopefully, I can get the house on the market by the end of the week.

“Is there a funeral?” He asked. It seemed like the proper thing to do. He wondered if he was expected to attend. 

“No. He didn’t want one, actually specified it in his will. He was cremated on Friday. His hunting buddies took the ashes up the campgrounds off Mayberry. They’re going to spread them around their usual spots. It’s...all he asked for.”

“Were you close?” David asked. 

“Not really.” She said, running a hand through her hair before attempting to wave down the waitress. “I mean, he really loved my mom. They got married when I was seven. He was nice and all, but I don’t think he ever planned on having kids. He never really knew how to talk to me. But, he’s got no family left so...someone’s got to clean up the house.”

“What about your mother?”

She swallowed hard. Her body shifted in her seat, going stiff. She folded her hands in front of her, her eyes boring into the table. All manner of ease and warmth faded away. 

“Well...she passed.” Her voice was flat but charged. As if it was obvious. As if he should already know. “A long time ago.”

“Right.” He said, blinking. Did I know that? He thought back. No. Why should I?

She stood suddenly, sliding out of her chair and reaching for her bag. Her free hand went to her hair again, tugging and twisting. 

“I’m ready to go.” She said, her eyes still directed towards the floor. 

“Alright.” David said, rising as well. 

-

The drive home had been quiet. Almost painfully so. Grace had kept her eyes trained on the view outside the passenger seat, her elbow hitched up on the door, her chin in hand. She didn’t say a word until they had reached Lakeview. Even then, she only managed a quiet ‘thanks’ before drifting across the street and up to the Howser door. David had watched her go, unsure of what to do or say. 

He stood in his bathroom, brushing his teeth and avoiding his reflection in the glass above the sink. He couldn’t understand it. Why should be expected to remember details about an old classmates family? If they had been friends, maybe...but he couldn’t remember socializing with her outside of school; aside from the occasional class-wide party. 

Something. There had to be something he was missing. Grace Abbott. He thought, running the name through his head again and again. Do I even know her mother’s name? Abbott...Martin Howser was her step-father so...she remarried. Grace Howser. Abbott....Howser. An image flashed through his head. Abbott-Howser. A newspaper. And a headline. He caught his own eye in the mirror as he scrubbed at his teeth before spitting a large, foamy glob into the sink. 

“Shit.” He hissed under his breath. 

After washing his face, he headed into his room, searching the sheets for his phone. After finding it, he typed in the name, scrolling through the results until he found what he had been searching for. His heart dropped into his stomach. The date on the archived article was May 28th, 1998. In bleak, black bold print, the headline read:

Helen Abbott-Howser, Beloved Mother & Teacher at Conyers Community Center, Latest Victim of Suspected Serial Killer.

-

Thank you for reading! I hope to post the next bit very soon. I’d love to hear from you! I used a gif for now cause I’m still working on the title card but I was too excited to wait! >.<

[cryptidcalling]

Some more stuff about clone Wren because! He’s on my mind! Please read tags for trigger warnings. 

-He’s not the same as canon Wren or Hill, he’s a third entity. He’s got all of Wren’s kindness and love for nature, as well as his craving for attention and contact. However, he is much much more cautious and careful than canon Wren. He’s learned the art of being kind yet vague, and is very nervous to get close to people or let them get close to him. 

-Only Haywood genuinely believes he’s a clone. Seph still believes their original theory about Wren when they first met him. 

-To put in in short, they thought he was delusional. Not ‘delusional’ like as an expression, but literally experiencing a delusion. They assumed something happened to him that was severely traumatic that caused his mind to warp reality in order to cope. However, as Wren began to trust them more and show them more evidence and explain himself, Haywood believed him and Seph did not. Seph thinks his mind made up this entire clone story. He even showed her the code on his hip, but it didn’t convince her. Her main theory is that Hill was kidnapped for some form of human trafficking, which is why they put the code on him. The ‘company’ (called GenMile) that would take him back and kill him is the captors he’s running from, and he’s a ‘clone’ because if he doesn’t think he’s Weston Hill then he doesn’t have to go back to his old life and responsibilities, and he doesn’t have to return to the place he was kidnapped from. 

-I want to make it very clear that this is NOT TRUE. In his AU, Weston Hill is dead, and Wren IS a clone of him. It’s just important to know, I think, because it affects how Seph treats Wren in this AU.

-She’s much more delicate with him in this AU than in canon. She’s very careful when correcting him on certain things, or trying to remind him of things. She’s trying to give him healthy doses of reality without contradicting his version of reality.

-Stemming from that; both Haywood and Seph treat Wren like his own person, no matter what they think is true. Wren is Wren, and he’s clearly very happy here living the way he is. From what they’ve heard about Hill, he was not a happy man. Neither of them want to take this life and this happiness away from him. 

-Clone Wren is an expert in the field of wilderness survival, as well as just knowing how to make it on his own homeless. Hill died at age 32, and Wren’s current age is 36. He spent 2 of his 4 free years homeless in the wilderness. He didn’t have to, he still has a lot of money in cash that he withdrew from Hill’s accounts before leaving. However, that money is for emergencies only. He mostly used to for airplane tickets, survival supplies, and food in desperate times. His desire to live isolated and homeless was not because of a lack of money, but instead to stay safe and isolated. He didn’t want to be seen, he didn’t want to be recognized, he didn’t want to be caught.

-That was a very good thing in the end. A lot of people were searching for him for a very long time. Because they have records that Hill’s money was used to buy a plane ticket, thus meaning whoever was involved crossed state lines, the FBI got involved with the case. Not only that, but GenMile was in a panic trying to hunt him down and recapture him. Not only is human cloning not regulated, approved, or ethical and legal, but a faulty clone could ruin their reputation even in the black market world of business. 

-Because of this, Wren was quite distrustful and afraid of standard breed police dogs for a long time. German Shepherds, Doberman Pincers, Rottweilers, and Bloodhounds all terrified him. Thankfully, with the help of Haywood and Captain this fear has gone down tremendously, although not entirely for dogs that aren’t Captain. And any dog that has a police vest is still very scary for him. 

-The closest he would get to civilization while he was homeless was in the winter. He would hop around a lot, sometimes camping out in abandoned buildings, sometimes staying at homeless shelters, sometimes renting a room at a motel, but he never stayed in one place for more than a week at a time. 

-Clone Wren doesn’t live in an RV like canon Wren. He lives in the same spot, but he instead lives in a tent. An RV is a vehicle, vehicles need to be registered, registering a vehicle would create a paper trail. Tents, space heaters, and batteries can be paid for no questions in cash. He still stays with Haywood in the winter. 

[alittletournesol]

A super spooky night {SHINee/SuperM}

[In this story, the conditions and rights of the LGBTQ+ community in South Korea are completely altered to make same-sex marriage and adoption legally possible. An alternative universe I wish to become reality someday.]

Pairings: OnKey / JongHo Additional characters: kid!Taemin and kid!SuperM’ (except for Baekhyun)

A super spooky night

The clock shows half past five above the dining table when Kibum places the last small bat made of sugar paste on the tremendous cake. He spent his whole day off baking and drawing the most impressive dessert up, also with the help of his boyfriend for the past two hours. Both men take a few steps back to contemplate their work, holding their breath for a minute as if worried they might make the structure fall with just a sigh. But it stands.

Built with three round layers of different circumferences, the cake is all about black and purple homemade frosting. Every decoration is made of almond or sugar paste shaped to represent various characters from a famous animated movie, The Nightmare Before Christmas. The “icing on the cake” actually has nothing to do with icing ; it’s a massive, round bubble of white chocolate with sculpted holes that create the face of Jack Skellington.

Kibum is particularly proud of this part of the cake, for it took him four tries before reaching this impressive result. He had to look for some videos to get that special technic, so he could perfectly pour melted chocolate on a blown up balloon, let it harden with time before delicately sculpting the holes and remove the balloon without breaking the whole thing. The fourth result is perfect, placed on top of the cake and surrounded by little sugar pumpkins. It’s all ready.

“I thought we wouldn’t finish it in time.” Jinki comments, finally allowing himself to sit as he removes his apron. “What are you doing ?”

“Taking pictures of course !” His boyfriend replies as he draws his phone, his enthusiasm showing in the way his eyes sparkle. “That shit took me a day, I won’t let it be engulfed within ten minutes and be forgotten just like that.”

“Sure, but careful with those words once we’ll be there.”

“I’m always careful. Speaking of that, what time is it ?”

“Half past five, more or less. When are we expected ?”

“Half past six.”

“Shit.”

Ignoring Kibum’s laughter at his cursing word, the older man stands up and leaves the kitchen to take a quick shower. They barely have an hour to get dressed and show up at their appointment’s place, which sounds like an impossible mission. However, both men have a certain thing in common : they’re organized. Before time runs out, they’re both all clean from any trace of baking and wearing their costumes ; as they look at each other in the large mirror of their bedroom, Jinki can’t help but snort.

Since they started dating almost four years ago, they’ve been into couple clothes and items, but this year marks their first real couple outfit for this spooky occasion… and he definitely got scammed here. Standing next to him and adjusting his dragon-like horned headdress, Kibum looks stunning in his own version of Maleficent — the recent one, not the one from the very old movie. It has been an idea from their friends’ son, who thought from all of his five years of age that his uncle’s face somehow looked like the dark fairy’s.

The man had found the concept way too appealing to ignore it. That’s how and why he’s now standing proudly in front of the glass, his realistic and expensive costume fitting him as if he was the original character himself. He fully played the game, making his cheekbones look even higher and his jaw sharper by using an easy makeup method with silicon — he’d tried it numerous times before that day, to be sure he wouldn’t mess it up when time would come. And he didn’t.

“Can you remind me about the reason behind my costume ?” Jinki asks, drawing the other man out of his self-contemplation. “Didn’t you tell me that Maleficent has a whole people of her own kind ? Why am I just… a semi-crow and not one of them ?”

“She does, but the crow is more significant.” His boyfriend replies, always serious when it comes to a universe he loves. “The crow was like the part of her she was missing when she became the shadow of her former self. He helped her and always stood by her side, even when she technically didn’t need him anymore. There’s a long lasting affection between them, they’re like… partners in crime. And I wanted to see your handsome face so I went for the crow’s human version.”

“So… I’m your other half and handsome partner in crime ?”

“Exactly. See ? Perfectly fitting us.”

Smiling, Kibum steals the other man a gentle kiss and adjusts the collar of the latter’s black jacket, covered with feathers to remind of the bird. If there is something he loves to see, it’s Jinki wearing black clothes… which is rare, much to his displeasure. But this day, the older man is even wearing a quality wig to imitate the mid-length dark hair of the character, and damn, how good looking it makes him. His boyfriend is about to forget the real purpose of their costumes when his phone rings, interrupting his contemplation.

Cursing under his breath, he plunges his hand in Jinki’s pocket, surprising the latter, and takes his device.

“Yeah ?” He says when he picks up, the deep but loud voice on the other side extremely recognizable. “What are you saying, we’re not late yet. (…) We’re about to leave but don’t expect us to drive fast, we have a whole damn piece of art to preserve before it fills kids’ stomachs ! (…) Alright, see you there. I’m hanging up.”

As soon as he isn’t hearing his best friend’s voice anymore, the horned man makes a face and sticks his tongue out towards his phone, making his partner laugh. Before they’re really running late, they both head to the kitchen to carefully place a huge glass bell cover above the cake, with small metallic ties on its edge to keep it attached to the plate. Thanks to his work in the fashion industry, Kibum sure has a lot of contacts in this world, but he got lucky enough to be in love with a man who, unlike him, knows professionals chefs personally. He has been lent this high cloche to cover and protect their dessert during the short travel from their house to the school.

Once everything is ready and safe, they lift the cake together to place it on a low trolley and pull their coats on before pushing it out of their apartment. They quietly thank some higher entity for equipping their flat with an elevator as they’re being taken to the private parking lot in the basement. With one last, careful effort, they place the imposing stuff on one of the backseats, even fastening the belt on it. While Kibum takes place next to it to hold it just in case, Jinki takes the wheel and finally, they leave.

On the road, the younger man sends a message to his friend, warning him that they’re on their way and will join them within ten minutes. He smiles when he receives a picture of an excited little boy as an answer, the kid wearing fake fangs that gives him a terrific smile… softened by the way he places his arms above his head to shape a heart.

“Taemin is a vampire this year.” He says, more to himself but loud enough to be heard by his boyfriend. “And I think one of the kids is a ghost, I can see a piece of white sheet on the picture.”

“How many kids will be there, again ?” Jinki asks, mentally trying to count.

“Six with him. Seven if you add Minho.”

“Oh please.”

The driver can’t help but laugh, this constant game between these two adults never failing to amuse him despite how old it’s growing. Kibum and Minho have known each other for more than fifteen years and their friendship only grew stronger by time passing ; though, just like when they were teens, not one day goes by without one of them sending some random attack at the other. At first, Jinki had been startled by this strange behaviour but he quickly got used to it as he spent more and more time in their company.

It’s actually by means of knowing Minho through a few classes in common at university that the older man got to meet the man he now calls his boyfriend. And as if heaven had wanted to kill two birds with one stone, Jinki had been the one introducing his classmate to his own childhood friend during an outing, Jonghyun. Since then, the four young men had become inseparable… and while Kibum had asked Jinki out, Minho had found himself disconcerted by how he had been asked the same by Jonghyun only a couple weeks after.

Years passed and they’re now grown adults, reaching the age of thirty one after another. But time hasn’t altered their friendship, nor their respective love relationships ; the first couple is living under a same roof, as they bought their very first apartment two years ago and got engaged a few months after. If they took their time and planned their wedding for this winter, their friends had tied the knot immediately after leaving university. Their family had quickly been joined by a baby, not even five months old, who had looked at them in the eyes at the adoption agency.

The orphan little boy found two loving, caring parents in the persons of Jonghyun and Minho, who raised him from then. Taemin, as is his name, is a cheerful and always smiling child who makes his dads’ happiness and never misses the chance to overwhelm his soul uncles with his catching laughter. He turned five only a few months ago and is becoming more and more interested in life’s little things, which makes him even more adorable.

Though the first days of separation were difficult for his oldest dad, he’s now going to preschool and enjoying every ounce of it. Kibum remembered his friends’ worries about the matter, since the little boy isn’t of the calm and obedient kind… however, it seems he understood pretty well that school and home are two different environments. For this new school year, he is even showing a new quality of his : patience. His school opened a special class to welcome three foreign children who must improve their Korean, and in order not to make them feel excluded or different, their young teacher managed to bring three native kids in their class.

This is how Taemin is now one of the six students of a small class bringing children from three to five years old. Minho used to fear that the extra attention paid to the three foreigners by their teacher would annoy his son, but his husband was clear about it : it would actually be rewarding. And sure it is, the boy is showing a lot of patience when he is trying to communicate with his classmates who only know the basics of his language for now — even the youngest one is brilliantly improving from all of his three years of age, a talkative one.

Tonight is the first time Kibum and Jinki meet their nephew’s friends, though they already caught sight of them when they occasionally got requested by their friends to pick the kid up from school. The only one they know by name is Jongin, a shy-looking boy who tends to transform himself when being in Taemin’s presence. Both adults feel excited and apprehensive at the same time, for they never spent time with so many children at once…

“We’re there, should I park where teachers park ?” The oldest man draws his fiancé out of his thoughts. “I don’t think it’s open.”

“It’s not but Minho gave me a beeper, I put it in your pocket.” Kibum replies as he takes the gadget from the feathered clothes himself and presses the button. “There you go.”

“Why does he even have a beeper ?”

“The teacher gave him a spare one for tonight, I guess I’ll have to give it back.”

Jinki makes the car slowly move forwards, driving in the parking lot until he recognizes his friends’ vehicle and parks next to it. Once he cuts off contact, he’s the first one to get out and goes to open the boot, taking the folded trolley and giving it his real shape back. He’s about to open the back door when he’s stopped by his boyfriend, who got out through the other door. The semi-crow is told to keep his “clumsy little hands” in his pockets and just giggles as he keeps an eye on the way Kibum is delicately taking the cake out of the car.

They’re not even done placing it on the trolley that they hear a way too familiar voice yelling, growing louder by milliseconds passing. Both men look up and have the reflex to shout “freeze !” to make Taemin stop in his race like for the game they often play. The boy laughs but respects the rule and even poses weirdly to make the thing funnier ; Jinki smiles and makes sure the dessert is safe before he crouches and stretches his arms, welcoming his nephew with a hug.

“Don’t bite me, I wanna live !” He whines before making Taemin move backwards, holding his arms to look at him. “How scary you are, are those real teeth ?!”

“Daddy said to say yes so yes the toothies are real ones !” The boy replies, lisping a bit, before he stands in awe when he sees his other uncle. “Woah ! You look like the real one !”

“That’s the secret, kiddo.” Kibum winks at him before he crouches in his turn, whispering at the kid’s ear. “I am the real one.”

“Stop lying ~”

Their nephew is still laughing and inspecting Maleficent’s horns on his uncle’s head when the three of them are eventually joined by an incredible person. Both men have to look twice before they recognize the man wearing a long, grey toga with shattered tails, his skin painted in a sick-looking shade of grey and his usually blonde hair raised on his head… sprayed with a blazing blue colour.

“Jonghyun, is that you ?” Kibum opens his eyes wide before bursting into laughter. “How the hell did you make your hair stand like that !”

“Lots of gel.” Taemin’s father says before hugging his friends. “Look at us, Bum. Hades and Maleficent, two dark villains !”

“Dark and sarcastic, for sure you chose well.” Jinki comments as he grants the kid’s request and holds him on his hip. “Are we late ?”

“Not at all, the teacher was about to tell the rules and Minho is busy putting make up on one of the children. Taemin, you’re old enough to walk by yourself so get back on your feet. Uncle is old you know.”

“Oh really ? Taeminnie, let’s show your dad I’m not old. Let’s race !”

“Yeeeeeeees !”

The boy keeps screaming as he’s being put on the ground and starts running towards the school, followed by a giggling adult losing black feathers on his way. Remaining alone in the parking lot, Jonghyun and Kibum roll their eyes and laugh together, as the latter closes the car and pushes the trolley. Led by the eldest one, both men peacefully reach the building and head directly to the kitchens where a fridge was emptied beforehand to welcome the cake. Carefully, they place it in the cool and finally join the only lively classroom in the whole place.

The room is small, for it’s made to welcome only six children, but it’s nicely arranged. The desks are gathered to make one big table with six chairs around it, two on each side so students sit by pairs. The last side is empty but overlook the board so it would have been stupid to place people here. In a corner, there are a few small shelves filled with books for every age, and comfortable couches and mats on the floor ; Kibum smiles, remembering his own hometown’s preschool that had a similar calm space in each classroom.

But the place is far from being calm at this moment, half a dozen of kids expressing their joy and excitement by running here and there, making the most of their costumes. Only one is sitting without moving, and the horned man holds on his laughter when he sees his tall best friend so focused on the white skull he is painting on the kid’s face. Minho is so busy he doesn’t even notice his friends arrived, but the latter surely notices his costume : a well-done monster of Frankenstein, with old rags as clothes, scars drawn on random spots of his body and fake nut and bolts popping out of his head and neck.

“Good evening, you must be Mr. Kim ?” A young man dressed as an enchanter with night blue clothes welcomes Kibum with a bow and a smile. “I am Mr. Byun, teacher to this little bunch of kids.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, I think you met my partner once ?” The other man returns the greetings. “He picks Taemin up sometimes.”

“Oh, yes. I had to speak with him once because his nephew had fought a little that day. But let’s not talk about school tonight, we’re here to have fun after all !”

“That’s right, and I’m done with everyone’s makeup !” Minho speaks in as he approaches the men talking while wiping his hands. “Look at you, how comes you’re always giving your utmost with Halloween costumes ?”

“Halloween is my time of the year, dear.” Kibum laughs, giving his friend a hug. “I see you’ve been busy, did you help every kid ?”

“Yup ! They came with only their costumes in a bag so everything was done here. How long did we take to get everything ready, Baekhyun ?”

“Two hours I would say.” The teacher replies, glancing at the window while the newcomer gets surprised at the sudden informal talk. “But the sun is setting now so we should get started.”

Saying this, the young man claps his hands a few times to gather the six kids, who immediately stop their races and games to sit on their respective chair — Jinki, who sneakily joined his boyfriend’s side, shows him how each chair has a name written on its back. The two couples remain quiet as they watch Baekhyun explain the rules to respect once they will be outside for their sweets hunt. All children are looking at him, paying attention and showing their best side. Jonghyun and Minho can’t help but stare at their son with pride, although Taemin isn’t that calm and silent when they’re home.

When the teacher is done, Kibum starts moving as he expects the hunt to start, but he’s surprised by a language he doesn’t know. Looking up with raised eyebrows, he realizes Baekhyun is repeating himself while looking at a particular kid dressed as a ghost — quite tall for his age, his doe eyes staring at the adult’s lips.

“This one is Yukhei.” Minho slightly leans on to whisper to his best friend’s ear, Jinki listening as well. “He is from Hong Kong but he arrived only three months ago so he can’t understand Korean  yet, except basics salutations and a couple of questions you ask a teacher during class.”

“I see…” His elder nods. “How old is he ? He’s tall…”

“He’s four years old.”

“You���re kidding ?”

“I was the same when I was his age, it doesn’t really bother me. Jonghyun is bothered.”

“I’m not.” The flaming blue haired man retorts though he keeps looking at the kids.

“So… Kibum told me there are three foreign kids ?” Jinki asks. “Who are the other two ?”

The oldest man just has time to finish his question when Baekhyun switches languages again, this time looking at the boy who chose to be dressed as a particularly notorious clown — Pennywise, character from a not-really-for-children movie. This makes Kibum frown.

“Does he know the clown he’s dressed as ?” He can’t help but ask. “I almost pissed my pants watching that movie and I’m twenty-seven, don’t tell me he knows about it ? What is he, four ?”

“Five, and he only asked me to paint his face like a clown in a horror movie.” His tall friend laughs. “He doesn’t really know what I did to him, but I’m glad you recognized the character. I might have some talent.”

“Sure, Frankenstein. How did he ask, since the teacher is talking to him in another language ?”

“He’s been here for two years now so he speaks a bit more than basic Korean. Enough to ask me something without stuttering ! He’s doing well but he’s already bilingual, he speaks English.”

“That explains why the teacher is speaking in English now…” The crow man wonders. “Why not the kid’s mother tongue ?”

“He is from Thailand, but Baekhyun doesn’t speak thai so. I would love to tell you his name but I can’t memorize it. Taemin calls him Ten, and the other kids too.”

Both men nod and keep listening to Baekhyun, who’s lifting his fingers one after another as he announces the rules to the kid nicknamed Ten. Kibum mentally bets on the next and last kid he will addresses… but finds himself completely wrong. The young teacher crouches before the smallest, and certainly the youngest kid of the group and asks him if he understood what he just told his classmate. The child seems to hesitate but he eventually shakes his head, what makes the adult smile and repeat his words, in English as well. Slowly, using hands gestures as well.

“English again ?” Jinki raises his eyebrows.

“Mark is Canadian.” Jonghyun replies, beating his husband to it. “But he’s only three so even in his mother tongue, it’s still a bit difficult. Even more when he’s also learning Korean.”

“Three years old… is it good for him to be in this class ?”

“More than you think, because since he’s learning two languages at the same time, it’s better for him to be in a smaller class with few other kids who also are in his case, than in a big group with only kids who talk better, if I can say.”

“You got a point.” Kibum agrees. “He’s so cute, look at him pouting while listening…”

“Taemin is taking this habit, he thinks it will work the same with us and we will give him everything he wants.” Minho quietly laughs. “He wanted to have red eyes to go with his costume and when we explained him that he was way too young for lenses, he just pouted, thinking we would give in to him.”

“And then he said that uncle Kibum would let him, so we were mean parents for around ten minutes.” Jonghyun adds, smiling.

“Since the day I bought him an ice cream behind your back, he thinks I would give him absolutely everything without you knowing.” Their friend rolls his eyes with a smile. “I don’t know if he’s smart or a cute dummy.”

Before they can go on with their not so discreet conversation, the four adults get interrupted by Baekhyun clapping his hands once as he’s done with his speech. The six kids get up all together and go to the low coat rail next to the door, putting their jackets on — with their teacher’s permission, they keep it open so their costume isn’t hidden. The couples smile at the way two kids quickly offer their help to their youngest friend, the little Mark struggling to slip his small coat on because of his pumpkin costume.

“We’re ready to go.” Baekhyun tells his fellow adults as he catches his keys. “Kids must stay all together during the whole outing, but I’m not worried, they have no struggle sticking together.”

“We’ll just make sure they don’t run everywhere.” Jonghyun replies. “Do they have bags ?”

“Yes, I bought some. They have each a pumpkin shaped bag so there’s no jealousy !”

“Excellent.”

Following the teacher’s instructions, Jinki and Minho leave the classroom and wait at the school’s door. While Jonghyun and Kibum will bring up the rear, the six children catch their respective bag and line up by pairs, holding hands — this cute show causes a nervous giggle from the Hades-dressed man.

“Don’t forget, while we’re outside, you keep your friend’s hand in yours !” Baekhyun reminds the kids before letting them leave the classroom two by two, pretending to count them to keep the habit. “Taemin and Jongin, check ! Taeyong and Mark, check ! Yukhei and Ten, check ! We’re free to go.”

The last two adults follow them, switching the lights off, and the whole group is finally heading to their mischievous sweets hunt.

__________________________

Half an hour passed and the streets are full of children wearing various costumes, their adult relatives not always playing this game but showing their involvement in other ways. For sure, the joyfully spooky group wandering with five grown adults disguised for the occasion and six kids blathering around them draws people’s attention. Among them, Jonghyun and Kibum definitely catch a few children’s eye, to the point they even took pictures with perfect strangers… making their own bunch of monsters jealous.

But these little mishaps are quickly forgotten as the pumpkin shaped bags are getting filled more and more by time passing. People opening their doors always come with their hands full of sweets, some with homemade pastries containing pumpkin or lollipops with ghosts, bats or spiders shapes. What makes the school’s group more special is the way three voices stand out when shouting the famous trick or treats, their respective accent or light pronunciation mistakes easy to hear. It only moves whoever they visit to ask for their sweet treasure, the cute little Mark often getting an extra piece.

But night is falling and it becomes darker outside, which forces the teacher to gather his students and keep them around to always have an eye on them. If they were given some freedom at the beginning, though they were well watched, it isn’t possible anymore and Baekhyun earns some pouts and whines in return. Fortunately, a simple stare from him added to Jonghyun and Minho’s quiet, disapproving look is enough for all children to stop any attempt of protesting. It is announced that they will resume their hunt for twenty more minutes before heading back to the school, and it’s Kibum who soothes the sudden tensed atmosphere.

“Kids, what’s with those faces ?” He asks, crouching to be at their eyes’ level. “It’s like a race, isn’t it ? Let’s gather as many sweets we can within twenty minutes, then you will all be rewarded by the biggest cake you’ve ever seen !”

“Cake ?” Yukhei’s eyes seem to light up as he perfectly understood that word.

“Yes, a cake I made especially for you, but it grew a head on our way to the school ! What if we spend too much time outside and it grows legs ? And runs away ?”

“Oh no !” Jongin and Taemin cry out, making the adults giggle since they’re the oldest children in the group, yet the most oblivious about the trick.

“See ?” Jonghyun smiles while he leans on to wipe some dirt on his son’s cheek — how did he even get it ? “We must be fast if we don’t want the cake to escape. So no more talking, it’s wasting time ! Go, fetch some more candies !”

The previous disappointment makes space for a whole new excitement, five little heads bouncing away as they start running to another house. Despite him calling them back to respect the rule, Baekhyun finds himself completely out of the picture ; as he follows them close, he’s joined by Minho who tends to have a well-needed authority on all these kids. The only child who doesn’t follow is Mark, the boy holding his bag of candies with both his small hands and yawning.

“Are you alright, sweetheart ?” The Hades-dressed man asks him, making the kid look up at him with innocent eyes.

“You okay ?” Kibum asks in his turn, choosing English and pointing at the bag. “Want me to hold this ?”

“Ho’d me pwease.” Mark answers as he stretches his arms towards the horned man and drops his treasure.

Surprised at first, the adult hesitates but is quickly defeated by the child’s adorable pout ; instead of taking him in his arms, he crouches and lets Jinki place Mark on his shoulders.

“Hold there.” The oldest man says as he motions the boy’s hands to the horns. “Don’t let them go !”

Once the kid is safe and resting on Kibum’s shoulders, his little face fitting perfectly between the horns with his chin on the top of the adult’s head, the latter’s boyfriend picks the bag up and puts some fallen sweets inside before the four of them join the group of monsters threatening neighbors with evil tricks and laughters. Although one of the children isn’t with his friends, Taeyong is always making sure to ask for extra candies, showing their younger classmate behind with his polite hand to prove he’s not asking for himself.

The twenty minutes go by rather quickly, neither the kids nor the adults realizing it. At some point, Minho is holding Ten on his back and Yukhei’s hand in his, while the other three are still way too excited to stay still. It’s almost chaos, but the return to school isn’t as bad as it could have been. The five men manage to make the whole group walk back without even telling them it’s the way back. It’s only when they recognize the building’s yellow door and stickers on the windows that they understand.

Before any of them can protest, Baekhyun opens the door and calls each of their name, telling them that to enter they must show their treasure. He pretends to inspect the bags’ content and to hesitate to let some enter… what makes them even more eager to actually go inside. Eventually, they’re all back in the classroom, sitting around the gathered tables and showing each other their finds. During the meantime, Minho and Jinki bring an extra table for all adults to fit — though they must sit on the floor since it’s quite low.

Within a few minutes and before some of the kids can start bickering about their respective amount of candies, their improvised dinner arrives on the table and leaves them in awe. It’s only a few sandwiches, but cut in pieces that form the shapes of several Halloween creatures and objects — pumpkins, bats, witches’ hats or ghosts. The flavors are different to suit everyone’s taste, and both kids and adults don’t need to be asked twice before they start devouring whatever is under their reach.

The whole table is a joyful mess of chit-chat and sharing of food among the children ; Taeyong keeps grabbing new pieces of sandwiches and gives them to his friends before taking one for himself, which touches the adults’ hearts. So young and already so caring… while Taemin is literally kneeling on his chair and almost throwing his body on the table to catch what he wants, to the despair of his parents.

“Are you behaving like that at home ?” Minho frowns at him, making his son immediately sit properly and offer both his open hands so his father can give him the sandwich he wants. “That’s better, eat well. Babe, what do you want ?”

“I’m saving myself for later, don’t mind me.” Jonghyun smiles, though he blushes at the way he’s called by his husband in front of so many people. “Eat, I’m waiting for the cake.”

“Yah, will you ask me what I want ?” Kibum suddenly teases his boyfriend, the latter immediately straightening up and swallowing his own food. “No, Jinki, I’m kiddi—”

“There, a whole plate for you !” Jinki offers him a few pieces at once and pouring water in his glass. “Want more, baby ?”

“You asked for it, why are you even blushing.” The tallest man laughs heartily, nudging his best friend whose face turned red.

“Can I have ?”

Mark’s sudden intervention as he pokes Kibum’s arm and points at a sandwich is welcomed with quite a relief from the latter. The horned man immediately grants the kid’s request and makes sure to give him all the attention he needs to forget about his annoying friends — sometimes he hates himself for indeed asking for it and not owning up to what he’s done. He’s so sweating after a few minutes that he makes the huge mistake to remove his headdress and scares the youngest children, what obviously is another occasion for him to be kindly mocked by his friends.

He finds a way to escape and breathe some fresh air when no more sandwich can be seen on the table and it’s thus time for dessert. As he stands up and heads to the kitchen, Jinki following him to lend a hand and stealing him some kisses to make up for earlier, all kids pile their plates up and put all rubbish in one, just like they’re taught at the canteen. As soon as they’re done, they can’t help but stand gaping with their eyes sparkling, when the trolley with the cake finally makes its entrance.

In fact, it’s the biggest cake they’ve ever seen ! And just like Kibum said, there is a big head on the top !

“It didn’t grow legs !” Taemin shouts with his tiny, excited voice as he applauds, imitated by his classmates.

“No, it didn’t !” Jinki smiles. “That’s because you went fast earlier, it didn’t have time. It takes almost an hour to grow two legs !”

“Woah, that’s long !” Jongin widens his eyes and stares at his own legs. “Mine are short, I think it wasn’t as long.”

As soon as Taemin answers his best friend, adults know it’s a lost case ; they take advantage of the smart-like discussion that has all other kids staring at the two talking, to cut the cake. It’s quite a hard task, for the dessert is big and its creator wants each child to have a similar portion to avoid jealousy. It takes a few minutes but every plate is eventually filled with a big slice of cake, a few sugar paste characters and a part of the white chocolate skull. Naturally, adults get a bigger portion but it doesn’t seem to bother the kids.

They’re too busy covering their chin and cheeks with sugar and chocolate, filling their mouths before they even empty them. Just like them, Jonghyun is not hiding himself behind his “responsible parent’s status” anymore, as he devours the cake like he hasn’t eaten anything in weeks.

“I still can’t reduce his sugar consommation.” Minho sighs, pretending to be out of patience. “How can I make Taemin understand why he can’t eat so much sugar if I have this person doing the opposite ? How ?”

“You’re exaggerating, I only eat candies when he doesn’t look.” His husband retorts, filling his mouth again. “It’s too good.”

“I can grant you that. It’s really good, but damn… must have been long to bake that.”

“Tell me about it !” Kibum laughs. “I got up at eight to do the groceries and started baking right after I got home. I’ve been in the kitchen all day long, it’s a relief that Jinki came back from work early.”

“You were almost done when I came to help.” The latter smiles, rarely comfortable when being praised. “My part was only the decoration.”

“It’s a success, that’s for sure.” Baekhyun comments, showing the kids. “Though I don’t know if we’ll finish it today. Do you mind if we keep it in the fridge and I’ll serve the rest tomorrow for dessert ?”

“Of course I don’t ! It’s better here than at my place, we’re supposed to be on a sugar diet.”

“Teach Jonghyun, please.”

Minho’s comment was welcomed by a gentle hit on his shoulder, his husband frowning and his cheeks filled with cake — which made the whole scene laughable. All adults keep talking, giving the children a bit of freedom as they’re done eating ; they wander around the classroom, playing with the available toys or digesting in a calm way. It was quite a big day for them, tiredness starting to make its presence felt as the clock shows half past eight.

It’s at around that time that the kids’ parents are supposed to come fetch them, and Baekhyun keeps alert to hear the intercom. As a way to wait and also to thank the four men for their help, he offers them a cup of coffee to finish this great dinner. Minutes flow by, the teacher occasionally standing up to go to the front door, letting a parent — or two — enter and come to the classroom. Jonghyun, Minho, Kibum and Jinki receive a lot of thanks for their volunteer job, letting Taemin’s parents know that he is always welcomed at their place for a sleepover.

The room is slowly getting empty, and while Jonghyun is holding his son against him, the latter feeling sleepy and sucking on his thumb as he’s being rocked, the other three men help with the cleaning. Taeyong is the last kid to leave and only Jongin remains since he’s sleeping at his best friend’s home tonight. Once everything is as new, more or less, it’s time for everyone to go home and get a well deserved rest. Minho struggles a bit to get Taemin dressed with his coat, the boy half sleeping in his other dad’s arms and not really responsive.

When they’re all warmly dressed and standing in the hallway, Jonghyun holding his now asleep son and his husband keeping the other boy’s hand in his, Baekhyun respectfully bows to express his gratitude.

“The kids really enjoyed this little party.” He says. “It wouldn’t have been possible without you so I thank you with all my heart. They’re working so hard during school days, I’m glad they could have this break for such a good occasion.”

“There is no need to thank us.” Jinki answers, smiling. “We had fun too.”

“They’re all adorable, it was nice being here.” Kibum nods. “Don’t hesitate if you ever need help again, I’m not sure we can be available but you can always ask.”

“I will. And I might see you again, if you ever come for Taemin at the end of a day ?”

“Certainly !”

“We will go, now.” Minho says, a tint of mischief in his eyes. “Should we expect another little party once we get closer to Christmas ?”

Laughing, Baekhyun puts his finger against his lips to keep the secret, before he leads his guests to the back door. With one last goodbye and bow, they separate and head to the parking lot. Taemin and Jongin get in the first car, sitting well in their car seat — there is always a spare one in case — and the adults hug each other.

“Thanks for coming.” Jonghyun says as he hugs Kibum. “It was really good, you didn’t have to do so much though.”

“It was my pleasure, don’t worry.” The other man winks at his friend. “And I was sure it wouldn’t only please the kids so I’m proud.”

“Do you want to come over this Saturday evening ?” Minho asks. “It’s been a while since we had dinner together.”

“Hmm… Alright, but I’m bringing the dessert.”

“That’s fine with me !”

“Perfect. Go, you’ll catch a cold, standing here. See you, text me when you’re home.”

“Yes dad.”

Shaking his head, the tallest man gets in the car, imitated by his husband who takes place behind the wheel. Both Jinki and his fiancé get in their and they leave all together. On their way, Kibum looks at the few pictures he took on his phone during the whole evening, never missing an occasion to make precious memories with his nephew — and tonight, with five other kids he kinda wants to see again sometimes.

“I will send this one to Mr Byun.” He says, showing a picture of all kids with their treasure to his boyfriend when they stop at a red light. “It would be great if he can hang it in the classroom.”

“Send it to Jonghyun too, he will like it.” Jinki smiles, hitting the road again once the light turns green. “Did you have fun ?”

“Yes, lots of fun. You didn’t talk much, though.”

“I enjoy things rather quietly, you know that. But I will certainly come forward if we’re being invited again. These kids are really kind.”

“Did you see how the little one always came to me ? I thought I was going to melt.”

“Does it make you want to have a child of your own ?”

“I’ve wanted one for a while, even since Taemin arrived in our life… But let’s get married before, okay ?”

“Of course, love. And until then, we might see these five again for Christmas… who knows ?”

“Who knows…”

Smiling, Kibum keeps looking at his phone during the whole way back. Even when they get home, he tells his fiancé that he will join him in the living room later, as himself goes to his room. There, he takes his tablet and stylus, sending himself the picture of the children and opening his favourite editing application. Meticulously, he decorates the sober photography by drawing Halloween ornaments here and there, without making it too overbearing.

He makes sure to write each kid’s name above their head or under their feet: Taemin the vampire, Jongin the skeleton, Taeyong the cute Darth Vader, Ten the terrific but adorable Pennywise, Yukhei the ghost and Mark the little pumpkin. He then notices the perfect empty space on top of the picture.

There, after a long reflection, he finds the words he wants. After he put the date in the bottom right-hand corner, he writes a title in a funny font that suits the occasion : “A super spooky night”.

End

[jancmalandra]

On how the best laid plans can lead to unexpected outcomes

"This keeps getting harder every year!", thought Snufkin to himself as he made his way from his campsite to Moominhouse by the light of a giant full October moon in the sky. Every month of every Spring and Summer that he had spent in Moominvalley, Snufkin had waited until the night of the full moon to take Moomintroll on a special overnight adventure best had by moonlight. Moomintroll would sneak out of Moominhouse and come with him to someplace in the valley he had never seen at night before. The last such outing before Snufkin went South for the Winter was always meant to be particularly special. This year it was absolutely vital that this outing have the effect on Moomintroll that Snufkin wanted.

"I have to leave by the day after tomorrow at the latest! I have to create a memory that will see us both through until next Spring, that will keep Moomintroll from asking to go South me like he does every year! I don't think that I can say no to him this time if he does! I have to get things back to normal! This HAS to work!", he said aloud to himself.

The Summer had been another wonderful time of lazy days spent fishing, exploring the hills, forests and mountains of Moominvalley, and playing in the open fields with Snork Maiden, Sniff, and Little My, and spending time with all their neighbors in the valley, with Moomintroll right by his side every step of the way. Then there were the bizarre grand adventures that always came their way, whether by their own plans or pure happenstance. The young Moomin had become more resourceful, capable, and brave with each passing year. Snufkin trusted his best friend in any situation and admired his pluck and daring, but most of all his deeply caring heart and emotional honesty.

But, all of the rhythms of life with Moomintroll had become....perilous this Summer. Every time Snufkin took Moomintroll around his waist to help him land a big fish, every time he took his trusting friend by the paw into undiscovered territory (or vice-versa, which was happening more often all the time), Snufkin felt a tremendous thrill run through him, and had to hope that his best friend wouldn't notice. Touching Moomintroll in any way at all was beginning to become a thrilling experience that he was deliberately seeking all the time in spite of himself. That could not continue.

Snufkin was so lost in thought that he nearly ran straight into the side of Moominhouse. He had arrived, and sure enough, Moomintroll had already begun to climb down the rope ladder from his attic window, and was soon standing in front of him, ready for anything.

"You're early! You must have something really special planned! What is it?", Moomintroll asked eagerly.

"You'll see!", said Snufkin, unable to suppress a wide grin from spreading across his face. "Are you ready to go to the top of Lonely Hill in the middle of the night?"

"You know it! But, why there?", said Moomintroll, a little puzzled. Lonely Hill was a fairly huge mound of dirt and rocks covered in grass and berry bushes, that stood a little forward and well apart from the rest of the foothills of the mountains that surrounded the valley. The children of Moominvalley would play on it all Summer right up until it was time to go in for hibernation. It didn't sound like a very special place to spend their last night together before Snufkin left to Moomintroll.

Before Moomintroll could say another word, Snufkin took him by the paw and lead him at top speed to the top of the hill, guided by the brilliant moonlight. "There's that thrill again!", thought Snufkin to himself. "I can't get enough of him! Whatever shall I do if this doesn't work?!"

They reached the top of the hill panting and out of breath. "Why....did we....have to....run all the way here?!", asked Moomintroll, gasping for air.

"To be on time for this! Look up, Moomintroll!"

Moomintroll obeyed out of reflex, and suddenly all of Moominvalley vanished, swallowed up by the gigantic moon in the sky! It was like the dreadful comet that had almost destroyed the valley, only this was warm, friendly, and inviting! Moomintroll began laughing hysterically with joy and jumping up and down, certain that he could touch the moon itself if only he could jump high enough!

Snufkin laughed just as hard, only in his case, it was from immense relief: his plan had worked. He could leave Moomintroll without regret, having given his friend wonderful dreams to see him through the Winter as he hibernated. Snufkin then took the first really good look at Moomintroll he had all night, wanting to drink in the young Moomin's pure joy from a relatively safe distance, and all the walls he put between himself and the possibility of ever falling in love crumbled into dust. He was suddenly madly, passionately, hopelessly in love with Moomintroll.

The moonlight reflecting off of Moomintroll's velvety, thick Winter coat of fur made him shine brighter than any star in the sky! He had become translucent, almost transparent in the angelic light!

Snufkin hardly believed his friend could still be real! He approached Moomintroll with hushed, loving awe, put his paws on Moomintroll's shoulders, turned him around, and looked him in the eyes. Snufkin was immediately even more lost in love for his dearest friend as he saw the rapt awe and happiness in Moomintroll's eyes.

"Oh, Snufkin!", said Moomintroll, enveloping him in a powerful, loving embrace that Snufkin returned with all of his strength. "Thank you SO very much! It's so....so....there are no words for it!"

"Beautiful!", said Snufkin. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life, Moomintroll! I could stay like this, in your arms, forever! I couldn't stand another day without you by my side! I love you with everything in me! I....I...."

"Snufkin, you don't know how Iong I've wanted to hear you say that, how much I've always wanted to say the same things to you! I was so sure that I would scare you away forever if I told you how much I love you. Most of all, I've wanted.....", said Moomintroll with growing passion.

Moomintroll gently brushed Snufkin's beloved hat off of his head and put his paw against the back of it, using the purchase to draw Snufkin's lips to his. Moomintroll kissed him with all the love in his heart.

The effect of that kiss on the pair of lovers was electric: every hair on Moomintroll's body stood on end as Snufkin returned his kiss with equal passion, nearly knocking them both over. They felt utterly weightless. If they had suddenly found themselves on the moon, they wouldn't have been surprised.

Snufkin broke the kiss with a supreme effort, but remained in Moomintroll's arms, unable to stand without his embrace. Snufkin began to sob uncontrollably, weeping huge tears of fear and grief.

"Now comes the part," said Snufkin miserably, "Where you'll tell me about the wonderful Moominhouse you'll build for us on the far side of the valley. You'll assure me that I'll get used to it. Moominpapa will marry us properly, and we'll settle into a dull, drab life, and every day I'll die a little more inside until I'm nothing but your precious pet Snufkin, and I won't be able to run away, or stop you, or anything because I love you so much!"

"Snufkin!", said Moomintroll tenderly, but firmly, "I could never do anything like that to you! You need to be free to walk the Earth wherever your feet take you like you need to breathe air. You taught me that! It wasn't easy for me to hear, but now I always want you to be free, because that's who you are, and I love you exactly as you are! So, instead of keeping you here, or making you take me with you, I'm going to chase you wherever you go! Some days, it'll be like now; I'll have caught up to you, and we'll hold paws....and kiss, and do all the things we usually do. Sometimes, you'll feel afraid of me, just a little, and you'll run away, and I'll chase you. I don't need your permission or approval, because I'll be doing this entirely on my own."

"D-do you really mean it?!", asked Snufkin, his tears and sobbing beginning to subside. "C-can I leave a trail of flowers for you to follow whenever I run away, like the game we always play? Do you promise not to resent me, or grow to hate me because I sometimes run away from you? Do you promise to never stop chasing me?!"

"Yes! Yes to all of that! I swear by The Booble!", said Moomintroll.

Snufkin carefully extracted himself from Moomintroll's arms, wiped his face on his sleeve, retrieved his hat, and said, "Well, in that case, the chase is on, and you're it!", tapping Moomintroll on his snout slyly, and then he took off towards his campsite at top speed.

Moomintroll was taken by surprise, but he responded readily; "You won't get away that easily!", he said with glee as he gave pursuit.

He caught up with Snufkin at his campsite, and they kissed once more, and then, for the first time in his life, Moomintroll helped Snufkin pack up his tent and few belongings and went South with him, holding paws, as he had always dreamed of doing.

The End