#WONDERFUL ARTWORK TO CAP OFF MY DAY

[greenmansgrove]

I’m trying to get back into the habit of evening walks/hikes, and after much deliberation this afternoon, I decided it was time to visit Quarry Island, which is off trail from Big Rivers Regional Trail. I was told it was a good place to find rocks — I’m on the hunt for some nice, round basalt. I found no rocks, since the waters were so high, but the island was gorgeous. You can see it from the overlook (first picture). I had to cross a railroad and wasn’t sure I was allowed out that way, but there was no one to stop me and I’m trying to build confidence anyway. The trail was on the map, so… off I went.

This area is known as Bdote to Dakota people, which is where the Minnesota and Mississippi rivers meet and lakes have sprung up. It is where many of the Dakota peoples originated, according to their stories. There are many beautiful plaques featuring Dakota (hi)stories and artwork. It was wonderful to read them and hear decolonizing insights about the advancements of the Dakota peoples and their stewardship of the lands before settlers arrived.

[ID: In the past, the Dakota people had no medical facilities or universities. Yet they survived and contributed to the world’s advancement through their own resources and systems of laws, customs, educational systems, and storytelling. The messaging features share Oceti Sakowin (Seven Council Fires) stories, creation stories commom to all Dakota people, and Hitunkakan Stories, traditional teaching stories that are specific to this landscape, so visitors may learn about Dakota worldviews and experience a gift of cultural knowledge. This project engaged Dakota elders, who are known first language Dakota speakers, and Dakota community members. Stories and lessons were selected with the intention to be appropriate for sharing with a larger audience. However, Dakota people have many versions of these stories, and they are all correct. Hecetu: this is so. This is Dakota Land. End ID]

The first and last couple sentences of this plaque really struck me, not out of surprise, but because it is rhetoric that would immediately shake up common white misconceptions about Indigenous lives and histories. Even as minor and obvious as these insights are, I do think shaking white settlers from complacency with such directness is invaluable. This blog is fervently supportive of Indigenous Land Back efforts, and I remain grateful for the educational work of Dakota peoples in spaces such as these.

As I strode off into the marshlands, redwing blackbirds and bank swallows were flying all around (see video! — ignore the tornado sirens, it’s Weather Awareness Day). Ducks nested in the reeds. Quarry Island itself is covered in mature swamp oaks, with evidence of a healthy mast year in the scattered acorn caps. The rocks made a perfect trail to the highest point in the island, where a large, almost altar-like rock sat (photos 2-4). The top was eroded from rainwater, and I left a snail shell I’d found further down in its hollow, wondering if the snail had made it that high in life. I offered clean drinking water, too. The rain I’d prepared to meet (I brought an umbrella!) was making its way across the lake at me, but I had some time before it arrived.

On the other side of the island was evidence others had been through. There were many buckthorn stumps and piles of branches. Some past visitor had neglected the first rule of rock flipping: put the rock back where you found it. So, I did my best to replace them. I found evidence of fires, too, and they were fairly fresh, based on the smell. At least they were on the rocks and not in the wooded areas.

By the time I made it back to the center of the island that the path bisected, the rain was coming in and the sun was beginning to set, signaling my time to return. I reached the overlook again just in time for sunset and took the first image. The rain was blowing upwards at me from below the bluff, hence the specs in the image. As I turned back towards my car, I saw this rainbow!

This was probably among my top five (if not top three) favorite hikes I’ve taken since I moved to MN. I will have to return to hike the rest of the trails north and south. I suggested the nearby firepits as a ritual site for my grove, too, so maybe we will all hike out to Quarry Island in the future.

[felixcloud6288]

Higurashi: Atonement Epilogue

This is my second favorite instance of the series using the manga medium to its advantage.

The manga lies to us about the number of chapters in this arc. This is a separate chapter from the "final" chapter with its own separate title, but it's not in the table of contents.

Atonement's final chapter ends on a genuinely positive, hopeful note. Tragedy has been averted. Rena has been saved. Destiny has been defied.

We turn the page expecting notes from the author or illustrator, bonus artwork, etc; and we're instead greeted by a shadowy figure who laughs at us for turning the page and ruining the happy ending.

They stand in front of a highly grainy image of the front of Furude Shrine where Rika has been killed in many timelines. So I believe this is the person behind everything.

The arc ending like this feels like we've been cheated. We watched Keiichi and his friends overcome hardships and triumph over the script that says they would fight and kill each other. So the Great Hinamizawa Disaster happening the next day feels like whoever wrote this Devil's Script did it out of pettiness.

The Great Hinamizawa Disaster has felt like an appropriate conclusion to each of these tragic arcs. A group of close friends live in a peaceful village that defines who they are. Then something from within the village drives these friends against each other until one of them kills several others. And after this story ends, the village itself is swallowed in a great tragedy.

But no great tragedy happened this time. Keiichi and his friends refused to play to the script and the Disaster happened anyway. And just to insult us further, whoever is responsible laughed at us and blamed us for it happening.

22 years after the Hinamizawa Disaster, Akasaka came back to the village. As far as we can say, this is the first time he's ever returned. Like Keiichi, he realized what he was supposed to do too late.

I wonder if Beyond Midnight happened in this world. A year ago, Otobe, Arakawa, Towada, and Shion would have come to Hinamizawa for their own purposes. But in this timeline, the school hostage situation wouldn't have ended so horribly but the Disaster still happened, killing all the victims anyway.

I've already talked about how Cotton Drifting and Eye Opening prove the Disaster wasn't a natural cause, but Akasaka gives even more proof to that fact.

The ecosystem has been mostly untouched despite how poisonous gas has apparently been belching out of the swamp for years. And closing the area off for 20 years is ridiculous when you consider other instances of isolating areas due to volcanic activity.

And then there's the swamp itself.

In the early stages of sealing the village, the swamp was filled with concrete to seal away the poisonous gases coming from the volcano under it. But this doesn't work. Gas and lava erupt from a volcano due to pressure. If the cap were sealed, then the pressure would only build up even further until it either breaks through the concrete or it bursts out elsewhere.

Akasaka also pointed out how workers were put through extensive blood screening while sealing off the village.

Probably the worst part of all this is everyone fought so hard to convince Rena that Takano's story was just a made-up fiction, and the story has instead become a major point of consideration for conspiracy theorists.

Any attempts to uncover the truth behind the disaster are muddied by the works of an occult fan who was taken far too serious.

back

[amazing-spiderling]

fic writer asks: 1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

25. What other websites or resources do you use most often when you write?

I'm going to be a little cheaty- since there's two fandoms I've written a chunk for, I'd leave it up to the reader as to which they'd prefer, but they both have a lot in common.

If someone was of the Metal Gear persuasion, I'd tell them to read "Rat in a Foxhole", which is a story that consumed my brain and I think I was smashing out a chapter a day or something, because I was SO INSPIRED by a piece of artwork (itself, an album redraw) that my brain was on fire and the only way to get it out was to put the words on the screen. The fic has a bit to do with some information we get from MGS 5, specifically that Huey had intended for his son Hal to be a child mech pilot (the pilots needed to be small because of the limitations of the size of the cockpit). My brain immediately got to wondering about what would happen to such a child pilot once they grew and "aged out" of the program (or the program shut down because wtf). Then I saw @polmcarts artwork of a version of Hal and Dave meeting in some kind of bootcamp and the plot was born.

It's a sort of... meditative fic? I often imagine my stories as screenplays, and if it was viewed in that way, there would be a lot of long silences, detail shots, vast open landscapes etc. It does, of course, include a drawn out winter arc because I'm that bitch, and it's got a few twists and turns before (of course) ultimately ending on a hopeful note.

Likewise "The Man in the Mask" is a Spideypool AU that envisions an alternate meeting, and one of the characters not being forthcoming with who they are and why they're there. This one was another story that was really burning a hole in my brain, although it took me a lot longer to get it out. Having a little Marvel familiarity (with mutants and the legacy virus in particular) helps, but I've had people tell me that I did a good enough of a job explaining the concept in the fic that they weren't too lost. This one reads a bit like a "bottle episode" with the two characters more or less trapped in a single apartment and making the best of it. (I guess you could say Dave and Hal were trapped in the boot camp in the first one, so there's that.) For a story about Wade and Peter, this one also has a lot of introspection and quiet moments before a few things bubble over.

Just like the first story, this one had people screaming at me before they finished off the last chapter, which I think is a bit of a feather in my cap as a writer, it means I sold the drama and brought things to a satisfying conclusion. I call both of these some of my "weird ones" because they're extremely niche AUs that I wrote for myself, so it really makes me happy when they ping with people. I wish I had ideas like these more often.

17. I kind of have a bug in my brain about doing a fantasy adjacent Earth-65 AU featuring "The Merry Janes" and I guess AUs of AUs counts as niche... Oh, god and I really want to write a 616 or NMCU (or combo) one about Matt and Foggy being academic rivals and complaining about each other online anonymously and becoming friends (and more) without realizing. I was watching a compilation of 90's/2000's anime intros and the beginning of "His and Her Circumstances" started spooling little ideas in my head. And now that I'm on a roll, my brain is like "Lol what if Kamikaze Kaitou Jeanne AU" where Matt is a "holy thief" stealing/exorcising relics and Foggy is on the side of the law trying to bring him in sfdkdsjflj And of course there's the Madoka E-65 AU I want to flesh out at some point, but that might be a better comic than story. Moral of the story is, Anime: Not Even Once.

25. thesaurus.com LOL I don't actually do a lot of looking at resources when I'm actually writing and I don't have a lot of "go to" pages for things, it's kind of random. I will do searches for things like "what year was this thing invented", but I don't have a bookmarked tab of "popular weapons in ancient china and how to use them" or anything like that. I guess I use Youtube a lot to listen to vapor/chillwave mixes while I write, is that anything? I guess a resource I use is the sprintbot in discord (and my fellow server members) to help get my brain to focus. I keep meaning to try that website that has little doodads on it to help adhd brains focus on writing but i keep forgetting.

[dsandrvk]

Friday, December 16 - Chiloe Island

We had a great day exploring a small portion of Chiloe Island today, which is a very large island south and west of Puerto Montt. It has long had a fishing culture, and that continues today. Tourism is now also a major draw, as there are colorful small villages, many open areas, wonderful seafood, and lots of birds, including penguins. We decided to leave the driving to the pros today and took a tour down there, mainly to visit "penguin island". We also have a clause in our car rental agreement not to take ferries to islands. It's about an hour down to the ferry and then another half-hour ferry ride to reach the island. The ferries run pretty much continuously 24/7, and are small but colorful, and carry semis as well as cars

Our first stop on the island was the little town of Chacoa, which is known for its colorfully painted buildings and its "artesanios". The best thing there was this Christmas tree they were building out of two-liter plastic soda bottles. They also had some artwork made with bottle caps. I'm not sure what they will do with all of this come January. The church here is typical of Chile, with the metal siding

From here we proceeded to the last Spanish fort in South America, which was decommissioned in 1820. Very little remains except for cannons and a low wall, but it was definitely a great defensive position, since the island controls access to a huge protected bay. We were able to see a few new birds there, however, and watched some locals harvesting seaweed.

The main attraction for the day was a boat trip out to the islands shown in the top photo. They are a national monument, and off limits to landing, which makes them full of bird life. It is one of the only places where both Magellanic and Humboldt penguins both breed, although we saw only the former. Since it was the middle of the day, most were out feeding, but there were plenty on shore, too. When I have a bit more time I will work out how to get my regular photos over here to the phone, since a telephoto lens worked best. We also saw lots of gulls, three kinds of cormorants, flightless ducks, and this little seal. The foliage covered rock is called "bear rock", and somewhat resembles a big teddy bear. As we were getting ready to return to shore, our spotter saw some whales a bit further out, and our captain got close enough that we could observe. This is the first time this year they've seen whales, so we were quite lucky. The swells were pretty big away from the islands, and the boats are not supposed to go that far out into the bay, but ours did and we were able to see the three just lazing along - a trio of Southern right whales. A real treat.

The loading and unloading of the boats is done by these wheeled platforms. The passengers get on from the sand and then the fishermen (since that is who do these trips and hold the permits) push the platforms out to the boats, holding it close to the boat while the passengers embark. Our platform was a bit longer than the one in the photo, so we were all wheeled out in a single trip. Coming back in the fishermen "catch" the boat as it backs in and moves into the platform.

We then headed to a late lunch in a little fishing village a short drive away. We got the "typical" meal, which was way more than we could eat - lots of mussels and clams, potatoes, sausage, a ham hock, some chicken, and something purple I was unable to identify. This came after a lovely ceviche mussel salad and their version of sopapillos, along with pico de gallo and soup and dessert. As a result, we skipped dinner tonight and didn't miss it!

After the long ride back, we walked around Puerto Varas for a short while, where we found this sign and a lot of rusted metal on the shore of the lake. Not sure what "realed" means - maybe they meant sailed. There were lots of people out on a beautiful Friday evening, but we decided to head back then to our little oasis on the outskirts of town. Pretty peaceful except when the Christmas music float drove by a couple of times. Everyone seems to be getting into the holiday spirit!

[chaoticforever]

Ghost In Your Heart | Peter Parker x Male! Reader

Peter decided to eat the sandwich he got from Delmar's Deli & Grill at the park, since the crime rates this week have been kinda low, giving Peter some time to himself. 

He walked into the park and saw many parents sitting with their kids, adults playing frisbee with their dogs, and finally his gaze landed on someone sitting on the park bench with colored pencils and a sketchbook. 

He couldn't really make out your face from where he was standing, due to the fact that you were wearing a cap and your gaze was on your sketchbook. You looked very focused and concentrated on whatever you were drawing. 

Peter watched as you put down a blue colored pencil only to pick up a red one. 

He didn't know why he was so curious to see what you were drawing, but his interest was peaked and before he knew it, his legs started moving to where the drawing male was currently sitting. 

Displayed on the sketchbook was a drawing of Spiderman. 

To say that this person had artistic abilities would be an understatement. 

The picture was so well drawn that it looked realistic. Like it should be held in a museum. The image was Spiderman shooting a web shooter with a few other buildings in the background. This had to be one of the best art works that Peter has ever seen. 

"Don't you know it's rude to stare at random people or their artwork?" You questioned, looking up from your sketching and arching an eyebrow. 

Peter looked at you and blushed from slight embarrassment at being caught, as you waited for him to respond. 

"I'm really sorry for staring. It's just that your drawing looked so amazing and-"

A chuckle erupted from your throat,   "I'm just messing with you. It's okay to stare at my drawings. You want to see some more?" You offered, scooting over in case he wanted to sit down. 

Peter didn't really want to intrude on you having time to yourself. He did come here to eat his lunch, but he was curious to see what other drawings you had. 

He reluctantly sat down next to you on the bench, and placed his sandwich in his lap as you passed him the sketchbook. 

He flipped through various pages of the book and amazement was shown on the wall-crawler's face. 

The artistic abilities that you seemed to have was amazing. There were lots of drawings of people Peter has never seen before, so he assumed they were your family or friends. There were pictures of Mr. Stark in his Iron Man suit and some of Captain America. It's like you managed to capture who they really are in these drawings. 

"I know there not the best drawings but-"

"Are you kidding me? These drawings are amazing!" Peter commented, and a look of surprise and appreciation crossed your face. 

"Well, thank you..." You trailed off, wanting to know this male's name. 

"Oh, my name is Peter, Peter Parker." He introduced himself. 

"Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N. Y/N L/N." You introduced yourself, extending your hand out for a handshake. Peter shook your hand and was surprised that your hands were so cold and the tough grip you had, and you thought the same for Peter. 

You took your sketchbook back and picked up a drawing pencil, working on the drawing that you started earlier that day as Peter decided to finally eat his sandwich.

The two of you continued to speak, as Peter ate and you drawed.  

Peter glanced over to see what you were drawing next and he choked on his food, eyes widening in surprise, "You like Star Wars?" He asked, happiness welling up inside his chest. 

You gave him a slight nod of your head, "I love Star Wars. I'm secretly a nerd inside, so don't tell anyone about that." 

Multiple cop cars could be heard and seen following a black minivan, as Peter suddenly stood up, his spider senses going off like crazy. 

"I have to go now, Y/N. It was nice meeting you and I hope to see you again." 

Without waiting for a response, Peter ran off into the nearest alley. He quickly took off his clothes and put on his Spidey-Suit. He stuck his backpack somewhere where no one could find it, and used his web shooters to swing from building to building to catch the criminals in the black minivan. 

After fighting criminals, patrolling the neighborhood, and eating dinner with Aunt May, Peter flopped onto his bed and his mind drifted to thoughts of you. 

Mysterious was one word to describe you. 

He wondered why he had never seen you before. You looked to be around his age, 18/19 years old. He wondered if you went to Midtown High. He never saw you around school before, so maybe you haven't enrolled yet? 

You seem very smart and well educated that made Peter think that you went to Midtown High, but there are other schools in New York, so maybe you just went to a different school. 

He hoped that he would see you again. 

He didn't know why he wanted to see someone he has never seen before, but you intrigued him. He remembered everything about you. You're amazing lookin' H/C hair, shiny E/C eyes, and the scar you had above your eyebrow. 

Peter wondered how you got that scar. He hoped to learn more things about his new friend and would stop by the park to see you again. He hoped that you went to Midtown High. 

XXXXX XXXXX 

It has been a month since Peter met you and he couldn't have been any more happier than he was when was with you.

Peter has been stopping by the park to see you whenever he got the chance, and he loved talking to you about everything and nothing. He mostly loved being in your presence. 

Ned even noticed how happy he looked and more vibrant he became. He would tease Peter all the time that he had a boyfriend to which he denied and blushed bright red. 

Although, he did find you attractive and might have masturbated to you a couple times, it was pretty obvious that you were straight, so nothing could happen between you guys anyway even though he wanted more. 

"Do you go to Midtown High?" Peter asked the question that has been on his mind. 

You rubbed the back of your neck and ran your fingers over the small cut, "Um, I used to go to that school, but I left during my Junior year." You answered. 

"Oh, so are you homeschooled?" 

Peter figured that if you weren't in regular school, then you had to be homeschooled and that would explain why he hasn't seen you around. 

"Something like that." You laughed, bringing your gaze down to your sketchbook. 

"Do your parents know that you spend most of your time in the park?" Ned asked, having heard from Peter that you spend most of your time here. 

"Uh, they really don't care where I'm at." You replied, voice low that made Ned think that he shouldn't have asked that question. Peter hoped the question didn't offend you in any way, but it seemed that it might have. 

Luckily, you didn't seem too upset and changed the conversation. 

The conversation launched into Ned and Peter nerding out about star wars with you chiming in occasionally, as you looked through the sketches you've drawn. 

"Uh, Y/N. Do you maybe wanna help me and Ned build an enormous Death Star LEGO set?" Peter asked with a mix of nervousness and hopefulness in his voice, silently waiting and hoping that you would say yes. Ned wanted the same thing, too. 

You gave the two an apologetic look which resulted in a slight frown on Peter's face. He really wanted to spend time with you somewhere other than the park, but he figured you were busy. You most likely had other friends to hang with, after all. Or spending time with other people. 

"I can't do that because unfortunately, I've been dead since 1995." 

XXXXX XXXXX

[silentprincess17]

The Perils of Swimming

This fic is a collab between me and the wonderfully talented artist @neivaloz on tumblr! Check out her awesome artwork that accompanies this fic! I love how we inspired each other and I look forward to more!

Summary: Link agrees to go swimming with Zelda when she gets her body back. He does not think this through, because there is one major problem: he can't swim.

Read on AO3 here!

Now that the sea in Aboda Village was directly in front of him, with Zelda no longer a ghost and made of flesh and skin, her promise of taking him out to swim actually a reality and not a passing comment at Papuchia Village, Link was beginning to regret the rashness with which he had said yes.

He hadn’t expected her to actually take it seriously. In the throes of the whirlwind adventure, he hadn’t anticipated she would actively remember, let alone take it to heart- it was now... four months since they had reclaimed the Ocean Realm? Which means it was roughly two months since they defeated Malladus. Towards the end, time seemed to fuse together, and life boiled down to essentially overcoming whatever barrier was in their way at the time. First it was restoring the tracks, then obtaining the Compass, followed by the Bow of Light and finally entering the Dark Realm to fight Malladus with the Lokomo Sword strapped to his back. By the time they reached the Compass, Link had more or less lost all notion of time, as Zelda and he grew progressively more panicked with each setback and it became an increasingly hectic race to save her body…

Link had chosen to stick with his engineering, primarily. He still felt he was more of a rookie soldier who only knew how to perform vague attacks that just so happened to work out in his favour, and without Zelda’s help as a Phantom he most certainly would have failed from the get-go. With that in mind, he chose to continue with what he had trained for up until now: to pilot the trains with mechanical engineering as his mainstay. Still, he didn’t want to completely lose what sword skills he had developed, so he regularly stopped at Hyrule Castle to train with Captain Russel and his guards. (The latter was really just an excuse to see Zelda before. Or afterwards. Most of the time it was both.)

And yesterday, Friday night, was one of those times he had gone to training, visiting Zelda before he supposedly went home for the weekend.

What he hadn’t expected was for her to insist on coming with him back to Aboda Village. He would never refuse her anything, and he assumed she might have wanted to meet Alfonso, or Niko, or really just visit his hometown, and he had agreed, staying at the castle that night. Zelda had long since given him a room close to hers, as a “more convenient place to stay” seeing how central the castle was to the rest of Hyrule.

Taking all that together, it was a surprise when she dragged him across to the small beach, where the sun sparkled against the deep blue sea, unclasped her belt that had the small sash attached to it, and pulled her dress off.

He gaped, before hurriedly turning away, “Zel! What are you doing?!”

“Taking my dress off silly, I’ve got my swimsuit underneath! We’re going swimming! I’ve finally, finally, caught up with the paperwork that accumulated whilst we were on our journey, and I finished my lessons in advance this week, for this reason! I know it’s not Papuchia, but there’s always a next time!”

What? Swimming? NEXT TIME?!

Nope, he had to ignore that for now. There was the issue of surviving the first-time round.

Because the idiot that he was, he couldn’t swim!

He lived in what was basically a seaside town, and yet, he couldn’t even paddle in the water, let alone swim.

He would drown as soon as the water reached higher than his neck!

“Link? It’s not too late, is it? I know it’s a little bit later than what I originally intended for when asking you, but there was just so much reordering to do in the Kingdom. Plus, you remember the whole scribing thing we had to undertake; it all took up so much more time than I expected. And then the weather was just awful this past week whenever I had some free time...”

Oh yes, he remembered the scribing. That whole incident had happened a week after their return to the castle, where Link had stayed behind both to physically recover himself from exhaustion and his wounds, and simultaneously help Zelda adjust to the land of the living.

On the first day, she had walked into so many doors and walls he thought she might have concussed herself, she regularly forgot she had to eat, and she didn’t have any fear of heights, despite the fact that falling with a body had pretty serious consequences. Consequently, Link felt honour bound to try to help her to remember she was, in fact, Hylian, and as such susceptible to many perils that she seemed to have forgotten over the course of the long months she spent as a spirit. Plus, she was very cute, and he blushed every time he felt her grip his hand excitedly, or drag his arm towards a bookshelf, or give him impromptu hugs for helping her.

Niko had cornered them after a week, wondering where Link had gotten too. When he found the two of them nibbling on sweet buns from Castle Town, a book on maps wedged firmly on their thighs, Link’s arm resting on the panel just above her shoulders; Niko had pulled a right fit. He had fussed over Link before declaring he would now create a tapestry to commemorate the newest iteration of legendary events. And that had taken the better part of two weeks to complete, and was now referred to as the “scribing” by Zelda and him.

“Link! Are you going to change your clothes or not? That’s the second reason why I didn’t drag you to Papuchia, because I forgot to tell you to pack your trunks.” She paused, “You do have trunks, right?”

No, no he didn’t. He’d just sacrifice an old pair of cargo pants he had. It would be fine. Probably. He made a vague motion towards his house, before deciding to put the Hero’s cap on. It would hopefully hold some of his hair back, and it would bring him luck on this death quest he was about to embark on.

Why?

Why did he put himself through this?

He sighed. He knew the answer.

This was all because he couldn’t say no to her.

He shuffled back into his home, Niko popping up whilst he half-heartedly opened his wardrobe and shuffled around some more. Spirits. He didn’t want to go back out. He didn’t want to admit to Zelda he didn’t know how to swim. Worse still, he didn’t want her to think badly of him for living by a seaside town, and yet, never having learnt such an essential skill.

Niko hobbled across on his cane to Link, peering around the wardrobe door.

“What’s with the long face? I thought you’d be excited, bringing the Princess over. Yes boy, I know she’s here, everyone heard the two of you enter town. It’s a small place, Link.”

He fished out an old, half-faded blue pair of shorts. “Zelda wants to go swimming, Niko.”

Niko’s eyes widened, “What? But you-”

Link slammed the wardrobe door shut with perhaps more force than necessary. “I know.”

Niko hesitated, before he placed a gnarled hand on Link’s shoulder. “I have a question for you Link… Do you know of any of Princess Zelda’s weaknesses?”

Well, that one was easy. “She’s absolutely terrified of mice. She will literally jump into my arms, or onto my back, to escape them.” He chuckled, “Even as a giant Phantom, three times my height, she couldn’t come near one.” He hesitated, thinking back to their recent conversations on her balcony under the stars, “She’s also scared of not doing well... but I guess this is a fear we all have…”

“That’s your answer then, Link.”

Huh? Why would knowing what Zelda was scared of make any difference?

“I can see you are still confused. Let me make it clearer. Did you judge the Princess for having those failings? Did you at any point think less of her?”

He vehemently shook his head, before stopping midway as it finally sunk in.

Oh.

Niko simply tapped his cane against the floor twice, before ambling off. “I’ll make some fried chicken for you both. One always gets hungry after swimming in the sea.”

Link scrambled into his shorts, and then ran out, just as Zelda walked up to meet him. “You were gone for an awfully long time, Link. I don’t want to imagine how disorganised your wardrobe is-”

The words bubbled out, “Zelda I don’t know how to swim.”

“-at least you’ve got some… are those even trunks? Well-”

“Zelda.” He grabbed her hand, shaking her arm a little, “Zelda!”

“What?”

“I don’t know how to swim.”

She stared, stupefied. “Why didn’t you say? I would have brought my floats!”

It was his turn to gape. “Floats?”

She waved her hands in the air. “You know those things you use to keep you upright in the water.” A frown grew on her face, “Wait, does everyone here not know how to swim? That’s quite dangerous! We’ll have to change that.”

She shook her head, gently clasped his hand, pulling him along, “But that’s for later. I’ll teach you today, Link, if you want?”

He nodded, and she smiled.

“Let’s start off with paddling first, and then progress to basic kicks!”

Time flew by again, as he started off gently peddling his feet in the water, arms spread out wide, head just about jutting above the water line as he hovered, suspended in the sea, for the first time. Once he’d mastered just holding his weight in the water they proceeded onto kicks. That involved first thrashing his legs whilst gripping onto the ridge of land to hold himself in place. Then he advanced to doing one leg at a time like a proper swimming pattern. Zelda wrapped her arms around his middle, and he had a go at moving both arms and legs in synchrony.

He was surprised she could carry him, “Link, I do exercise you know. I’m not just a fluffy Princess. Being a Phantom was quite the experience.”

She heaved him higher, and he spluttered in the water, thrashing his arms a bit at the unexpected heave, “I liked being strong, and being able to help you. So, I’m going to do the best I can with my current body too. You never know, it might prove useful on our next adventure!”

He could only smile. He thanked the Spirits for giving him the chance to meet Zelda. For going on their convoluted journey. For having her as his best friend.

Soon enough, she gently let go of him, and moved to interlock her fingers with his hands as she guided him through the waves, his legs doing the measured, purposeful kicks they had practised.

He was so focussed, he hadn’t at all noticed Alfonso on the shore, until he called out to them, probably wondering what Link was even doing in the water. Zelda told Link to keep on kicking his legs as she slowly walked backwards, screamed back that he was okay and that he was learning to swim. Both of them cringed as they heard Alfonso guffaw loudly and watched as he shook his head, walking off towards the station.

“Well, we’re nearly there, Link!” She loosened her grip on his left hand, moving to clasp his wrist instead, “I’m barely holding onto you! You’re doing it! You’re swimming!”

And he gave her the biggest smile he could, as she slowly let go, wading backwards, and he swam by himself towards her, for the very first time.

Suddenly, the idea of doing this again was no longer so horrifying.

What was there to worry about when he had Zelda, his partner, his best friend, by his side?

[jadelynlace]

The First Time Part I / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!Reader]

request by: @quantumlocked310 and you can find the ask here (request are open! and for more things than just Ink Drinker!)

✎ full series post is here.

author’s note: after the angst that was chapter five, we’ll take a journey on the way-back-machine to the very first time. and yes, there will be another part to this. just about 3200 words (I’m sorry).

content warning: smut, mostly [oral m&f receiving, protected sex], and Ivar being a smart mouth.

synopsis: you can finally both look, and touch.

✎

His eyes spent the greater part of the evening lingering on you; cerulean orbs tracing the hem of your clothes, and he couldn’t figure out why. There was a bite on your tongue that met back with his and by your third drink he could have sworn the eyes you were giving him belonged only in the bedroom. Maybe it was the cold bitter of the sour brew he had downed, maybe it was how the girl he was interested in suddenly stepped away when he asked her what they were. “It was fun while it lasted, but I’m not looking for anything like that, with you, Ivar.” And he hasn’t heard from her since, and he knew he wouldn’t.

“Thank you for driving me home,” You say suddenly, drowning out the low music in the cabin of his mustang. “I’m really not drunk but I’m not going to argue with Mother Hen—I mean Hvitserk,” and Ivar only chuckles at that.

“Not a problem,” He says back and his voice is flat now, drowned with a hidden emotion that is foreign to his speech.

“Do you want to come up?” You ask and his eyes flash to yours. Their first glance is nearly annoyed but they soften the moment they connect to yours before your own orbs scurry away. Ivar looks sad and in his best ability to try to hide it he was showing it even more so.

“You know that’s not a good idea, princess,” 

“I’m not your fucking princess,” You snip back and feel a wave of shame cross you. An unspoken boundary already breeched too far and you’re embarrassed with the sudden rejection. “Just—let me know when you make it home, alright? And when you have that design all done,” You mumble and he nods. “Drive safely.” And the door slamming echos through a quiet parking lot.

The elevator ride to your flat is lonely, locked in the metal box and you can’t stop how your mind wants to pick apart your actions. How you already have a plan formulating for the next time you see Ivar, and how you’re probably done with the outings because his mouth was two sizes too big. And then you think he’ll tell Hvitserk that you tried to invite him up—not even under the false tense that you’d spread your legs for him, even if you would. He was veiled in a sadness and the man just looked like he could use a hug. You put the television on to drown out the silence as you went about washing up, letting hair down and pulling on sleep clothes. Through the pour of another glass of wine you heard a knock.

Ivar drove around the block twice. Another right hand turn at the traffic light and pulled back into the same spot and sat there for five minutes. Turning the idea over in his head and he felt like a waste of space for declining your invite, teasing you even though you could take it. He wondered if it was the first and last one. You looked too damn beautiful for the bullshit you endured with his brothers and he wondered why you even decided to put up with the five of them. But instead he took the steps two at a time and was outside your door before his mind had a chance to catch up to what he was doing.

“I’m sorry I called you princess,” are the first words that drip from his tongue when you peel the door back. Weight against the frame and his coat is off now in the warm evening air, biceps colored with designs meeting your vision and you only offer him a small smile. But you don’t miss how the softness takes to his face when he sees you in such a raw, makeup-let appearance. 

“I accept your apology, Ragnarsson,” You say back. “Why isn’t it a good idea?” 

“What?”

“You said it’s not a good idea that I invited you up—why?” You ask and Ivar offers you a shrug.

“Figured it was the alcohol talking—I’m not exactly…”

“Not exactly what?”

“Someone you’d seem interested in hanging out with if there wasn’t one of my brothers in tow….” Ivar finally admits and he casts a gaze down on the hallway’s floor.

“Actually Ivar, to be perfectly blunt, I’m kind of fucking sick of them all. And you are someone I would hang out with. But, if you don’t want to that’s fine.” You say.

“No—no it’s not that—actually, you know what. You’re right,” Ivar finally says and walks into the threshold.

“I have wine, and I think there’s vodka left—I haven’t gotten anymore whiskey.” You say as he pulls his boots off, seating them parallel by the door. 

“Vodka’s fine,”

“Straight?”

“I am, yeah.” Ivar quips back and you press your forehead against the fridge’s door.

“I see your smart ass mouth doesn’t stop when you’re by yourself,” You grumble back. “Want to pick a movie?” Just as the words leave your mouth there’s an obnoxious ring from your pager and you all but take the damn device and throw it into the far wall. “I swear to fucking God if Hvitserk caught his apartment on fire trying to deep fry a fucking candy bar I’m going to run him over with the ladder truck.” You grumble to yourself and Ivar can’t stop the smirk that comes to his lips as he walks through the living room. But the call isn't for you.

“Maybe one day he’ll tell you about the time he tried to put a Hershey bar through a juicer, to make drinkable chocolate. Verses you know—melting it in the microwave,” Ivar says as he flops against your couch. “Clearly his brightest moment.” 

“He was making dinner for the station and we got an echo right as his oil heated to temperature and he almost started crying because he had to turn it off. Echo means we need to be there in the next five seconds, basically.” You say back and you find your seat on the other section of the sofa, handing the bottle to Ivar and the first glass you could grab. “How was your day, Ivar?”

“My day?” He asks, unscrewing the cap, unprepared to even be asked that. “My day was…..fine. I did a walk in on a sorority girl and they played truth or dare while I tattooed her.” Ivar adds and he chuckles slightly. 

“I haven’t played that game since I was in high school,” You laugh, snatching the remote.

“Truth, or dare Y/N?”

“Oh fuck off what are you—twelve?”

“On a scale of one to ten, yes.” Ivar says back and there’s a bastard smirk on his face as he takes the first shot back without a grimace. You take the cup from his hand and pour your own shot and toss it back. 

“Truth,” You say back and Ivar only smacks his lips together. They push forwards as he thinks, turning thoughts over in his head and his mind still comes up blank. There’s too much he wants to ask about you and in the mess of trying to decipher his mind goes silent.

“When we were all at the dinner, for my father’s company and you came with Hvitserk—remember he left for a structure fire?”

“I remember,”

“And I asked if you weren’t into the million dollar crap, so we left and went to that little diner in town?”

“I still remember, Ivar, I was there,” You sing.

“Why did you agree to go with me?” Ivar asks back and takes the bottle. His mouth goes around it and he tosses a shot back and your eyes catch his lips as they move. 

“Because the dinner was quite boring and Hvitserk left so I didn’t feel invited and I wanted to leave. And that diner has damn good pancakes.”

“Fuck they do.” He moans back and you clench your thighs without even realizing it.

“Truth or dare, Ivar?” You say and he takes the hair tie from his locks as he tosses them to spin about.

“Truth,” He challenges back.

“Do you really have a bachelor’s degree in calculus?”

“Who told you that?” He rumbles suddenly and his eyes level with yours.

“Hvitserk did—was he not suppose to?” You peep back startled but then Ivar relaxes.

“I just don’t like people knowing that,” He mumbles and tosses the bottle back. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,”

“Is being a paramedic the only thing you’ve done?”

“I wan an EMT first and then a paramedic, but yes it’s the only thing I’ve done.” You reply and Ivar hands you the bottle back like you’ve earned it for answering his question. This shot burns a bit more and your watching the man before you relax back along your sofa. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,”

“You are no fun,” You groan.

“What are you going to dare me to do?” Ivar laughs and you bite the bottom of your lip as you look at him. Me, you dumb ass. Ivar watches you as you do, eyes flicking over him and you hand him the bottle.

“Is Sigurd fun to work with.”

“Fucking no.” Ivar groans quickly. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,”

“How…how drunk are you?” Ivar asks suddenly.

“Not drunk at all, why?”

“Just checking,”

“Truth or dare?” You hum.

“Dare,” and your eyes flicked up to his.

“If I dared you to fuck me, would you?” You ask him and Ivar sucks in a breath as his pupils widen and he nods slowly.

“In a fucking heart beat,” He moans and you set the bottle on the coffee table haphazardly. You’re across the couch then and over his lap and his eyes are stuck on yours but he’s still frozen under you.

“I’m not made of glass, Ragnarsson,” You say softly and that propels him, his hands grabbing your cheeks to pull you closer. The first kiss is rushed, heated and mixed with a tangle of teeth and tongue and too many hours of just looking at one another without the ability to touch. When you pull back suddenly Ivar freezes, thinking you’re having a second opinion on the situation but he watches you pull the top from your body and you’re suddenly standing bare chested before him. He follows suit only seconds later, standing and tearing his top and your mouth opens. There’s no spot on his torso that isn’t covered and your eyes scan the artwork as you feel the flutter in your abdomen take notice. “Oh my god, Ivar,” You say softly and your nails trace along what you see first. Ivar hums in response as his body looms closer to yours, and you’re turning, walking to your room and Ivar is on your heels. 

Your back meets the bed before Ivar is crawls over you, swarming you against the sheets as you move back. Large body on display and your fingers don’t know where they want to start. When his lips dip into your jaw line, suckling on the skin over your pulse point you moan, a noise that jabs Ivar right in his crotch and he needs to hear it again.

“I won’t put any where they’re be seen over your uniform,” Ivar whispers and his lips dip lower, tracing along your collar bone before there’s a squeeze to your chest from his hand and you moan twice as loudly. You can feel him smirk as he journeys, stopping right at your shorts. You only pull away slightly to wiggle to where your top drawer is, tossing the foil packet at him and he gives you a glare. “Really?” He asks as he holds the packet in his fingers.

“Yes.” You say back. “I don’t know where your dick has been.”

“I”m clean,” He snarls back.

“You don’t have to get laid, Ivar,” You sass.

“No, I don’t,” He grumbles back.

“But you want to….” You sing.

“Uh—yeah I do. Have you seen yourself lately?”

“Then put on the fucking condom, Ivar. Don’t be a dick. Do you need me to do it for you?” You ask in a fake whine.

“Yes, I do,” Ivar challenges back and you’re moving, slipping off the bed and sinking to your knees in front of him, sight alone causing his heart to quicken with a twitch of his cock under the fabric. Pulling the band of his boxers down, his length comes free and you have to bite back your own moans at the sight of him. With the size of that man you’re not shocked with how much he packs and your chest heaves when his cock comes to your face. Flattening your tongue, to take to dragging it from his base to his tip, a throaty groan leaving his mouth as you work. You feel his hand card in through your hair as your tongue spreads over the under side of him; the veins, the ridges, and all of the skin making themselves known against your tastebuds as he moans your name. Finally pulling away, you roll the rubber over him and scurry back up along the sheets. 

Ivar wastes no time to climb over your, giant towering of a man between your bent knees as he pulls them apart. Too many agonizing seconds before he finally slips your panties off, another low noise of arousal from him at the mere sight of you. Laying bare and glistening before him and he grows excited as he sees the glimmer of your arousal from him between your slit. With your legs spread, Ivar presses his chest where they’re split as you feel him drag his tongue through your folds. The sight of him between your thighs was far worth all of the back talk, all of the petty bickering and mutual death threats in the the world. Ivar lets out a hum as your nectar spreads over his lips, moistening his tongue while his fingers dig farther in your thighs.

“So sweet baby…” He moans before he lets saliva dribble from his mouth as a string lands against your slit, pushing it back through as his lips went to roaming. Your nails sneak into his hair, pulling it like reins as your spine arches.

“You’re…you’re really good at this,” You whisper, body flushed and far too warm as you feel the pleasure creep up through your skin. Ivar only hums in agreement, bastardly tone still as his tongue swirls your clit. He pulls back suddenly, crawling back up over you because he simply can’t wait any longer. His mouth is skilled, still hot and tangling with yours between tongues and teeth and you can taste your juices on him. His weight rests between you and you can feel him just past your opening as his mouth stops. “We don’t tell anyone,” You whisper as his forehead stays still along yours. Ivar pulls himself up then, kneeling between you with his cock in his fist.

“Promise,” Ivar says solidly, pushing his cock slowly as it melts into you. His chest heaving as he watches himself bottom out, wrapped snug in your wall as he lets out the most guttural moan your ears have heard to date. “Oh—fuck,” He rasps, head tipping forwards slightly. “You’re so much tighter than I imagined,” He growls as he plants arms on each side of you, eyes finding yours. A blushed face and mouth spread open with how he’s stretching you, pushing past any other lover you’ve laid with. Through a languid roll of his hips he moves again, moans singing between the both of you. Ivar only pulls back enough to where your hips try to chase him and catch him, but instead he snaps back inside. Reaching for him—trying to ground yourself as he drills such pleasure through your body—Ivar gladly meets you half way, covering you and grabbing the sheets by your head for leverage as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“You’re so deep,” You whimper, his forehead on yours and he can only nod as a reply, slowing his hips some as the sounds of how he moves through your folds fill the room.

“Feel so fucking good,” He rasps as his mouth catches yours, hips starting to pick up their pace as his body moves yours with the bed. “God you feel so fucking good,” And one hand starts skimming the curve of your body, trying to memorize how you feel under his touch so he has that forever engrained in him.

“Ivar—Ivar—I’m—close,” You start, knees locking against his side as your nails dig into inked shoulders. Words fail you as your release comes closer, rolling towards you like a loose freight train as Ivar’s noises match yours, thrusting hard, deep presses inside of you and your body is curling against his.

“Me too baby—come all over me,” He grunts, his mouth by your ear as he deepens his thrusts. “All fucking over me,” Ivar demands and his words make you whimper as they become the single driving phrase for your orgasm to grab you. You can only nod and hold onto him as your moans rise in octaves as your walls contract around him, locking him still momentarily as he watches you finish. Tossing your head into the pillows as he slows, nails raking down his back as if they’re trying to leave lines in their wake that’ll match the tattoos. “Good girl…” Ivar purrs from above you, lips brushing the skin on your cheek before they’re slide to your mouth. You only offer him a hum in response as your body floats down, Ivar own’s end coming closer as his body presses you against the bed, his hips starting back up quickly. Skin slapping skin as Ivar crushes you against the bedding, his forehead plastering to yours before you feel him shake slightly, vibrate as a low groan grew through his chest, his own release filling the condom. His lips faltering some as the sounds float back to your mouth and you have never heard a more blissful noise. One that you already needed to hear again, dance around the walls of your room and through your body. Stilling over you with heavy breathing mixing in between, Ivar pulls up slightly, relishing in your new found freedom but immediately missing the weight over you, nearly grinding your bones. You watch him rise and look down at you with blue irises moving through yours.

“You alright?” He asks softly.

“Don’t go all soft on me now, Ivar,” You tease with a curl of your lips and you’re quite frankly shocked that that he even cared to ask. He rolled his eyes before leaning back, lips against yours once.

“I usually go soft after I come, princess,” Ivar teases, finally pulling himself from inside of you, rolling the used condom off with a tissue and tossing it. You take to finding your clothes, moving yourself solely in the motions to distract your wandering mind and leave it at the door. Climbing back under your bedding, you hear Ivar move, pulling his own boxers on and you wonder how he’s going to leave it. Instead you feel the bed dip, arms latching around you and pulling you closer. “Is this alright?” Ivar whispers as he settles with you.

“Yes,” You peep softly. “I didn’t think you snuggled,” and Ivar only clicks his tongue at that.

“I can leave, if you like!” He says back.

“No—please don’t,” You reply quickly, melting back against him and he smiles.

“Smart choice,” Ivar says as you reach to turn the light off, the sound of the ceiling fan taking over the room and he crushes you closer. “I didn’t want to leave anyways.”

Ink Drinker Tags:

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*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

[amorgansgal]

We Are Made One with What We Touch and See

This was written for the @rdrbigbang​ and I had the great pleasure to work with @merryandrewsworld who has made some gorgeous artwork, and has been a really lovely person to talk to and bounce ideas off :D It was a wonderful experience and I loved writing this piece. You can read it on Ao3 as well.

Summary: Molly finds her life increasingly frustrating. She works most days in the Linden Bar and her love life with Dutch is disappointing at best and toxic at worse. She spends her days angry and alone, until Arthur Morgan and Micah Bell wander into Dutch's bar with a new friend of theirs who captures her attention.

Warnings: Implied sexual content. Alcohol.

Molly slammed the bottles into the small fridge behind the bar. She was clenching her jaw tightly and knew her curly red hair was already escaping the bun she had put it into this morning. She couldn’t believe Dutch had asked her again to open up, even though she had closed the bar the night before. Karen had called in sick, but Molly had a sneaking suspicion that the woman was actually out at one of her precious film auditions.

She straightened up and stretched her back. She wasn’t even sure how she could put on a smile and joke around with the customers, when she felt so sour, tired and pissed off. The other girls who worked at the Linden Bar seemed to think that her dating Dutch meant she was favoured and got to slack off while he was around. It couldn’t be further from the truth. Living and working with him meant he was all too aware of her schedule; she couldn’t pretend to be busy or have plans when he demanded she cover a shift.

She had previously complained to Karen about it, but there hadn’t exactly been any sympathy. ‘Well… they do say don’t shit where you eat.’

The Linden bar was quiet. Unsurprising, it was still early afternoon and the regulars wouldn’t make an appearance until later. She thought about wiping down the leather sofas and chairs. She was meant to do that. But why even bother? Half the time Sean spilt shit on them anyway.

She sighed irritably, cleaning after a bunch of men was hardly what she had envisioned her life would be like. But then she didn’t really have any other plans. She rested on the bar and tried to think about what other jobs she could do. She had never really been one for sitting in an office, but then she couldn’t really say she was a people person or wanted to work behind a bar again if she could help it.

She had won a few writing competitions while at college and her teacher had always said she had a natural gift with words, but apart from ‘No, I’m not serving you’ and ‘You can fuck right off’ she didn’t get much chance to use them! Perhaps she should write again. It didn’t necessarily have to be anything great or Shakespearian, but it could be a good way to express how she felt and what she was thinking.

Then again… maybe not. Last time Dutch had found one of her poems he had been insulted by it. It wasn’t even fucking about him, but of course he had to make it about him. After he had calmed down, she had managed to explain it was about an ex and she had written it while dating the ex. But that seemed to piss him off more and he demanded to know why she wasn’t writing about him! As though everything she did had to involve him to some extent.

The door to the bar swung open and Molly scowled. ‘We’re not open, so you can-!’

But when Arthur stepped into the bar and gave her a quick smile, she rolled her eyes and gestured to the bar seats. ‘Fine. But I’m not serving whiskey at this time.’

‘Wouldn’ expect you to,’ he replied. The dark leather jacket he always wore crinkled as he sat down. ‘’specially with this troublesome lot.’ He gave a quick nod towards the doorway again and Molly audibly sighed as Micah walked in, a mocking smile on his lips. Just behind Micah she could see another person strolling into the room and Molly sucked in her cheeks, she sincerely hoped the rest of the gang was not just going to turn up and make her life harder!

‘Now, darlin’, that ain’t a way to treat a paying customer.’ Micah smirked.

‘Last time you were here Dutch covered your tab, if I remember correctly,’ Molly shot back.

Micah raised his hands defensively. ‘I paid the man back. I know when to pay my dues.’ He sat down next to Arthur and gave the man’s knee a squeeze. Arthur shifted his leg, but the smile on his lips gave him away.

Molly turned her attention to the other person who was with them and found herself somewhat lost for words as she took in the tall, blonde woman who had sat down silently. The woman’s sharp brown eyes were fixed on Molly. Her forehead was pinched in a fierce scowl highlighting a small red scratch above one of her eyebrows.

Molly looked away quickly, somewhat embarrassed that she had been appraising the woman so closely and that the thought of pressing her hand against the woman’s cheek and wiping away her frown had been so appealing.

‘Oh yeah, Molly this is Sadie. Sadie Adler,’ Arthur said, tearing away his gaze from Micah. ‘Sadie, this is Molly.’

‘You don’ piss her off too much sometimes she’ll even serve your drinks with a smile,’ Micah said.

‘You’re lucky I serve you drinks at all, Micah.’ Molly muttered, then turned back to Sadie. ‘Nice to meet you. What you doing running around with these two then?’

‘I’m a bounty hunter,’ Sadie replied coolly, her voice was husky and rough. Molly wondered if it was due to a smoker’s habit or just the way the woman spoke naturally.

‘What can I get you then?’

‘Whiskey?’ Sadie smirked.

Molly reached down to the fridge and pulled out two beers for Micah and Arthur. She wiped her hands on a towel and grinned at Sadie. ‘For you, I’ll make an exception!’

‘Glad to hear it,’ Sadie nodded and accepted the glass of whiskey that Molly had poured for her. Molly tried to look anywhere else as Sadie swallowed back the hard liquor and placed the glass back down on the bar. She barely heard Micah’s griping.

‘Bounty hunting, that must be exciting?’ Molly said as she refilled Sadie’s glass. This time Sadie seemed content to sip it.

‘Mm-hm, can be. Can be dangerous. Can be boring, especially if I’m chasing someone down who’s just skipped on a bill or something. Now bartending, that must be exciting!’ Her eyebrow quirked upwards and Molly snorted.

‘Yeah, I love nothing more than cleaning up after these boys,’ Molly jabbed a thumb towards Arthur and Micah.

Sadie let out a short huff of laughter. ‘Well then, I don’t think our jobs are that different!’

‘Sure, pouring this lot drinks is exactly the same!’

Sadie pulled out some money from a wallet and passed it over to Molly. ‘Buy one for yourself, think I’m going to like talking to you.’

‘Tha’ makes a change,’ Arthur muttered sarcastically, and was treated to an elbow to the ribs from Sadie.

Micah’s eyes lit up as Molly put the money in the till. ‘You know what Dutch says-’

‘What? And you’re going to run off and tell him?’ Molly scowled.

Micah raised his hands. ‘I’m just sayin’, you ain’t meant to-’

‘Well, it’s none of your business whether I do or don’t!’ she shot back. She was so goddamn sick of Dutch controlling everything she did, even when he wasn’t around one of his lackeys was watching her every move.

‘Micah, why don’t you and I head out for a smoke, and leave the ladies to talk?’ Arthur suggested. For a moment it looked like Micah might refuse, but he then got up and sloped off the bar stool.

‘Fine, Morgan.’

Arthur smiled at Molly and gave her a quick wink, before he and Micah disappeared through the back door. Molly poured Sadie another drink, then grabbed a glass of her own and served herself. Sadie raised her glass and Molly carefully tapped it with her own. She threw back the liquor feeling the sharp, hot burn against her throat and smiling as the warmth rushed through her.

‘Guess they’ll be a while smoking.’ Sadie smirked.

‘Surprising how long a cigarette can take.’ Molly found herself grinning at the woman.

Sadie shifted in her seat and a few loose strands of her hair rested on her cheek. That same temptation to brush away the blonde hair almost overwhelmed Molly and she found herself leaning heavily on the bar, as though she would reach over to do so.

She quickly rested her cheek on her hand instead, though realised that may not have been the best idea as Sadie’s eyes drifted down to her chest. Molly thought about getting back up, but found she quite liked how the woman’s dark gaze ran over her body. It had been a long time since anyone had really looked at Molly with anything akin to desire.

‘So, how long you known Arthur?’ Molly asked.

‘Few weeks, he helped me out of a tight spot.’

‘Oh?’

‘Sometimes bounties don’t want to come quietly.’ Sadie grinned and finished off the whiskey in her glass. ‘How long have you known Arthur?’

‘Long enough, he’s been a friend of Dutch’s for… well, think forever. They knew each before I started… started dating Dutch.’

‘Ooh, dating the owner, huh?’

‘Don’t.’ Molly refilled her glass. She wasn’t quite sure if Sadie would be paying for all this whiskey, but considering the woman had made her feel better she was quite happy to empty all the shelves here.

‘So it ain’t going well?’

‘It’s going fine, it’s just…’ Molly fiddled with the cap on the bottle and looked down at the bar, wiping away a few drops of condensation from the dark wood. She looked back up to find Sadie watching her intently. She grabbed the bottle and put it back behind the bar.

‘Well?’ Sadie asked.

‘I… I don’t think I should be talking about that kind of thing right now… I mean, you don’t want to hear about that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you probably got better things to do than listen to me complain.’

Sadie’s smirk resumed its place and she got up from the barstool. ‘True, but I think you could also do better things.’

‘Like what?’

‘Come for a ride with me, it’ll clear your head.’

Molly sighed and leaned back. ‘Sure, the best thing I can do is piss off Dutch and leave the bar unattended. Besides, who’s going to let those fools back in?’

Sadie shrugged. ‘They’ll figure it out.’ She leaned over the bar and offered a hand. ‘Come on. Who’s going to visit a bar in the early afternoon?’

‘You’d be surprised,’ Molly muttered.

‘Come on, twenty minutes, they won’t even realise you’re gone.’

‘Why do you want me to go so badly?’

‘Because you look goddamn miserable and because this bar is kind of shitty, I’ll take you to a better one.’

‘I thought you said we would be gone for just twenty minutes.’

‘Why you planning on spending longer with me?’ Sadie grinned.

‘No… I… well… a drink takes longer than twenty minutes.’

‘Does it?’

‘A good one at any rate,’ Molly smiled and looked down at her boots. She glanced back up at Sadie, who reached her hand over to Molly once more. To Molly’s own surprise she found herself placing her hand into Sadie’s and letting herself be guided out of the bar. The blonde-haired woman smiled and wrapped an arm around Molly’s waist. Molly averted her eyes and felt her cheeks warm with a heady blush. ‘Least let me lock up.’

‘Sure, I’ll wait for you outside.’

Even as Molly locked the backdoor, the cash register and back office she found herself wondering what the hell she was doing. How could she be so damn stupid? This woman had barely said two words to her and had already convinced her to leave the bar and run off to God knows where! Hell, she had locked Arthur and Micah out, they would have to scale the fences if they wanted to escape. Even when Arthur would let things slide, Micah seemed to get some malicious enjoyment for tattling on her. But if there had ever been a time for saying ‘Fuck it!’ it was now.

***

The sense of freedom she got with her arms wrapped tightly around Sadie’s waist, her chest pressed against the leather jacket and feeling the sharp, icy cold wind rushing through Molly’s hair was something she hadn’t even realised she wanted until she was on Sadie’s bike.

By the time they finished at a bar on the other side of town, it was late in the evening, and Molly was in no doubt that she probably had a hundred calls and texts from Dutch. But she’d done the wild thing and switched off her phone.

They’d drunk far too much and then Sadie insisted she was starving and took them to a smoky little food truck that apparently sold the best BBQ food. Sadie brought them both ribs and fries covered in cheese, jalapeños and crispy onions.

For a very brief moment Molly looked at the dark crimson nail polish on her fingers and remembered how Dutch hated it when her hands got wrinkled from washing up the glasses. He was always insistent she kept her hands soft and clean. Sadie’s were rough, her nails short and clear of any varnish. When the woman pulled her from the bar, she had grabbed Molly’s hand and held onto it tightly with long, strong fingers.

‘Go on, we have napkins,’ Sadie urged her.

‘Shouldn’t really…’

‘You shouldn’t have drunk all that whiskey with me, yet here we are!’ Sadie smirked and then tore a strip of meat off the barbequed rib.

***

They drove up to the hill that overlooked the town. The only noise they could really hear was the thrumming, distant roar that came from the highway and the quiet chirps of crickets. The moon rose overhead, a thin slither of silver against the dark night sky. Molly breathed out quietly, it was an excited, shaky breath. She hadn’t felt this happy in a long time. When was the last time she felt free, that she felt she could move her body without it being judged or resented?

Sadie’s hand slipped around her waist, pulling her back slightly from the edge of the cliff. Molly turned her head. She wasn’t sure when and how and why it happened, but suddenly Sadie’s mouth was on her own, her breath heavy and desperate, the hand on Molly’s waist pulled her closer to Sadie and the other hand was clenched amongst Molly’s curls. She found herself braver and bolder, nipping at Sadie’s bottom lip until Molly’s tongue slipped into Sadie’s mouth. A fierce taste of mint, it was almost harsher than any gum or mints that Molly had ever tasted, marred with the slight tangy savouriness of the BBQ. Molly moaned into the kiss, wanting more, but a little afraid to ask for it. There wouldn’t be any going back after that. No going back to her old life, no return to Dutch or the Linden Bar.

***

Sadie’s fingers softly stroked along Molly’s back, as though mapping her out. Molly turned her head and smiled as she felt Sadie’s fingers trace the letters of her tattoo.

‘Didn’t see this earlier,’ Sadie muttered.

‘Why would you see my naked back earlier?’

‘You showed me your other one.’

‘That was on my shoulder, Sadie. Course you can see that one.’

‘We are made one with what we touch and see,’ Sadie read the words aloud. ‘Pretty, where’s it from?’

‘It’s a poem by Oscar Wilde.’

Sadie’s hand slid around Molly’s waist and found her right arm again, she ran her fingers over the tattoo that graced Molly’s wrist, a small yellow flower. ‘Think I like this one the best though.’

Molly smiled. ‘It’s a cowslip. I got it when Dutch called me a useless cow.’

‘That you certainly ain’t.’ Sadie dipped her head down and pressed a kiss against Molly’s lips. Sadie’s hands ran down her waist once more and then further down Molly’s thigh. She moaned against Sadie’s lips.

‘We can’t do it again,’ Molly murmured.

‘Why not? You got anywhere else to be?’

‘Hmm.’

Sadie took advantage of her hesitation and kissed her again, before wriggling down to her waist. ‘I think we got plenty of time.’

[karimac]

…Turn of the Wheel: If only in my dreams

Dedicated to my mother, a member of the US Women’s Army Corps during and after World War II, who played “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” on a tiny Victrola in her German barracks as she thought of her family back in Wisconsin.

Warnings: pretty much none on this one. Maybe a tiny bit of angst and a ton of fluff

A/N: I have no idea which Avengers might be musically inclined, so I sort of made up a bit of that thanks to the fact, as far as I know, Chris Evans plays piano, Paul Rudd plays drums and Jeremy Renner plays guitar. I do not play any instruments, so if I muff something, my apologies in advance.

Hickory, the cat mentioned in this story, was my cat who passed away several years ago. I miss his sunny little self.

This has not been beta read, so all mistakes are my own.

Word count: 5.8K

Banner artwork credit: Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Team Cap had been on the run for the better part of forever it seemed as the calendar suddenly got to the final month of the year. The thought of not being somewhere at least a tad less grungy than the hotels you all had been hiding out in made your stomach churn. You knew Sam would have loved to be back in Louisiana with his sister Sarah, and Steve wanted nothing more than to check in on Bucky in Wakanda and bring him a tiny bit of normalcy and Christmas cheer.

“What’s eating you?” Natasha asked as you looked out of the window of the hotel where you were currently holed up. “Too much cheesy commercialism out there for you?” she added as she pulled back the curtain and gazed at the street below where kids were running up to a corner Santa who was standing in front of a small local department store.

“No, Nat, just the opposite,” you said as you got up from your window seat and started to pace the worn floorboards of the room you were sharing at the moment. “And I need to fix it by Christmas Eve if I can. I may not be able to get Bruce or Thor here, and Tony and Rhodey are never going to agree to this, but I’ll see who I can muster…”

“Whoa. Slow down a second,” the Widow said as you started to pace a little more frantically. “Fix what? Do you mean the Accords?”

“No, I mean Christmas. This is just wrong,” you muttered as you reached for your jacket and backpack before opening a portal. “I’ll be back. I have to make sure my old safe house is still, well, safe.”

“Wait!” Natasha said as your portal snapped shut behind you. You were not about to be talked out of this one.

“What do you mean you have a safe house? Are you suddenly Nick Fury’s best girl?” Sam asked as you looked at him, Steve, Natasha, Wanda and Vision. Your arms were crossed, and you were pissed beyond words at the comment. You never told them about how you and Nick met in the first place, and now was not the time to do it. So you grunted and started to open a portal.

“If I might ask, will we be getting any of your family in trouble if you do this, Miss MacOrish?” Vision asked as you stopped and let the portal slowly close.

“Vision, my blood family died out a very long time ago, and I am going to make sure we go nowhere near anyone who means anything to me at the moment. Sorry, but the compound in Ireland is off limits for now. Maybe one day I’ll get to take you all back home. I’d like that.”

“Then where is this safe house exactly?” Steve asked as you opened the portal fully this time and motioned for the others to step through it. “Where it needs to be,” you said with a wink as there was a shout of “Steve!” from the middle of the room. “Bucky?” Rogers asked as he looked at you, and all you could do was smile as he ran to his childhood friend.

The look on both men’s faces was worth all the time you had spent in your safe house tucked in a little corner between space and time. Bucky looked more rested, but he still had only one arm, so you wondered how things were actually going in his deprogramming and rehabilitation. You’d never pry, but you prayed he was making progress and would soon be leading whatever life he wanted and not what governments or madmen demanded of him.

“I still do not understand how this works, brother,” Shuri could be heard saying as she walked with T’Challa, Okoye and Ayo toward where Steve and Bucky stood chatting. “We are still in Wakanda, but we aren’t.”

“What did you do?” Natasha asked as you leaned against a wall near the portal and snapped your fingers. The room, which had been rather dark and plain looking until this point, suddenly burst into light as a tree laden with gifts stood in the far left corner. A table covered with more than enough food for this small army was on the right side of the room, and it would have made your family proud to witness this gathering.

There were plush chairs, sofas and small tables with candles dotting the room, and a fireplace was crackling with a warm glow, but everyone just stood there looking at you, waiting for an explanation of how and why this was actually happening.

“I told Natasha I wanted to fix Christmas, so I did, just not as much as I wanted to…” you said as your usual jeans, scuffed boots and sweater were replaced by a more holiday appropriate short dress of green velvet. “Sam, I couldn’t risk bringing any family members here. I’m sorry.”

“I’d rather keep Sarah safe,” Sam said as you gave him a hug.

“But, we can work on a way to get you two in the same place when you feel it is safe,” you sighed as you tried not to cry at the thought of the siblings being separated. “I did manage to get these two here with little trouble, at least for a few hours.”

“She’s crazy, but I’m glad she did this!” Clint Barton yelled as he ran over and gave Nat a hug, and Scott Lang just stood to the side, shaking his head as he looked to see that his ankle monitor was still functioning.

“I told you how this works, guys. You are not breaking any rules on my watch,” were the only words you got out before Steve walked over and put his hand on your shoulder. “How did you do this?” he asked as he shot you one of his patented “I’m an old man, so indulge me” looks. The fact he was really a kid in comparison to you made you chuckle.

“It’s simple magical metaphysics,” you said with a smirk as you pointed toward a table with drinks on it. “The Science Brothers do not have the market on cool things, Steve. I just made sure my pocket dimension vault extended to Wakanda, Clint’s farm and Scott’s house. I do have one corner in New York as well so I can get things from my bakery as needed. And yes, a tiny bit is in Ireland. If you look out that window over there, that is my family home in Kildare. I needed it to be anchored to a place that means the world to me and to my better portion. I just can’t walk you into my home without making things problematic. Now, perhaps you’d like to make a toast, Steve? Or maybe it can wait until everyone is here.”

“What is that aroma? It smells wonderful,” Okoye asked as you suddenly ran back toward the food table and straight past it into what looked like a black hole. “Cristiano! Thank you!” you shouted as you turned back around and walked back out with a large platter of seafood paella. “Cris dropped off the paella his family makes for the holiday, and he brought more dessert!”

The refrains of The Waitresses’ “Christmas Wrapping” played in the background, the first of many songs you had on your holiday playlist for the ages that pumped through the speakers of the room, and you smiled as you saw everyone actually enjoying themselves for what was likely the first time in ages. You had Hanukkah songs, songs that were more pagan in flavor for Yule and tons of Christmas classics at the ready. You just wanted everyone to have a moment’s peace.

The food covered any and all things that you felt would be celebratory dishes for the four corners of the globe that were the homes to your friends. Turkey, ham, seafood dishes and other more vegetarian fare were set up in buffet style, and there was a separate table for desserts near the tree. As far as you knew, all the bases were covered.

“My grandfather told me about the red haired goddess who landed in the middle of a Wakandan field before I was born,” T’Challa said as he came over to where you were fussing with the large bowl of mulled claret, your favorite holiday beverage. You smiled at the king and bowed slightly as he mentioned his grandfather Azzuri. “I never thought I would see you in my time on the throne, and yet, here you are.”

“People like me are very hard to kill, your majesty, so I have seen many a dynasty in my day,” you said as you offered T’Challa his choice of beverage from the table. Not everyone enjoyed alcohol, and mulled claret did not bring joy to all those offered the spiced ruby wine. “Henry the Eighth and his daughter Elizabeth are two others I had the pleasure of meeting in my time.”

“Whaaa? You knew Henry the Eighth?” Scott asked as he came up behind you and T’Challa. “And you kept your head?”“Henry liked my sister Dana, but never enough to bed her, thank heaven!” you replied as you sipped your claret. “They used to play a card game called primo. And Elizabeth had issues with an Irish pirate queen named Grainne Mhaol. Grace O’Malley to those who do not speak Irish. I had a vested interest in making sure the peace was kept.”

“Back to Henry,” Scott said as he dug into the roast turkey and stuffing that he picked from the buffet. “Was he always so…well…”

“Heavy set? A megalomaniac? What?” you asked as you sighed. “I remember the Henry who loved to hunt, dance and sing. The one who wrote his own songs. The one who loved life. Once he had Anne Boleyn beheaded, that all went out the window. She was not a witch, even if she was called one by those who hated that she did not have a son. Her death made it hard for those of us who were, so we fled. I often wonder if staying would have changed things at all. I guess that’s the down side of a long life. Too much time to ponder what might have been.”

In that instant you glanced toward Steve and Bucky. That pair personified “what might have been” in your life more than Henry or anyone in his court had back in the day. But today was not the time to sit and deconstruct that long, winding saga. New Year’s Eve would be here soon, and that would be time enough to dig up your past and have a good cry on your own with a small tub of whatever ice cream struck your fancy.

“Why don’t you go over and talk to him later?” Wanda asked as Vision hung back for a moment. She had snuck up behind you when Scott was asking about Henry. “I’m sure he would enjoy the company.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that, Wanda,” you answered as you turned to her and then Scott and T’Challa, biting your lip as you held your glass of claret. “Our history is much more complicated than I’ve been able to explain to anyone, and unless he says I can, I don’t feel it is my place to, as they say it now, spill the tea. That can wait for another time.”

And you were not about to go see what he and Steve were actually chatting about at the moment. But you did see Sam walk over to them and then all three sort of stared at you before turning back toward the tree in the corner.

“See? Not the time yet,” you said with a laugh to Wanda, T’Challa and Scott before you noticed a ripple in the portal that still stood in a far corner of the room.

“Who in the hell makes it so complicated to come to a Christmas party? I mean, I know I’m supposed to be dead to the world, but this is ridiculous.”

“Nicholas! Maria!” you shouted as Fury and Hill made their way into the gathering, both looking a bit bewildered by the route you had used to get them there. “And Steve, before you say a word, this was easier than what these two wanted to do to get you intel. Trust me.”

“Cranky old woman,” Fury muttered as you stood there and glared at him.

“Who helped you get your job with SHIELD, Nick? Or haven’t you told everyone that story a million times by now?”

“What?” Natasha spouted as she and Clint got up from one of the sofas you had placed around the party area. “Wait. It was always whispered in those wonderful group events that Carter and Stark had help setting up SHIELD. You?”

“Bucky was always considered the first SHIELD agent,” Maria Hill said as she got a glass of wine, “but Kari was one of the Big Three at the start…”

“And that’s why Hank Pym knows you! But not you!” Scott shouted as he set down his plate and danced around like he had just won the lottery. “I mean he always calls you by a different name. That pirate lady you mentioned. O’Malley!”

“I was married to a Scotland Yard detective named Thomas O’Malley. That was in the late 1800s. Many people know me by Red O’Malley. Hank Pym is one of them. Hank and Howard always kept butting heads. They drove me crazy. I actually knew Tony as a toddler.”

You could see Bucky looking away at the mention of the Stark family, and you could have kicked yourself for that stupid line of party chatter.

“But I am sure you don’t want to hear all that. Nor do you want to hear about any missions I ran for Peggy. Not tonight anyway,” you said as you tried to change the subject. You crossed over to Bucky and whispered, “I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot,” as you put your hand on his shoulder for a minute before letting it go. “Age doesn’t make one brilliant at times. I’m living proof of that. Now, do you recognize this piano?”

An ancient upright was near the window that looked out into Ireland, and it was indeed quite familiar to the captain and the sergeant. “This is the one from The Whip and Fiddle. Do any of you play?”

“I don’t think anyone plays this,” Nat said as she held up a violin, and your face turned bright red. “Of course. You do.”

“Yes, but I hadn’t hauled that out of storage, so I have a funny feeling I know how it got here,” you said as you picked up the bow and violin and watched as Steve took to the piano bench and Clint picked up a guitar you had leaning next to one of the couches. Scott found something that made you tear up for a minute. “And that drum as well. That belonged to one of my brothers. Donal. He’d be happy to know someone is going to use it again.”

The tunes that filled the air were old and cozy as they rose and fell with every note. “Jingle Bells” gave way to “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” and then to “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” How you wished that could have been true for everyone in the room, but even your best efforts fell woefully short in your eyes as you got to the song’s refrain of “if only in my dreams.” That stung a bit more than you had imagined it would.

{{Maybe this was a really stupid idea after all}} you thought as you set down your violin and got up as the others set their instruments aside as well.

“You know, I find it fascinating that humans will do so much and then still find fault in what they have done,” Vision said as you stopped for a moment to dry your eyes. “I guess it is that drive for perfection that can never be fully realized.”

“Vision, I’m measuring today against all the holidays that passed in that grand hall in my home in Kildare. We would have all 13 of us siblings, our parents, aunts and uncles, cousins, grandparents all jammed in those walls, and we’d celebrate Yule for days. Whatever I did today is just that. One day. I can’t fix the Accords. I can’t convince Tony or Rhodey that there is a way forward. I’m worried for that poor young man that Tony brought to that fight in Berlin. And everyone here deserves to be home and not hunted by some misguided people in power. I could close my eyes and let The Morrigan loose, and she could just upend this all and shape the world to her vision, but I won’t do that. I can’t do that. And while this might be lovely, it is only gossamer. Fleeting at best. And I owe everyone so much more…”

“You did this back when that piano was new,” Bucky said, walking over as he held a glass of whiskey in his hand. “Maybe, for one day, give it a rest. I’m fine. We’re all fine. The rest will take care of itself.”

“If Thor were here, he’d be holding mistletoe over them right now,” you heard Nat saying to Clint as Nick and Maria joined them. “And she’d just walk away, like she is doing now. Stubborn.”You turned and looked at the quartet and shook your head. Bucky Barnes did not need to get more tangled up in your life than he already was. No one was going to hear about Katowice, Poland tonight if you could help it. That nightmare would have to be addressed eventually, but not during a party.

“Grandma, why are you being so you tonight?” Nick asked as he finished the last of his scotch. “Lighten up.”

You growled at the former SHIELD director as you turned on your heel, grabbed another glass of mulled claret and then pivoted to face the lot of them. “This night is for all of you. Just think of me as the caterer and party planner.”

“Holy…where did that come from?” Scott yelped as he went to sit on one of the sofas and felt a big box on the cushion. “What the hell?” you muttered as you stomped over to the sofa, not one bit pleased with this nonsense. “My siblings are not above a stunt or two tonight, I see.”

“I thought you said your family was all dead?” Vison asked as you opened the box and found a bunch of old ornaments and trimmings that had been in the last of the family holiday gear that you skipped for this night.

“But dead in my world and dead in yours are very different things,” you said as you pointed to a large mirror hanging over the fireplace. “Because of the deal my grandmother made at my birth, my family has a special place in the afterlife. I can talk to them, and they can make their presence felt here. Meet my family, or at least my brothers and sisters.”

A throng of people seemed to be jostling for position inside the mirror as a petite, wavy haired blonde in a burgundy velvet gown with golden trim on the sleeves made it to the front of the pack. “Blessed Yule, Kiki,” she said as she held a gray Persian cat in her arms. That was her familiar Periwinkle.“Blessed Yule, Roz and all!” you shouted back as you heard a whoop from the back of the group in the mirror. “Donal, enough of the party pranks.”

“Kiki? Roz?” Scott asked as you laughed, handing out more ornaments to everyone in the room. “That sounds like the characters in ‘Grease’!”

“Kiki is my nickname, and Roz is short for Roslea. You won’t remember all of them, folks, so don’t stress about it. Now, to humor the lot of them, would you mind putting those ornaments on the tree? That was one family tradition from the 1800s that they apparently felt I could not live without. This and the singing before.”

As you and the team hung the ornaments, you went over the names of the lot of your siblings. Brothers Branan, Cormac, Rory, Caedmon, Ewan, Keir, Malachi and Donal all moved in and out of view before sisters Roslea, Dana, Hayley and Adaryn all moved to the front.

“Branan is your twin, right?” Wanda asked as she slipped a small orange glass bird onto a branch. “And who is the youngest?”“That would be Hayley, the sculptor,” you said with a soft sigh. “That is a very long story. Maybe not tonight, but I will tell you, Wanda, and anyone else who cares to hear it.”

“We should let you get back to your night, Little Sister. Blessed Yule to you all,” Cormac said as the mirror started to shimmer and stopped showing what was happening in the place your family called Annwyn.

“But, you’re the oldest, right?” Scott asked as you laughed again. “He means my height. I’m the shortest of the brood,” you said as you noticed the ornament Bucky had picked out. It was a snowflake made of Beleek china that you had been gifted a very long time ago by someone very dear to your heart. It was nice to see it go on a tree once more.

The group seemed to swarm the dessert table en masse, and Scott seemed pleased that he had gotten a huge piece of pumpkin pie before seeing a cake that Clint was giving the once over. “What is this? It smells like Jameson’s,” Clint said as he cut a piece. “Should I set it on fire?”

“It isn’t a plum pudding. It’s Irish fruit cake,” you said as Clint suddenly set down the plate. “You can’t compare it to the American version. This one won’t cause you to visit the dentist soon. It’s a soft cake.”

Clint took a very small piece and tasted it, giving a thumbs up before cutting a bigger slice. “I forget your other life is baking.”

“Sometimes I forget, too,” you said as you turned to hand a plate with a fruit tartlet to Ayo. It was then that you saw a small orange streak run over to the tree. “Gifts! Before more dessert, we should at least hand them out. Especially so this munchkin doesn’t rip all the paper first! You can open them now or wait. Whatever works. But Clint and Scott, I have ones for your families, too.”

“Is that your familiar?” Vision asked as you walked over and picked up the orange tabby cat. “Not exactly, Vision. While Hickory here could be my familiar, he’s simply my cat. And he loves to snoop.”

“Are these gifts, well, safe for kids?” Clint asked as he shook one box for Nathaniel. “As far as I know, DUPLO is safe for little kids,” you said as you set Hickory down on a chair, walked over to the tree and took out the boxes. “A sweater for Lila. A jacket for Cooper. Books for all three of them as well. And something I think Laura will like for the house. No weapons. No explosives. Your family is not my family. I know that. And Scott, I got Cassie this weird little stuffed animal. A unicorn platypus or something. It’s cute and cuddly, and there is a book that goes with it. And before you ask, all bought with cash. Nothing can get traced.”

You saw Nat give Nick a look that would have slayed most men, and whatever he was about to say stayed in his throat.

“And you can take food back with you. There is more than enough here. I’m just going to seal this all up later anyway. I don’t dare leave it all connected. I wish I could.”

“I still don’t get one thing,” Maria said as she shook the box in her hands. “You did all this so we could all be together. And you tried to get Stark and Rhodes here, too? And that kid?”

“Yes, but, well, Tony is still ticked because I wasn’t there to heal Rhodey,” you said as you tried to look at anything but a person. “I can’t say he’s wrong. He blames me for everything right now. I just don’t think he’d have liked how I might have fixed things before that fight. And as for Spider-Man, well, I did manage to make his holiday a bit merrier. I’ll leave it at that.”

You had made sure a few gifts were going to be dropped off at the Parker apartment in Queens. It really was the least you could do. You’d tried with Tony and Rhodey, but pushing harder would have caused an international incident.

“As for what you all are getting, not to sound too creepy, but you are all getting parts of my past,” you said as Shuri shot you the weirdest of looks as she opened her gift. “My brother Caedmon was a bit of an evolutionary science buff as well as physician for our clan. Those were some of his notes from his studies with Darwin.”

“And this?” Clint asked as he unpacked an ancient bow, quiver and arrows. “Robin Hood was your bff?”

“No, but my brother Keir was an archer as well as a financial wizard. Those were his when he was part of the guard at the Hill of Tara, just like our father before him. And that pistol, Nat, comes from the first time I lived in New York City, back when the Five Points section was the center of Irish life in America. It’s a pearl handled, four barrel pepperbox. You can still get ammo for it.”

Nat cracked a smile as she held the diminutive pistol in her hand. “Nice and discreet. I’m impressed. Thank you.”

“Why are you playing Oprah with all your stuff?” Nick asked before you handed him his box. “You not telling us something? I thought you couldn’t die?”

“Oh, I came close a few times,” you said as you winked at Bucky. “I can die. You know that. But, no, I am not dying. This is simply my way of saying how much you all mean to me. I’m sure I’m being too sentimental for all of you, but tough.”

“This thing better not be bomb parts,” Nick grumbled as he opened his gift to find a SHIELD Holy Grail of sorts. “If Coulson were still with us, he’d have fought you for that. Some of the original, handwritten notes and drawings for the first SSR bases and weapons. Howard and Peggy made notations on most of those. You may have the digital copies, but I thought you’d appreciate the coffee-stained originals. Now for you two,” you said as you looked at Steve and Bucky.

“Oh no, you got them some weird old car or something? Motorcycle with a side car? Sleeping gowns with those goofy hats?” Sam laughed as you shook your head and handed both super soldiers overly large rectangular boxes.

“Those were not all in my possession, but I tracked the rest down thanks to the families of the Howling Commandos. The principal at Midtown School of Science and Technology in the city is the grandson of Jim Morita. He was very helpful. He got in touch with people, and they were able to get me copies of the old photos I am sure you guys never got the pleasure of seeing very long. A tiny bit of your history that I had the honor of witnessing.”

There were maps, notes, posters of Steve’s USO tour, photos and a few other odd mementos you were able to purchase for this gift. You were sure it was a dud because both men said nothing.

“Wait,” Bucky said as he pulled out a small envelope. “What’s this?”

“Something you can look at later. Notes I jotted down from my time with you guys before the train. I thought it might help in your work in Wakanda,” you said as you took a deep breath and tried not to burst into tears. “I can’t do much else to help, but I wanted to do something.”

“Thank you,” Steve said first as Bucky joined in with a nod. “I hadn’t seen this photo of Peggy and me in ages. I’m surprised you found it.”

“I’m a pack rat,” you said as you motioned for everyone else to open their gifts. “And I have connections you would not believe. I mean, besides all of you. I know you are likely wondering why I didn’t just go be with my family on the other side of the mirror for Yule. I only get to see them up close at Samhain. I talk to them a lot, but I can’t just walk up and get a hug or punch one of them in the arm. I may be old as dirt, but being connected still matters.”

“Oh! Magic set! Wait…Houdini?” Scott asked as he opened his box.

“No, Dai Vernon, the Canadian master of slight of hand. You could not beat The Professor for his card tricks. I didn’t think you’d want to lock yourself up in chains and submerge yourself in a tank.”

“‘The History of the Preternatural World of New Orleans’. This thing weighs a ton,” Sam said as he hefted a book into his hands. “Wait. You know about all that stuff because…”

“I spent a little time there for a few summers before I married my second husband, and I got friendly with the Laveau family. This was one of their books, and they gifted it to me. Who better than a son of Louisiana to hold this tome? I have been to Algiers and frequented the vampire bars. My brother Ewan was a vampire.”

“Holy shit…” Sam said as his eyes grew wide. “No werewolves?”

“A cousin named Conri,” you said as you bowed your head. “Long story there.”

“And where is your gift?” Vision asked as he helped Wanda hook a necklace you had gifted to her. It had belonged to your Aunt Fachtna.

“I’ll get to that in a minute. Wanda, that necklace should help you focus your powers a bit in the field. My mother’s older sister used it for that purpose, and I thought the ruby stone would work well with your power signature. Vision, I am not sure if I did those properly, but if I didn’t we can work on making those files on the mystic world work with your systems. Putting it in a pocket watch likely seems weird, but my brother Rory always used the watch to take things with him and avoid detection.”

“You didn’t answer Vision’s question,” Bucky said as he still held the envelope. “Your gift this year?”

“That’s easy. This night is my gift. I had a night with the staff at the bakery when this was all set up, and one with the folks who take care of my home and business in Kildare, so I got to spend time with everyone I care about. I can’t ask for more. Now, the clock is ticking, and I think Clint and Scott need to head home. Last call?”

T’Challa looked at Okoye and Ayo as they opened boxes with Celtic spears that you had from your days when you were in King Azzuri’s court, while the king held a set of daggers you had made back in the day that incorporated vibranium with mystic glass elements.

“The weight on this seems impossible,” Ayo noted as she twirled her spear. “Heavy on a thrust, but light when held.”

“More mystic metaphysics,” you said as you pointed toward the tip. “It’s because of the jewel in the blade. It harnesses energy in ways that don’t make sense to modern science.”

“One more song?” Maria asked as she flipped through the notes you had taken during your missions for Peggy. It was the companion piece to Nick’s gift, as it were.

The sound system cranked up another version of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” as everyone got ready to leave. This time it didn’t seem to sting quite so much as you got to the end of the song. You just hoped that next year would be kinder to everyone that had gathered there, and you prayed that maybe you could actually talk to Bucky once his deprogramming was complete.

“I’ll be back with you guys as soon as I break off the connections,” you told Nat as you turned to see Bucky walk out behind T’Challa, Okoye, Ayo and Shuri. He turned and nodded to you one more time, and Nat tried to shove you back toward him, but you just stopped and waved.

“We have a lot to suss out, Nat. He needs to take care of himself first,” you said as you turned to your friend and smiled. “We have time.”

“Famous last words,” she replied as she walked out behind Wanda, Vision, Steve and Sam. Nick and Maria had left shortly after Clint and Scott, so you were alone once more.

You waved your hand to start breaking the spell that connected your vault to all the points you needed tonight, but you stopped in front of a mirror and used it to gaze at a few other important points you had been watching. One was the Parker apartment in Queens, and they seemed to be enjoying their holiday mystery gifts. The other was the Avengers Compound in upstate New York.

“Rhodey! Who sent that box?” you heard Tony ask as Pepper handed him a large juice drink.

“Who do you think?” Rhodey replied as he set down the festively wrapped package in front of Stark.

“No. You are kidding me. I told her no,” Tony muttered as he drank from his glass. “She is stubborn. Never listens.”

“Relax, it isn’t ticking,” Rhodey replied as he opened the box. “That’s weird. A glass ball?”

“Don’t you mean a crystal ball? I’ve seen Kari use this,” Pepper commented as she sat down. “Wait. There’s a note taped to the box lid.”

Pepper took the note and read it aloud. “One day you may need me. Even if you don’t want to, speak into the ball, and I’ll be there. And for what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

You saw Tony roll his eyes as he put the ball on his bookshelf. It wasn’t a “come home” invitation, but it wasn’t a “drop dead” brick through your window either. That in and of itself was a gift.

As you shut off the lights in your pocket dimension vault, you smiled a little bit. Maybe one day you would all sit at the same table again? It all depended on Tony coming around to the facts that Bucky had no control over his actions that fateful day and that Steve really had the best of intentions when he kept his mouth shut about it all.

“If only in my dreams…” you sang as you headed out to where Steve and the others were now. “If only in my dreams.”

Taglist: @ocfairygodmother, @historygeekfics

[isimp4hawkz]

The Apothecary

(Hawks x Reader)

100% inspired from this beautiful artwork I found on pinterest ^^

This is my first time publishing any of my fics. I hope it’s enjoyable.

*Skimmed for any mistakes but I may have missed a few*

Words: 2.5k

———————————————

"Tell me something birdbrain. Did you come here in search of a remedy or did you come here to snuggle with my owls?" You scold aloud, brow lifted at the scene before you. It temporarily drew your attention away from the herbs you were blending for the person in question. If he really even needed them that is.

The man was bent over, hovering over the counter and barely burying his entire face into the soft plumage of Gamma's snowy collar, rubbing his nose into its depths, small chuckles resounding from him in his own apparent delight. Simultaneously, Thaddeus perched himself daintily onto the golden locks of his hair, managing to keep himself in place as the man's head moved about beneath him.

What shocked you is that they seemed to be genuinely enjoying his company, whereas they hardly acknowledge your existence throughout the day. It was much unlike how they'd usually act whenever someone walked into the shop. As soon as they heard that little bell chime from the entrance, both birds would take off towards their high perches on opposite ends of the room, making it in their best interest to avoid anyone new.

You didn't mind, nor question their habit. They only preferred your lone company either way, though they'd hardly show it. Much like you'd rather be with their company rather than some other person.

On that slow, peaceful evening, you'd discovered that maybe you don't know your beloved companions as well as you thought. For some reason, Hawks was some sort of an exception to them. Much more than an exception, at that.

For crying out loud, he was snuggling into Gamma and cuddling her as if she were a puppy! And she was letting him.

And Thaddeus. Thaddeus' behavior baffled you on an entirely different level. That was a bird who never permitted you any petting privileges, any time you'd insinuate a head rub, he'd screech at you and fan his wings. Very territorial, he was. At least you thought he was.

Yet here he was, God damn nesting in the hair of a complete stranger as if he'd known the man for years. As if you weren't the one who took him in when he was but a weak, fraile hatchling on the brink of death.

"I think your owls like me." Hawks chuckled, his huge crimson wings ruffling giddily when Gamma had begun to coo at his nuzzles, adoringly.

Jealousy. Blatant jealousy is what you felt. You weren't even going to attempt to hide it. You've tried endless times to get those birds to see you as their loving caretaker, showering them with love and treats and sating their every need, but to no avail. If anything, you think they see you the way a caged tiger would view its neglectful keeper, just a source of food.

You huff out a breath, subconsciously putting in more effort to mash the herbs together with the mortar and pestle than you wished.

Hawks noticed your subtle change in behavior. The way you slammed a small jar onto the counter, flicked off the cap, and aggressively shook out whatever was inside onto the cutting board. Or maybe it was the way you were mashing those herbs with a force that made him wonder if they'd somehow wronged you.

Of course; being him, he'd jumped to a brash conclusion. "Oh? Are you jelly that I'm giving the birds more attention than you?"

You stop your relentless mashing of compounds, staring ahead blankly for a moment before shaking your head. "Don't be ridiculous, I-"

"Awoh, it's nothing to be ashamed of, I completely understand."

"I'm jealous of you, actually."

Hawks blinked in confusion, lifting his head away from the owl's downy feathers and looking over at you.

"Seems like they fancy you more than they could ever me." A half-hearted smile tugged at your lips, the morose tone in your voice was inevitable.

Gamma's wide, intelligent eyes shifted to stare at you. It was like she understood every word you said. Her wings lifted, and with a few swift flaps, she was in the air. You flinched when she landed gracefully into your hair, her sharp talons clenching your head as gently as she could.

Hawks chuckled at how frozen you were in that moment, bringing up a hand to scratch Thaddeus on the chin as he stared. He marveled at the way your cheeks faintly turned a darker shade when Gamma had cooed. She'd began to pick at your head softly in a grooming mannerism.

Thaddeus shifted in Hawks' hair, suddenly growing restless.

"Wanna get closer?" Hawks asked him aloud, rhetorically, obliging to the small hoot he received in response and carefully sauntering over to you, wary of the unstable balance Thaddeus had while being on his head.

By the time he got close, you'd managed to settle Gamma down onto your outstretched bicep, but the stubborn owl only flapped back onto your head. The look on your face almost made Hawks laugh out loud, you were distraught. Torn between salvaging the rare chance at bonding with your companion, and continuing the preparation of a remedy for a paying customer.

He knew how much you cared for those birds, so much that he was willing to let you relish in the moment completely.

The smile on his face was somewhat solemn. "Don't fret witchy. I'm sure I can find some other witch who can cook up what I need."

Your brow ticked at the way he addressed you. "Excuse you. I am not a witch. I'm an Apothecary."

Hawks blinked. "Same difference."

You ignored that. "And even if you could somehow find another suitable Apothecary in the general area, I've been told by several patrons that I am the best of the best." You stated proudly, chin held up high in accordance. "The odds of finding someone more skilled than I are low to say the least."

He always enjoyed how confident you were in your craft. That confidence stemmed from true experience and skill, mastery even. You were right for claiming your profession to be deemed that high of a level, there hasn't been a single time in the past where your restoratives had let him down, no matter what their purpose served. He's glad that your clientele have spread the word of your little place, though they're restricted to hushed exchanges of whispers and secret notes passed in inconspicuous areas, out of the sight of any authorities.

The way you obtained some of your ingredients could be considered illegal if thorough investigation was to prosper, but luckily for you, that was yet to happen. No one was dubious of the little flower shop secluded between two towering office buildings at the farthest corner of the longest street in Kyushu. Hawks wouldn't dare run his mouth about its true nature to anyone, he would much rather heal his battle wounds naturally with one of your blends rather than the harsh steroids they'd stick into his body back at the commission.

"Can't deny that fact." Hawks chuckled, looking at you with apparent appreciation gleaming through his hooded eyes. "You've helped me through some tough calls, I don't think I-" He cut himself off in realization of something.

"I...I don't think I've ever thanked you."

You were quick to bring up the fact that he in fact spoiled you. Tipping you thousands over whatever price you'd ask for, as if money was nothing but a nuisance to him and he needed to get rid of as much of it as possible, it had you wondering if he would flaunt it around so carelessly wherever.

"That's different. Of course I'm gonna pay you in exchange for your meds, I'm not some shitbag. But I've never thanked you before."

Now that you think about it, it's true. The majority of times times he's come here, it's been in an urgent burst through the door, with little time on his hands to so much as greet you. You really can't recall a single time where he's thanked you, since he's usually in such a rush. Here one second, gone the next. His reputation stands firm.

Rarely have there ever been situations like this, where he's able to hang around the shop and wait patiently for you to get his order ready firsthand. You'd looked over your shoulder at him while he was appeasing the owls earlier. He had looked so calm, so sweet and tender in that moment, totally relaxed. It warmed your heart to see him like that.

His concern brought a smile to your face, how adorable to think that it would trouble him this much. "Hawks, trust me, you're fine. I know you're thankful. The proof is in the way that you pay literally five times as much as I could ever ask you for—more than that at times!"

Yup. That sounds like something he'd do, even he'll admit it. He distinctly recalls throwing a fat stack of cash at you in several of his hurried instances, not even bothering to ask for the price, or check how much was in the stack. He tilted his head aside and stuck out his lower lip in consideration of his own antics.

But that doesn't stop him from genuinely thinking that you deserve way more than what you make. You're taking one hell of a risk every time you sell another product to some shady person. He thinks you deserve to be appreciated more for that fact alone.

"Well, for what it's worth, thank you Y/n. Really, I mean it. What you do means a lot to me, more than I can put into words." He held your gaze with an adoration in his eyes that you didn't quite understand.

You've never seen seriousness cross that man's expression as well as it did right then.

He's perpetually cheerful and carefree, flirty more oftentimes than he should be. It surprised you seeing him so lacking in that notorious, glowing charisma. Maybe you'd go as far to say that in that moment, it looked like true joy was something he'd never experienced before. You couldn't even form words, rendered a gaping fish.

And maybe you would've actually taken his word for it, if it wasn't for you being reminded of the fact that the two of you had two big ass birds on your heads when Gamma and Thaddeus unexpectedly hooted in unison.

You and Hawks simultaneously broke eye contact to glance up at each other's birds, locking eyes with one another again.

It went silent for a few seconds.

Hawks' hard expression wavered hesitantly, his lip twitching in a futile attempt to remain serious. You then snorted quietly, biting your lip, and that's all it took for the two of you to burst out into a laughing fit that made you to bend over to clutch your sides, causing Gamma to flee from your head hastily and settle on her perch, Thaddeus following suit towards his respective stand when Hawks stumbled backwards a bit.

They'd managed to both ruin the moment and save it all the same, made it into something you didn't quite know you needed until it happened. A good laugh, one that had your face heating up and your cheeks beginning to hurt as the two of you only grew breathless with glee, struggling to keep your balance as you pressed your weight onto nearby objects to avoid toppling over.

The old Grandfather clock at the back of the shop had begun to chime, signaling the passing of another hour.

The sound caused Hawks to gradually come back down from his laugh-high. He submitted to that professional state of mind that subconsciously clawed at his back at times like these, once he was reminded of where he was supposed to be.

It was like someone snapped their fingers and all happiness was wiped from his face. Other than the faint pink still dusting his cheeks, it looked like the laugh that the two of you shared had never transpired.

You didn't even need to hear him say it. After you'd wiped a tear of joy from your eyes and regained your breath, you'd whirled around, right back to where you'd left off before.

A strange atmosphere settled into the shop. It grew peacefully silent, the rays of the setting sun stretched generously into the stop, accentuating gliding specs of dust in their path and lighting the room in a warm honey glow.

Hawks rolled his shoulders, wings reaching out to their maximum length in a comfortable stretch, as you bagged his things.

He'd requested a strong set of numbing-based remedies and other blends crammed with sedatives. It reminded you of the prep for some sort of illegal surgery, but you weren't one to meddle in the business of your customers.

You'd turned to hand him his bag, but were surprised when there was no sight of the man where he'd previously been.

It took a few glances around the room, you almost missed him at first, but there he was, standing before the display window, gazing distantly at the outside world under the evening glow.

Sometimes you'd catch a deep-rooted hardship in his eyes that was nearly impossible to detect. A flicker of something more, something lost long ago that he longs to have again. At times it looked like he was carrying the weight of the world in his wings and nobody knew it.

Or maybe your seclusion in your craft has run you crazy and you're just imagining it all. That's way more believable, anyway.

You'd walked up to his side, eyes trained on the lively cityscape. The city never slept, always bustling with some sort of commotion, but it was oddly calm on that evening. Nothing but nature in all its shapes and forms, like the gentle autumn breeze that shook the trees, like the songbirds softly jittering in a musical dialect only they understood, plus the ocasional car that would stroll by barely exceeding fifteen miles per hour.

Your gaze drifted back on Hawks, who has yet to notice your presence beside him.

Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that man’s mind, what challenges the relentless day brings him, and how he manages to come out smiling in the end.

[brooklynmuseum]

Conservators Ellen Nigro, Natalya Swanson, and Kate Wight Tyler discuss the use of repurposed and recycled materials in artwork and the overlap between Environmental and Art Conservation in this conversation inspired by Earth Day.

KWT: As themes like consumption and climate change are increasingly addressed by artists, we see more use of recycled, reclaimed, discarded, and degradable materials in their work. How has this evolved our role as conservators?

NS: Sustainability-themed art is challenging conservators to adapt our practices, partially because repurposed, reclaimed, and recycled materials tend to be more fragile and often require innovative solutions to preserve signs of use, and partially because it raises bigger concerns about the sustainability of our materials and practices. 

El Anatsui’s fabric-like metal tapestries made of recycled liquor-bottle caps and wrappers present interesting challenges. Every time the artwork is installed it is formed into a new shape. Variability is a defining feature of these works, but also requires a lot of handling which wears on the recycled metal tabs. Our conservation strategy includes attaching mesh onto the back of the artwork, which redistributes the weight off the metal tabs without restricting future iterations of the artwork. By using recycled materials and employing local community members to help construct the tapestries, El Anatsui not only comments on consumption and waste practices, but literalizes a foundational sustainability principle of prioritizing community well-being when making decisions. The more I work on this project, the more I wonder how conservators can embed sustainability values into our practices.

EN: The artwork cycle by Hugo McCloud is a collage made of single-use plastic bags adhered to a plywood panel. As a paintings conservator, working with the McCloud has been a different project than what I am used to, since there isn’t any paint used in the artwork. It was an opportunity to collaborate with my colleagues in objects conservation, especially Kate Wight Tyler. Although my education included lessons on plastics and plastic degradation, I haven’t thought about them in a while!  Having conversations with Kate really helped me understand the degradation that may happen in this work.

KWT: When components creating an artwork are made for different purposes or already had a use-life it can complicate the terms of preservation. How does caring for these works reiterate and/or contradict the message the artist is trying to achieve?

EN: Cycle is part of a series where McCloud depicts workers in developing countries moving large amounts of materials, often in plastic bags. These works address class, labor, resources, and how they are all intertwined on a global scale. They call attention to the prevalence of plastic in our lives and throughout trade systems.

In this work, as well as others in the series, McCloud uses new bags and plastic sheeting in these works instead of upcycling materials. By doing this, I think he reiterates and highlights the message that plastic is present in many aspects of our lives and throughout global trade. It seems that McCloud wants to make an environmentalist statement by calling attention to the pervasiveness of plastic in the world, but by using new plastic, he is actively participating in the use of single-use materials and contradicting the environmentalist message.

Caring for this work of art involves gathering information from the artist through a questionnaire or an interview to learn about how he views degradation in his work. As conservators, we are trained to decrease the chance of physical change in an object, however, this is not always the best approach for treating works by artists that value degradation or change in the work’s aesthetic over time. We are still in the process of gathering this information. For example, if Hugo McCloud prefers for his work to remain as pristine as possible, we may implement preventive conservation measures like glazing to protect the surface from light, humidity, dust, and other pollutants. However, if he values degradation of the plastic, then we may take a more passive approach to the care of this work.

NS: I’ve been thinking about the question of artist intent in regards to the El Anatsui a lot, and wonder to what extent his emphasis on intersectional environmentalism (a term used synonymously with “sustainability” that only differs in the sense that it underscores the intersectional nature of sustainability work, rather than relegating it to the environmental sector) should affect our decisions as conservators.

Unlike the McCloud piece, El Anatsui’s Black Box embodies sustainable decision making in all aspects, from sourcing recycled materials to employing locals to create the works. Because of this, I’ve been feeling conflicted about our decision to use plastic mesh in our conservation treatment. Like all decisions, the rationale behind our choice was complicated: we needed to use a flexible but strong material that won’t change the physical properties of the artwork; we also wanted to use something that has a long lifetime, so we won’t have to redo the treatment in a few years. The plastic mesh meets all these criteria, but conflicts with the message El Anatsui communicates by making these works.

When conserving conceptual art, conservators sometimes have to make compromises with physical elements to ensure they are preserving what’s important (the concept). It feels like we are grappling with a similar type of problem with sustainability-themed artworks.

KWT: Art Conservation is sometimes confused with Environmental Conservation. In what ways are they connected and how do they differ?

NS: This is a challenging question. Both heritage and environmental conservation are based on the fundamental belief in caring for valued and shared heritage. Both fields are scientifically-oriented professions that use a similar technical language - and although we both use terms like “restoration,” “preservation,” and “conservation,” we mean very different things when we use these terms! Also, both professions believe in and practice collaborative interdisciplinary work. 

Perhaps one reason why there are not more overlaps is because our guiding principles are significantly different: environmental conservationists believe in a holistic approach to community well-being achieved through balancing future and present needs; art conservation is primarily concerned with the long-term preservation of cultural property. Sustainability work has shifted away from an expert-driven decision making model, while this is still the dominant approach in heritage conservation. Over the past few years, the boundaries between our profession have gotten more blurry as heritage conservators realize that preservation of the natural environment is critical to long-term care of tangible heritage. We’re still working on how to integrate this thinking into our “best practices,” but there’s widespread agreement that we can begin by creating more space for collaborations and candid dialogue with our environmental conservation colleagues. 

EN: As I have worked on the McCloud, I’ve been struck by the difference in how conservators think about plastic degradation versus how environmentalists view it. While the two fields agree on the science of plastic degradation, what is perceived as acceptable or unacceptable is quite different. In the context of art conservation, plastic is a very delicate material and one that easily degrades through exposure to ambient light, humidity, and temperature, and something that may start to change in a relatively short period of time, affecting the function and/or aesthetic of a collection object. However, environmentalists express concern over the timeline of plastic degradation, and highlight that the plastic may not fully decompose for hundreds of years. The two fields have very different ideas about what timeline for degradation is acceptable.

Photos of El Anatsui (Ghanaian, born 1944). Black Block, 2010. Aluminum and copper wire, two pieces. Brooklyn Museum, Bequest of William K. Jacobs, Jr., by exchange, 2013.7a-b. © artist or artist's estate and Hugo McCloud (American, born 1980) cycle, 2020.

[tigerkirby215]

Building Hank before Consternation (Madness Combat build errata)

(Artwork by OctoCryptik on Newgrounds.)

My initial build for Hank, while effective at capturing all of Hank’s abilities (and a good build in its own right imo) is... quite messy, admittedly. There’s a very big shift in Hank’s abilities after his death in Madness 7 and revival in Madness 9 and while I tried to capture the pre-revival Hank as much as possible in my build there’s no way to take the Armorer subclass without immediately buying into the flavor.

Truthfully if I were to play Hank in a campaign with as much accuracy and representation as possible I’d consider Madness 7 Hank and Madness 9 Hank as two different characters (same name different build) with the revival machine essentially being a way to bring back an old character after their death and swap their build. (Hell you could even play Deimos until reviving Hank.)

I think that if you want to play a post-Madness 9 Hank then the original build I made is quite good but to play a pre-Madness 7 Hank I’d give him wildly different abilities. So here’s another build that won’t be made as detailed as my usual ones but will still give a level by level analysis of how to build Hank... again!

GOALS

I still basically want a build that can use all weapons and is really good at using them. I also still want some stealth abilities.

RACE

Still a Variant Human, with +1 in DEX and CON. Take whatever language you want and the Medicine skill to patch yourself up.

For your feat talk to your DM about getting a Repeating Hand Crossbow or otherwise being able to ignore the loading property on a Hand Crossbow. If they’re willing to give you a handgun (or let you ignore the Loading property via the Gunner feat) grab the Gunner feat for obvious reasons. However if they’re not willing to let you use a Hand Crossbow without having to reload it I’d suggest the Sharpshooter feat instead.

Why aren’t we taking Crossbow Expert? Well you won’t be able to use the Bonus Action much for reasons that will be illustrated in the build. Other than that you don’t need the ability to shoot in melee range (you’ll have weapons and your fists) which means the only ability of value you’d get from Crossbow Expert is the ability to ignore the Loading property, which isn’t worth losing a potential ASI. Better to grab Sharpshooter early and use something other than a Hand Crossbow.

ABILITY SCORES

Hello Standard Array my old friend! Since this build isn’t nearly as MAD (ironic) you can afford to go for Standard Array! But of course feel free to roll for stats if you so desire or use point buy.

15; DEXTERITY - You’re still going to be focusing on guns, and you’ll be able to use your DEX for a lot more weapons in this build.

14; WISDOM - Still used for Perception and Survival, and is far more useful for this build than the other one.

13; CONSTITUTION - It’s good to not die and you don’t need the other stats as much.

12; STRENGTH - In case you grab a Strength weapon you aren’t proficient in.

10; INTELLIGENCE - Strength felt more important than Intelligence.

8; CHARISMA - You’re still a psychopathic mass-murderer.

BACKGROUND

Same background as last time: Criminal with Intimidation, Slight of Hand, and Land Vehicle proficiency.

Apparently if you don’t have Thieves’ Tools proficiency (from Artificer lol) you get it from the Criminal background? That works really well for us too.

(Artwork by DonCroco on Newgrounds.)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - MONK 1

Starting off as a Monk so you can actually throw a punch and dodge attacks while actually unarmored. Take proficiency with Acrobatics and Stealth (why the hell do Monks get Stealth proficiency?) and Smith’s Tools, under the context that they’re gunsmith tools.

The fun thing about Monk is that simple weapons honestly cover most of Hank's weapons (club, quarterstaff, hand axe, etc) so you can use most of them with DEX thanks to Martial Arts.

LEVEL 2 - MONK 2

Second level Monks get second level Monks stuff. Told you this build would be a lot more basic than usual. Dedicated Weapon from Tasha’s will let you add more weapons to your repertoire, along with your subclass.

LEVEL 3 - MONK 3

Go Kensei because that’s the weapon Monk. Take either tool that you want (doesn’t really matter), a Battleaxe (reflavored as the stop sign Hank used to kill Tricky in Madness Combat 3), and either a Hand Crossbow (reflavored Pistol) or an actual pistol if your DM allows it.

LEVEL 4 - MONK 4

4th level Monks get an ASI: increase your DEX by 2 as that's your main stat.

LEVEL 5 - MONK 5

5th level Monks get an Extra Attack. Also Stunning Strike and stuff, but we’re here for Extra Attack. Remember that you can’t attack twice with a Hand Crossbow without Crossbow Expert, because it’s a crossbow.

LEVEL 6 - MONK 6

6th level Monks get Ki-Empowered Strikes and One with the Blade to bypass Magic Resistance mainly. Deft Strikes also lets you aim for the head.

You can also get another Kensei weapon: grab the Longbow (finally) which will be reflavored as all your rifles... unless you can actually grab a gun.

LEVEL 7 - RANGER 1

Hope you didn’t think this would be straight Monk. Grab Perception proficiency from multiclassing and Acrobatics Expertise from Deft Explorer, along with two languages. Also grab Favored Foe to aim for the head, because Favored Enemy is meh (can’t choose more than two types of humanoids which is basically all you fight) and you can actually afford to concentrate on Favored Foe... Even if the damage is bad.

LEVEL 8 - RANGER 2

Second level Rangers get their Fighting Style: yeah go for Archery because that fits the best. Dueling also works if you opt to play with gun and sword (or more realistically gun and knife.)

You also get Spellcasting: yeah take Hunter’s Mark lol Favored Foe is bad. Other than that? I dunno take Cure Wounds to bandage yourself up in a pinch?

LEVEL 9 - RANGER 3

Third level Rangers get to choose their archetype and it’s me ya boii Gloom Stalker. Same stuff as last time: be better at hiding, get darkvision, get ambushing powers, get Disguise Self as an innate spell.

Also go for Primal Awareness because Primeval Awareness is still bad and Speak with Animals is genuinely more useful. You also get another spell: take like Jump idk all I really want is Hunter’s Mark.

LEVEL 10 - RANGER 4

4th level Rangers get another Ability Score Improvement: time to cap that Dexterity!

LEVEL 11 - MONK 7

So like, every level after this is Monk lol. 7th level Monks can dodge rockets with Evasion.

LEVEL 12 - MONK 8

More ASIs: go for Wisdom now because your Dexterity is maxed out, and Wisdom boosts your skills as well as your AC.

LEVEL 13 - MONK 9

Use the improbability drive to walk on walls and water!

LEVEL 14 - MONK 10

Become immune to disease! Probably a bit late for that but still cool!

LEVEL 15 - MONK 11

You can use Sharpen the Blade to turn your weapon into a +1, +2 or +3 weapon by spending Ki now which is pretty nuts. You can also pick another Kensei Weapon like a Longsword (as seen in Madness Combat 5.)

LEVEL 16 - MONK 12

Wisdom.

LEVEL 17 - MONK 13

Lol like you’re going to be the one talking with your 8 in Charisma.

LEVEL 18 - MONK 14

Here’s the big one: enjoy proficiency in all Saving Throws!

LEVEL 19 - MONK 15

You can’t age, much like Newgrounds. Everything there is fresh to this day, just waiting to be revived.

LEVEL 20 - MONK 16

Just cap your Wisdom as your capstone.

You’re probably wondering why I didn’t take Tavern Brawler: the only improvised weapons Hank really uses are a metal pipe (Madness 4, 6, and 7) and a dude’s head once in Madness Combat 6. Truthfully I’d consider a pipe a glorified Quarterstaff and you’re not going to be ripping people’s heads off in D&D combat. Yes one could argue that the stop sign is technically an Improvised Weapon but both you and Tricky have used it so much it’s essentially become a proper martial weapon for both of you.

Ultimately improvised weapons come up so rarely in 5e combat it’s not worth taking a feat for it. We took it in the original build mainly to get Unarmed strike damage, and being able to beat a man with another man’s head was an added bonus.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

This build is far more focused than the original one, with far fewer dud levels. It lets you become a slaughterhouse fast and is honestly far more proficient with weapons than the original build. You also get 20 AC and +10 to initiative thanks to Gloomstalker, which is cool.

CONS

You don’t get god tier stats like with Artificer, but Artificer kinda cheats tbf. You also don’t have as much spellcasting, and while Hunter’s Mark will carry you far you won’t be able to use it all the time. By far the biggest problem is the limited resources of this build however: limited Ki, limited ammo for your ranged weapons (assuming you don’t get a Repeating Weapon), and notably you can only attack once with a Hand Crossbow if you choose to use one. This build would be really good with an Artificer ally to give you a Repeating Hand Crossbow, or a cool DM who lets you ignore the Loading property for the sake of aesthetic. But I mean you can also use a boomerang or darts or something tbh.

So thank you for joining me for this simultaneously detailed and simplified errata. I hope you can navigate the Monk class without me detailing everything to you!

(Artwork by Neentandoo on Newgrounds.)

[kandikorne]

What’s Left of Me [BTS AU]

Words: 3.6 K

Summary: Jungkook was a typical college student. Nothing interesting there, his only friend, Kim Seokjin, or as he calls him, Jin, is terribly ill with an unknown illness that not even the doctors can prescribe. One night Jin asks Jungkook if he wants to play a game. Only the game isn’t what Jungkook thought. But it’s just a game right? What’s the worst that could happen?

Genre: Angst, Mature Content, Horror/Thriller. 

~ ~ ~

It was nearing midnight as Jungkook had arrived back to his flat after a long drive across town just to deliver some notes and cards to Jin, who was currently running a fever with a mysterious illness. The doctors weren't even a hundred percent sure what was wrong with Jin, maybe it was a strain of pneumonia?   

Yeah that has to be it, thought Jungkook as he slid off his shoes and went straight to his computer, he logged on and started to type up his essay on emotions and how they play into day to day life, but the emotion his professor gave him was quite difficult. It was sadness.

Sure the assignment was simple and all but never really experiencing true sadness he didn't know how to start it off. Besides a cheesy quote about feeling broken and alone. 

He felt like he was about to go insane, he never felt true sadness and he was sure his professor would want it to be about something really depressing over just, ‘I lost my pet cat named Pete,’ but something more.

WIth a loud beep his phone went off alerting him of a text from Jin:

 "Kookie thank you for the study materials!" 

Jungkook smiled and was about to send him a response when Jin replied again:

 "Have you played What's Left of Me? Or heard of it?"

“Honestly no... What is it?” 

Before Jin responded Jungkook reread the name of the game and typed it in on his search bar for What’s Left of Me, all that popped up was a book. Frowning he knew this is not what his hyung meant so he went back to the search bar and tweaked his search adding Game. What popped up was Google claiming an error that Google was not responding. 

“Odd...” He muttered before he tried to open a new tab only for the new same message to reappear. “You have to be kidding me,” he groaned and continually refreshed only to keep getting the same message and that Google had crashed. 

“Why?!” He exclaimed, brows furrowing as he looked over at his phone only to see a video link from Jin. Clicking it he heard a soft female voice, practically whispering all while there was a black screen. 

“Hi... I’m not gonna introduce myself because what’s the point.... Well obviously you’re here for my game What’s Left of Me. The game’s a bit different than your average game, there’s no shooting of others but decisions and story based themes, you the Player decides what happens. Nothing is reversible so play how you feel but do it carefully. I am giving you the extent of five players to choose from and that is all. Thank you for your consideration and I hope you enjoy.” 

The video ended causing a frown to play on the young males features as he texted his hyung. 

“That gave me the chills. Her voice was so sad, yet so familiar. WHY WAS SHE WHISPERING???” 

Sent from Jin at 12:03

“I like how her video was, her voice was soft and peaceful as it captures your attention immediately. I’m ready to play it!” 

Sent from Jungkook at 12:03

“Ok... Did you download it?”

Sent from Jin

“Yea are you going to Kookie?”

Sent from Jungkook

“It won’t even let me view the game.”

Sent From Jin

“Restart your computer.” 

Why, thought the younger male but did as told, he waited for the system to reload and as it did their was a new file on his computer. WHAT’S LEFT OF ME in all caps. “How did this get here?” Scared Jungkook looked around his dark room but nothing was out of place, he even scanned his computer for a virus. Nada.

“Did it work?” Texted Jin, Jungkook could barely breathe yet alone focus on the situation at hand. How did this happen?

“Yeah the game was already on my computer somehow...” 

“Huh strange, maybe you clicked download.” Responded Jin and as he read the message he shook his head, Jin didn't seem to get it. The game just appeared. He hadn’t even had the option to download it as it never popped up when he searched it. 

“No because I couldn't even find the game when I originally searched it.” 

Sent from Jin

“Computer was probs lagging but at least you have the game now. I think I want to play Namjoon. He seems interesting. What about you?”

Sent from Jungkook

“Erm hang on let me load the game, I haven’t open it yet.”

“K.” Was all Jin said as the younger male moved his cursor over the game and clicked open. As the game was loading an eerie song was playing in the background, Hell it wasn’t even a song, more so screeching and loud crashes.  Every now and then the screen would glitch out and he’d get a brief glance at a girls face. He was only at 10% as the game completely froze except for the song which was on an endless loop and began repeating the word why over and over as the depressed girls face froze on screen before him, a single tear running down her smooth skin.

“You left us...” She whispered before the game automatically shut down and sent Jungkook staring at his home screen, eyes wide and breathing rapid. “What the literal fuck,” he cursed as the game restarted and took him back to the loading screen yet it was all different. Instead of a sad song on loop and the sad girl, the game played a soft happy tune as the background was all black and the title appeared in a bloody font. What’s Left of Me the words practically dripping down the screen as a candle flickered beneath the text casting long shadows revealing a room. 

He had to admit this game had some freaky cool artwork. He clicked the title, not really sure what else to do as there was no options for the game. His options appeared before him carved into the desk that the candle was sitting on. The game title was on the gray wall behind the candle. 

Jungkook read his options slowly and wondered if Jin saw the same things as him. 

Continue Game

New Game

Leave?

Curious as to what Continue Game would do for him, since he’s never played it before and was sure no one has played it on his computer he clicked the option. The game file loaded and he was quickly inserted into a dark bathroom, a young man with copper hair, almost golden, was crying in the middle of the room. The only sounds besides the poor males soft spoken sobs was the sound of the bath running and pouring out onto the tiled floor all around the sobbing man. The game glitched and instead of water surrounding the copper haired male it was now a dark red substance which Jungkook could only assume was blood. He was no longer crying but screaming at the top of his lungs, “WHY WHY WHY!” His dark gaze looking dead at the screen, his eyes finding Jungkook’s, it was if he was was aware of Jungkook watching him. It was like the male wasn’t in the game.

Jungkook’s throat constricted with fear. The game crashed and he was back to the main menu. He most certainly wasn't going to try to continue that again unless it was his own saved progress, but even then he still didn't want to do this. 

Why is he even considering this game? For Jin, he softly reminded himself. But why did Jin even want to play this game, it was so freaky and weird. Did Jin not get the same intro as him? Maybe Jin was smarter than him and decided not to try and continue the game, speaking of the Continue Game option that was no longer present instead it said, Can’t Continue Something You Never Started or Cared For. 

Chills ran down his spine as he took a picture and went to send it to Jin who had been blowing up his cell. Jungkook didn't even read his messages from his hyung as he instantly went to send Jin the freaky message from the game. Only the test wouldn't go through, he was shot with an error. “What the Hell?” He grumbled and tried once more only for it to not send. 

“Why’s this happening? I paid my bill!” Biting his lower lip in confusion he looked at Jin’s messages and hoped his hyung would understand his technical difficulties. 

 From Jin sent at 12:10

Jungkook you there?

Hey did you start the game?

Kookie, kookie, kookie?????

Ok spam time 

Hello

What does a janitor yell at a party?

SUPPLIES! hahaha get it? Supplies 

I’m worried you alive? 

Wait are you asleep? 

If so sorry. Send a bunny emoji if you’ve been kidnapped.

I’m gonna start the game, Namjoon is pretty cool and looks good. What about you? Who will you play as, you have five options, all of them epic.

From Jin sent at 12:12 

I get it, you hate the game and you haven’t even started.

Jungkook shook his head and chuckled, Jin is so childish and impatient, he thought to himself and sent a quick apology text. Sent, he managed to send a text! His eyes widened as he tried to send the picture only the picture wouldn’t go through. 

Why was that?

Why was it that he could send an apology to Jin but not a picture? Did he not have enough storage? Was their text history too long? 

It just didn't add up. Whatever, he thought, It doesn’t even matter. It’s just a game. 

Clicking on the New Game option he was sent to a  character page. Five characters like Jin said, but there was an outline of a missing character, two actually. He hovered his cursor over both of them but all he got for their stats was:

Name: ???

Age: ???

Height: ???

Gender: ???

Description: ???

He looked at the outline and noticed the lock in the middle of their chests, he had to unlock them. How come he didn't see that when he was first looking at them? 

Whatever, just find a character and start the game so Jin won’t be upset. With a sigh he moved his over a young male with a blonde mullet, a boxy smile on his perfectly proportioned face. 

Name: Kim Taehyung. 

Age: 23

Height: 5′10 

Gender: Male

Description: Taehyung is a happy go lucky, one of a kind guy, unlike any others that you will ever encounter in life. 

Already interested and a tad bit jealous of how happy and lucky Taehyung gets to be while he, himself, is worried for Jin’s health and stressing over stupid projects that are all nearing there due date. Shoving some his hair out of his face he moved on to the next character, the one from the Continue Game option. Curious as to see what was wrong with him and who he was he began to read the stats.

Name: Worthless

Age: Does it matter? I’m just gonna fade away...

Height: Too short just like life....

Gender: Dead

Description: You let me die, it’s your fault. Why didn't you care about me? How could you let me go through with it? WHY’D YOU LEAVE ME?

Shaking his head with a low sigh escaping his lips, he wondered who was this character and why was he so depressed? But also curious of his stats, he asked Jin. 

Sent from Jungkook at 12:13

Jin who is the copper haired male after Taehyung?

Sent from Jin at 12:13

Who Jimin? Y? 

“Jimin,” whispered Jungkook softly almost as if he was testing out the name. His name was so nice compared to his description. The characters blank stare held his gaze, honestly Jungkook felt a bit guilty for this made up character. 

Sent from Jungkook at 12:15

I couldn't see his stats 4 sum reason. :/ 

Sent from Jin at 12:15

The pausing of this game is janky... Lemme go back to the lobby. Pray that my game saves

Sent from Jungkook at 12:16

I pray it saves

Sent from Jin at 12:17

Okay Name: Park Jimin Age: 22 Height: 4′8 Gender: Male duh Description he’s a chill dude with a beautiful smile.

*Height 5′8 lol he’s not that short. That’s about it.

Sent from Jungkook at 12:17

Is this some sort of dating sim?

Sent from Jin at 12:17

No most certainly not. I don;t really know what it is, but I know it’s not a dating sim. Each character has a different story, that’s all I know. 

Sent from Jungkook at 12:18

This is some srs bull.

Sent from Jin at 12:18

Please don't use acronyms Kookie. 

Jungkook laughed and shook his head at his hyungs requests when, he too, use abbreviations such as why to y.

Sent from Jungkook at 12:18

Yes boss

Sent from Jin at 12:19

😈 Lol picked your character yet?

Sent from Jungkook at 12:19

No not yet, my game’s acting up. 

Sent from Jin at 12:19

Well hurry up so you can play!!!!!

Sent from Jungkook at 12:20

Ok gimme a minute.

Placing his phone down in his lap he moved on to the next character, a tall male with silverish purple hair with deep brown eyes that seemed to be able to read your soul and a soft dimpled smile. 

Name: Kim Namjoon

Age: 23

Height: 5′11

Gender: Male

Description: A bookworm, a really hard worker with excellent grades, who’s also a natural leader. Pretty cool guy once you meet him. 

Jungkook chuckled at the last part, “once you meet him.” Like he’s gonna meet Kim Namjoon in person, he’s just a character in a video game, closest thing he’d get to meeting Namjoon is playing as him. Which he won’t because this is Jin’s character. 

The next character’s picture was sweaty, his tongue out, black hair in his eyes, as a black hat rested on his head. 

Name: Jung Hoseok

Age: 24 

Height: 5′10

Gender: Male

Description: Hoseok, Hobi, is an all around ray of sunshine, with constant happy vibes. Always there for you when you need it, remember?

He frowned, why is it like the game is talking to him directly, “Fine if I play as Hoseok or Hobi, whatever his name is I’ll remember that he’s a ray of sunshine to help others.” He grumbled but a small smile played on his features as a warm aura seemed to enclose around him. 

Moving away from the friendly happier male he moved onto the one dressed in all black, a mask covering his mouth and nose as his dark brown eyes stared at him judgingly. He was more ominous looking than scary.

Name: Min Yoongi

Age: 25

Height: 5′9 

Gender: Male 

Description: Always quiet but observant, known to stand up for those in need, tired but always working. 

Nodding his head, understanding each character he finally decided that he’s play as Taehyung. He would’ve played as Jimin if he was able to, but the game simply would not help let him. 

Starting up as Taehyung he was given the option:

Play as Kim Taehyung?

Yes?     No?

“Obviously,” he said with a chuckle as he selected, yes, the game loaded with ease, compared to when he first started the game. A small transition of a butterfly landing onto a window sill was played in the background, then he heard the sounds of a camera snapping a photo. 

“Babe,” came a male voice in the background, the loading symbol stopped as the clip began to play. The light filtered into the room showing a few dust particles floating around as the butterfly stayed on the sill slowly moving it’s beautiful blue and black wings. 

“In here,” came the females voice, the door opened and the floor groaned with the males footsteps. “Are you coming, we’re about to leave?”

“Sorry was taking a picture.”

“You’re obsessed with that thing.”

“Photos keep memories.”

“Yeah but can also steal a part of your soul.” Spoke the deep voiced male jokingly as the girl laughed. What a sound to be heard, it was like music, so carefree and soft. Jungkook wished he could listen to her laugh all day, she seemed so happy, unlike any other girl he’s ever met and tried to talk to.

“Well this camera can’t have my soul,” she stated promptly. The camera angles changed revealing a small girl, her hair covering her face, until the man, who Jungkook recognized as his player Kim Taehyung, moved his hand to her face brushing her short dark brown hair away from her eyes. “You look so much better showing your face.” She shook her head, the hair falling back into her brown eyes as her dimpled grin moved to crinkle her eyes. 

“Whatever oppa,” she teased softly punching his arm. “I’m serious,” he muttered pulling her closer to him, her hands rested upon his chest and the camera still in her left hand. The butterfly flew past the camera showing the two lovers. 

The room changed, it was no longer the happy loving environment that Jungkook was originally thrusted into. Instead his character was sitting on his bed, his head in his hands, shoulders shaking with sobs. Every now and then he would repeat a name, it was obviously the girl that he was with name.

“Elli,” he whimpered, even his dog was sniffling and whimpering. His puppy rested his head on Taehyung’s thigh. Both of them were honestly too sad to watch causing Jungkook to push away from his desk and move to his bed. 

“What the fuck is this game? It said Taehyung was a happy go lucky guy, what the fuck happened to that?” Raking his fingers through his hair he took a deep breath and texted Jin:

I can’t play, I have class tomorrow 8 am. 

He lied flatly and went to send only it wouldn’t. “Again with this bullshit?” He questioned aloud pissed, throwing his phone across the room and onto his bed. “Fuck this,” he grumbled as he moved to his couch, falling heavily onto the cushions and looking up at his ceiling in annoyance. 

Through the corner of his eye he noticed the television had turned on. Must’ve sat on the remote, he thought to himself as he sat up and looked under the cushions only to find nothing but a quarter, three pennies, a dime, and a moldy cheeto. Scrunching his nose up in disgust and grabbing the 38 cents that he had found he placed the cushions back in their place. 

He turned on his lamp and continued his search only for the lamps light bulb to explode, shards of glasses flying through the paper lamp shade and nearly cutting him. Startled by the destruction he looked all around the room, his eyes landing on the Tv and to the message displayed through the static. 

juSt go bAck to the VidEo gaME ! 

The message was pretty clear of what it wanted him to do. The younger male didn’t understand why only a few letters were capitalized, and not even in a specific order or why there was two words underlined. Looking back and reading the all capitalized letters he wrote them down:

S - A - V - E    M - E 

A shiver ran down his spine at the startling code, maybe it was unintentional but something in his gut told him, it was there for a reason. He did the same with the two underlined words: 

SAVE THE GAME 

Is what the message came down to. Who was he even supposed to be saving? And why was his television telling him to save the stupid game? It didn't make sense, all of this was just making him frustrated. He shook his head and unplugged the television having enough of this shit. 

“I’m done!” He exclaimed as he moved onto his bedroom, all the lights in the house began to flicker on and off. “Oh great my life now is becoming Paranormal Activity, fun.”

With a groan he went back down the hall and to his computer, the screen glowing at him. “Now how do I even save?” He grumbled trying to find a way to save the game without losing what little progress, technically none, that he’s made so far. 

With a roll of his tired eyes, he pulled up the options and found nothing useful on saving the game. “How the fuck? What is this even? This game,” he groaned out annoyed, ready to just log off his computer and restart Taehyung’s intro scene. Exiting the options he was brought face to face to Taehyung's sad, blood-tear stained cheeks, thanks to the new camera angle. What made it even more creepy was the twisted boxy smile on the male’s face as he stared right into the camera. 

Jumping back startled, and nearly falling out of the chair, Jungkook released a slight yelp as the character began to speak to him, almost directly. 

“Aren’t you gonna save me? Or are you, too, just gonna abandon me like all the others?” 

Two options appeared before him in a dark red, dripping font:

Save ME 

OR

Abandon ME

Hesitant of what the two options meant he hovered his cursor trying to decipher what he should do, when he realized that this was the way of saving, or so he hoped. 

[tuffduff]

My Path to You (Slash x Reader)

Pairing: modern!Slash x younger!Reader

Words: 2,300 (OOPS)

Request: anon! : “hi there! i was hoping you could write a modern!Slash imagine where there’s a considerable age gap (whatever you’re comfortable with) and the two of them meet and fall for each other. eventually slash wants to ask the reader out on a date but is super shy and nervous but she says yes and then they go on a date and it can end however you want it to.”

A/N: MY FIRST SLASH REQUEST Y’ALL!! And I do be nervous writing it lmao. This is entirely from Slash’s POV, I’m not sure if people like that kind of thing but it’s a different way to explore writing. There’s a little coffee shop in my area that has a picture of Slash on the wall, so that was inspiration too. Hope y’all enjoy, thank you for the request! 🖤

What now? It was a question Slash asked himself nearly every day, now that he was newly single. That was a new feeling, one he wasn’t expecting now at this stage in his life; wasn’t he supposed to be married and settled and happy and all that shit by this point in his life? He brushed off the notion, after-all who gave a fuck. He wasn’t a conventional guy. Life is as it happens. But he’d be lying if he didn’t say the idea of getting back out there again intimidated him.

Slash kept to himself in his own world, for the most part. Creating, always with guitar in hand. Especially now being sober, putting himself out there wasn’t exactly appealing. He couldn’t use a dating app, he wasn’t gonna go to a bar or a club, and all of his friends were taken. Where would he possibly meet someone? Dating someone famous wasn’t really what he was looking for, he never fit in with that scene. He wasn’t opposed to dating a fan, but could he ever find someone who wanted him for him?

“Don’t worry, man.” Duff had reassured him. “If it happens, you know, it’ll happen. But not if you’re looking for it. You’ll find her when you least expect it. Just live your life.”

That was smart and Duff was usually right. So, Slash continued to focus on his craft. And he tried to change his outlook, very literally. One night, he wore a baseball cap pulled low and his hair tied back and tucked away in his jacket and hoped it was enough not to get swarmed as he headed out to an art walk in the more historical art district near downtown.

If anyone recognized him, they let him be as he walked down the cobblestone sidewalk, taking in all the creations. The more art and sculptures he admired, the more he stopped worrying about getting recognized.

He was admiring two pieces of wood burned art, a set featuring an artistic interpretation of a woman’s silhouette body.

“These are really sweet.” Slash complimented the artist, who gave a gracious nod.

“Thanks, man. Those pieces have had a lot of eyes on them tonight, thankfully.”

“How much for ‘em?” Slash asked.

“$65 each.” The artist replied, almost sounding sheepish. “...Maybe that’s why they haven’t sold yet.”

“I bet they took a lot of time.” Slash assured him. He pulled out his wallet, fishing out two hundred-dollar bills. “Don’t let people make you second-guess your work.” He passed him the bills, to which the man’s eyes widened.

“Uh, I’m-I’m not sure if I have the enough change.” He said, hastily digging through his small stack of cash from prior purchases.

“It’s cool.” Slash said, smiling and extending his hand. “Thanks again, man.” They shook hands before Slash picked up the two pieces of wood, already trying to picture the perfect spot in his house.

“Okay, I’m back! I’ve got it!” Slash heard someone breathlessly calling behind him. It was a younger woman clasping a wad of cash in her hands as she ran up to the man Slash had just left. “Dipped into my savings but...”

The wood carver gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, they just sold.” Slash watched literal heartbreak wash over her eyes before they flickered right over to him. The dismay in her gaze, the way her shoulders slumped and deflated nearly made his own heart break.

“Oh...damn.” She muttered, tucking the cash back in her pocket. “I really liked them. Oh well. Thanks, anyways.” She said politely. She sent one last glance towards the pieces of art in his arms before she turned on her heel and walked away, head down.

“Hey!” Suddenly, Slash found himself hurrying after her. She stopped in her tracks and turned, her eyes now displaying curiosity.

Uh, what now? He asked himself in his head once he found himself face to face. Up close, she was even more striking, he realized. Beautiful, he’d never seen a face like hers. So expressive, so vivid, so alive with emotions. Her hair framed her face perfectly, her clothes complimented her body well and seemed to be a representation of the woman she was. And he liked everything about what he could see.

“Uh,” he chuckled nervously, looking down. “I, uh, I overheard you had your eye on these.” He said, raising the pieces of art.

“Yeah. I come here to this event every month. I’ve seen those two every time and I’ve been trying to save up. This month I would’ve had enough, but bills—you know.” She rolled her eyes and sighed a little. “Anyway, I saw them tonight and I just couldn’t bear to wait another month or risk them finally being sold, so I ran back to the ATM down the street and pulled out of my savings, not that I really had a lot in there to begin with...” she paused as though she had said too much, shaking her head, flustered. “Sorry. Uh, but I mean, I’m happy for you. Just, take care of them for me.” She chuckled, but her eyes were still stuck on the art.

“I’ll do a trade with you.” Slash proposed. His nerves were playing tricks on him, making him more outgoing than he normally was and then wanting to take it back as soon as he spoke.

“Um, what kinda trade?” She asked curiously. Her nose scrunched a little as she frowned in confusion and he smiled. She was precious. Slash found himself wondering every little detail about her, about the path she had walked in her life so far, and how somehow theirs had crossed.

“I’ll let you have these if you’ll get coffee with me.” Coffee dates, that’s what people did nowadays, right? She blinked a few times at his words and had him wondering.

“That doesn’t seem fair; you paid for those. I’ll pay you for them.”

“No, no. I really don’t need the money.” Slash replied, laughing a little. “How about you keep one and I keep one?”

“...Why?”

“I can tell you really like them.” He said. She bit her lip as she seemed to consider his offer, hesitating.

“And why coffee?”

“I think you’re the prettiest art I’ve seen all afternoon.” Again, her face expressed vivid emotion that most people tried to hide. He watched her lips form a laugh and appreciated the sound.

“I don’t even know your name.” She laughed. He panicked a little in his head. Guess he wasn’t gonna get everything right; it had been a while.

“I guess you can call me Saul.”

“You guess?”

“My friends call me something else.” He mused. A part of him was curious to know if she knew him; lots of people recognized him, not that he was conceited or kept track. Was she a fan? Did she hate his kind of music? Surely, she’d heard of Guns N’ Roses. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.” Slash smiled; it was like finding the right spot on a puzzle. It fit perfectly and helped him see even more of the picture. “Y/N, I can tell you really like them. I wouldn’t feel right keeping both; I just stumbled upon them.”

“All the more reason you keep them. They spoke to you, like they spoke to me.” There it was. Her voice, her words, it sent a slight wave through his stomach. That warm, fluttery feeling. He extended out one of the pieces to her insistently.

“All the more reason you keep one too.” She smiled as she took the wood carving.

“Thank you so much.”

“So, would you maybe wanna...?” Again, a part of him panicked. “You don’t have to, you know. You can take your half and be on your way if you’re not interested.”

“No, I’d love to! There’s this little local coffee shop I go to all the time—they display local artists’ work and have live musicians Friday nights and stuff. Do you want my number?”

“Uh, yeah. That’d be cool.” He fumbled with his phone, surprised he had gotten so far. That evening he went home with more than just a piece of artwork and a new perspective. He dialed Duff immediately.

“Hello?”

“I’ve got a date, but I need help.” Duff laughed.

“Are you on that date right now?”

“What? No.”

“Oh okay—it sounded urgent.”

“Well, I’m still freaking out a little.”

“Why?”

“She’s a little younger. But she’s so fucking beautiful, dude. She’s just, I don’t know that much about her, but I want to, you know? From just what little I could see.” Slash sighed a little before he walked Duff through the whole story.

“Did she not recognize you?”

“I don’t think so. But I was wearing a hat and glasses and my hair was tied up.”

“It’s gonna be fine, man. Don’t forget who you are, and that’s one badass talented motherfucker. But also, if nothing else, you can take something from this experience and just gain a new perspective. See the world from someone’s eyes. Don’t overthink any of it. If you guys click, you click.”

Slash realized Duff was right. That’s why he appreciated art. Music, especially. There was so much to be said in something someone created, a story they were trying to tell. Listening was something he did best.

He met Y/N at the local coffee shop, not far from where they had first met. The large pot holders outside were adorned with colored mosaic and he stopped to admire them for a moment.

“Hi, Saul.” He turned at the sound of a familiar voice. Y/N was walking up, a bright smile on her face. It was as if his memory were confirmed; yes, she was as beautiful as he remembered the first time.

“Hey, Y/N. This place looks neat.”

“Wait ‘til you try the cold brew. Do you like that?”

“I like those things you get at Starbucks, the caramel things, you know?”

“Caramel macchiatos?” Y/N asked with a laugh. “They have something like that. I’ll order it for you.”

“Okay.” He agreed instantly, smiling at her. “I trust you.” He paid again even though she argued, remembering what she had told him about bills. As they sat down together with their drinks, they broke into what he supposed was small talk, however, it didn’t feel like it. In the meanwhile, Slash couldn’t help but notice the pictures adorning the exposed brick wall behind them. A framed photo of ABBA, The Rolling Stones, Aretha Franklin…and, one of himself, on stage. He laughed a little.

“What’s so funny?” Y/N asked as she sipped her drink. He smirked a little, deciding maybe he should come clean.

“I was just looking at the pictures on the wall,” he replied nonchalantly. “Out of all of these people, who do you think is the coolest?”

Y/N turned in her chair, her eyes passing over the pictures.

“The Rolling Stones are cool...Slash is pretty awesome. Probably one of those two.” He smiled when she turned back around. “What?”

“You think I’m pretty awesome?” He asked as he pulled his shades down. Y/N’s eyes widened and she clasped her hand over her mouth.

“I—you! Are you—” he laughed. “So that’s what your friends call you! Oh my god. I didn’t recognize you with your hair pulled back and the glasses are different, and I didn’t know you had the scruff nowadays—it looks good.” She stopped. “I listen to you all the time, this is so...strange.”

“Is it bad?” Slash asked.

“No!” She laughed again. “But...me?” Slash shrugged, smiling as he nudged her shoe with the tip of his converse.

“You seemed pretty chill.”

“Thanks. Most of the time I’m not.” She grinned.

“Neither am I.” She didn’t try to argue or continue to fawn. She didn’t stare at him like he was a Martian. There was reverence in her eyes, surprise, but more so, curiosity.

“What makes you say that?”

“I dunno. It’s kinda like, social media. People only put a small portion of themselves out there, what they want people to see usually. But when everybody knows who you are, they still only know one part of you. And they think they know everything. But here I am...getting a divorce. I’m a dad. I’m just trying to figure shit out like everyone else. Experience life.” He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He laid all of it out on the table, after-all, he couldn’t hide any of those facts if he were looking for an honest partner.

“When it comes down to it, that’s what matters, right?” She mused with him. “Experiences. Not getting it right. Who decides what’s right anyways? I’d rather say I really lived.” It was those words that really stuck with him. It had him thinking, it had him yearning, it had him daydreaming.

It had him asking to see her again.

Slash called Duff before he even made it home.

“Hey, man, how’d it go? How’d she take it when you told her?”

“Good, she really is just the most chill chick ever. She knew who I was, she just didn’t recognize me. But she’s so cool, she’s got all these thoughts, all these opinions that really get me thinking, you know? I can’t wait to pick up my guitar, man, like, I’m that inspired right now.” Duff laughed.

“So, are you gonna see her again?”

“Yeah. That’s the other thing.” Slash paused. “I invited her over for dinner next week.”

“Oh. Right on; good for you, man!”

“But I don’t know how to cook.” Duff was silent for a moment before he laughed.

“Okay...well. I can help.”

[wyofabdoms]

Undercover I Do - Chapter6

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: Mature (Eventual smut)

Warnings: fake/pretend relationship, married and undercover trope, temporary amnesia, injury, swearing, domestic Javi, feelings, I have no idea how amnesia really works, brief mention of masturbation

Word Count: 5220 (Whoopsie!)

Notes: Home from the hospital, you settle into your home with Javi and continue trying to remember...

Read on Ao3

You come home from the hospital on a Friday midmorning and spend much of the day resting in bed...it seems like the simple task of walking up your apartment steps takes so much out of you.  When you enter the apartment, Javi greets you carefully, timidly, giving you a gentle and almost awkward hug around the shoulders and watches you carefully as you gaze around.  When you catch him looking at you, he inquires if you’re hungry.  You admit that you are and he goes to work reheating the food he had had the insight to order.  He gets you situated at the table with a glass of water and your food and joins you soon after.  As the two of you eat, you notice a small bouquet of flowers in the middle of the kitchen table and when you ask your husband about them, he dips his head and grunts something about being from some of the guys at work.  

You chat idly during lunch and spend some time looking at the pictures on the refrigerator door and tracing your fingers along the spines of the books on the bookshelf in contemplation while Javi cleans up after.  You pick up the wedding photo of the two of you from a bookshelf and trace a finger along the sliver of distance separating the two of you in the picture, casting your thoughts into the empty depths of your recent memory, trying to remember this moment, this day.  You sense him behind you and replace the frame quickly where it was before turning and mentioning to Javier that you're a little worn out; he immediately encourages you to lie down and rest, ushering you towards the bedroom before leaving you alone for privacy to change.

Opening your closet door, you quickly find a pair of sweatpants.  As you search for a shirt, your eyes slip from the side of the closet that is obviously yours and over to your husband’s side.  You notice a lovely purple colored button-up on the edge of the rack and reach for it without thinking, pulling it over your head, breathing deeply as it passes over your face.  You plan to take it off, but your eyes can’t seem to open once the worn-soft material is settled on your skin.  Even though it’s silly and it's just a shirt, something about knowing that it’s one of your husband’s seems to cocoon you with comfort and peace.  Which, you know, is crazy: this man...your husband...this level of intimacy with your former partner at this moment could make him practically a stranger.  But this feels...right.  You reach for another shirt, then another, then one of yours...you pull a dress off a hanger, then a suit jacket from Javier’s side.  You bury your face in each item, hoping that something will knock loose.  That something will blow the fog from your mind.  

You’re not sure how much time has passed when you hear him tap on the bedroom door and you shake yourself from where you’ve settled on the closet floor.  You call to him quietly, your voice ringing loudly in the small space that surrounds you and a few moments later you hear his concerned voice as he realizes where you are, his voice rising an octave as he says your name. 

“Hey!  What happened?  Are you ok?”  You can hear the concern in his voice as he rushes to you, traipsing over the pieces of clothing surrounding you and dropping to his knees next to you, filling the small walk-in closet with his presence, making it seem even smaller with the two of you crouched on the floor.  He cups your face in his hands carefully, turning you up to look at him, searching your eyes for any sign of pain.  You take in a pull of air at the sudden intimacy of the touch and his closeness.  His scent washes over you: Old Spice and cigarette smoke and something that is distinctly manly, distinctly Javi.  You carefully touch his wrist with one hand, trying to reassure him.

“I’m fine,” you say, huffing out a small laugh and gently pulling your face away from his hands.  He doesn’t believe you.  “No, really, I’m ok.  I just…” you gesture around at the clothes and shoes and belts and ties hanging in the closet, one side carefully arranged by color, the other looking as though it had been haphazardly shoved onto the rack in five minutes without much thought.  You duck your head, feeling slightly stupid. “...I was...smelling.”  You can barely get the last word out.  Javi looks at you confused for a few moments.  You glance up at him just as you see understanding cross his face as he surveys the clothing you’re clutching in your hands and covering your lap, next to you on the floor.  

“You were trying to remember…?”  You nod miserably, trying to avoid his gaze.  He puts two fingers under your chin and carefully lifts your face to look at him.  His eyes are kind, sympathetic, curious.  “Any luck?”  You shake your head, sadly.

“No, not...not really.  Not much more than I’ve already remembered.”  You suddenly feel even more tired than when you had first arrived, not just physically but as though your brain is ten times too large for your head and filled with slippery sand.  You feel your body sag against his hand and he reaches his arm around your shoulder, supporting you.  He takes the salmon colored button-up of his that you’re holding clutched to your chest and tosses it into the pile of other clothes, then carefully helps you to your feet.  He gently steers you to the bed, arranging you there before tenderly pulling a soft blanket up over you, flicking on the small lamp next to the bed.  He moves to close the curtains, darkening the space and his shadow whispers from across the room that he’ll be right back.  You feel yourself getting sleepy as you relax into the pillows, Javi’s touch and scent a comforting echo.

As promised he returns a few minutes later and places several items on the nightstand: a glass of water, some magazines, a book with a bookmark in it, the cordless phone, a piece of paper, and a handgun...your firearm, you realize.

He arranges them in order of least to greatest importance it seems: the phone, paper and water closest to you.  He sits next to you on the bed as you settle yourself more deeply into the pillow, suddenly finding it nearly impossible to keep your eyes open.  Half of his face is hidden in the shadow cast from the soft lamp light; the image he cuts is reminiscent of the space he takes up in your memory: mysterious, half hidden in darkness...but comforting and caring.

“I need to go in to work for a few hours.” His voice is low and gentle and washes over you like a lullaby.  He brushes your hair out of your face, his sudden touch causing your droopy eyes to open wide again suddenly.  He removes his hand quickly, as though your gaze on him burns him.  He swallows hard and nods towards the night stands.  “The office number and my pager number are written down, so if you need anything at all, you call me...ok?”  You nod sleepily and he stands, tucking you under the blanket more carefully, checking if you need anything else.  When you shake your head, he nods and you see him hesitate for several long moments, hovering over you, seemingly partaking in some great inner struggle.  Then he carefully leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.  He pulls away and whispers into your hair.  “I’ll be back soon.  You rest, cariño.”   Then he reaches over and snaps off the lamp…

...and then, just like your memories of him, your husband is gone in the dark.

+

+

+

+

You’re not sure how much time passes, but when you wake up, the apartment is still empty and the shadows have drifted from one side of the room to the other.  Feeling refreshed, you move carefully around the apartment, investigating the little things that make up a person’s home.  Your grumbling stomach directs you back into the kitchen and you rummage through cabinets after finding nothing much edible in the refrigerator.  Finding a package of pasta and an unopened jar of sauce you start water to boiling and as you wait, you’re drawn back to the refrigerator as you pour yourself another glass of water.  You remove the photo of Javier in a graduation cap and gown with...his father?  It must be.  You smile as you study the slightly blurry photo featuring a younger version of Javi and seek out resemblance between your husband's face and that of the older man in the photo.  You see similarity in his father’s eyes, perhaps, along with an extreme amount of pride.  You wonder if you’ve met him?  Was he at your wedding?  

Thoughts of your wedding cause you to go wandering again back into the living room and back to the wedding photo on the bookshelf.  You pick it up and carry it around the room with you as you continue your investigation.  You recognize some of the pictures and artwork hanging on the wall: that painting was from a brief stint you did in Cuba.  That ceremonial mask you found at a floating market in Cambodia.  And that pencil drawing you had picked up at a Saturday flea market while visiting a colleague in Atlanta.  You remember what a headache it had been shipping your belongings here two years ago...how customs had had such a field day keeping your stuff detained and how you had lived in this stark apartment for three weeks before Dixon and the Embassy had stepped in and your things had finally been delivered.  

By that time, you remember, you had already made two lab busts, witnessed a fairly violent interrogation, been shot at twice and had raced through the streets of Bogota after a group of sicarios.  You had also already fended off multiple advances from her handsome partner, Javier Peña, which had culminated when he had slid his hand up her inner thigh, resulting in your socking him across the chin and knocking him off his stool in the crowded work bar.  You grinned at that memory, then your grin faded as a new image took its place:  it was blurry, muted, like listening to a cassette tape that was playing at a ten times slower speed, warped and in slow motion...only playing out in images.  You remembered a man’s hand sliding up your inner thigh, brushing against you.  You couldn’t see the man’s face, couldn't tell anything else about him other than he was hovering above you.  Was it your husband?  You didn’t think so.  Javi might feel like a stranger to you right now, but you knew in your very core that he was safe, that he was good...kind.  But you felt cold at the memory of this man.

Then just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, and you were just left holding the picture frame, standing in front of your record player.

***

Javi heard the music halfway down the building staircase.  He thinks about knocking, but he doubts she’d be able to hear him over the music.  He juggled the grocery bags in his arms, fishing her apartment key out of his jacket pocket and struggling to get the door open.  When he does finally manage, the sounds of Three Dog Night covering “Your Song” nearly bowls him over.  He deposits the groceries on the kitchen table, startled to find a pot of nearly empty water steaming and popping, having boiled over on the stove.  He clicks off the heat, removes the scorched pot, then steps into the living room to find his partner sitting on the floor in front of the record player, sleeves and vinyl records strewn around her, her back against the living room couch.  The “wedding” photo has been moved and is sitting on the coffee table at eye level.  She stares at the photo of the two of you, her brow furrowed in concentration.  He can see frustration behind her eyes, too, and he notices that her eyes are puffy and red.  She’s clearly been crying.

He moves to the player and turns the volume down.  She barely registers his presence until he sits next to her on the couch.  The movement on the cushions behind her startles her and she jumps, jerking away from him.

“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa…” Javi leans away, his hands raised. “It’s just me.”  Recognition crosses her face and she settles back into her previous position, sighing heavily.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”  

“No.  I’m sorry.  I was...I wasn’t paying attention.”  She looks back at the photograph in front of her.  Javi looks at it, too, then back at her, studying her face.  She turns to him, and he sees her eyes sparkling with tears building up there, filled with questions.  Javi juts his chin towards the blaring player.

“I never have understood why you like these guys so much.”  He smiles at her, hoping to distract her.  She returns his smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, still reflecting the sadness he sees in there.  She gestures to the scattered records on the floor.

“I was trying to remember again.  I thought...I thought maybe a song might help me remember something.  I got to looking at our wedding picture and thought maybe I could remember a song we danced to or something.  I…” her brows lowered over her eyes and she seemed to be studying something in the distance that only she could see.  “I keep remembering…”  Javi looks at her eagerly but he doesn’t rush her.  “You and me...at least, I think it's you and me...dancing somewhere.  It’s like watching a silent movie with all of the faces blacked out, like witness protection, and everything in the background is blurry, like it’s out of focus.  But I’m…” her voice trails off again and she looks up into his face curiously.  “I’m almost sure it’s you.  We’re at some kind of...celebration I think, like maybe a club or something?  I thought maybe…”  Another hesitation.  “I thought maybe it was our wedding.  Maybe some music added with what I can remember might clear the other stuff up, but…”  She shakes her head.  “Nothing seems to be working.”  Back to him again. “Do we go dancing a lot or something?  Did we have a song? Like a song we danced to a lot, like at our wedding?”

Javi gulps, not quite sure how to answer all of her questions.  He thinks for a moment.

“We, uh….no, we don’t really...we don’t really go out dancing or anything like that.  Work keeps us pretty busy.”  That’s all true, he thinks to himself.  No lies. He’s more careful with the next of her questions.  “We didn’t...that…” he gestures at the photo, avoiding using the term “our wedding”.  “...Was pretty informal.  There wasn’t a reception or anything.  It was small.  We didn’t have dancing or anything like that.”  She nods in understanding.  “And we don’t…” he shakes his head.  “No song or anything…” he chuckles a little.  “I’m more of a rock, country kind of  guy, we never really seem to agree on taste in music.”  Also true, he thinks, recalling the multiple arguments they’ve had over the radio station on stakeouts and when driving to locations throughout the city.  She smiles distractedly, mumbling something about how it must be an older memory with someone else, then.  She  seems to think of something.

“I saw the picture on the fridge of you and your dad.  Have I met him?  When we got married or anything like that?  I can’t remember him.”  Javi shakes his head, again thinking for a moment before answering.

“No, you’ve never met.  He doesn’t really travel much, he’s got the ranch back home to worry about.  He hasn’t had a chance to make it down.”

“So we got married here?  In Columbia?”  Javi felt his throat stick...this was dangerous territory; surely she would want to know about her own family, whether they had come down for the “nuptials”.

He and Dixon (along with her doctor) had spent the afternoon on the phone with her parents and family in America, filling them in on the situation.  Over the course of their conversations, they had all agreed that, should she reach out to any of them, they would also play along with the “married to Javier” ruse for as long as it seemed to be appropriate.  Javi had heard the uncertainty in their voices when they had inquired as to just how carefully Javier would be “looking after” her.  He had done his best to assure them that he would respect their daughter and sister, that he would do everything he could to abide by their relationship boundaries prior to her memory loss.  And, he had reiterated what the doctor had said from the beginning; he had promised them that he would not lie to her.  Realistically, though, everyone had walked away from the conversation understanding that he may very well have to bend some boundaries in this situation.  By the end of the conversation, the family had given him their blessing and had made him promise to stay in regular contact with them.  He had been exhausted when he had left work, feeling the weight of his partner’s recovery on his shoulders.  

But he wouldn’t have it any other way; she was his partner.  He would have her back no matter what.

“It was...sort of spur of the moment, happened pretty fast.”  Before she could ask any more questions he sat up straight and smacked his palms on his legs.  “Hey, are you hungry?  I haven't eaten all day and I got some stuff-”

“Oh God!  I started some water boiling and…” she jumped from her spot on the floor.  Javi stood at the same time.  

“Yeah...we’re probably gonna need a new pot.”  She looked at him sheepishly, mumbling an apology.  He gives her a teasing grin and for a moment it felt like before: giving her a good natured hard time and her ready to fire back at him, both of them comfortable with the ribbing back and forth.  

But then she crossed her arms in front of her chest and he felt the barrier of unfamiliarity rise between them again. 

+

+

+

+ 

They fall into a familiar ease as they go about preparing dinner.  Javi is reassured by how easily she becomes comfortable with him.  The moments when she had jerked away from him when he was near her had him a little worried, but there are none of that now, as they move around each other, next to each other.  

“Why don’t you let me deal with the sauce,” she says over the soft sounds of music coming from the radio in the window.  She puts a gentle hand on his bicep and pushes just slightly to move him away.  “You always oversalt things anyway.”  Javi chuckled and shifted over to the pork chops in the pan...it took him a moment to register what she had just said.

“Hey!”  He stopped what he was doing and looked at her.  “You remember that?”  She seems startled by the fact that, yes, in fact, she did remember that.  She looked at him, a dazed smile on her face.  

“I guess...yeah, I do remember saying that to you before.”  

“Yeah,” he grins, nodding at her encouragingly.  “You never let me cook anything...you claim I put too much salt on stuff because-”  She cuts him off and finishes the thought as it comes to her.

“-You’ve scorched all your tastebuds from smoking like a chimney!”  Her eyes light up in delight when he chuckles, affirming that that’s exactly what she always says.  She laughs carefully, following the memory, seeing if it might lead her to anything else.  

Javi recalls other nights like this one when, either in his apartment or hers, when they have worked together to make a meal, moving in unison just like they did tonight, just like they do at work.  He had never allowed himself to venture any further past the thought of: we make a good team.  More than once, Javier had found himself lightheaded and felt his heart tug as he gazed at his partner through a cloud of smoke from his cigarette, watching her laugh across the table at something he had said, appreciating the way she would curl herself into a ball with her feet tucked beneath her on the couch as they watch some terrible movie, admiring the curve of her neck or the rounding of her hips and backside as she stood at the sink to do dishes.

He glanced at her now, his gaze taking in that same curve of a neck, drifting upwards to her face, studying the shape of her nose, the flush of pink across her cheeks from the stove heat and the memory.  He marveled at how long her eyelashes were and was hypnotized everytime she blinked and they brushed against her face.  A wisp of hair fell out of her ponytail and across her forehead; she tried to blow it out of the way without stopping what she was doing.  Not thinking, he reached out and brushed the strand away from her skin, his fingertips ghosting across her face.  She started only a little, nothing like the other times he had touched her.  He pulled his hand back quickly, realizing he had been lulled by the domesticity of the moment, allowed himself to lapse into an intimacy that he did not actually have with his partner…

...when she turned her face to his, he was startled by what he saw in her eyes.  A curiosity flitted across her face, but in her eyes he very clearly saw want, saw desire.  She tilted her head upwards towards him a little bit more and he felt her body, already close to his, almost imperceptibly shift and lean into him ever more so slightly.  It was an invitation, a go ahead.  His eyes drifted down to her mouth and he felt himself stir when her lips parted and he saw the tip of her tongue streak across from one corner to another, wetting the skin.  His heart started pounding.  Luckily, the buzzing of a timer saved him from having to analyze what to do next.  He had never removed something from the oven so fast in his life!  The charged moment was blessedly broken and as they put the final touches on their meal, he was careful to keep his distance.  

They enjoyed their food, their conversation mostly about older memories from when they first worked together, which didn’t require him to be quiet as cautious with his words.  They were memories she already had, things she knew.  As they finished, she started clearing plates while Javi ran water in the sink.  As though by wrot, he rolled up his shirt sleeves and started washing while she started drying and (he noted) putting dishes away confidently, as though she remembered where every plate and utensil belonged.  As he was finishing the last tray, a familiar song filtered through the radio speakers.  His head came up and he started.

“Oh!  That was us!”  He said excitedly.  When she just looked at him in confusion he dried his hands on the towel and spoke quickly.  “The memory you were talking about earlier, of us dancing.  It was us.”  He nodded towards the radio as a sultry dance tune played.  “A few weeks ago, we were….ahhh...we were at a birthday party.  It was in a club like you said and...yeah, this song was playing.  And you and I danced to it.”  

He felt his cheeks color as he recalled exactly how they had danced after a few tequila shots with Ortiz and their guise as a couple in full swing.  He had never wanted anyone as badly as he had wanted her that night, one hand gripping her wiggling hips, pressing her ass back against him, the other tracing up her outer thigh, pulling the hem of her already deliciously short skirt higher so he could access the soft skin there.  She had pressed herself back into his chest, had lifted her arms above her head and behind his neck, one hand gripping in his hair, the other gently caressing the side of his face, stroking his ear, pulling his lips down to that spot on her exposed neck…

He gulped as he refocused his concentration on looking for more dishes to wash.  “I...forgot about it.  But you were right.  That was us.”  He released the plug in the soapy water and looked at her.  “That was a recent one!  A recent memory.  From during the…”  he caught himself before he said “undercover op.”  “...During the time you haven't been able to remember.”  Her face lit up, then fell again almost instantly.  

“It’s so random, though.  And it's taken so long just to remember that one thing…and not very well, it seems.”  

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”  When she still looked frustrated he gently touched her shoulder.  “Be patient with yourself, ok.  We’ve all just gotta...we all just need to be patient.”  He sighed and gave her a smile.  “But, hey!  This is really great, right?”  She said nothing, just looked at him forlornly.  “Come on, it is!  You’ve remembered something recent.”  When she merely shrugged and stayed quiet, he propped a hand against the counter and leaned on it, jutting out a hip and putting a fist on his waist.  He leaned forward and stared into her face until she made eye contact with him.  He said her name meaningfully.  “This is good news.  It’s gonna be ok.  I promise.”  She smiled after a moment, then nodded in agreement.  “Whadya say we celebrate.  I’ll run out and get some of that orangesicle ice cream junk you like.  I’ll even let you decide what to watch on TV.”

She smiled again at the sweet gesture, but shook her head meekly

“I’m still a little tired, Javi.  I’m sorry.”  He assured her there was no need to apologize and that he understood, of course she needed to rest.  Listening to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom, he collapsed on the living room couch, sighing heavily.  His brain hurt from concentrating on not saying anything he shouldn’t with her.  He wasn’t too terribly sad about the fact that she was ready to head to bed.

Bed.

He sat upright quickly and then scurried into the bedroom just as he heard the tap turning off in the bathroom across the hall.  He rummaged around in the closet quickly, grabbing a spare pillow he’d seen there earlier when he’d unpacked his things, as well as an extra bed sheet.  He rushed out the bedroom door just as the door to the bathroom opened…

...Javi had never been so grateful for a pillow.  He felt himself harden in his jeans as she froze, clutching her clothes to her chest.  She had a towel wrapped around her, but it left nothing to the imagination.  He felt like a deer caught in the beam of a headlight, and he had to remind himself to breathe.  He screamed at himself to stop staring, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her flushed, pink skin, her silky smooth legs, the way her wet hair framed her face and danced over her bare shoulders, shedding drops of water onto her skin.  He followed the route of one particular drop as it left her hair, fell to her clavicle, slid down her chest, over the curve of her breast and disappeared beneath the towel.  He gulped, willing himself not to lick his lips.

“Sorry…” He was slightly horrified by the high pitched croak that was his voice as he forced the word from his throat.  He cleared his throat and finally managed to tear his eyes away from her, staring down at the pillow and sheet in his hands, stepping out of her way.  “Sorry,” he said again.  “I just, uh...wanted to get a pillow so I didn’t have to bother you…”  He watched her carefully from beneath his eyelashes; saw understanding, then relief, then….disappointment?...flash across her face in an instant.  

“Oh…”she said softly.  “Well…”  He glanced up at her again as she carefully moved towards the bedroom...he moved further from her naked body down the hall.  “I...I feel badly that you’re sleeping on the couch…That….that won’t be very comfortable…”  He nearly lost his mind when he caught her biting her lip, knowing that she was thinking, weighing how comfortable she would be with offering to let him sleep in the bed with her.  He grimaced to himself.  As far as she knew, that was “their” bed, and it should be the most natural thing in the world for a husband and wife to both climb into bed together and share the space for sleep.  

And he certainly wouldn’t have minded climbing into bed with her, not in this moment, not after seeing her like this.  

But they absolutely wouldn’t be sleeping.

“No, it’s ok.”  He saved her the trouble of having to make a decision.  “The couch is fine.”  She twisted her face, not believing him one bit.  “Really.  You need to rest.  It’s ok.”  He turned and started towards the living room reminding her to call for him or wake him up if she needed anything.  He heard her soft voice call his name behind him and he looked back at her.

“Thank you.”

He smiled, feeling her words go straight to that secret, soft spot in his heart that only she could seem to get to.  He nodded and murmured good night before she closed the bedroom door between them.

Javi tossed his bedding onto the couch and plopped down after it, still feeling his pants stretching uncomfortably across his groin, the memory of her standing wet and nearly naked in front of him seared into his brain.  It was all he could do to not take himself in his hand right then and pump himself to completion at the memory of that drop of water on her skin, the feel of their bodies grinding together in that club, how her hand had gripped and tugged in his hair.

“Jesus fucking Christ!”  he muttered to himself.  You gotta at least wait until she’s asleep, Peña!  He did wonder what would happen at the thought of her catching him thinking about her, groaning her name softly as he came in his own hand…

Stop being a pervert, you asshole!  He chided himself stretching out on the couch and flipping on the TV, searching for something desperately boring to distract himself with.

How the hell was he ever going to be able to do this?

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 7, Chapter 8,  Chapter 9, Chapter 10,  Chapter 11,  Chapter 12,  Chapter 13

[angellbarnes]

Moonlight

summary: Steve can’t help but draw you whenever he can. You’re both oblivious to each other’s feelings but it’s funny how things can work out.

pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

words: 1.7k

warnings: some language but just a load of flufff

A/N: my first Steve x reader! I had this idea and thought it was cute? Let me know what you all think🤍

The chilled breeze of the evening pricks at your skin as you lean on the upstairs balcony of the compound. You admire the stars and the feeling of fresh air against your flushed face, after stepping out of another of Tony’s parties. As fun as they are, they could get a little much for you. 

So as you stared out into the evening, you didn’t take much notice to the others around you, stood or standing, on the balcony. Especially not one certain super soldier, who held a sketchbook and pencil, admiring you and capturing your beauty within its pages. He watched you as you got lost in your thoughts, with the wind rippling through your dress and the way your eyes held the glow of the moon.

He finished his sketch with the last stroke of your hair and looked over the drawing once more. He’d picked up quite the habit of drawing you when you weren’t looking, whether it was sitting in the common room or whilst training or even on the jet to and from missions. His favourite was the one he’d done the other evening, when you were sat on a stool in the kitchen, with a cup of hot chocolate in your hand as you read your favourite book. Your hair was in a messy up do and you were wearing an oversized jumper; he thought you looked adorable and he couldn’t help but capture that moment.

He quickly snaps his book shut as he notices you walking over to him.

“Hey, Steve, beautiful view, isn’t it?” You say and your soothing voice almost sent Steve into a complete daze. He swears he could just listen to your voice for hours.

“Oh, uh, yeah. It really is.” He rubs at the back of his neck whilst sporting a sheepish smile.

“Can I see?” You ask, gesturing down to his book.

“See my drawings?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve always wanted to look at them but I’ve just never got around to asking.”

“Oh, you don’t want to see these. They’re not even proper drawings, just little things here and there.” He replies anxiously. He doesn’t know what he’d do if you saw those drawings, whether you’d run straight in the other direction and never speak to him again, or actually appreciate it. He didn't want to take that chance, though. 

“Okay, well, you don’t have to show me if you don't want to. Maybe one day, though.” Your sweet tone almost makes Steve melt and when you place your hand on his shoulder before leaving, he knows he’s done for.

He’s been harbouring a crush from you for months, slowly falling more and more for you each passing day. Only Sam and Bucky know, though. At least, they’re the only people he’s told. What he doesn't know, though, is that you’d taken a liking to him the first day of joining the team. Since then, you’ve hidden your feelings quite well by not telling anyone and pretending your feelings don't exist. The only flaw in that plan is that the more you act like they aren't there, the more evident they become.

~~~

The next morning you make your way through the halls of the compound, heading to the kitchen for some food. As you turn a corner, you overhear Sam talking to Steve, before they’ve realised you’re there.

“Come on, man. You’ve got to tell her sooner or later. I’m telling you there’s no way she doesn’t feel the same. I’ve seen how she looks at you when she thinks no one’s paying attention. I’m willing to bet on it.”

There’s no way he could’ve been talking about you though, right?

“You should listen to the birdie over here, Steve. Tell her. Whoever she is is a lucky girl.” You comment as you stride in, showing as much confidence as you can muster. You grab a bowl from the cupboard and place it on the island the two are sat at, before taking a spoon from the drawer.

“How- uh, how much of that did you hear?” Steve asks timidly.

“Just the end. So... who is it?” You ask eagerly, though you can feel your heart unwillingly begin to race.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry. Just someone.” He adds a nervous laugh and you eye him and Sam dubiously.

“Cut the bullshit, Cap, just tell her who it is!” Sam nudges Steve and you lean forwards on the counter, wiggling your eyebrows and grinning. You pray for the answer you’re looking for, and it seems more and more possible as he looks at you, deep into your eyes. Your smile softens and he still hasn’t said a word.

“Come on Rogers,” you say as a final push, “just get it out in the open-”

“It’s Sharon.” His reply is blunt. Straight to the point. No hesitation. You abruptly stand back up straight and clear your throat, mentally cursing yourself for actually getting your hopes up.

“Oh.” Is all you can say, trying not to sound disappointed. It hurt, you can’t lie. You wanted him to say your name and he didn’t. Sharon. The word sounded like poison to your ears. “Well, she does seem very nice. On second thought, I’m going to go out for breakfast. I’ll see you two later.” You say as brightly as possible before rushing out of the room.

Steve lets out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding and turns to face his very unimpressed looking friend.

“Seriously?” Sam deadpans.

“I panicked.”

“Yeah, well, good job, Mr I like this girl but I just told her I like someone completely different-”

“Sam, don’t you think I realise what I did? I was the one who said it.” Steve replies, exasperated.

“Nuh uh, I’m not finished. And now she won’t know how I feel because I’m a dumbass and ruined my chance of finding out whether she likes me back.”

Steve replies with a groan, covering his face with his hand.

~~~

When you return from your breakfast out, you head straight to your room. You’d had some time to think about everything that had happened. You concluded that it made sense for Steve to like Sharon over you, seeing as they’ve spent more time together and knew each other way before you did. It was stupid to think Steve could possibly feel the way you do about him because-

“Shit, sorry!” A male voice rings out. You were too in your head to notice the tall blonde walking in your opposite direction.

“Oh my god, Steve, I wasn’t paying attention, I’m so sorry!” You stumble over your words slightly and you look up to Steve, with an amused grin on his face.

“Me too, I should’ve been looking where I was going.”

“No, I had my head in the clouds as usual.” You avert your eyes from him, sheepishly looking to the ground when you notice his sketchbook that he must’ve dropped. You bend down to pick it up for him, noticing it had opened up when it fell.

“Oh, here’s your...” Your voice trails off as your eyes scan over the led covered pages. It’s beautiful you think, letting your gaze wander over every hard and soft line that marks it. 

“I’m so sorry, you weren’t meant to see those. It’s just- it’s-”

“Me.” You finish, breathlessly. You finally tear yourself away from the artwork and back to him. You smile, confused, as you hand it back to him. You would think that he’s suddenly lost the ability to speak as his mouth hangs open, looking for anything he could say to explain himself.

“They’re gorgeous.” You admit, and his adams apple bobs as his mouth closes. “I mean, it’s strange to say, seeing as they’re drawings of me but, Steve, you’re so talented.” You continue, flashing a reassuring smile and giggling slightly.

“You- you like them? You don’t think it’s creepy? Strange?” He asks quietly, fiddling with the corner of the leather binding.

“No, I think it’s sweet.” You reassure and you can see him visibly relax, releasing the tension in his shoulders and letting out a laugh of relief. You take your hand and place it over his. His eyes meet yours briefly but they quickly fall back to where your hand lies atop his.

“Maybe I could see the rest? In your room?” You pose.

“Sure, yeah.” He smiles brighter and leads you to his room silently.

When you hear the clicking of the door behind you, you spin around to say something, though your words disappear into the feeling of another mouth on yours. His lips are soft, delicate, held back, even. It’s short but sweet when he pulls away but his face is still close enough to yours that you can feel his breath fan over yours.

“I’m sorry. It’s just... I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.” He admits.

“Me too.” You whisper, biting your lip, and he takes that as a signal to lean down again. This time the kiss is deeper and you sigh into it. He pulls you right into his body and you let him snake his tongue into your mouth. Breathlessly, you both pull away, letting the moment linger in the air a little longer.

“I don’t like Sharon, I never did. I said it because I panicked and didn’t think you felt the same way. I’m an idiot.” Steve lets out, gazing intently at you.

“Yeah, you are,” you giggle, “but we’re here now. That doesn’t matter anymore.” You smile at him and he mirrors it.

Slowly, you draw the notebook from his hand and take a seat on his bed, letting him come over in his own time. You flick through more of it, commenting on how amazing they are each time you turn a page, earning a shy ‘thank you’ each time. You reach the last drawing; you on the balcony last night and let out a small gasp.

“Steve, it’s wonderful. This is what you were drawing when I came over to you? This is why you wouldn’t show me?” You marvel over the way the pencil strokes looked so effortlessly placed on the paper, then reading where he’d written ‘Moonlight’ underneath. Each sketch had a word or a few to go along with it, something to do with the moment he had drawn them.

“Yeah, I didn’t want to show you in case you would run away or something and never want to speak to me again.” You place the sketchbook down, cupping his face in both of your hands.

“I will never run away from you, only towards.”