#are Not Right and are colours I have already used elsewhere and are Clearly Different

[midgardianweasley]

Your grace! Bless us with a Natasha x reader where the team is invited to a wedding by a close friend of Tony’s. Then when the bridal bouquet is thrown, the bride throws it too hard where reader accidentally catches it and the team is just going “Oooooh!” And reader is like “I’m not even in a relationship!” But the team know in secret that reader and Natasha have feelings for each other but are too dumb to know. Just funniness and fluff! 🥰😍 (Your writing is brilliant btw!)

I loved this request!! I hope i did it justice <3

it’s a wedding thing

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

^idk Nat, you tell me^

Summary: When the Avengers get invited to a close friend of Tony's wedding, what hidden feelings will surface? What relationships will bloom? Who will be the next bride?

Warnings: none!

word count: 4.1k

Message/ask if you want to be added to the taglist!

requests are open loves

“Alright gang, this one’s for all of us, we all listening?”

A cluster of ‘yes’ ‘go on’ ‘come on Tony’ filled the room, everyone eager to hear what the fancy envelope held inside. It was amusing to watch Tony take advantage of everyone’s excitement, slowly peeling the envelope, gasping when he pulled the letter out of the casing slightly, not letting anyone else see what was written on it.

You, Natasha and Wanda all seemed to share a look of amusement at the dramatics and the almost visible frustration coming off of everyone. It was like watching children try to wait patiently for sweets in a shop, almost completely off of their seats. It wasn’t until Tony noticed that Pepper was giving him a warning look, that he, begrudgingly, hurried up and announced what was written on the letter.

“Wow. Caleb’s getting married.” He spoke, eyebrows raised in surprise. “And he’s invited the team.”

“Well, I’m not going.” A voice spoke from the corner of the room, clearly un-amused by what was currently going on.

“Luckily for you, I don’t see ‘reindeer games’ anywhere on the invitation. So you’re off the hook.” He replied with a tight lipped smile, Thor had been visiting recently to see Jane and pay the avengers a visit and wanted to bring Loki to meet her.

‘A pleasant trip’ Thor said.

‘A living hell’ Tony corrected.

It got a laugh out of the team though. Nat and I especially. We’d spent the last couple of nights in each other’s bedrooms, making a list about our favourite moments through the day where Tony and Loki clashed, making stupid insults towards the other. I think it’s safe to say that we went through multiple bags of popcorn over the nights, though you were both thankful it was there, it was the only thing muffling the laughter, if it hadn't, you’re almost certain the entire compound would have woken up at the sound of our laughter.

You nudged Natasha’s side gently, the bicker between the two men still continuing.

“Hey, Nat.” She turned and tilted her head questioningly.

“So we know how a physical fight between those two worked out. But, if they had to compete in a rap battle, who do you think would win?”

Her face immediately lit up, eyes sparkling which only enhanced their beauty, you could almost feel the cogs turning in her head, trying to go through every logical option.

“Well. Loki seems pretty well spoken, so vocabulary wise, I think he’d be strong. But Tony is sarcastic which can help with quick quips. But then again, Loki-”

“Hey lovebirds, Romanoff, Y/L/N” Tony clicked his fingers, earning himself a pair of eyerolls at the term he’d used. “Anything you wanna share with the team, or can we move on?”

“Actually-”

“Overridden. Moving on.”

You looked towards Natasha, snickering slightly at how blunt he’s being, Loki having found his way under his skin again. A part of you felt bad for the man, but that feeling is soon replaced by amusement. It was obvious Nat felt the same way, her sharing the same expression as you, although, you could hide yours much better. She had to physically put her hand over her mouth in the hopes the man wouldn’t notice her.

“So, the wedding is next week, a little short notice but when do we ever have enough notice, who’s in?”

Looking around the room, there were a handful of nods, each looking to see who else was going to go. You looked towards Nat again to see if she was planning on attending, only to find her already staring at you.

“So Y/L/N, up for a wedding?”

“It would be a nice change of pace. Are you going?”

“Only if you are” You blushed slightly at the response.

“Better get your nicest dress on Romanoff.” You winked, her turn to blush and focus back on what the rest of the group was saying.

“It’s probably easy if I list couples first on the RSVP and then the singles.” Tony took a glance around the table, mentally taking note of those who had shown signs of agreement. “So there’ll be Wanda and Vision, Legolas and his wife, Romanoff and Y/L/N, Thor and Jane-” You felt your face morph into one of confusion.

“Woah woah, Tony, back up, what did you say?”

“Thor and Jane, they’re-”

“Before that.”

“I’ve said this before Y/N, Legolas isn’t actually real. I meant Clint.”

“Very funny.” He held a proud smirk. “Romanoff and I aren’t a couple”

You wish.

“That’s not what Rogers said when he saw you both cuddling up on the sofa last night.” Before you had a chance to look in Steve’s direction, you could practically feel the daggers Nat was sending him, making his face cringe slightly and his back straighten.

“That’s what Rogers said, is it?” She spoke, tilting her head in question. You knew she was partly joking, but you’d still decided to intervene before anyone lost any limbs.

“My head fell onto her shoulder when I dozed off during our movie. It wasn’t ‘cuddling’ , thank you very much.” You laughed, internally wishing that Steve’s words were true.

“See? So cut it out.” Steve put his hands up in surrender, despite having a cheeky grin on his face.

“Okay okay. Fine!” The billionaire said, writing something on the envelope. “I’ll just put ‘couple pending’” He muttered

“Stark!”

__________________________

You and the girls had just come back from dress shopping, all three of you had spent the whole day in and out of different shops, hours in dressing rooms and your voices were almost completely gone with how often you were telling each other, ‘that looks stunning’ ‘that’s the one!’ and the most common one by the end of the trip; ‘please just pick a dress so we can go home and nap’. That one was from our very own black widow, her patience wore a little thin after 8 hours of staring at dresses.

You had gone through all the colours and styles while you were out, ranging from classy jumpsuits to figure hugging dresses that felt like a second skin. Wanda and Natasha had chosen their dresses and were eager to find you one, and what a mission that was.

“I promise you, we’re not going home until we find this dress, okay?”

“Wanda’s right. We’ll stay out until they all shut if we have to. But, let’s make that a last resort.” Natasha eyed you both warily.

You’d been walking around for hours now. Each dress you tried on had potential, but there was always something that didn’t sit right with you. It was either too baggy, too tight, the cut wasn’t appealing, the length wasn’t ideal, it was starting to feel hopeless. You’d even suggested just going in your pyjamas, but Wanda’s death glare had made it clear that wasn’t an option.

You and Natasha were both dragging your feet, Wanda still having a slight spring in her step as you walked into the final shop and picking up a couple of dresses before then going into the dressing room to try them on.

The first two were okay, but you weren’t a fan. Then there was the third one. The third one was a gorgeous Y/F/C dress that fell just past your knees, it had thin straps and the skirt was simple and loose so that when you spun around in it, you felt like a princess. You looked in the mirror and you adored the reflection, you still wanted the others opinions though, though you didn’t doubt that they’d feel the same way.

Pulling the curtain back and gaining their attention from where they were looking elsewhere, you smiled when you saw their reaction, more specifically, Natasha’s. Wanda was complimentary, walking up and feeling the fabric, gushing about how beautiful you looked, but you barely heard it, too focused on the redhead sitting in front of you, her eyes glazed over and her jaw almost on the floor, completely zoned out on you.

“This dress is it, Y/N, you have to get it! Nat? What do you think?” Her head shook, bringing herself back to reality and briefly meeting your eyes, only to quickly dart between You, Wanda and your dress in an attempt to compose herself.

“Yeah, I mean, wow, you look- wow.” Her hands flailed in your direction. You’d knocked the assassin speechless. Wanda rolled her eyes playfully at the interaction. She’d known about you and Nat’s feelings for each other for a month or two now, silently cursing the both of you when there was an opportunity to confess, yet never did. It was obvious to the rest of the team, why were neither of you picking up on it?

Keeping quiet, she ushered you back into the changing room, much to Natasha’s relief, both because she wanted to head back to the compound and she wasn’t sure how much longer she would’ve lasted seeing you standing there looking literally flawless. She always thought you looked amazing, but there was something about the way you looked in front of her just then that made her brain feel like a haze.

It was pretty safe to say,

You bought the dress.

Collapsing on your bed, dropping your bags to the side and letting out a loud sigh, you heard your door shut and someone fall into the chair by the window. You already knew who it was.

“I’m exhausted.” The woman groaned, rubbing her hands up and down her face to attempt to physically remove the tiredness from her body.

“Sorry for dragging you around for so long, I just-”

“Hey, no, don’t apologise for that. We all said we’d find the perfect dress, and it was worth the wait.” Heat rose to your cheeks at her words.

“You really think I looked good?”

Natasha could sense your underlying tone of doubt, unsure as to why you would doubt her opinion, she’d always been honest with you. Nonetheless, she heaved herself out of her seat and made her way to the end of the bed, kneeling down so that your now sat up figure could look down into her eyes, with her hands on each side of your face to focus you on her and her alone.

“I wouldn’t lie to you, okay? You looked incredible and I'm sure you’ll look even better at this wedding on Saturday, if that’s even possible.” You let out a small chuckle at her words as a smile made its way onto her face.

“You’ll be the prettiest one there.”

“Better not tell the Bride you said that, Nat.” She laughed, looking down for only a few seconds before looking at you again.

“We’ll make that our secret.” You nodded in silent agreement, grateful that she’d made you feel so reassured.

“Thank you, Tasha.”

“You’re more than welcome, sweetheart.” She replied.

You were so lost in her words, you hadn’t realised how close her face had gotten to yours, and how her eyes swapped between your eyes and your lips. You didn’t realise how she subconsciously had kept edging towards you, hands trembling a little with every inch closer she gets.

She wanted to kiss you. Every nerve in her body was almost electrified with the temptation to just move her lips over yours and become one. Her pulse raced, almost to prepare her for doing so. Which is why she wanted to kick herself with a pair of her highest heels when she uttered her next words.

“We should get some sleep.”

You broke out of your trance, jumping backwards slightly when noticing limited space between you both. You awkwardly coughed as she stood, heading back over to her chair to grab her bag and return to her room.

“Yeah, yeah of course. Big today, rest is probably a good idea.” You both nodded, she was already one foot out of the door when she gave you a small ‘goodnight’ and left, not waiting to hear you say it back.

Just like you hadn’t realised her actions early, you were oblivious to her hitting her head off of the wall in the corridor just outside of your room, wondering why she’d backed away. Where was Thor’s hammer when you needed to knock some sense into yourself? She thought before dragging herself back to her room where she would fall asleep, unable to get you out of her head.

_________________________

“Right! Headcount before we go in! And I want us all on our best behaviour Avengers, this is a wedding” Steve had completely lost you after ‘Headcount’. Not only are most of you fully grown adults, sorry Peter, but he seems to be oblivious to the fact that some of you were wearing high heels, and patience in high heels had an expiry date.

“Y’know, if he doesn’t let us in soon, I’m not afraid to threaten him with his own shield.” You heard a whisper just behind your ear, smirking at the comment.

“I’ll join you.” You answered, Bruce and Clint sharing a knowing look from afar when watching the two of you have your own quiet conversation, though short lived when they saw Natasha’s head move in their direction, their gaze coming to a halt so as to avoid any conflict with their teammate.

You guys could try to hide it all you want, but your entire team knows better than that, they just had to wait it out until you both finally admitted it to the other.

______________________

You and the Avenger’s were currently sitting at a guest table, now in the reception part of the evening. The ceremony was beautiful, the bride wore a crisp white ball gown with her makeup and hair done to perfection, the groom looking like a prince in his black tux and a look full of adoration towards his wife to be painted on his face.

Their looks weren’t the best part of it though. The clothes and the accessories were lovely, of course. But all you could focus on was the love shared between them as they shared their vows telling the other how they believed they were each other's soulmate, and that they promised to always be the other’s rock. You’d found yourself with tears in your eyes, barely able to appreciate the sight with how blurry your vision was now. They finally fell when they said their ‘I do’s’, feeling only happiness for the newlyweds.

Although marriage hadn’t been something you always thought about, you’d hoped that you would meet your special someone and settle down, retire from the missions, the battles, the superhero lifestyle and just be with your soulmate for the rest of your days.

Despite not being a couple, whenever you thought of the person you wanted to spend the rest of your time with, there was only one person that came to mind. And she stood right in front of you throughout the ceremony, comforting a sobbing demi-god while he was also trying to explain to Vision why he was in floods of tears.

Music filled the room, upbeat, but calm enough for the couples on the dancefloor to sway gently to the beat, soft lights occasionally shining on them as they danced, the bride and groom being one of them. You smiled gently at the sight, feeling dreadfully single with all of the love in the room, but grateful that you could see so many people look so content and in love with their significant other.

An elbow could suddenly be felt in your side, pulling you from your thoughts to instead be met with gorgeous green eyes and a bold red smirk.

“Penny for your thoughts?” She leaned in, curiosity clouding her mind.

“Nothing much up there really.” You glanced back at the dance floor quickly. “I’m just happy to see everyone so happy.”

Natasha followed your direction of where you were looking, an idea soon popped into her head. She was going to ask you to dance.

Her mouth opened to speak, but as if it was done on purpose, a ‘screech’ echoed in the ballroom, catching everyone’s attention, including taking yours away from hers.

“We’re taking a break from dancing for a minute folks, It’s time for the bride to throw the bouquet!” He announced, soon followed by shrieks and the sound of feet padding on the wooden floor, women all gathering in a small bunch, huddled together as if their lives depended on it as the men all returned to their seats, shaking their heads at the commotion.

Not really wanting to take part, you turned back around again.

“Sorry Nat, what were you-”

“Y/N!” Your head fell as you were interrupted by a very excited Maximoff.

“Y/N! C’mon! We need to do the bouquet toss!” She started to pull you up, refusing to listen to any excuse you could possibly conjure up to avoid having to take part.

Giving the team a desperate look, hoping someone will help you escape, you’re instead met with encouraging and amused faces, including Natasha’s a clear indication that not a single person was going to help you. Traitor’s.

With a half serious eye roll, you quickly grabbed your glass of champagne and kicked off your heels, heading towards the group of screaming women basically crawling on top of one another when the bride was barely up on the ‘stage’ yet. You let Wanda wander off into the group but remained towards the back, sipping from your glass and sending the occasional sneaky glare towards your table.

“You guys ready?” The bride yelled, only to be met with more screams and a faint chorus of ‘yes’ heard among it as they all threw their hands higher. Wanda saw you were just stood there, and subtly used her powers to raise your hand, earning loud laughs and cheers from the Avengers, taking great joy in the scene unfolding in front of them.

“Okay! Three...Two..”

You kept your arm up, pretending to be enthusiastic about the toss, when you realistically didn’t really expect much from these kinds of traditions. What you definitely hadn’t expected, was for your figure to stumble backwards as you suddenly felt petals and stems in your palm, a faint feeling of silk brushing against your thumb as your fingers wrapped around the item.

You almost spat out your champagne, eyes widening in shock as you looked to see the arrangement of flowers in your grip, looking up to see women both disheartened and elated at your catch. How the hell had you managed that? You were literally the farthest person away, and on your own! You must’ve been set up. Okay, a bit of a stretch, but still!

“WOOO, Y/L/N IS GETTING MARRIED!”

“WHO’S THE LUCKY SOMEONE Y/N?”

“Y/N CAUGHT THE FLOWERS, Y/N CAUGHT THE FLOWERS.”

The bride noticeably laughed at your friend’s cheers, she hadn’t meant to throw it that far back, her arm just kinda went full force, but seeing the reaction it caused, she didn’t regret it. She didn’t even regret it when she saw the look of embarrassment on your face, as it was soon replaced with a contagious beam as you walked towards them again, a very proud Wanda in tow,

“Guys! Guys! I’m not even in a relationship! I highly doubt i’m the next woman in this room to get married.” You joked

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure.” Sam laughed “Romanoff, you got an engagement ring handy?” He yelped as a peanut from the centre of the table was thrown at him, and of course with being a trained assassin, Nat had hit him right in the centre of his forehead, earning a dramatic noise of pain to leave his mouth.

These guys will be the death of you.

__________________

After some teasing, the room had filled once again with happy couples dancing, now including some you were very familiar with, one being a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist and his CEO wife, and another being an Asgardian with his Midgardian girlfriend, both gently moving side to side in time with the music.

Letting out a content sigh, you were met once again with the flowers, however, this time, they weren’t on the table, but were held by a gorgeous woman in a flawless navy dress.

“So, I know we aren’t a couple, but, would the future bride like to dance?” She asked, you let out a content sigh, pretending to think it over for a minute.

“Y’know what, I would, thank you for your kind offer.” You took the hand she’d held out for you and led you to the dance floor. While her hands went to your waist, gently tugging you closer, your arms went around her neck, hands interlocking behind her as you, like the others you’d admired all even, swayed.

You’re unsure when it happened, much like a time before, but your head had made its way onto your dance partner's shoulder, your body following suit as it left no room between the two of you, though you weren’t complaining. Neither was the fellow Avenger.

It was peaceful for a period of time, the only sound being the slow music and a quiet chatter of people across the floor. It wasn’t long before you heard the red head above you whisper in your ear once again.

“You really do look amazing tonight, Y/N.” You raised your head so it was directly opposite hers, sending her an appreciative gaze.

“That future fiance of yours is lucky.” She winked.

“Hilarious” You scoffed, fully aware of her humorous tone.

“I know, sometimes I amaze even myself with my jokes.”

“Well, it really is funny, because I honestly don’t see myself getting married anytime soon.” Nat’s eyebrows raised in what could almost be described as confusion.

“And why is that? Do you not want to get married?” Her hands started grazing up and down your waist, like she was comforting you, but really she was bracing herself for what was incoming.

“No, no it’s not that. I just..”

“Just?”

“I don’t think the person i’m interested in, is necessarily interested in me.” Her heart dropped. So you did have someone of interest. She pushed the sinking feeling to the side quickly so that she could respond.

“Right, and why is that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen them make a move. I thought it’d be obvious. I think it has been to some others.” Your eyes wandered, lingering for longer than what was probably appropriate, on Natasha’s plump lips, wondering if you’d ever get to experience what it’d be like to feel them on yours.

This time, Natasha didn’t miss it. She would’ve blamed it on alcohol, saying that she must’ve just imagined it, but she had only consumed a few drops all evening, being too entranced by you didn’t leave much room for hydration. She hadn’t been more thankful, because it made a light bulb go off in her head as the pieces came together in her head of who you were referring to. She didn’t make a move the other night. It was obvious to the team. How could she have been so blind?

You didn’t see it coming, even when your chin was held in her grasp and you saw her face leaning in towards yours, the reality only hitting you when you finally felt what you’d been wanting to feel for the last months, right now. Your surroundings had just disappeared, the only thing that was running through your head, was the way her lips were moving against yours, and the way her lips tasted faintly of vanilla, and how she smelled like her floral perfume she wore for special occasions.

Whooping and cheering brought you both back from your bubble with just the two of you, your head falling just below her chin, her hand stroking your back as you could feel her chuckle bubbling where your head lay. Well, hid. Her arms had muffled their comments, but you had an idea of what they were, probably a mixture of ‘finally!’, ‘i knew it!’ and you’re almost certain you heard a ‘You owe me 20 bucks.’, that one making you shake your head.

Remaining in your hiding spot, that wasn’t very well hidden, but was keeping your bright red face to yourself, a pair of familiar lips lingered right beside your head.

“So, about that bouquet..”

You weren’t getting married, but by the end of the night, you definitely didn’t feel so dreadfully single as you had earlier.

taglist: @the-dumbass-that-throws-knives

[reidyoulikeabook]

B is for Blindfolds

Summary: The BAU Christmas party is held at the office. Penelope is full of terrible ideas, but somehow Emily’s are worse.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and drunkenness, use of a blindfold (for a fun game, not anything sexy here), pining, idiots who don’t realise their love is reciprocated as HELL (they will, but not quite yet).

Word count: 3k

A/N: okay so i really had fun writing this one!!! i have a solid solid direction of where this is headed now and i’m EXCITED about it! as always, please let me know what you think :) this is technically Wednesday’s update, and there’ll be another on Friday!

This is the second chapter of the A-Z of Spencer Reid series, but can be read as a stand alone.

The team, yourself included, are more than ready to let off a little steam. There was no point trying to book anywhere in advance, not with the sporadic nature of festive serial killers, so you’d taken over the office. Penelope had, in eager anticipation of your return, decked it out like a winter wonderland.

“Seriously, it looks like someone robbed a grotto,” Emily had joked.

She wasn’t wrong. A seven-foot Christmas tree, God knows how she’d smuggled that into the building, obscured the hallway outside Hotch’s office. It was dripping in tinsel, baubles, you name it. It even had a nutcrucker man. Mistletoe was hung, obviously in a way she believed to be covert, and maybe it would have been if you weren’t all deeply familiar with the antics of Penelope I-Love-The-Holidays Garcia. You’re all careful to sidestep it as you walk in, knowing she’s a stickler for the rules. All equally reluctant to invoke her wrath before a glass of eggnog or two.

On the table, there’s a selection of alcohol laid out. Alongside a bunch of pink glittery cups.

“I got everything!” Penelope chirps.

“I can see that baby girl,” Morgan chimes in, greeting her with a hug.

She really has: there’s juice, fruit, almost every liquor you can think of (including the fancy whiskey that Rossi and Hotch like to get out at dinner), wine of varying colours, and what looks to be some fancy fruit cider. From the spread, and the mischevious twinkle in her eye, you’re sure she won’t be letting you escape unscathed.

At that thought, you can’t help but steal a glance to your right.

Spencer. The man is stood next to you with folded arms, surveying the options in a way that almost looks pensive.

Got to behave myself

I will behave myself

Will he be drinking?

That question is answered when he takes a step towards the table, stepping behind it. He picks up a plastic cup and, playing bartender, asks.

“So, what can I get you?”

***

“Mixology is pretty much the same as any other kind of chemistry,” Spencer explains, gesturing with the hand that’s holding his cup and swilling the liquid, “It’s about balancing the right components to get the combination you want. A lot of the recipes call for more alcohol than is strictly necessary for the flavour they provide. Usually the other elements of the drink are designed to bring out the flavour or mask it, depending on what alcohol you’re using. Almost always you want to mask the taste of vodka, but tequila you try to balance it out.”

Spencer is leant on the desk next to you, rambling, having been allowed to be in charge of making everybody’s drinks over the past couple of hours.

Sipping the concoction he’s made you, you have to admit he’s done a pretty good job.

He clearly agrees, since he’s consumed more than a couple himself. He’s just tipsy enough to push at the boundaries of affection, his shoulder pressing against yours, his happy eyes a little glassy. You listen, hanging on every word he says, watching him lick his lips before he continues speaking again.

“That’s why they serve tequila shots with lime and salt.”

“And here I was thinking they were just making it fun for body shots,” Emily cuts in, making Morgan and Penelope laugh.

You see the look on Penelope’s face and intercept her before she can start, “Don’t even think about it.”

“But!”

“No!” You shake your head, “You really think Hotch is going to go for body shots?”

Hotch laughs dryly, taking a sip of the whiskey he’s been nursing, “That’s one I think I’ll refrain from participating in.”

“Fine,” Penelope pouts, “But everybody’s doing pin the tail on the donkey!”

“Pin the tail on the donkey? What are we, 5 years old?” Emily laughs.

You lean in against Spencer, who has been quietly surveying the last few moments. Your fingers slip slightly beneath his buttoned sleeves, coming to rest on his forearm.

“Balance,” You whisper quietly.

He nods, shifting to allow you to lean more closely into him on the desk.

It’s hard not to get distracted by your proximity to him.

It’s only because you’re drunk.

Maybe. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good. If you squinted, you might just look like a couple. That’s certainly what it looks like to Dave, who gives you a cursory once over before training his gaze elsewhere. Your heads are almost touching, Spencer is slouching but keeps his neck just stiff enough to avoid resting atop of yours. You’re casually against his body, the two of you strewn across the desk. It looks comfortable, familiar.

It feels comfortable, familiar.

It’s only because you’re drunk.

***

After a singular round of pin the tail on the donkey, during which a blindfolded Emily decided to go rogue and try to pin the tail on the moving-very-quickly-out-of-dodge Hotch, it’s decided the blindfolds will be used for a different purpose.

Trust falls.

Well, not so much trust falls, as you’re each blindfolded and tasked with the challenge of walking across the bullpen without falling. 

“We’ll pair up!” Penelope announces, rubbing her hands together with glee, “Hotch you’re with Rossi, Emily you’re with me, Derek you’re with ____, and Spencer you’re with J.J!”

Oh

You will away the tinge of disappointment that flares in your chest at not having been paired with Spencer. Although, when you look up at him, you swear you can see a similar feeling sitting behind his eyes.

Probably reading too much into it

“Reid has an unfair advantage,” J.J argues, interrupting your thoughts.

“How do I have an unfair advantage?” Spencer asks.

“Eidetic memory,” She replies.

There are murmers of dissent, then Rossi pipes up.

“If you can’t make it across the bullpen you walk everyday without falling, I think you seriously need to consider whether you should be out in the field with a gun.”

Everybody laughs. They laugh more, though, when Rossi falls on his first attempt, crashing into Hotch. The two decide to resign from the game after that. Hotch plays the health and safety card, but privately you think it’s the double whiskeys that have betrayed him.

“You think you can do it?” You ask Spencer.

He smirks, “I could do it in my sleep.”

You shake your head, “Your legs are too long. You’re like Bambi at the best of times, let alone three mai tais in.”

“Two,” He objects, you quirk a brow and he relents, “Fine, three. And a whiskey Rossi gave me which was awful. I drank it fast and then he told me that one glass I’d had would cost $40. Who would pay $40 to drink that voluntarily?”

“Rossi, Hotch, Emily,” You smile, nudging him with your elbow, “And don’t think you’ve distracted me Spence, I’m still betting you fall.”

“You’re betting?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re that confident in my ability to mess up,” He teases.

“Something like that.”

He grins, “You’ll see.”

He takes the blindfold when it’s his turn, smirking at you as he adjusts it onto his face. It’s with a great degree of annoyance that you watch him clear the bullpen in five easy, and somehow very elegant, steps.

“Go Spence!” J.J cheers, her previous displeasure completely forgotten.

“Pretty boy!” Morgan cheers.

Without taking the blindfold off, Spencer tilts his head to exactly where you’re standing, smirking, “You wanna go next, ____?”

It’s hard not to visibly react to what his cockiness does to you.

You swallow, “Fine. Give it here.”

***

You move your feet confidently one in front of the other. After almost a year of walking the bullpen, you’re pretty certain you can get across it unscathed. You even remember to swing your hip to the right to miss the Santa gnome gone fishing currently hanging off Derek’s desk. In doing so, however, you manage to get yourself all caught up.

With a single step, you feel yourself slipping, arms flailing and managing to catch on to absolutely nothing. You panic.

"Spencer!"

"Spencer?!"

Spencer.

You recognise the feeling of his hands steadying you at your waist. He pulls you against his body, tucking your outstretched arm into him to steady you. You vaguely register Derek’s amused chuckle from behind you.

“I got you,” Spencer says, “Stay still, I’ll take the blindfold off.”

His hands gently slide up your cheeks, lifting it with care to avoid yanking on your hair. He pulls it up and away from your head smoothly.

The lights are dizzyingly bright. You blink rapidly, allowing your eyes to adjust on the face of the slightly concerned, slightly amused looking Spencer hovering above you. His left hand lingering against your cheek. You forget yourself entirely, lost in the intimacy of his touch, barely daring to blink in case it’s gone.

“Mistletoe!” Penelope cackles with glee, breaking your reverie.

“What?” You ask.

Spencer looks up. You follow his gaze, seeing the strategically placed mistletoe. In guiding you to safety, Spencer had walked right into Penelope’s trap.

Oh.

Derek teases something, underscored by a quip from Emily that has them both in hysterics. Neither you or Spencer are really listening.

He’s already so close to you. The pressure of his hand on your cheek starting to make you flush with warmth. His thumb strokes downwards, over your cheekbone. You tilt yourself a little towards him. Trying desperately to act casual, but ultimately failing miserably. His breath fans over your face, smelling faintly of rum and lime.

“Not like this,” He whispers, so quiet that only you can possibly hear him.

He presses a kiss to your cheek instead.

Fuck.

“Very exciting stuff guys,” Emily chirps.

Vaguely, you’re aware of J.J admonishing her, Rossi’s eyes studying you, Derek’s laughter, Penelope’s squeal of delight that someone had finally fallen into her trap.

Your heart thumps in your chest, and you wonder if it’s loud enough for Spencer to hear. From the way he swallows thickly, stepping back with a degree of caution and a look of a deer caught in the headlines, you think it probably was.

Fuck.

What did he mean not like this?

***

After the mistletoe debaccle, the party starts to die down a little. Hotch makes an excuse to leave, shortly followed by Rossi.

You stick around for a little while longer, devoting most of your time to the decidedly tipsy Penelope who’s hanging off Derek’s arm. The mood is nice, actually, a welcome change from the tense atmosphere that often clouds the bullpen, and its occupants wherever in the US they may be.

It’s a little after 1am when you decide to make your exit.

“Do you want to share an Uber?” You ask Spencer, gripping onto his elbow as he walks past.

“Yeah! I was planning on taking the metro but you’ll be safer in an Uber.”

“Are you...sharing it with me?” You ask, feeling a little awkward at having to repeat the request for clarification. The tipsiness you’d initially felt has started to wear off; it leaves both tiredness and an odd shyness in its place.

“Oh no! Of course!” He smiles, grabbing his satchel from where it’s slung over the back of his chair, “We’ll get them to drop you off first, then me.”

***

The wait for the Uber is silent, but not uncomfortable. You loll against Spencer, comfortable in the quiet. The only sounds to be heard of keys as various other agents leave the building. It’s easy to tell which are coming from the grind of the paperwork and which are coming from their own parties. You’d like to attribute it to a years worth of profiling experience but the tinsel around Jerry from White Collar Crimes’ neck is a tad on the nose.

You don’t speak until it arrives, climbing in and closing the door. Clicking your seatbelt into place.

“Sorry about embarassing us before,” You say, purposely being ambiguous.

He squints at you for a moment before opening his mouth, “You mean calling for me when you fell?”

“Yeah,” You say,

“You didn’t embarass me,” He says, quiet, “It was nice actually. Nobody’s ever called for me when they’ve been in trouble before.”

“What do you mean?”

“I uh, I guess I’m not the most athletic. People usually go to Morgan if they need some kind of physical help. It was nice. That you wanted me. Even if you are drunk.”

“I’d have asked for you sober,” You admit.

He squints in response, and you continue, “I trust you Spence. I trust you to always have my back in the field, to protect me. I’d trust you with my life. I mean, of course I’d trust any one of the others, the team wouldn’t work otherwise. But,” You trail off, a little embarassed.

“But it’s different.”

“Yeah. Like you’re the person I’m closest to I guess. In the almost year I’ve been here, we’ve worked together the most. I think I have the best working relationship with you. If ever there was a crisis, I’d want you. Even if the crisis is me tripping on my own shoelaces while blindfolded.”

You both laugh at that. It’d be easy to succumb to a comfortable silence again, let the moment fizzle out.

“I think the same about you,” He says, his voice cracks a little with the sincerity, “Whenever anything goes wrong. You’re the person I want to talk to.”

You move your hand forward to close the gap between you two, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it, “I’m really glad we have each other Spence.”

“Even when I beat you?” The playful glint in his eye is back.

“Even when you beat me.”

“If I remember correctly, and I usually do, you actually owe me for losing the bet.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, you said ‘I’m still betting you fail.’“

You smile, “We never agreed what we were betting.”

“We didn’t.”

"So what do you want as your prize then, Rudolph?”

“Rudolph?” He laughs a little, incredulously.

“Well I called you Bambi before and obviously you’ve proved you’re more talented, I needed to pick a respectably agile deer.”

“Rudolph was known for his nose, not his agility.”

“The song says he guided the sleigh Spence, he couldn’t have done that if he wasn’t agile.”

He shakes his head at you, “He was just in charge of the lights.”

“Did they or did they not get around the world safely?”

“The song never clarifies that.”

“It’d be a little dark for them to kill off Rudolph.”

“Probably why they didn’t include it in the song.”

You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes, “Well anytime you decide to stop nitpicking my compliments and decide what you want as your prize is fine by me, honestly.”

He smiles, obviously having decided to answer you sincerely. You study him as he, presumably weighs up his options, his teeth momentarily catching his plush lower lip. You swear you see his eyes flicker to your mouth. But then you blink, and he’s studying you thoughtfully.

Just wishful thinking

"Caramel,” He settles on.

"Caramel?”

“Last year I went to this coffee shop and I got their festive caramel coffee. It was amazing. But they only did it that one year, they gave me the recipe for the syrup but...” He trails off, looking embarassed, and when he speaks again his voice is quieter, “I kept burning it. I had a thermometer but I couldn’t get the temperature quite right.”

"You want me to make you caramel syrup for coffee? Mixologist skills don’t extend quite that far?”

He doesn’t say anything, instead pressing his lips together in a thin line. Almost as if he’s worried for your reaction.

You're quick to follow yourself up, “Well I’d be happy to give it a try, but I think I’ll need somebody to taste test it. Make sure I’m getting it right.”

He grins, “I’m probably a better taste taster than maker.”

“Well, we’re off for a few days, assuming we don’t get any cases. You’re at Ethan’s for Christmas, right? When are you back?”

“The 27th. But I’m going to visit my mom over new years, so I’m leaving again on the 30th.”

You nod, “Well, how about the 28th?”

“The 28th sounds good.”

It’s impossibly good (bad) timing that the Uber pulls up outside your building.

“Well I’ll look forward to it,” You say, undoing your seatbelt.

“Me too.”

There’s a silence. Not uncomfortable, but definitely not like the one earlier.  Your eyes linger on one another, almost cautious. There’s a buzz in the air, one that can't quite be attributed to alcohol.

Ask him what he meant by not like this

No

Ask him

“This your place?” The Uber driver asks, clicking his tongue with a degree of impatience.

“Yeah,” You reply, nodding. Reluctantly, you push open the car door, turning your head over your shoulder to look at Spencer as you depart.

His mouth hangs open a little, words seeming to play across his lips. Not making them out of his mouth. The driver clears his throat, and you throw him an apologetic glance. Spencer’s Uber rating will be in the toilet after this.

Good job he takes the Metro.

"Have a good Christmas Spence,” You say, wondering if he can tell. Wondering if he can sense how badly you want to stay, to let this Uber drive you around the backstreets of Virginia. They’re not particularly pretty. But there isn’t much you wouldn’t do just to spend time with him. You’d even allow yourself to promise caramel syrup you know you’ll butcher.

If he knows, the wistful look in his eyes doesn’t betray it.

“Have a good Christmas, _____.”

---

Next part: C is for Caramel

Series tagslist: @altsvu @reidingmelodies @muffin-cup @reidscanehand @bvttercupbby @jessicarabbit09 @lukewearingbeanies @lady-anon-x @aperrywilliams @southsidemistress @a-broken-pact @jjongs-tae-and-biscuits @reidsnose

(message me/reply to this to be added or removed!)

[barnesbabee]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ - ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀʟᴀɴᴅ

WONDERLAND MASTERLIST ⇜ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ - ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ-  ɴᴇxᴛ ⟿

CHARACTER LIST: White Rabbit - Choi Jongho Absolem (Blue Catterpilar) - Kang Yeosang Cheshire Cat - Kim Hongjoong Mad Hatter - Choi San Haigha (March Hare) - Jung Wooyoung Tweedle Dee - Song Mingi Tweedle Dum - Jeong Yunho Bloody Red King - Park Seonghwa

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @myunvillage @mirror-juliet @jess-1404 @earth-to-leiki [Send me a DM, an ask or comment to be added to the tag list]

"Teach you what?"

"How to be a better man, how to have mercy, and compassion."

Unbeknownst to you, a little purple and pink cat watched every step you took. Of course, it wasn't because he cared. Cheshire (unlike many other Wonderland villagers) genuinely wasn't affected by your presence, or lack there of, but the Hatter had asked him, in exchange of a hefty reward, of course, to keep an eye on his beloved Y/N.

While watching over you Cheshire just did a whole bunch of growling and nose scrunching. He hated the sight of the King, and even worse, was the sight of such a man in love.

"Such a shame to be the bearer of bad news dear friend," Cheshire said, not at bothered by the fact that he had bad news to tell "but it seems as if Y/N will be our new Queen."

The cat twirled a strand of his coloured hair around his index finger, as he fell down onto one of the many chairs along with the Hatter's never-ending table.

The Hatter's eyes widened and so did his toothy smile.

"She's carrying on with the plan! She will decapitate him herself and become our Queen! Oh but I'm so happy I could dance the Futterwacken again!"

He clapped feverously and suggested a toast, clearly missing the meaning of Cheshire's words.

"I'm afraid you missed what I meant, Hatter. She will be our Queen, because she will be marrying the King."

The atmosphere suddenly became silent, eerie even. The Hatter's green, sparkly eyes transformed into an ugly, rage-filled, yellow. The man gripped the teacup on his hand so hard it broke, but the rage, disappointment, and growing heartbreak fogged his brain to the point where he didn't even notice the pain, nor the blood trickling down his palm.

The Hatter was rarely angry, but when he was, it was enough to scare poor Cheshire, who didn't hesitate in disappearing into thin air. Or he tried to. Before every bit of his body could be gone, the Hatter grabbed Cheshire's hair, making the cat groan in pain, and threw him on the ground.

"What has he done to her!? Was it a curse!?"

Cheshire caressed his head and stood up to look at the Hatter.

"It wasn't a curse Hatter, she fell in love. After you deceived her and the King showed her nothing but truth and love, the choice was pretty evident."

The reasonable explanation seemed to calm down the Hatter, whose eyes morphed back into their greenish colour. However the dread and panic in his face were still evident. Cheshire, still quite upset at Hatter's tantrum, could see on his friend's face an expression of someone about to spew a terrible, terrible idea.

"We must get her away from the Palace. It's gotten into her head. Let's get her back to us!"

The man-like cat floated back to his usual place in the air, twirling in the process. He chuckled audibly, showing his sharp canines in the process.

"Hmm yes, let's steal her away from the man she's come to love, so she could be with us, the people who lied to her for our own benefit. Sounds like a party if you ask me..."

"A party!?" Haigha exclaimed, his left eye twitching as he smiled widely at the mention of his favourite hobbie.

"That's where the King's behaviour comes in our favour," the Hatter said, patting Haigha's head so he'd sit back down "once he sees her take her beloved Queen away, he will show his true colours, Remember how scared and freaked out she was last time we saw her? She said he seemed really sweet while talking to her until he eventually snapped. Once he snaps, he will freak out and bring out the tyrant's behaviour and scare her away."

It was hard for Cheshire to admit, but his mad friend's plan wasn't so mad after all. It was possible to accomplish what the Hatter suggested, and there was nothing to lose, you already hated them anyway.

The Hatter slapped his thighs and stood up, fixing his big top hat in the process.

"Shall we go?"

Haigha was already standing up from his seat when Cheshire stopped them.

"Perhaps we should discuss the plan further... Something tells me we might need some help from Absolem and Bayard..."

Sneaking you out past the Card Knights would take a lot of help, and Cheshire had already worked out in his head the escape plan. It would take a little pressure on Absolem, as he managed to care even less about the people around him than Cheshire did, but the cat was sure he could get a shrinking cake out of the blue catterpillar. After shrinking you and hatter down to the size of a strawberry, Bayard (the loyal dog friend of Hatter's, that Cheshire tried his best to keep a distance of) would bring you to the White Rabbit's house, as it would be too obvious to come back to the Hatter's cabin.

The cat had no intention to help you, but he did like to see some drama and commotion in Wonderland once in a while, and this was his chance.

Whilst all of the furious planning went on on the greenlands of Wonderland, in the Palace you and the King sat opposite of each other on his bed, gossiping like two high schoolers.

"And then my best friend at the time, Anna, slept with my boyfriend and said it was 'because of a dare'. I forgave her because we had been friends for so long but then she told my crush that I smelled so I stopped being her friend."

The King nodded along and listened attentively (trying his best to cross his legs just like you, but failing miserably) to your story.

"Hm yes, yes, I understand. My best friend ate one of my tarts so I cut off his head."

You couldn't help but scoff at the way he compared the situations, although you reprehended him right after for the heartless act.

He had asked to know of your previous life, how it was back in your world, and so you sat there reminiscing your past for hours on end. Most people in Wonderland came from other places, but Seonghwa had never been elsewhere, as he was born in the Kingdom.

"So this establishment you call 'school', was it like a club you went to where you reunited with your peers?"

"No, no. School was a mandatory thing for all kids, we went there and a bunch of teachers taught us about different things."

"Hm, but all you've told me so far were anecdotes about these friends of yours, what were these classes like?"

You blushed slightly, realizing that in fact, you didn't remember shit from school, aside from past dramas.

"Well, they told us many things about earth, about what makes the world move, about how society works, and what makes things work. We learned about gravity, about numbers, about stars-"

"Stars!?"

The King's eyes lit up as if he was a child whom you had promised ice cream to.

"Yes, stars. Why?"

Seonghwa stood up from the bed in such a violent manner, he nearly fell. The man ran over to his closet, from where he retrieved an old book. The hard cover was beginning to tear, and the once white pages had become a weird mix of brown and yellow, but you took it in your hands nevertheless.

"This book once fell into the Wonderland when I was a child. I was alone most of the time, so it kept me company. I can tell from the images it talks about the stars, and I think I learned a lot from it since I stared at them a lot, but I cannot comprehend the alien language."

The King leaned against the headboard, and you laid beside him, placing your head on his chest, so you could hear his now nervous heart beating fast from the contact. Out of instinct, the King placed his arm around you and pulled you closer, as you opened the book.

You chuckled slightly, after seeing the author of the book and opening its pages.

"Seonghwa this isn't an alien language, it's Italian. Well, I guess it's an alien language to you, but it was funny that you said it that way... The person who wrote it was very influential back where I'm from, he taught the people of Earth many things about our space."

The male listened carefully as you tried your best to explain the things in the book as best as you could.

"This here is what we call the Solar System. It has nine planets, but only one of them has people, this one, where I live." You told him, pointing towards Earth.

Seonghwa noticed how your posture changed, after you remembered once more that you would never return home again, and panicked for a second. He disliked many things, but your tears had definitely gone up to his number 1 on the list.

"How about I ask for a picnic to be arranged in the garden, and at night we can watch the stars."

You turned to face him and smiled as you nodded. Seonghwa's thumb caressed your arm, and you couldn't help but to place a soft kiss on his lips, as a 'thank you'. No matter how many times you did that, the King never seemed to get used to it. He would always feel butterflies in his stomach and fireworks exploding on his chest. Sometimes you felt perverted, thinking of how he'd react if one day you decided to take it... further. You imagined how pretty he'd look... But you decided to take your time. Baby steps...

The King couldn't wait for dinner time, and you could tell from the number of times he had gone up to the window and pushed away the blinds to see if the sun was finally setting.

As he was staring out the window, you came behind him and wrapped your arms around his figure.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

Seonghwa looked around, to make sure no one was nearby eavesdropping. He wouldn't want your secret to being known.

You tiptoed so your lips could be leveled with his ear.

"You're adorable."

Once you got back down and looked into his gleeful eyes, you smiled.

"Let's keep this secret between us!" He joked along.

"Yes, I wouldn't want the other ladies to know and steal you away."

Seonghwa held your face and lovingly placed a kiss on your forehead.

"The other ladies don't stand a chance next to you princess."

Your cheeks heated up and you slapped his chest out of embarrassment. The King's face grew worried and confused.

"Why did you hit me? Have I done something wrong? It was meant to be a compliment I'm sorry I compared you to-"

You grabbed his face and squished his cheeks, making him form an adorable pout with his red lips.

"Seonghwa, it was a good thing. I slapped your chest because I was embarrassed, I was really touched by your compliment."

Once you let go of his face, the King tapped his chin with his index finger, in a pensive manner.

"I have much to learn about our future interactions, I do not understand many things."

You just chuckled and took his hand in yours.

"We have many years ahead of us, you will learn someday."

The small acknowledgment of your future made Seonghwa very happy. Never in his pitiful life had he even thought of being this happy over small actions... Last week the only thing that brought him joy was the sound of a traitor's head hitting the concrete floors of the palace's main area, but since you arrived, a smile was all it took for his cold heart to start beating again.

It didn't take long before one of the frogmen knocked on the door to inform the picnic was ready. Seonghwa didn't let go of your hand as you walked outside, to sit among the red roses.

You had finally come to terms with Wonderland's weird food. You had no choice really...

"Have you never been attracted to anyone, Seonghwa?" You asked as you munched down on a sandwich of... whatever it was.

Seonghwa's expression faded a little.

"Once. I had just become King and I thought that the next step would, logically, be the find a Queen. Every woman displeased me. All but one. She was beautiful, hair as dark as the night sky, tanned skin from the sun, and a beautiful mole under the eye. But she was cold, evil... I thought that it was a perfect match. After all, I wasn't the most caring person. But she would treat me like a servant. Our relationship was purely to serve a purpose to the Kingdom, nothing else. We slept in separate rooms and spent the day apart. We only dined together, but since I saw the same behavior from my parents I thought that that was love. Our wedding had been scheduled long before she moved into the castle, we were simply waiting for the preparations to be finished. Everything was custom made, from the clothes to the flowers on every table. The day before the wedding I walked to her bedroom and found her laying with a servant of mine. You know, back when they weren't... Frogs. I had them both decapitated, of course. And I swore off love forever. That is until you came along."

You flashed him a sad smile and set down your food. He looked awfully confused as you climbed onto his lap, but he didn't protest.

You brushed his dark hair away from his eyes. Both of them. He suddenly felt very exposed and insecure, but you kissed his cheek, reassuringly.

"Ever since I came down here you've shown me nothing but love, and honesty. You didn't try to sugarcoat who you are, or what you've done, and I appreciate your honesty. My place in Wonderland is with you."

The male smiled, and kissed you, a little more passionately than all of the previous times. The male's hands trailed down your ass, and pulled you on top of his growing erection.

"For someone who has never been with anyone you're quite good at this."

"Well I... I lied. I had a fiancé after all, and we laid together but we didn't get far. There was no kissing involved, she just wanted to get it over with since I was the one who suggested we should... do it. But she made fun of me for not being good at it and I became... insecure. I was insecure and for the longest time I've wanted to try it with you, because you give me those special butterflies but I was afraid I'd disappoint you."

"What a cold, heartless bitch!" You thought to yourself. No wonder he was so bad at human interactions, every relationship he had was a trainwreck!

You grabbed his face and placed a long kiss on his lips.

"Well then, let me lead at first. If you start feeling more confident, you can take the lead, if not, I'll stay in control, okay?"

The King simply nodded and kissed you once more. This time deeper than he had ever kissed anyone. Tongues fighting so intensely the King nearly missed the way your hand expediently undid his trousers. Your hand slipped inside his boxers and took out his length. You looked down at the dick in your hand and widened your eye.

"Well aren't I a lucky girl."

You spat in your hand and kissed him again, as your hand worked up and down his shaft. The King was surprisingly very vocal, and he didn't try to hide or suppress any of his pretty moans (and for that you were thankful.

You stopped your hand, right as he was getting riled up.

"Ready for something better?"

The King watched you strip from your panties, and he cursed the frilly dress that covered your womanhood, but as soon as you sunk down on his cock, all of his worries and anguishes washed away. It was automatic, the way he gripped your hips and made you bounce on him as he snapped your hips against yours was something he did naturally as if he truly knew what he was doing. You brought out something different in him, and the King was simply doing was his body was telling him to do.

You gripped his shoulders, overwhelmed with the feeling of having him inside you.

"S-shit Seonghwa, you're good, r-really fucking good."

"Oh yeah?"

He flipped you two around, so he could pound into you with all the strength he had. Your words of encouragement were all he needed.

Your consistent (and loud) moans got him on the edge quickly, and he knew he wouldn't last long.

"Y/N forgive me, but I don't think I can last much longer."

Your hand reached down and began circling your clit, so when he came inside you, filling you up with his cum, you came right after, with a loud cry for his name.

Seonghwa laid on top of you, his face nuzzled on the crook of your neck, trying to regain his breath. You ran your hand through his hair as you did the same, looking up at the sky.

"The stars sure look beautiful today."

[tsarisfanfiction]

Colour symbol prompts

Fluff: black: protection

John protecting Scott

The Role of Protector

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort Characters: John, Scott

Uh, so I kinda maybe missed the "fluff" part of the prompt. Whoops. Ah well - this prompt intrigued me a lot so who knows, I might write some more protector!John at a later date - hell knows I love it when Scott's being protected by little brothers for once, and there's a large scope for that out there (I already have a second idea for John, which might actually tend more towards fluff than this one - not that that's particularly hard...)

4am seems to have snuck up on me without warning, so while I have proof read this I can't guarantee it was a perfect proof read... But some protective!John (and a nice side dish of Scott!whump as well).

Colour Symbol Prompts

It wasn’t often that John found himself in this position. Spending most of the year on Thunderbird Five had something to do with that, of course, but it was hardly the only factor at play. The fact that the only brother with him at the moment was Scott was another – a younger brother, with the possible exception of Gordon, was somewhat more likely to put John in his current position, but Scott was a different matter entirely.

As big brother and former military with the skills to match, even if he didn’t like to show them, Scott was the protector of the family. It was a role he hoarded viciously, because if it had fallen to one of the others then, to Scott’s mind, he’d failed.

John would disagree. Their big brother was still only human himself, and John had a long list of grievances attached to the way he seemed unable to step back and recharge even for a moment. There were times, though, where the choice was stripped from Scott, leaving him vulnerable and leaving the role of protector to settle elsewhere temporarily.

It was normally Gordon, for all that he was fourth out of five. Military steel skipped over Virgil – too soft, Gordon had confided in him before, although John knew it wasn’t a complaint, or sleight against the brother between them at all. Being soft against a world determined to tear itself and everyone inside it apart on a regular basis took its own strength, and Gordon knew that better than most. The steel skirted around John himself, too, although he liked to think he still had sharp edges when he needed them – the fact that he was rarely there in person was just another reason for the role to pass him over. None of them were ready to let the steel go near Alan.

Gordon wasn’t there, off on the other side of the world with Virgil rescuing yet another fishing trawler in distress. Alan was stuck in the world of homework, leaving John alone with his big brother.

His barely-conscious big brother, slumped against a cave wall where John had deposited him despite Scott’s best efforts to the contrary. Blood was blotching the bandages hastily applied to his shoulder; those would need changing soon, but John had other priorities to worry about first. International Rescue didn’t carry weapons, but both Scott and Gordon had proved that with enough creativity most of their equipment could be utilised as such. Given the situation, John had taken a leaf out of their book – and the grapple gun from Scott’s hip, which he was currently aiming with less surety than he’d like at the narrow entrance to the cavern they were hiding in.

The distress call had been a set-up. John was beyond relieved that he’d been nudged out on the rescue by Scott, who’d declared that he needed the practice with Earth-rescues and it was just a simple one so it would be good to get his eye back in. Their assailants had been prepared for Scott.

They had not been prepared for John.

Although, to be fair, John had also not been prepared to see Scott collapse a little way ahead of him, nor for the gunshot that had immediately preceded that. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d got both himself and Scott out of there without either of them taking any more bullets, but if pressed his guess would be that they’d been too surprised that Scott wasn’t alone to shoot immediately.

John had dragged his brother back, away from the assailants, and run through the cavern system as best he could with Scott injured and unco-operative to the sounds of angry shouts and pursuit. EOS had chirped in his ear that unauthorised personnel were attempting to gain access to Thunderbird One – she’d locked down the Thunderbird before anyone successfully got inside, but that had still meant that their only way out was blocked.

Instead, it was a waiting game – although it felt like a particularly dangerous form of hide and seek, if he was honest. He’d got in contact with the GDF via EOS, and they’d promised they were on their way. He just had to keep both Scott and himself safe until they did.

The small cave with its narrow entrance had been a find by EOS. Scott, of course, had tried to make him hide in there while he claimed he’d draw them away, but while that had made some sense in the form of the trail of blood leading right to them, it also made absolutely no sense for the same reason. John’s response had been to manhandle his unsteady and rapidly paling big brother into the cave and push him to sit down before he fell down.

His brother had not been best pleased, but John had been far more worried about the bullet and blood loss than keeping Scott happy. Still was, because despite the painkiller and bandaging, Scott was slipping further and further towards unconsciousness. John estimated he had two more minutes, at best, before Scott passed out entirely.

The GDF were more than two minutes out. It was touch and go if the blood trail would lead their assailants to their current location within two minutes. John tightened his grip on the borrowed grapple gun and swallowed.

He didn’t know if it was Scott in particular they were after, or if they’d just been planning to attack the first IR operative they saw. The lack of reliable data rankled; John despised being blind. EOS was digging, but so far nothing of note had come out of that.

But at the end of the day, what they wanted didn’t matter. They’d hurt Scott, they were hunting both of them, Thunderbird One was under assault, and John wasn’t normally the one with the role of protector on his shoulders but today he was, and he was going to do it justice.

They wouldn’t hurt Scott again. It didn’t matter if John had to use the grapple gun in ways it was not supposed to be used, or if he had to use his own body as a shield. He’d keep Scott safe.

The sound of something soft hitting the floor, which had to be Scott passing out because there was nothing else to fall, came at the same time as the voices. Angry voices, clearly following the blood trail, and John tensed.

All his instincts as a rescue operative were screaming for him to hurry to Scott’s side and check his condition. Common sense kept him where he was. Scott was around a craggy corner from the narrow entrance, impossible to see from the main cavern. As long as John didn’t move, there was no way they could get to Scott without going through him.

He kept his breathing low and even, counting his breaths silently to keep them under control. John wasn’t a fighter. Give him a computer and he’d destroy his target before they even realised what was happening, but in person was another matter entirely. He’d never even been able to scare off bullies at school, let alone armed assailants when all he had was the rescue gear in his and Scott’s uniforms.

There were many ways to win a war. Scott or Gordon would tackle the problem head on, offence the best form of defence, but they were trained for that. John wasn’t. John just had stories, some pranking experience, and his brain.

He didn’t need to beat their assailants. He just had to hold them off until the GDF arrived.

The voices were getting closer. Closer, closer, closer. John’s breathing hitched despite his best efforts to the contrary. Timing would be key. If he was even slightly out, then he’d have to fight for real, and while he’d stand his ground, he had no delusions about being able to win. He was too soon down from orbit for that, for starters.

They were close enough now for him to make out the words. Any chance that they had no idea where he and Scott were was destroyed by their discussions about the blood trail they were following. A blood trail that led straight to Scott.

John swallowed again. Sweat beaded on his brow, but he didn’t dare raise an arm to wipe it away. Both hands were locked around the grapple gun, still aiming through the narrow entrance. He couldn’t mess this up. Scott was – unconsciously, unwillingly – depending on him.

He could see them now. They hadn’t spotted him, too intent on the blood trail across the stone floor, but that could change at any moment. Three people, and he knew there were more but hopefully the others weren’t on hunting duty. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best chance John was going to get.

It was the only chance he was going to get.

He pulled the trigger.

It was Scott he had to thank for the extensive knot knowledge, his big brother coaching him through the Rescue Scouts badges even when he just wanted to get the stargazing ones and leave it at that. Grapple cables weren’t rope, but they were strong and sturdy yet still malleable enough to loop over and around as required until he’d managed a makeshift net. Cable ties from his own baldric, meant for repairs in space, had been deployed as reinforcements.

Lay the net just so, set up large chunks of rocks to fall when hit in the sweet spot, and a rudimentary pulley system from yet another grapple cable – Scott’s baldric had been scavenged bare of useful items, including the trauma kit that was trying and failing to keep the blood in his body – and he had a way to contain the first wave of approaching assailants.

Hopefully.

John watched with bated breath as it all snapped together, cable-net wrapping around the assailants and hoisting them dramatically into the air, counter-balanced by the weight of as many rocks as he’d been able to shift in the short timespan he’d had to set up the trap. There was furious yelling.

A gunshot sounded.

More furious yelling.

The trap held.

How long it would hold for, John didn’t know, but he did know that he’d hear it if they escaped, so with a shaky exhale he backed away from the narrow entrance, clipping the now-empty grapple gun to his own baldric, and hurried to Scott’s side.

The bandages needed changing. John rolled him onto his side, putting him into the recovery position to keep him stable, and dug out fresh supplies. Scott didn’t stir as he stripped away the old, bloodstained, linen and replaced it with fresh strips. A check of his pulse told John what he already knew – Scott was still alive, but had lost far too much blood.

If John had managed to capture all of the assailants, his plan had been to get Scott back to Thunderbird One and head straight for the nearest hospital. Unfortunately, that had not been the case, so he was forced to accept Plan B – wait for the GDF to show up and hope they arrived before any other ill-wishers.

John had only had enough equipment for a single trap.

[shadowsfascination]

Shadamy Swordland ch 6 |

Rouge brushed the dust from her clothes after scolding Shadow about his reckless move, whose attitude remained as indifferent as ever.

“Guys?-” Amy said, trying to get their attention.

  “I knew what I was doing!”

  “Sure didn’t look the part.”

  “Guys, look!” The pink hedgehog shouted. “A floating city…?!”

  Shadow and Rouge finally paid attention to her, turning their heads to look at her. Amy walked towards the end of a cliff and bent over to the edge to overlook the place they ended up on. Multiple sandstone paths winded across the skies along floating, vine-clad buildings with spiralling paths around them, leading to the top. Shadow joined her, hooking a finger behind her belt to keep her from a potential fall into the depths he couldn’t see the end of.

“It’s so beautiful… We should have a date here sometime.” Amy dreamily glanced at Shadow.

Rouge whistled, impressed by their discovery. She flew to the closest floating pathway across from the others and created a connecting road between them, closing the gap so they could cross. Amy ran forward to the path and yanked Shadow along with her, who had forgotten he was still hooked on her belt. The male tumbled onto her, his weight pressing on her, making her falter. He quickly unhooked his finger from her belt and curled his arm behind her back to catch her.

  “Gotcha. You need to start watching your back more if you still want that date, Rose.”

 _____________________________

 Meanwhile elsewhere on a floating island above the sky-high ruin befallen floating city the three had set foot on, an echidna picked up the slightest of vibes of a familiar energy. He rested against the stone stairway that led to an altar, his eyes closed as he concentrated on the waves of energy that unexpectedly drifted among the upward winds. He rose and walked towards the bridge that connected the floating island to the city below.

  ‘Knuckles’, the guardian’s name, attempted to seize some shards of green energy that whirled up to the island, but couldn’t get a hold of it. They flew off in different directions, escaping the grasp of his hands. He doubted for a second.

  “No, I’m sure of it. This has to be Chaos Energy!”

  The quizzical expression however didn’t leave his face for the gemstones he was guarding were right here with him. They were the only thing he’d ever seen that could produce this type of energy waves. He was more than familiar with the stories of special Mobians possessing a strange power that could either use or produce Chaos Energy, but never saw one before.

“Guess it’s time for me to test out that sacred art skill.”

 Every new-born member of the designated guardian family inherited a sacred art skill called ‘vision’ when they’d been given a name. After the naming ceremony, which would secure the bond between the Master Emerald and the future guardian, the skill would develop along with them as they grew up.

  The ‘vision’ allowed them to sense Chaos Energy up to a 15 mile radius around them. It also gave them the ability to ‘jump’ into an image, zooming in on it like a telescope. The most important thing about it though was that the guardians could make the entire island temporarily invisible to hide it from outsiders.

  Knuckles rapidly blinked three times in a row, activating the skill and zoomed in on the source of the Chaos energy. Taking in three Mobians he saw walking on the floating paths of the Sky Sanctuary he gasped with unease. The black one made him recall something like he recognized him.

 “He looks like…-”

 He ran back to the altar and quickly scanned the murals on it, his eyes widening at the shocking resemblance of the images and the Mobian strolling on the floating pathways below him. He looked at the black male again.

 “It is him! But why? What’s he doing here? I’d better keep an eye on them.”

 The guardian decided to track them from the island and casted a spell to turn the island invisible, not letting his curiosity getting the best of him.

 ___________________________

  “So, what will you do when you’ve obtained the emerald, Rouge?” Shadow asked.

  “I’ll take it to the man who’s willing to help me, like I told you.”

  “What does he plan to do with it?”

  ‘He’s getting a little too interested in this. I’d better distract him.’ Rouge thought.

  “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask so many questions?”

  The bat acted overly insulted only to bump into Amy next when she wasn’t paying attention of what was ahead of her. The pink hedgehog had stopped walking without warning and the others immediately understood why. Unmistakably present was the amount of Chaos spores in the air ahead of them, leading upwards. Amy took a step forward.

  “Amy!”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Rouge yelled.

  “What?! I’m going up there! To that floating island.” Amy pointed upward.

  “Floating island?” Shadow questioned.

  “Sweetie, I don’t see anything up there. Maybe we should call it a day.”

  “How- how can you NOT see it?! It’s right there! Look!”

  Seeing the other’s puzzled expressions Amy finally believed they really didn’t see what she in fact saw: a bridge leading to a floating island. That’s where all the chaos energy’s concentrated. How could they not see it? Especially with their sacred arts levels higher than hers.

  “It’s really there! I’m telling you it’s real. I’m not crazy, okay!”

  Shadow and Rouge first glanced at each other with a kind of concern before shifting their gaze at Amy.

  “I don’t rule out that there’s something up there, okay? But let’s call it a day and go back here another time. “ Rouge said.

  “Agreed.” Shadow added.

  “Fine. I’ll show you when we get back here.”

 _______________________________________

  After Amy and Shadow parted from Rouge they walked back to the academy in the dark. It had started snowing again and a bleak breeze flared up, dusting up the snow in tiny, cold whirlwinds of powdery snow. Before Shadow waved his student goodbye and paced on to his home, he told her to get a good night of sleep before the sword fight tournament tomorrow. He hoped she wouldn’t be too tired from today’s events. Bending over to the flower pot next to the front door to pick up his keys from underneath it, he suddenly felt someone’s hands on his shoulders.

  “You and I need to talk!”

  His fellow knight hissed at him while dragging him into the shadows of the alley next to the hedgehog’s house. Blaze yanked Shadow towards her, their metal breastplates clanking at their touch. The cat pulled him up by the little chest-fur that managed to pop out from under his armour, poking a finger in his muzzle. Her eyes fiercely glanced at his own crimson ones.

  “Why are you still hanging out with her? On your day-off that is. Don’t you understand how this will add to the already existing rumours?”

  He pushed her away and stepped back. “What’s your problem?! It’s dark and no one’s even here.”

  “I am. I caught onto it. Someone else might as well.”

  “We have been training in the woods today in preparation of the tournament tomorrow. I have nothing to hide apart from my trainee’s excellent swordfight skills, that is.”

  “It doesn’t look like that, Shadow! You return in the dark after spending the day together. You’re constantly looking over your shoulder and scanning the place the entire way you’ve been walking with her as if to make sure no one catches onto you two.”

  “We’re just trying to avoid causing more rumours. I’m not even the least bit interested in her like that. I don’t care about romance, Blaze.”

  “Well, you’re clearly getting along with her. Even if what you say is true, it looks suspicious.”

  “See what you wanna see. I don’t care.”

  The lavender coloured cat grabbed his shoulders, genuine concern glistering in her eyes.

  “Care about it a little more, will you?! As a member of the high order of knights you have a reputation to uphold! We all do. Your actions might affect all of us.”

  “No need to remind me. Now stop sticking your nose in my business and worry about your own student. That hyper-annoying blue hedgehog is a real troublemaker.”

  Blaze’s face showed a variety of changing expressions at Shadow’s statement. Sonic was an adventurous spirit with an impulsive nature and when he felt it was needed, he turned out to be a true rebel at heart. It often lead Blaze to the board’s office to apologize on behalf of him when Sonic refused to. Her cheeks coloured a bright pink, all much to Shadow’s amusement.

  “That’s… beside the point right now! I propose the idea that you two will only train inside the training facilities and domes for a while, so you’d be in si-“.

  “Rejected. It’ll disadvantage her in battle. Amy has as much right to develop her fighting style in secret as anyone else.”

  “If you truly have nothing to hide, this shouldn’t be a problem.”

  He shrugged himself free of her hold.

  “This conversation’s over. Good night, Blaze.”

 ___________________________

 “Hey Ames!”

  Sonic excitedly waved at his pink friend when spotting her entering the Ruby Dome’s dressing room. He walked up to her, tossing her towel to her. Amy caught it with ease and wiped the sweat from her forehead while gulping down a glass of water.

  “Ah, thanks! I needed that. Are you up next?”

  “Sure am. How did your matches go?”

  “I’ve won every single one of them.” Amy smiled like a victor.

  The blue hedgehog gave her a thumb’s up while holding the door open for her to enter the main battlefield in the dome. Shadow and Blaze greeted their students and Amy proudly told her friend and trainer how she’d won all of her matches today. The cat expressed her gleeful surprise about Shadow and Amy’s secluded training session the other day, only to display the suspicion in her jade eyes.

  “That’s me! Wish me luck, will you?”

  “Good luck, Sonic!”

  As Amy watched Sonic enter the battlefield, she saw Shadow enter after him. She’d completely forgotten Shadow competed against the seniors today. Amy knew very well that both Sonic and Shadow were crazily fast and both had outstanding sword and dodging skills. It was still likely for Shadow to win, but every spectator today knew this match ought to be very interesting.

  Both hedgehogs had that peculiar look on their faces with a certain grin curling their lips and a certain seriousness in their eyes. Amy couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. She took a seat next to Blaze whom she felt had a similar nervousness over her. Amy said a little prayer in her thoughts that Blaze wouldn’t start questioning her about Shadow. She felt guilty enough already as it was for lying to her.

  “Good luck Sonic, you’ll need it” Shadow challenged him.

  “Heh, we’ll see about that.”

  Sonic’s grin widened and he scratched his nose. They nodded once at the referee, readying themselves at his countdown. The way the hedgehogs’ body language showed the energy inside them made it more than obvious both had long anticipated a match like this. At the sound of the ringing bell the two dashed forward, racing towards their opponent, leaving a cloud of dust behind.

  Confidently preparing for the incoming impact of their swords clashing against one another, Shadow neared his opponent, effortlessly matching his speed. Searching for an open spot to strike, the two hedgehogs closed in on each other. Sonic’s eyes fixed on Shadow’s sword to block his upcoming strike.

  Within the last two or three steps away from him, he felt his heart jolt inside his chest, his eyes drawn to their swords. The spectators screamed enthusiastically behind them. The small piece of emerald on the handgrip of Shadow’s sword flared with light as he dashed forward. The air filled with thousands of tiny turquoise fireflies, which Amy now knew were actually Chaos spores.

  “Oh boy… “ Amy squeaked, holding her breath.

  “You’ve seen this stuff before?” Blaze asked.

  “Errr, yes! It’s some sort of energy.”

  The metal swords clanked against each other with tremendous impact when Sonic blocked his opponent’s strike. His sword suddenly blazed like Shadow’s after their touch, creating a large bolt of nasty bright light. Like he had hit the break at once everything just stopped around them, totally frozen in time. He was only able to move his eyes and shifted his gaze from his sword to Shadow. The black hedgehog looked back at him, clearly experiencing the same thing.

  In the blink of an eye a small emerald was laid in the handgrip of his sword, blazing as fiercely as Shadow’s. It sent a powerful rush through his body before the frozen world came back alive again. The bolt of light swung them high into the air, smashing them down on the opposite sides of the battlefield with a loud crash. Neither of them moved. Clouds of dust formed above the place the hedgehogs crashed into the ground while the crowd gasped in shock in the stands behind them.

________________________________

END NOTES

Pfff this took me long enough. I’m actually not at all satisfied with this chaper. I feel like it’s a little stiff. Bleh. I just don’t know how to write it differently.  This always happens though. Somewhere along the process of writing a story I start to dislike what I write because it lacks decent quality imo...  AAAAHH! 

Anyway here it is! I still hope the ppl who do read it enjoy it. As always: annoying drammar mishaps/typos or tips and thoughts are welcome. Be friendly though :) Just message me.

I’m also working on a couple of oneshots and drawings. In between now and June I’ll be busy making a portrait of my grandpa who passed away in november (he had covid). I promised my grandma I’ll make her a painting of him for her birthday in june. 

@shadamyheadcanons 

[anika-ann]

For a Smile

Type: One-shot, Reader Insert               Word count: 5400

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, OC x reader (brief)

Characters: Steve Rogers, Reader, OFC, OC

Summary: You see him run past every morning. So you smile, because he looks like a nice person. How could he not be when he smiles back and the world stops for a while to pay respect to such beauty?

And sometimes… sometimes this incredibly handsome man smiles first.

Warnings: mentions and hints of (psychically) abusive relaionship, suggestive themes, swearing, all the fluff in the world

A/N: I used to pass this guy near a café playing music every morning when I went to school and at some point, our eyes kinda met and we smiled at each other; then we did that every day. I kid you not, he’s got the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. It’s not a Hollywood-star smile, no – it’s a guy-next-door smile, heart-warming, with his eyes simply shining. He’s like a kid on Christmas Day… I could ramble on. Anyway, just so you knew what brought this on.

○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○ ♥ ○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○  

A smile costs less than electricity, and gives more light. (Scottish proverb)

Warm honey, sandstone and apricot orange melting into indigo, cerulean blue and stone-grey sky. Merigold playing with salmon and rose pink, teasing each other and making space to the warmer shades of orange.

You watched the beautiful colours of sunrise as you shifted your legs for a bit, causing the simple plank hanging on two tattered ropes sway, a smile tugging on your lips.

It was a little childish really, or it may appear so to anyone who would be passing by; but given what an early riser you were, just so you could watch this breath-taking game of colours, the little miracle of nature, no person could question you as you were dangling your feet off the old swing.

On your way to work, if the time allowed it, you would always make a stop on your favourite spot; a no-name park in upstate New York you were walking through every day, rather calm and drunks-free at the early hour.

Once upon a time, someone had placed a simple swing on one of the trees farther from the path. You sent a silent thank you every time you parked your behind there. You weren’t a monster; if a kid wanted to sit here, you would have gladly (...reluctantly) made space for them, but they seemed to always be more mesmerized by the playground with the actual swings, the chutes, the monkey bars and the sandpit. You couldn’t say you complained though, having the old-fashioned swing for yourself.

It was childish, perhaps; though your mother had once chosen that you should be going into accounting and so you had. Numbers and bills were things even adults hated, but that was what being old enough meant. You didn’t mind it too often, plunging into them for living, but… you needed to compensate, so you felt entitled.

Plus, the motion of the swing was soothing, as if magically transporting you back to your childhood indeed, with less worries, more ease and pure mind.

Yeah, sitting on the swing was your favouri-

Rapid staccato of feet hitting the ground in the distance, no doubt scaring off the birds chiming their morning songs, reached your ears and you had to admit you wouldn’t be completely honest with yourself if you said this was the favourite moment of your day only because of the aforementioned reasons.

There was one more.

It had strong long sweatpants-clad legs, broad shoulders in a sports t-shirt with seams crying for help, blond hair and-

Your heart melted along with your brain as your lips curled up in a genuine smile you sent in return.

-and the most beautiful smile in the whole universe.

You never spoke. Didn’t say hello. You never even nodded in mutual acknowledgement.

You just… smiled at each other.

And that was your favourite moment of the day crafted to perfection. A breath-taking sunrise, almost eclipsed by a mesmerizing display of the row of perfect white teeth framed by plush coral red lips and the twinkle in beautiful inviting eyes of a stranger.

You knew his name despite never exchanging a single word. Everyone knew his name. But Captain Rogers – Steven Grant Rogers – was a name that held no meaning. He didn’t know yours and probably never would; so strangers was who you were. A couple of strangers exchanging a smile every morning and lightening up (hopefully) each other’s day.

It always felt nice when you glanced at someone on the street, then just… somehow smiled and they smiled back, didn’t it? So what if you were an adult woman dealing with numbers for Stark Industries sitting on a swing and he was a deservedly treasured national icon?

It made no difference.

Just two people sharing a tiny piece of their day for a smile.

○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○ ♥ ○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○  

“You’re insane,” your colleague stated dryly as she walked into the office at seven thirty, already finding you with an empty coffee cup, your fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Huh?” you raised your eyes from the screen on autopilot, not really paying attention.

You still noticed Harry rolling her eyes; it was just that distinctive.

“I said that you’re insane, you crazy-ass lark. My brain isn’t even awake yet. To be fair, I’m ninety percent sure I met Captain Handsome in the hall along with our boss, so it’s hard to tell if I’m dreaming or not, having a vision like that.”

“Captain Handsome?” you frowned, your mind racing, desperately trying to remember who was Harriet’s newest crush. ‘Captain Handsome’ could be literally anyone.

“Our resident Star-Spangled Man, you dummy. You’re low on caffeine. Or sleep. That’s what you get, getting up in such an ungodly hour…” she hummed, crossing her arms on her chest as she looked at you sceptically, a drop of disappointment in her eyes.

Oh. Oh! That made sense; if the man was with Tony Stark, the range of options narrowed significantly, especially since your friend had called him a captain. Except it didn’t make any sense at all.

“What was he doing here? I mean… since when is he wandering in our department? It’s all across the compound here from the training area.”

“Well, look who’s actually awake and bright-minded…” It was your turn to roll your eyes at your friend. “My point exactly. No clue, but lemme tell you – seeing that ass? Definitely made my day,” she threw over her shoulder as she stalked to the coffee machine and you couldn’t but chuckle at her bluntness.

Your stranger had an amazing smile, that was true. But your gaze did slide elsewhere on occasion too; which was why you would never try to disprove Harry’s claim.

“We might have the Ironman for a boss, but, girl… I’d like to know what Rogers’ ass is made of then,” she added and you burst into another fit of giggles, your face feeling hot all of sudden when your mind unhelpfully supplied with ‘vibranium’.

What would it feel like?

Yeah, you definitely needed to go back to your numbers before your impure thoughts got the best of you.

○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○ ♥ ○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○  

The first time you two met outside the park, you were in a bar.

You hadn’t seen him for almost a month, assuming he went on a long-drawn mission; one that had ended well, clearly, since he was out drinking. Just eyeing his companions and instantly noting his body language, you could tell he was suffering. Like, not literally suffering, but it was very much obvious he was not feeling comfortable.

His eyes were drifting all over the place, as Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes laughed loudly, patting his shoulders while a hint or red dusted his cheeks, and then they fell on you.

His face was screaming ‘save me!’; yet, his smile was still as warm and kind as ever, an impossible spark within his irises, visible even from the distance. That twinkle was always the biggest mystery to you, because logically, no person could have eyes so bright, but here he was, proving your claim wrong.

Your lips spread in a smile automatically and encouraged by your second drink, you considered adding a small silly wave.

Before you could execute the decision, the result of your two last braincells arguing whether it would be more silly or sweet, an arm sneaked around your shoulders and your smile widened on instinct at the sensation. You turned your head to Cade and met his lips halfway to yours.

You had been dating for almost a month now and this inconspicuous guy from logistic of a giant company that was surprisingly not Stark Industries was a dream coming true. He was showering you with so much attention you weren’t sure he was real. Late-night conversations via phonecalls or texts, good morning, good night, kisses that lasted long enough for you to forget that you in fact needed oxygen, touches that set you on fire. He was easy to fall in love with.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout that got you smilin’ so wide, babe?” he whispered to your ear, grazing your earlobe with his teeth.

Gosh, you wanted him. The first sex hadn’t been so great, Cade chasing his own release, but hey, first times were always hard in a new relationship. The more were you excited about your second time and you were confident the second time would happen tonight.

“Nah, just smiling at strangers. You know that feeling, so nice, when you just toss a smile and they smile back?” your eyes found his, only to see him frown.

“I like it better when you smile for me, babe. What did some stranger do for you to deserve that?” he hummed discontentedly, pouting adorably as his hand slid lower to squeeze your hip possessively. It sent a spark through your body, a lightning striking right into your core.

“Just teasing you, Cade. I was thinking about how I lucked out,” you batted your eyelashes and a slow delicious smirk played with the corner of his mouth all of sudden, intensifying the heat inside of you.

“Wanna get out of here, pretty thing? Lemme show you how lucky you are?” he whispered, the pad of his thumb grazing your lower lip, pulling it down a fraction. “Or maybe… show me how much you think you lucked out, huh? How much you appreciate being mine?”

God, yes.

Judging by the glint in his eyes and the hungry kiss that lasted too short – but too long for such a public place – he didn’t need a verbal confirmation. He swung by the bar to pay for your drink and practically dragged you out of the rather crowded space. Your head was spinning a bit and you couldn’t tell whether it was excitement or alcohol. Either way, you really, really liked it.

○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○ ♥ ○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○  

“You know that Cade was a dick right?” Harry noted nonchalantly while she handed you a cup of coffee and assessed (correctly) that you were sulking again, thinking back to that one particular night when you had noticed the first sign – or you would have if you hadn’t been such a goddamn idiotic goose of a woman, drunk on top of that.

You sighed and sipped your punishingly bitter dose of caffeine.

You were positively brooding and you didn’t care if it affected anyone else. The world apparently hated you and you couldn’t quite blame it.

Not even your precious strangers-exchanging-smile moments felt the same anymore. First, your stranger had started smiling less brightly after your encounter at the bar and then, even if it had changed, you wouldn’t be able to tell, because you were too wrapped in your own misery. Even the curve of his lips looked sad, which was a stupid thing to say, because he had no way of knowing about either Cade turning out to be an abuser-in-making or about you breaking things off with him and cracking your fragile heart in the process, while yelling at yourself mentally every morning and still longing for Cade’s arms around you since it always felt oh, oh so good to be held…

You recognized the signs early, but not soon enough. You let it escalate into him trying to control when you went out and with whom, him lashing out when you wouldn’t respond to his text in longer than five-minutes time, letting him yell at you when you missed his call… he loved you, after all, he just missed you and was afraid you were with someone else, and oh babe, come here, you can make it up to me…

Your sister had gone through something similar, for god’s sake. You should have noticed sooner. You should have known better. But no, you had allowed your body, your twat to be precise, to rule your brain and that had been stupid.

Cade had tried to get in touch several times after your break-up, even waiting in front of your apartment until you would go out once; you might have threatened him with a restraining order after that particular day and he had stopped quickly after that, only two of three attempts with a new e-mail address and number to get pass you blocking his previous ones.

Still. It made you miserable. And perhaps a bit self-hateful.

You deserved every bitter drop of Harry’s horrible coffee and more.

“I was being blind and stupid,” you opposed and returned to your figures, deciding your exchange was over. Figures were clear enough; they were easy to read and didn’t make your brain drunk on endorphins and other very specific hormones allowing you to act like a teenage girl, excited at her first boyfriend groping her. “Thanks for the coffee.”

A huff sounded above your head and suddenly your swivel chair was being yanked back and turned around, a pair of strict chocolate eyes boring into your soul with startling clarity. Harry’s fingers were wrapped around the armrests as she was leaning into your space.

You backed into your chair instinctively. She looked menacing.

“He was a charming bastard from what I heard and his type always knows how to manipulate people, letting them see what he wants them to see. It’s not your fault. You’re one badass of a woman, smart as hell for noticing before it escalated. You’re my hero. Mine and every other person’s who has ever been in or even heard of an abusive relationship. You can do better than him. It’s a funny coincidence they spelled his name wrong anyway.”

You blinked away your sudden tears, immensely grateful for her words that somehow wormed their way inside your very core (you blamed the intense stare that reminded of your mother’s when she was giving you the kind of talk that was too serious for you to handle) and yet you tilted your head in confusion, not understanding the meaning of her last statement.

“Huh? His… his name?” you stuttered, baffled.

Harry positioned your chair back to its place with a grin and went back to her own business.

“Clearly, they added an ‘E’ at the end. What a stupid typo…” she threw over her shoulder cheekily and when you caught up, understanding her point, you released the first honest laughter in what felt like a year.

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Your life had been set off to better course after that short conversation. You felt like you were healing every day, finding yourself lighter. Happier. Freer of the baggage Cade had tried to left you with. The sensation was indescribable and it radiated from you; some days more noticeably than others.

You found yourself indulging the blond stranger’s smiles once more, finally seeing the spark in his eyes again, the genuine curve of his lips warming your heart and starting off your day in the best way imaginable.

Naturally, life had a reliable means of showing you it could suck.

Right when you thought that you were fine, it delivered another blow; your favourite place in the world… ceased to exist.

Someone put the swing in the park down.

They just… erased it from existence.

Maybe they considered it dangerous. Maybe they were being dicks. Maybe they thought it was old and ugly. It didn’t quite matter.

You could weep, mourning your intimate inanimate friend.

You didn’t cry. But it was a damn close call as you shuffled towards the playground and eyed it sceptically. You knew it wouldn’t be the same and not just because the swings were in a plain sight, but they also looked too fancy, to actually child-like and— they weren’t your swing. Your sanctuary. Your private space. Your secret place you never told anyone about, not Cade or your previous boyfriends, not your family, not Harry or other friends, not to anyone.

You watched the sun rise on the horizon, ridiculously heavy feeling in your chest, ignorant to the rest of the world.

God, you hated Mondays. You already knew this week was about to be a disaster.

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“There’s a swing outside in the green area.”

“Huh?” you hummed distractedly, too deep into figures to register more than the sound of your friend’s voice. What was her name again? What was yours? What day was today? What was the time? Had you already had lunch? Had the lunch-time already passed…?

A chuckle followed by a to-be offended tone responded to your intelligent way of communicating.

“I’m starting to think ‘Huh’ is my name with how often you call me that,” Harry (aha!) remarked with a hint of sass, but repeated herself, because she knew she shouldn’t take it personal that you didn’t quite payed her any attention. You were a person who would get sucked into their own world, too focused on one task to acknowledge anything else. “A swing. In our compound park. It’s kinda cute, hidden from a plain sight though, a simple wooden thing.”

You slowly raised your eyes to hers, your pupils widening with surprise. Your pulse was roaring in your ears, your heartbeat no doubt shaking your whole frame.

Harry was telling you that there was… a swing. In the compound area. Hidden from everyone’s prying eyes, at least partly.

Why?

How?

You could only come up with one ridiculous theory which involved you, but that idea alone was laughable. Why would anyone do that for you? More importantly, how did anyone know-

“You think it’s an invitation for children? Like, is ‘bring your kids to work’ day happening any time soon? ‘cause, not to be rude and greedy, but one swing doesn’t seem like— hey!” Harry called after you, but you could barely hear her as you jumped to your feet, your heels be damned, and strode through the halls with zero regards to anyone in your way.

Not that there was a soul; people actually worked around here, too busy to wander the halls.

The thing was, that one theory about the swing didn’t just involve you. It involved one more person, but that person was a stranger to you and had no reason to even… acknowledge you. Besides the obvious part of your day that no longer existed – not in the way it used to. But the thought was simply laughable.

A different part of your brain raised a figurative sceptical eyebrow, argumenting that you had no better explanation for the phenomenon.

Because… you loved Harry. She knew about your traditional early morning watching the sunrise, but not about the swing. The swing was always a secret, no one knew, except… except one particular guy who always passed you on his morning run and exchanged a smile with you and just happened to work at the very same compound you did and technically had the power to pull the strings to make this happen.

With your heart hammering in your chest, you gasped for fresh air when you finally made it out of the building, your eyes searching for a calm spot, a tree in whose shades you could possibly find a prove of Harry not pulling your leg.

Your heart positively stopped when your eyes fell on the simple plank hanging on two ropes, indeed offering a safe space for anyone who decided to sit there in search for serenity.

You felt tears stinging in your eyes, your feet moving of their own will despite semi-high heels digging into the ground an inch with each step, bringing you closer to that little, yet breath-taking miracle. A chuckle escaped your lips when your trembling fingers brushed the grey ropes, more of your senses acknowledging that this was in fact happening.

Your hand followed the line of the rope, sliding to the plank, only to notice a rough sensation on your fingertips in the corner. A carving, you realized.

Tears of surprise actually welled up when you recognized they were initials. Your initials.

How-- how was that possible?

‘Sit down, you dummy!’ your consciousness cried out exasperatedly. ‘It’s clearly for you!’

“But why?” you asked it under your breath incredulously, thousands of questions ruminating, no answers on the horizon.

Regardless, you reluctantly lowered yourself, shocked when your feet dangled above the ground in precisely the same way they used to-- they used to in the park. It was even installed in the same height.

Reverently, you gave the swing a test-drive, just tiny motions of your feet to try it out.

It was perfect.

Your gaze fell on a sign on the tree trunk, small, subtle and harmonizing with the place without a fault.

Sanctuary of the kind ones. Do not disturb, it read.

You giggled breathlessly, lightheaded and with no care in the world.

That naturally changed when you spotted your very much expectant colleague in the distance, her arms crossed on her chest, figuratively tapping her foot and screaming questions without saying a single word.

The thing is, you thought, I have no idea how to answer.

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Perhaps it was naïve, a child-like trust and excitement, but the next day, you went to your new spot expecting to enjoy the sunrise there and not to be disturbed indeed.

You weren’t.

What you couldn’t quite prepare yourself for was the single daisy lying on the wood, starling you to no end. Hesitating all of sudden, you searched your surroundings, wondering if you interrupted someone else’s plan. Perhaps someone had the same initials as you and whoever made this happen had a different person in mind, doing it for them and the swing was just a funny coincidence.

But then in the middle of your mussing – on the swing, because, screw it, you might as well enjoy this since no one had kicked you out yet – a familiar figure ran past, gracing you with a beautiful smile, once again without a word and with a shy gaze falling to the ground after you met their eyes. With that, it… actually started to settle.

He had done this for you. For some incredible inexplicable reason… your smiling ‘stranger’ offered you a kindness of unseen measures.

And as if it wasn’t enough, you would find a different flower on the wood every day for the whole week. They weren’t even fancy flowers, which made it absolutely magical. Daisy. Tulip. Lilly. No red roses, only cute blossoms, matching the simplicity of the swing.

Harry was nearing the verge of insanity due to your goofy smiles and flowers in your hands; but you remained tight-lipped like an international spy during an interrogation, too afraid that if you said it out loud, sharing that ridiculous impression you were getting these days with anyone, your bubble would burst.

And surely enough, as if you jinxed it mentally, the next Wednesday, no flower waited for you.

It was ridiculous how your mood died instantly. It could have had hundreds of explanations including the one that he went for a mission, because he was Captain Freaking America, in case your stupid heart forgot, but nope, you would still feel the corners of your lips turn down.

You watched the shades of orange bleeding into blue and grey, lost in thought and with unsettling longing in your heart.

You suspected his steps sounded purposely loud when they came from behind you, where you wouldn’t expect them. You didn’t need to see the familiar Nikes on his feet to know it was him; you doubted anyone else would approach you, let alone at such early hour.

Yet you would lie saying your heart didn’t skip a beat when he stopped in his slow tracks by your side, steady feet next to your dangling ones, and you had his identity confirmed.

Your throat went dry and stiff, your voice dying before it could form.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he whispered reverently, not disturbing the peace of the indeed lovely scenery in front of you.

You didn’t dare to look away from the sunrise as your voice came out unfairly scratchy, a stark contrast to his deep and smooth one that felt like a caress on your skin.

“It is.”

Silence fell on your pair again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The birds sung their morning songs, waking up the world and you didn’t think words were needed. Except you owed him something, and you wanted to say it.

Reluctantly tearing your gaze away from the painting by the most amazing artist, the nature itself, you casted a glance at him.

You didn’t realize you had never seen him still; duh, you did know that, but what didn’t quite click in your brain was that you would be able to see him in all his glory, soft smile and an absent gaze framed by long eyelashes, shadows casted all over his face and body, playing games which gave him a surprisingly ethereal aura for a man of his built.  

Your stomach tied itself into a knot at the sight and the ‘thank you’ got once again stuck in your throat when his eyes turned to you as well, you breath stolen from your lungs, your lips parting uselessly and curling into a smile on instinct when his did.

Despite seeing the too startling sparkle up close, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the deep blue with a hint of green of his irises. It was just too captivating, locking you in a sweet cage you didn’t feel trapped in, but free and suddenly able to breathe in again.

“Thank you,” slipped from your lips unwittingly, shocking to your own ears.

The very same hint of scarlet you remembered from the infamous bar encounter dusted his cheeks, his smile softening as he turned a bashful gaze away, now fixated on the ground.

“Just wanted to see you smile again. Best part of my day,” he admitted, peeking at you from the insanely long and thick eyelashes and you could melt on spot, dizzying vertigo overcoming you at the sweet words. Good thing you were sitting.

You had no idea how to respond, your heartbeat thumping in your temples, your face feeling too hot and chest pleasantly warm at such admission. Your teeth went to chew on your lip and you abruptly stopped yourself. Bad, bad habit.

“Was… was that the only thing? Because the swing would be more than enough, let alone with my initials, and the flowers-“

“Maybe-“ he softly interrupted your lame attempt at flirting which had turned into a babble, but with same nerves coursing his voice unless your senses were playing tricks on you. A shiver ran down your spine at the realization that he might be as nervous as you were-- the strangest thing in the world, wouldn’t it be? “Maybe I could tell you… over a coffee?”

A daffodil entered your field of vision, happy, bright and yet somehow shy in his big hand and you didn’t think twice before accepting it, your fingers brushing his skin in the process only half-accidentally. Passing you the flower, he offered you a hand so he could assist you in standing up.

Ah, as if he knew your knees felt wobbly and uncooperating with the overwhelming turn of events.

You didn’t hesitate to accept that either. You had a hunch that the manners of a forties’ man would be offended if you didn’t anyway.

“Thank you. Again.”

The twinkle in his eyes shone brighter at your words, his smile widening.

“My pleasure.”

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“If I trip over something, I’ll bully you into carrying me everywhere for the next month,” you threatened in a joking manner as your boyfriend of one year led you through his apartment with his huge palm sprawled over your eyes, while his other gently rested on your lower back, making sure you maintained some balance.

“I wouldn’t complain about that. Are you serious? Because I just might let you trip then…” he teased back and you could hear the grin in his voice, mesmerized by the happy note in it. You would roll your eyes at him fondly, but he wouldn’t see it, so there was no point.

“Don’t you dare…”

“Okay, let’s stop now,” he whispered in your ear, his hand shifting to your hip to squeeze lightly, causing you to shiver. You and Steve had taken your time when it came to physical aspect of your relationship (past certain bases anyway), so a touch like that still sent a delicious electrifying feeling through your whole body.

As if you weren’t excited enough ever since the moment he had told you he had had a surprise for you.

Chewing on your lower lip, you followed his gentle instruction and stopped in your tracks.

“Should I be afraid?” you asked for the fourth time in the past five minutes.

“Terrified,” he confirmed in a joking manner. “You ready?”

Not waiting for your answer, he uncovered your eyes and with a deep inhale, you snapped them open.

Only for your breath to hitch at the sight in front of you.

“Oh my god... it’s beautiful!” you exclaimed, a surprised chuckle escaping past your lips.

In the corner of the living room, soft marigold pillows laid in a circular hammock chair coloured in the indigo of an early sunrise, practically begging for you to jump in and nestle there with a book and relax.

Instantly reminded of how you met Steve in the first place, you couldn’t but spun on your heels and threw your arms around him, strong arms eagerly welcoming you as his chest shook with hushed chuckle.

“Glad you like it,” he murmured, hiding his face in your hair, raising you from the floor effortlessly. “Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! Happy anniversary, Steve. This truly is amazing. I love it!”

“But not more than me?”

It was your turn to chuckle as you retreated, placing a kiss on his nose and earning a pout that simply had to be kissed away.

“No, Steve, not even this amazing hammock compares to you. I’ll show you exactly how much I love you in a sec, I just have to test it out,” you promised.

He released you with no protest and watched with a fond smile as you climbed in with a child-like excitement, the corners of his eyes twinkling. He slowly made his way to you as the hammock swung gently with your weight and you sent him a delighted grin as he sat on his heels in front of you, his hands landing on the edges so he had the control over the movements.

“What’s the verdict?” he pried softly and you opened your mouth to respond with enough enthusiasm to power the state of New York for a year; but he continued. ”Is it comfy enough for you to… make you consider- that maybe-- you could… stay here more often?”

Your breath hitched, your throat swelling when you got a pretty good idea of what he was asking from his serious gaze. Yet, you needed to make sure, butterflies in your stomach flipping their wings wildly as you leaned forward, invisible magnets pulling you towards him.

“And by ‘more often’ you mean-“

“All the time,” he whispered, his eyes roaming your face nervously, trying to spy a reaction, read the answer in your expression alone.

You chuckled incredulously, ecstatic at such proposition, and placed your palms to both sides of Steve’s face, grateful for his grip on the hammock and trusting him not to let you faceplant on him with how hazardous the kiss you gave him was.

Your eyelids fluttered close, but you felt his smile as his lips engaged in a tender dance with yours, one of his hands sneaking to the side of your neck to pull you closer, tilting your head as his tongue teased your lips to part.

How could you deny him anything even when you felt like you were about to fall face-down any second? He would be under you when you landed anyway. What more could you wish for-

“I love you,” he breathed to your mouth as he broke the kiss for one damned second that felt like eternity; one second in which you forgot to suck more air in even when given the opportunity. Who needed oxygen anyway? You could breathe Steve in and live blissfully, it was what you were trying to do for the past minute and it was glorious- “That’s a yes, right?”

A chuckle escaped you as you dodged another kiss, his lips landing in your hair instead, the hammock swaying hazardously. Mm, seemed like your supersoldier was too distracted to watch your balance.

“Yes. The hammock totally convinced me,” you teased him lightly, an idea striking you when you said those words. Climbing down as he was still sitting in front of you on his heels, you lowered yourself on him, nestling in his lap and leaning to his ear and sharing your not necessarily filthy thought in a breathless whisper. “But I think I still like sitting right here much better.”

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S.R. masterlist

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Tags: @mermaidxatxheart​

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Thank you for reading :-*

P.S. - Keep smiling; at the people you love whenever you can, at strangers and at the person you see in the mirror :))

[tears-and-lilies]

Chapter 35 - Concern

Not very whumpy, mostly drama honestly haha

Tag: @whumpfigure @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @liliability @unicornscotty @sideblogformindtrash @abitefullofwhump

CW: death of minor character (on screen, character is not even named), blood, slight gore?, stabbing

Vasira enjoyed the fresh smell hanging over the gardens in the palace, and the colours of the flowers in bloom. She was a lot like her father in that aspect, and so he would make time to spend with her in the gardens.

She didn’t want her uncle to ruin those memories. So when he asked her to meet up there, she was hesitant to comply. When she consulted a friend about it, she suggested Vasira and her uncle walked at the outskirts of the imperial garden area, and so this was where she met up with Loui.

‘How is my dear niece doing?’, he asked, a sweetness in his voice.

‘I’m fine, thank you very much. How are you?’

Loui and Triban were… a couple on their own. From the moment her father returned to the city as Emperor of Koia, seven years ago, she sensed they were playing some sort of game.

So she was wary about this conversation.

‘I’m doing well. The Imperial Guard is taking their duty very seriously, I make sure of that.’

‘I’m sure you do’, Vasira reacted.

As they were walking, she looked at the flowers more than at her uncle. There were a lot more wild bushes in this area.

‘How is your brother?’

‘He is doing well too.’ She didn’t know. She and Vixar lived in completely different worlds. Loui knew this as well.

‘That’s good to hear’, he said. ‘I wish nothing less for the heir to the throne.’

Succession was a topic Vasira had discussed plenty of times. And she was so sick of it. But of course this was the reason her uncle wanted to see her.

‘I heard sir Feyros will propose to me today.’

‘Yes. When you go to the leisure room, he’ll be waiting for you with your father.’

She kept her face straight. He continued: ‘It is only up to you to say either “yes” or “no”. And I know you’re a clever girl, so you’ve already decided what it will be.’

She watched a butterfly settle on a white lily. If her uncle wanted to ask, he had to pose the question.

‘So’, Loui gave in, ‘what will you say?’

‘I intent to keep that to myself. You’ll know when sir Feyros has asked me.’

‘Alright. You’re entitled to your secrets. But sir Feyros isn’t the greatest pick for you.’

‘Really?’ Vasira raised an eyebrow.

‘Ah, nothing against the man, but I knew his uncle very well. Sir Tymos knew how to handle any problem given, and didn’t get distracted by emotions. I think, as competent as Feyros is, he lacks that quality. And if he were to become Emperor…’ He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t need to. Loui had someone else in mind, everyone seemed to have. Feyros was a good friend of her father’s, not so much of Loui’s, it appeared.

Yet, after the disaster that was her marriage to Marsi, her father had granted her the privilege to choose her husband. She had never told him about what happened behind the scenes.

Suddenly, Vasira realised her uncle had become quiet. The moment she looked up at him, he drew his sword and pushed past her.

Before she could react, Loui stabbed his sword into a bush. A man rolled out. He tried to get to his feet to run, but Loui cut him in the side. From surprise, he clutched his side, accidentally letting a dagger slip form his belt. Loui kicked him to force the man on his back, and held the tip of his sword right above the man’s neck.

‘Who are you?’, he barked. ‘No, who do you work for?’

The man panted, looking fearfully at Loui. ‘I-I don’t know!’

A droplet of blood dripped down his neck. His face grew pale.

‘I can’t tell you! I won’t, I promised!’

Loui growled. ‘So, it’s useless to keep you alive?’

‘Your life means nothing, all of your lives! You, hers, and especially that lazy tyrant!’

Vasira felt her heart race in her chest. An assassin…

‘You need to die!’, the man continued. ‘All of you! The monarchy should have ended after Ravi died! Ravi was a mistake for an emperor, a walking disaster!’

‘I see. You’re mad.’

Quickly he drove his sword into the man’s stomach, and twisted it. Vasira flinched as the man’s face contorted in pain. He screamed at the top of his lungs while Loui twisted the sword the other way.

She closed her eyes.

‘I’m sorry, Vasira, but this man wanted to kill you.’

***

‘There she is.’

Just like Loui had said, her father sat in the room, waiting for her, with sir Feyros. He nodded at the guest, but Feyros didn’t seem to notice. He stood up as soon as he saw her enter.

Vasira straightened her back ever so slightly. She had been ready for this in the morning, but after that guy in the gardens tried to kill her, she really didn’t want to deal with this.

But Feyros only smiled nervously at her, before looking at her uncle.

‘There’s something I have to address’, he said. ‘Three days ago, I found one of the imperial dancers in the cellar where the snow is stored. He was locked up, and dazed from the cold. Today I heard he has caught a fever, and yet he will dance for us tonight.’

He held his hands close together. He was tense. Vasira was surprised Feyros cared so much.

He swallowed hard, and continued: ‘Admittedly I find this unacceptable. I don’t want to watch someone who is clearly sick dance. I don’t want to end my stay here like that. His Majesty tells me he didn’t know about all of this. Did you know about it, sir Loui?’

Loui frowned. ‘A dancer? I think you might be referring to Darren’s son?’

Whenever anyone of her family dropped that name, the conversation no longer was about private matters. This was about the Empire, and loyalty.

Feyros nodded softly, not sure how to react. Vasira felt bad for him.

‘Whatever happens to that boy is reconciliation for the terrible misdeeds of his father.’

It’s what happens to those who oppose us.

‘I understand you are hurt by the crimes of his father. So am I', Feyros said slowly. ‘But as the Keeper of the City it is my task to make sure the citizens of Koia are safe. He was born in the capital, and as far as I'm aware, has never been elsewhere. Thus he didn’t participate in the war.’

‘I see your point. However, we must make sure Darren pays for his deeds. He escaped punishment, so slander of his name is the only way he can get what he deserved. His offspring carries his name. But I know you are worried. This well-intentioned concern suits you. If you care about this dancer so much, can I offer you to stay one more night to take further care of him, and depart tomorrow morning?’

‘Sir-'

‘We could use your advise with something else.’ Loui turned towards his brother. ‘On our walk just now, Vasira was almost attacked by an assassin.’

Her father rose. ‘What?!’ He made his way to her and took her hands. ‘Sweety, are you alright? Are you hurt?’

Before she could answer, her uncle continued: ‘I killed the man before he could do anything. He wouldn’t give any information. No one was supposed to know we were there. When we agreed on the meeting, I specifically told Vasira to tell no one about it. So I wonder how he even knew we would be there?’

Her father looked her gravely in the eyes. ‘Do you know anyone who  knows you would be there? Did you talk about it to a servant perhaps, an offhand remark or anything?’

She shook her head. ‘I only told them that I would go for a walk, but not where.’ She hesitated. ‘I… I did ask Lilian about advise on where in the gardens exactly to meet up. But she is my friend, she is trustworthy-'

‘Lilian?’

[currywaifu]

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: maid outfit 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: tsukioka tsumugi/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 1.3k words

𝐚𝐧: as usual, i am very creative with titles haha. @3rdgymbros​ how... how long did this take? ahahaha but i asked my tsumu friends for advise on certain parts, so thank you bbs~

“We’re hosting a cafe! You’ll come visit me, right?”

From your request alone, it wasn’t difficult for Tsumugi to interpret it as you inviting him to a regular, perhaps aesthetically pleasing, cafe arranged by you and your peers. Nothing about your words nor your expression gave off anything that would convince him otherwise, so he accepted it as face value— you knew he enjoyed the ambience of cafes, after all.

“Of course I’ll go,” at the sight of your expectant gaze he agreed immediately, not putting much thought behind your explanation, or lack thereof. “I remember how competitive every department used to get.”

“Not much has changed in three years,” you shrugged, “a lot of people are doing food stuff too, and all of us want to be the course who earns the most money…”

You trailed off, the sudden upwards quirk of the corner of your lip making you look more devilish devious than the angelic nature he commonly associated with you.

“But I’m confident ours will be the best.”

Tsumugi wasn’t going to lie to himself and say he wasn’t the least bit curious. This wasn’t a new situation, you trying to hide things to surprise or tease him, and like a moth to a flame he couldn’t help himself from trying to figure out more.

Maybe it’s the Psychology degree, or maybe it’s something simpler like him being your boyfriend. Regardless, the procedure was always the same from then on. First, maintain eye contact or at least keep his eyes on your face. Second, slip in a question,

“Mm? Why do you think so?”

“Well,” you tilted your head to the side, pupils trained elsewhere as though you were purposefully keeping him from getting a read on your face. “Everyone has a different concept or theme, and I think ours is easily the best.”

Even with your mostly tight-lipped disposition, he seemed to get a gist of what you could be talking about. Concept cafes were getting more popular lately, all with different gimmicks… maybe you guys were offering a special menu? Like those cafes with the colourful drinks or character meals?

When he asked you to confirm his guess, you only laughed and nodded wordlessly. That wasn't a no but there was clearly something he was missing. However before he could say anything more the two of you were already outside of your dormitory.

“Thank you for walking me back, Tsu-kun,” you lightly grasped his hands with your own, expression back to a pearly white smile and crinkled eyes as though the look previously on your face was nothing but a figment of his imagination.

“I’ll just message you which classroom I’ll be in, so remember to check your phone, okay?” you reminded him, “and if you don’t remember how to send a text back, just ask Tasuku-kun—“

“Haa… come on, I at least know that much,” he defended himself, his utterance drowning in a sea of your giggles.

“I was just teasing!”

You squeezed his hands one last time before slowly letting go of him, taking a step backwards as you began to see him off. “I’ll see you next week?”

“Definitely,” Tsumugi replied, a charming smile rivalling your own greeting you farewell, accompanied by the words of, “I’ll see you soon, my blossom.”

As he left the premises you had to wonder… how would we react when he saw you next time? Somehow… you found yourself excited just thinking about it.

Even from where Tsumugi stood at the end of the hallway, he could tell your group’s makeshift cafe was as popular as you predicted it to be, if the hustle and bustle and the constant stream of people leaving and entering the room were anything to go by.

It was easy to see why.

You texted him a few minutes ago, saying you had to be the one to welcome and assist him.

Then… were you also…?

Even as the distance began to come to a close and the anticipation started to bubble up, nothing could have prepared him for the sight of you.

You stood in front of him, clad in a black, puffy, short-sleeved, Peter Pan collared mini dress with a frilly little skirt, the white trimmings stopping mid-thigh. Wrapped around your waist was a white apron with ruffled edges.

Really, the seed was already planted in his head as soon as figured out what type of cafe you were participating in, but when you brought back his attention with your words he found himself all the more embarrassed. How long had he been…?

“Tsu-kun… ah, no, I mean,” he looked up upon hearing you whisper to yourself momentarily, eyes unfailing to notice the cute little headband that crowned your head as you perked back up and fell back into script.

“Welcome back, master!”

You threw him your usual smile, but paired with how you greeted him he, all of a sudden, became too aware of the scorching heat rising on his face. In a futile attempt to hide it from you he immediately cast his gaze downwards, only to be met with a sliver of your thighs, the rest of your legs covered up by knee socks with a bow accent.

With all things said and done, there wasn’t anything too inappropriate about your outfit, what with this event being set in school, but even so it was that very innocence and charm that seemed to…

“H-huh?” He jolted as you pulled on the sleeve of his sweater, asking if he was okay and if he wasn’t so busy trying to un-fry his brain and look elsewhere he would’ve noticed a different gleam in your eyes, using your free hand to cover up your growing grin with the menu.

“I’m— I’m fine.”

No he wasn’t. If you bothered to move your hand upwards to meet his face, you probably would’ve burned yourself by the sheer warmth he was radiating. Still, you only giggled with a “master, come this way please,” as you turned around and requested he follow you.

He swallowed.

The straps of your apron met to form a cross on your back, the ends tied into a bow.

Aha, cute…

Darting his eyes away from your form momentarily, he was finally able to absorb the venue’s appearance. He’s attended classes in this room before, and while it was still quite obviously a lecture hall, the cutesy decor littered amongst the tables and chairs set a different mood for the scene.

As you led him to Tsumugi seat and handed him his menu, he was able to calm down and have his brain actually function think more rationally. You purposely left out the details to surprise him, that much was clear. As he moved his eyes away from the egg dish choices and to your face, the look of amusement you wore was evident to him, even if you tried to hide it.

If… if you were trying to play a game with him, then… he’ll do his best to compensate.

“Ahh, master, if you’re having trouble choosing then can I suggest the fried rice topped with character fried egg,” you looked at him through your lashes, connecting your index fingers together, “since it’s my master’s favourite~ ah! Or maybe the omurice? I’ll even write a special message for you, master~”

“Hmm… I’m happy with either one, since you’ll be the one serving it.”

Tsumugi watched you blink once, and then twice, watching you react to the sudden change. You probably expected him to not recover so quickly. Sure, he was still affected by how cute you looked, but as your cheeks began to be dusted with pink, he found you even more beautiful.

As you stumbled over your reply, he interrupted you with a question.

“Are you going to keep that outfit after this?”

Looking a little confused, you broke out of character and nodded.

“Then… could I see you wear it again in the future?”

want to order again?

i couldn’t figure out a way to write this in, but wouldn’t it be cute if after tsumugi finishes eating they have that thing where the maid and the customer take a photo or polaroid together? 

[sparklytastemakerwitch]

The ancient fabric that no one knows how to make

In late 18th-Century Europe, a new fashion led to an international scandal. In fact, an entire social class was accused of appearing in public naked.

The culprit was Dhaka muslin, a precious fabric imported from the city of the same name in what is now Bangladesh, then in Bengal. It was not like the muslin of today. Made via an elaborate, 16-step process with a rare cotton that only grew along the banks of the holy Meghna river, the cloth was considered one of the great treasures of the age. It had a truly global patronage, stretching back thousands of years – deemed worthy of clothing statues of goddesses in ancient Greece, countless emperors from distant lands, and generations of local Mughal royalty.

There were many different types, but the finest were honoured with evocative names conjured up by imperial poets, such as "baft-hawa", literally "woven air". These high-end muslins were said to be as light and soft as the wind. According to one traveller, they were so fluid you could pull a bolt – a length of 300ft, or 91m – through the centre of a ring. Another wrote that you could fit a piece of 60ft, or 18m, into a pocket snuff box.

Dhaka muslin was also more than a little transparent.

While traditionally, these premium fabrics were used to make saris and jamas – tunic-like garments worn by men – in the UK they transformed the style of the aristocracy, extinguishing the highly structured dresses of the Georgian era. Five-foot horizontal waistlines that could barely fit through doorways were out, and delicate, straight-up-and-down "chemise gowns" were in. Not only were these endowed with a racy gauzy quality, they were in the style of what was previously considered underwear.

In one popular satirical print by Isaac Cruikshank, a clique of women appear together in long, brightly coloured muslin dresses, through which you can clearly see their bottoms, nipples and pubic hair. Underneath reads the description, "Parisian Ladies in their Winter Dress for 1800".

Meanwhile in an equally misogynistic comedic excerpt from an English women's monthly magazine, a tailor helps a female client to achieve the latest fashion. "Madame, ’tis done in a moment," he assures her, then instructs her to remove her petticoat, then her pockets, then her corset and finally her sleeves… "‘Tis an easy matter, you see," he explains. "To be dressed in the fashion, you have only to undress."

Still, Dhaka muslin was a hit – with those who could afford it. It was the most expensive fabric of the era, with a retinue of dedicated fans that included the French queen Marie Antoinette, the French empress Joséphine Bonaparte and Jane Austen. But as quickly as this wonder-cloth struck Enlightenment Europe, it vanished.

By the early 20th Century, Dhaka muslin had disappeared from every corner of the globe, with the only surviving examples stashed safely in valuable private collections and museums. The convoluted technique for making it was forgotten, and the only type of cotton that could be used, Gossypium arboreum var. neglecta – locally known as Phuti karpas – abruptly went extinct. How did this happen? And could it be reversed?

A fickle fibre

Dhaka muslin began with plants grown along the banks of the Meghna river, one of three which form the immense Ganges Delta – the largest in the world. Every spring, their maple-like leaves pushed up through the grey, silty soil, and made their journey towards straggly adulthood. Once fully grown, they produced a single daffodil-yellow flower twice a year, which gave way to a snowy floret of cotton fibres.

These were no ordinary fibres. Unlike the long, slender strands produced by its Central American cousin Gossypium hirsutum, which makes up 90% of the world’s cotton today, Phuti karpas produced threads that are stumpy and easily frayed. This might sound like a flaw, but it depends what you’re planning to do with them.

Indeed, the short fibres of the vanished shrub were useless for making cheap cotton cloth using industrial machinery. They were fickle to work with, and they’d snap easily if you tried to twist them into yarn this way. Instead, the local people tamed the rogue threads with a series of ingenious techniques developed over millennia.

What is flannel fabric?

Essentially, flannel fabric simply refers to any cotton, wool, or synthetic fabric that fulfills a few basic criteria:

Softness: Fabric must be incredibly soft to be considered flannel.

Texture: Flannel has either a brushed or unbrushed texture, and both textures are equally iconic.

Material: While many materials can be used to make flannel, not all materials are suitable for this fabric. Silk, for instance, is too fine to be made into flannel, which is supposed to be both soft and insulative.

Flannel in history

It’s believed that the word“flannel” emerged in Wales, but we know for a fact that the term was in common usage in France in the form “flannelle” as early as the 17th century. While flannel was periodically popular among the French and other European peoples throughout the Enlightenment era, interest has waned elsewhere while Welsh flannel use has only increased.

Flannel today

These days, types of flannel are often known by their association with certain Welsh towns or regions. Llanidloes flannel is very different from Newtown flannel, for instance, and Welsh flannel varieties vary significantly from all other European flannel types.

Blanket

Sheet, usually of heavy woolen, or partly woolen, cloth, for use as a shawl, bed covering, or horse covering. The blanketmaking of primitive people is one of the finest remaining examples of early domestic artwork. The blankets of Mysore, India, were famous for their fine, soft texture. The loom of the Native American, though simple in construction, can produce blanket so closely woven as to be waterproof. The Navaho, Zu?i, Hopi, and other Southwestern Native Americans are noted for their distinctive, firmly woven blankets. The Navahos produced beautifully designed blankets characterized by geometrical designs woven with yarns colored with vegetable dyes. During the mid-19th cent. the Navahos began to use yarns imported from Europe, because of their brighter colors. The ceremonial Chilcat blanket of the Tlingit of the Northwest, generally woven with a warp of cedar bark and wool and a weft of goats' hair, was curved and fringed at the lower end. In the 20th cent., the electric blanket, with electric wiring between layers of fabric, gained wide popularity.

How to Properly Use a Bath Mat

Whether you’ve just remodeled your bathroom or you’re looking to spruce up your existing space for the season, accessories like a handsome bath mat, perfectly patterned shower curtains, or the plushest of bath towels will take the room from everyday necessity to serene spa destination. While just as important as the others, the lowly bath mat can get overlooked. But don’t make the mistake of opting for the first white terrycloth style you see. The right bath rug won’t just help you avoid the unpleasant shock of stepping onto bare tile after a shower. It will give your floor—and the whole room—an extra hit of much-needed personality. Here, we’ve gathered bath mats that are soft, absorbent, and beautifully designed. Think geometric prints, cheery stripes, even a cheeky banana-shaped option—plus many more.

First off, everyone had some great suggestions as to why we use bath mats at all. They soak up water, yes, but they also keep us from slipping and smashing our heads through the toilet, and act as a temperature buffer for our toesies between the hot shower and the ice cold floor. Gee, bath mats are pretty swell!

When it came to usage, the general consensus was that this is the wrong way to do it:

Finish shower

Step out onto mat

Grab towel

Then dry off

It leaves the bath mat soggy and wet for whoever showers after you. It also makes you much colder during the drying process.

Most people seemed to agree that this is the right way to do it, though:

Finish shower

Grab towel from inside the shower

Dry off inside the shower

Then step out onto the mat

But you all suggested a few excellent additions, like keeping your towel within arm’s reach of the shower so you don’t have to get cold to grab it, squeegeeing your hair and body to remove excess water before you dry with a towel, keeping the curtain or shower door closed while you dry off to stay warm, drying off from the top down (hair first), and hanging up the mat over the edge of the tub or shower when you’re done so it can dry without looking like a random wet towel on your floor.

What is the Difference Between Fleece and Flannel?

As you already know, the main difference between fleece and flannel is what they are made of. Fleece has synthetic fibers, and flannel features loose cotton threads. But because of their different fibers, these fabrics and finished products have several unique characteristics.

Take a look at this in-depth comparison of key features such as warmth, softness, and sustainability for each type of fabric.

Warmth

Most of the time, fleece has a thicker nap and also provides more warmth than flannel. Now, flannel is quite a cozy and warm fabric in its own right! But in comparison, fleece usually wins the warmth contest.

The exception to this rule is that some high-quality types of flannel contain wool fibers, and these types of flannel provide intense warmth!

What makes fleece so warm? Its many tiny, raised polyester fibers trap heat and hold them in the loose, velvety surface of its pile. If you have ever stuck your hand into your dog’s fur in the middle of winter, you know how all those tiny hairs hold immense warmth against your pet’s skin! Fleece fibers work the same way when you wear them against your skin.

Softness

Fleece is often softer than flannel, but if you have sensitive skin, you may find that its synthetic fibers also have a slightly plasticky feel. Of course, you will find exceptions to this rule, especially in flannel made with silk fibers. This will probably feel much softer than even the softest fleece!

Because both types of material go through a napping process, they both feature an incredibly soft texture on at least one side of the material. Fleece usually has a thicker, deeper pile, while flannel has a faint fuzziness on top of its woven surface.

If you rest your hand on top of the fleece, you feel as if your fingers can sink into the thick surface, at least a little. When you rest your hand on a piece of flannel, you typically feel a cozy fuzziness.

Blankets

Both fleece and flannel make excellent blankets and throws! You can find soft, pretty fleece and flannel blanket in pretty much any color or design you want.

That said, you should probably go with flannel for a baby blanket, as synthetic materials can sometimes cause allergic reactions.

If you plan to sew a blanket, though, you will want to use fleece. Flannel unravels super fast due to its loose weave, making it challenging to cut and sew. Fleece does not unravel when cut because it has a knitted construction with threads looped over each other.

[thereisonlyoneoption]

Maggie Stiefvater~Rant YA edition pt.2

I know, I know that I had to make a part about world-building but I’m pissed, I failed my exam I am at my friend house and it’s Fourth of July so I must do this.

Joseph Kavinsky.

First of all I don’t condemn his actions and yes, you can like a character but don’t agree with their actions.

My journey with The Dream Thieves was rocky, like really rocky. It was worse than The Raven Boys, I felt psychical pain while reading this one but there was only one good thing that help get through it AND IT WAS KAVINSKY.

From the first scene I liked him, I was intrigued by him and I was curious why Gangsey hates him so much. I mean what M*ggie give us are just rumours, that's when I asked myself “Why such a hate? What did he do to them?”.

And then the yo mama jokes, priceless by the way. Okay, maybe my sense humour sucks but let me tell you in polish translation “twoja stara” is golden I laughed for several minutes.

But the thing went down pretty quickly, like my face went from a happy to grim in a second and stayed that way while reading this, just to cry at the end. After that it was just anger and to this day I’m angry at M*ggie for what she did.

Lets start from beginning.

1. Kavinsky-Description

The first time we see Kavinsky it’s in the chapter 3 where we got rumours about him:

“Of course it was Joseph Kavinsky, fellow Aglionby Academy student and Henrietta’s most notorious recreational forger. Kavinsky’s infamous Mitsubishi Evo was a thing of boyish beauty, moon-white with a voracious black mouth of a grille and an immense splattered graphic of a knife on either side of the body. The Mitsubishi had just been released from a month-long stint in the police impound. The judge had told him that if he was caught racing again, they’d crush the Mitsubishi and make him watch, like they did to the rich punks’ street racers out in California. Rumor had it Kavinsky had laughed and told the judge he’d never get pulled over again. He probably wouldn’t. Rumor had it Kavinsky’s father had bought off Henrietta’s sheriff. To celebrate the Mitsubishi’s release from impound, Kavinsky had just put three coats of anti-laser paint on the headlights and bought himself a new radar detector.“

Right from the bat, characters expressed disdain of him:

“I hate that prick,” Adam said.

Then we get the “description” of him: white sunglasses, golden chain, which already is kinda lacking but then we get the infamous “refugee face”

“He had a refugee’s face, hollow-eyed and innocent.“

Okay okay, so like it wasn't already offensive, we learn later that he’s Bulgarian and as a person also from Slavic group, this description just looks bad and leaves bad taste in my mouth, because I'm fed up with Americans view of Slavs like we are all simple people, still in communist era somewhere in the Europe, who came to America to steal low income jobs.

On the other hand, how does “refugee face” looks like? Yeah, we get the line “hollow-eyed and innocent“ but it still feels offensive to Slavic group.

Luckily, in my translation it was changed to “runaway’s face” which holds the same idea but it isn't offensive and fits Kavinsky’s character better.

“There was nothing about Kavinsky that wasn’t despicable”

Just... ugh why they hate him so much, I asked myself back then but I didn't know that from this point, all went down hill.

“He was unmistakable: the sort of raven boy who was clearly an import from elsewhere.“

Okay first of all, you can import things, not actual people Blue. Second of all, combining this with “refugee face” it made me so angry like M*ggie, why can’t you describe Kavinsky normally without possibly offending half of Europe. He is human, not your new brand German car.

After that we get the rest of description “Like many of the other raven boys, he sported massive sunglasses, spiked hair, a small earring, a chain around his neck, and a white tank top.“ and that’s it. It’s all we get. There might be some things missing, like hair colour but we can forgive that.

2. Backstory

In M*ggie’s now deleted tumblr, she once wrote:

"Kavinsky has a very logical backstory that leads him to this place.”

And what did we know about Kavinsky? Practically, nothing. He’s a son of a Bulgarian mobster from New Jersey, he’s rumoured to kill his father, he’s mother is a drug-addict, he’s rich, Prokopenko is his favourite forgery and he got away with replacing him and possibly his dad. It gives the idea to what shaped him as a person but it doesn’t explained everything, like if he killed his dad, why wasn’t it? How did it ended up with him replacing Prokopenko? Why he is his favourite forgery?

But okay M*ggie say what you want but I and my friend made better backstory for him in ten minutes (like it wasn’t hard really).

3. ”We matter”

“Closing his eyes, Gansey leaned his head back on his seat, chin tilted up, throat green in the dash lights. There was still an unsafe sort of smile about his mouth — what a torment the possibility in that smile was — and he said, “There was never a time when that could’ve been you and me. You know the difference between us and Kavinsky? We matter.“

That said Gansey, the character we are supposed to like, about the kid who is not only his age but also drug addicted and possibly abused. I was furious at him for saying that because who k*rwa he is to say things like that. Is he some frigging higher being to judge someone like that?

And he was smiling while saying that? What an.. and nobody called him out on that?! It only gives the reader the idea that people like Kavinsky don’t matter and to those who relate to him that they don’t matter.

And Blue, who again made me want to throw my phone, later in the book asked  literal a hitman, who offered to go to “talk” with him to “make him feel worthless” while doing it.

It’s the next example when I felt the main characters are lacking a basic human empathy, like again he is just a kid not “H*tler” like Ronan compare him to.

4. That scene

That f*king scene, we all know about.”R*pe of Ronan” as stans like to call it.

I heard the reaction of the fans to this scene even before reading this books. Of course, I was anticipating this scene and when it came:

“After a moment, he heard the hood groan as Kavinsky leaned over him. Then he felt the ridged callus of a finger drag slowly over the skin on his back. A slow arc between his shoulder blades, drawing the pattern of his tattoo. Then sliding down his spine, tensing every muscle it moved over.

But when his eyes slitted, battling sleep, Kavinsky was just doing another line of coke off the roof, body stretched over the windshield. He might have imagined it. What was real?“

I was baffled, because its bad but its nothing like fans making to be. All Kavinsky does is drag his finger on Ronan’s back tattoo, while he is falling asleep but afterwards Ronan said he doesn’t know, if it was even real, so the reader can’t tell if it was. Somebody would argue, that is a molestation but once again, we don’t know if it was real. Maybe if we got K’s PoV we could get information about this situation but now we are left in the dark what really happened that night.

And then, there is “Consent is overrated” scene

This is one of the main argument of stans preaching that K is a r*pist. Yes, that sounds horrible, we don’t have to argue about that but people missed the context of situation in which it was said.

“Ronan replied, “Not such a thief tonight.”

“Some nights,” Kavinsky said, all teeth, “you just take it. Consent is overrated.”“

Ronan and Kavinsky are referring to pulling things out of dreams and how Kavinsky is doing it aka not asking permission to take them out, unlike Ronan. But without this context, the world “consent” is mainly associated with one thing. You know what...

The bottom line is that, if we got K’s PoV, it would shine a light on his intentions and motivations to say and possibly do all of this. We can only thanks the author for that.

5. Relationship with Ronan Lynch

Maybe that will sound scandalous but I don’t think Kavinsky loved Ronan. All of their interaction seem more like obsession to me and after the dreaming of Camaro, it seem desperate.

At the beginning, after main characters expressed disdain of K, only Ronan thought something different:

“Ronan knew he ought to hate him, too.“

And I thought “Okay maybe Ronan know more about him than the rest” but as the chapters went, I wanted the end of it all.

It was toxic. I know, I know but I was hoping for a least little glimpses of possible friendship. Instead of that, I got throwing over cars, punching and exploitation between them. With Kavinsky saving Ronan from the night horror (which fans forget about in their rants how bad K is) and helping Ronan dreaming a new Camaro, I expect at least some decency? gratefulness?? at Ronan side, because nobody forced Kavinsky to do this but when Ronan got what he wanted he just peace out?! Like Kavinsky was doing all of this as a favour?

“He rolled down the window. “I’m going.” For a moment, Kavinsky’s face was perfectly blank, and then Kavinsky flickered back onto it. He said, “You’re shitting me.” “I’ll send flowers.” Ronan revved the engine. Exhaust and dust swirled in a wild torment behind the Camaro. It coughed at twenty-eight-hundred rpm. Just like the Pig. Everything was back the way it was. “Running back to your master?” “This was fun,” Ronan said. “Time for big-boy games now, though.”

And

““I never lie,” Ronan said. He frowned disbelievingly. This felt like a more bizarre scenario than anything that had happened to this point. “Wait. You thought — it was never gonna be you and me. Is that what you thought?”“

And what was Kavinsky’s reaction after he was “used” by Ronan without even a thank you?

“Kavinsky made a gun of his thumb and finger and put it to Ronan’s temple. “Bang,” he said softly, withdrawing the fake gun. “See you on the streets.”“

Not anger but disbelief about what just happened and then the “he said softly“ just seems sad to me. He got used by the man he, de facto, wanted to befriend. He for sure felt cheated and used but the next thing what he does seems just OOC for me. He kidnapped Matthew, Ronan’s younger brother, to force him to come to the Fourth of July party. Before it looked like he wanted Ronan just to have a fun but after the Camaro something broke in him. But once again, it only my interpretation, because K is the only TRC antagonist that doesn’t get PoV, so I can wonder, what was going on in his head.

I’m tired of this, because most of the things could be explained, if we got his PoV, because without it his actions seems random.

After the text “bring something fun to fourth of july or we’ll see which pill works the best on your brother“, Ronan called K demanding where is Matthew and K responded:

“Ronan demanded, “Where is he?” “You know, I asked nice the first few times. Are you coming to Fourth? Are you coming? Are you coming? Here, have a motherfucking car. Are you coming? You made it ugly. Bring something impressive tonight.”“

It doesn’t sounds that evil to me more like desperate (repetition of “are you coming”) and hurting (”you made it ugly”). It made me feel more curious about what was going in his head and what lead him to kidnapping more than being angry at him for kidnapping Matthew.

Kavinsky was looking someone like Ronan, to share problems and to destroy themselves together. And Ronan was the closest thing to it, dreamer and all. He was looking for connection but in the end, Ronan didn’t want anything to do with him and that ended in tragedy.

6. Fourth of July

Ah yes, the main reason why I’m writing this post. We know how this goes. Gangsey arrives at party. Ronan demands where is his brother. Ronan follow K into a dream.

"Kavinsky laughed the word. "Reality! Reality's what other people dream for you."

"Reality's where other people are," Ronan replied. He stretched out his arms. "What's here, K? Nothing! No one!"

"Just us."

There was a heavy understanding in that statement, amplified by the dream. I know what you are, Kavinsky had said. "That's not enough," Ronan replied."

One again K got rejected and it was told to him he "wasn't enough" Okay, Ronan doesn't own him anything but what happened next is more fucked up

Kavinsky dreams fire dragon, Ronan night horror. They fight. Gangsey search for Matthew.

Ronan demands K to tell him where is Matthew and K just said “He’s all yours! You missed my point, man. All I wanted was this —”“ while gesturing at their creations and ONCE AGAIN I REPEAT ONCE AGAIN we are not sure what K meant: dreaming together? fighting? One chapter from his PoV couldn’t hurt Maggie you know?

Matthew got rescued, Ronan shielded him from upcoming dragon then this:

"He shouted to Kavinsky, ”Get down!”

But Kavinsky didn’t look away from the creatures. He said,”The world’s a nightmare”.

Ronan once again shouted to him but Kavinsky didn’t answered and let the dragon to kill him.

“A second later, the fire dragon exploded into Kavinsky. It went straight through him, around him, flame around an object. Kavinsky fell. Not as if he was struck, though. Just like when he’d taken the green pill. He crumpled to his knees and then slumped gracelessly off the car.“

And we know K is dead, because both the dragon and Prokopenko fall asleep.

And that’s all and what was all for? Because they thought he was draining the ley lines (but Adam fixing the lines seems to do the trick) and because Ronan didn't want to come to Fourth of July. After that comes nothing. No reaction from the cast and the dream pack who supposedly were his friends (In later book Jiang talks to Ronan like nothing happened) there is no funeral of which we know and the town is silent. Like K never existed.

What kind of message this sends to a reader? That if you are like Kavinsky in any way nobody will mind if you are gone. You are not even worthless to remember. On one podcast M*ggie said she don’t want to be educational in her books and that’s f*cked up because she is writing YA, young people who are easily influenced and after reading how K is treated the majority will close the book with belief that people like K don’t deserve help and they are goners not worthy of redemption.

While in the same book Gray Man, adult hitman who killed people on pages, was hunting down Ronan, relieved to be murderer behind a Niall's death, beat up and threaten Declan with a gun to tell him where the Greywaren was not only forgiven by everyone (including Ronan) but got redemption arc and love interest. Let me repeat adult man, literal a hitman gets redemption arc but not mentally ill kid. Okay Margaret what the f*ck was that. Where is the logic, where is the lamb sauce?! Does she knows how her writing can influence young people? And it seems most of the fans agree with her.  

Conclusion

Joseph Kavinsky was handled terribly through the whole book. With main cast hating him from the get-go. Narration that tried to make him the great evil (with some fans of TRC calling him the worst villain) and after the book got published the fans and the author themself further demonised him, 17 year old boy with a drug addiction, mental illness and with possible history of abuse.

I can only shake my head every time, I see someone calling him the devil. What Kavisnky needed was rehab and therapy, not death! If she wanted to find solution to stop him from dreaming, why couldn't she just moved him outside of Henrietta or Virginia, not lead him to commit s*icide and public s*icide mind you. He was a bad person but nobody deserved to die like this.

To end this post (I wrote this post so long that in my country is no longer Fourth of July), I still to this day think about Kavinsky and what would happened, if the author didn't choose the easy way to "get rid of him". And do not tell me, it was impossible to end it differently, because it was possible. Ronan just grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him off the car. Sending him to a rehab or just talking with him, instead of assuming from the start, that he wouldn't listen. His only crimes were, he needed help and he wouldn't listen to Gangsey telling him what to do.

[bottleofspilledink]

God’s Watching, Put on a Show || Chapter XIII

“Welcome to the gardening club!” Veronica, a junior, the girl they’d elected last year before the senior members (that had previously made up a large majority of their club) had graduated, said to them, all cheery smiles and chipper voices, despite the admittedly low turn-out.

“Now, we’ll be doing introductions in just a minute, but as of right now, we’re going to be grabbing a pair of gloves and picking aprons out!”

She quickly ducked inside the gardening shed, opening a locker from inside and taking out about fifteen colourful aprons and laying them out on the table they prepared just for the occasion.

“Whatever you pick today is what you’ll be stuck with for the rest of the year, so act fast. All disputes will be settled through three rounds of rock-paper-scissors.” She said, looking at two girls whose eyes seemed to gravitate towards the same garment.

“However, you will be provided another apron if yours gets too worn and breaks, so don’t worry about really getting down and dirty, which, if you’re only just learning about now, what are you doing here?”

That pulled a chuckle out of the girls as they crowded around the table.

From that crowd stood Lilith and Eve, side by side, refusing to meet each other’s eyes.

Well, more Eve than Lilith.

Lilith was doing everything she could to make the other look at her, all attempts ending in failure, either in the form of being ignored or catching a different girl’s attention.

The air between them had stayed tense since they’d left the library, neither of them having the chance or courage to try and alleviate it, instead choosing to stew in it and hope it would go away on it’s own.

Clearly, though, it would do no such thing.

Her blue eyes scanned around them, in a desperate search for something to make light of, before it finally landed on one of the aprons upon the table.

Just looking at it was enough to make her cringe. If it was something she’d seen while out shopping with her grandmother, she would desperately steer the woman in another direction, hoping to heaven that it hadn’t caught the other’s eye lest she make her try it on.

“Am I really going to do this?”

She groaned internally.

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

...

“Hey, Eve!”

The blonde turned around, happy the other had decided to take initiative in getting rid of the tense air between them, though the response she’d prepared had died before it even left her mouth when she saw what Lilith was wearing.

On Lilith was a red apron with a white, frilly trim, a flannel pattern making up the red parts. It’s bottom part reached just above her knee, the ends of her skirt sticking out. That wasn’t what shocked her though, no. What was most shocking was the heart-shaped bodice that hung loose on Lilith, the ties at her neck and waist yet to be adjusted to fit her correctly.

“Help me tie this?” She asked, quirking a brow as well as a lip.

Oh, that sincere expression did it, laughter springing from her like a burst fire hydrant, it’s sound washing away of any awkwardness that lingered between the two.

“Holy sh-” She guffawed, unable to continue, glee stealing all that remained in her lungs. Breath escaped her in short huffs of joy every few seconds as she tried her best to get it to stop for long enough to speak, though it seemed that trying to keep it in only made it stronger.

“Aw, come on, Eve,” Lilith pouted, jutting out her bottom lip out so far it was comical. “Don’t you think I look pretty?”

She sighed wistfully, finally calming. But despite the absence of laughter, her joy was still there, made clear with the dopey, lovesick grin that spread her mouth ear to ear.

The hand that had once covered her mouth slid across the table to where Lilith’s was resting, giving it a slight, tender squeeze before she spoke. “You look adorable.”

It was Lilith’s turn to smile now, cheeks flushed as red as her apron. Oh, she’d chose to look like a fool a thousand time over just for another moment like that.

“Thanks.”

They stared at each other silently.

Something passed between them, a kind of secret, a sort of unspoken, unacted upon longing they shared; it was potent, tangible, electric, even. It would have been clear to anyone watching, though they would have denied it’s existence, refusing to acknowledge the simple, sinful fact that these girls were in love. Desperately so.

“Seriously though, can you help me adjust this?”

“Oh, yes! Of course!”

And with that, it had ended. A small moment of tenderness and love unabashed, a miniscule and infinitesimal minute in their short, but seemingly so stretched-out lives that they would treasure and look back upon with a fond nostalgia reserved only for such memories.

Lilith turned away from her then, swooping her hair over her shoulder and crouching down to give Eve better access to the ties.

She could only giggle at the action, “You know that’s not necessary, I’m only a bit shorter than you anyways. I can reach the ties just fine.”

The redhead decided to be cheeky, falling to her knees with a cackle, looking back at Eve with her signature smirk.

“Rude!” She said, delivering a good-natured smack to the girl’s shoulder.

“Not rude,” Lilith choked back a laugh, clearly already amused by her planned response, “just being honest.”

Eve tugged on the ties to tilt Lilith’s head up, “Oh, really? I didn’t know you knew how to do that.”

The split second of worry she’d experienced from the fear she’d gone too far quickly faded into a now familiar warmth spreading through her, knowing she was the cause of the hearty chuckle that came deep from Lilith’s chest.

“How short are you?”

“I’m pretty sure the question is supposed to go “how tall are you” but to answer that question. I’m five feet and four inches.”

“Then you’re short!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

Lilith finally rose, mostly to prove a point but also so Eve could get to the ties to go around her waist, holding her arms out all the while as a sort of “go ahead” gesture.

The seconds that followed made her heart hammer. She had to step forward, close to Lilith, to grasp the ribbons that for some reason rested by her front instead of her side. Eve reached around, praying no one would hear her heart hammer against her ribs as if it were trying to break free in a never-ceasing attempt to proclaim its love.

It filled her with shame.

Oh, but who could be bothered by such unsavoury things when they were so close to their beloved?

For a brief moment, it was as if Eve held the girl in an embrace, the type of embrace one would give to a lover. It was agony to have to move, yet infinitely easier to stay, to give in to temptation and press their bodies together, to bury her face into the crook of her neck once more, to let Lilith stand as a shield between her and the God she’d come to fear so.

But she ripped herself away and went back to her original task.

“Tell me, then,” She said, distracting herself from all she longed for, “how short are you?”

Her eyes were helpless to the way the ribbon accentuated the girl’s figure, try as she might to stop herself from ogling. It made the rather loose uniform seem tighter, bringing it closer to her body, showing off her waist as the fabric bunched.

She pulled the on apron strings a bit more than necessary, wanting to see more, needing to see more.

The sight filled her with ache.

She couldn’t help but wonder if Lilith ached for her, too…

“I’m five foot eight.” The girl said, finally turning to face her once she finished. Everything about her could be described as smug, from her smirk to the way she put her hands on her hips as if she had triumphed. “Decidedly, not short.”

“And just who decided that?”

“Society.”

“Okay then, what counts as short and what counts as tall.”

“Easy. Anyone below five foot five is short, anyone above is tall.”

Eve laughed, incredulous. “Where did you even get that?”

“From society,” Lilith answered with a laugh of her own.

Before their banter could continue, however, the club leader spoke and ushered them all elsewhere.

“Okay so we’ll be the ones to give you the gardening gloves. Don’t get too excited, though, they’re all green and have no patterns whatsoever.”

She pulled out a small crate from under the table, put there ahead of time, all filled with gloves that were tied together with rubber bands by the pair.

“You guys are gonna have to take them home and wash them yourselves. I suggest bringing a small plastic bag to put them in after use. Trust me, I ruined a textbook once ‘cause I was trying to catch the second bus and just threw them in!” She sighed, though clearly amused by the story now. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Once the laughter brought about by that little anecdote had died down and everyone had grabbed a pair, the girl casually strolled away from the table only to roll out a whiteboard from inside the shed, already half-filled with a neat script.

“Now, everyone please take a seat. Here’s the actual orientation!”

...

Out of the many things Lilith had done to impress girls in the past, this might have been the tamest, yet most ridiculous and out-of-character thing to date.

Here she was, sitting on the grass in a frilly apron, listening to someone talk about flowers and the correct way to plant them and how to hold a trowel. Well, half-listening. Try as she might to focus on Veronica go on about how to plant flowers and how to properly hold a trowel and what events they would be involved in this year, her eyes would always wander to the girl next to her, to Eve.

She doubted that Eve, herself, was aware of the smile that had made it’s way onto her face. Really, Eve was the picture of happiness with her rosy, dimpled cheeks and her shining tawny eyes, utterly mesmerized by the lecture.

Lilith was mesmerized, too, mind you. The minutes went by as she gazed at Eve, enraptured in every sense of the word. There was something ethereal about Eve, whether it be the shine of her hair, so glinting and gleaming so captivatingly that even the finest gold chains could do nothing to rival it, the way the light caught her face, making clear her cupid’s bow lips, highlighting the small, usually unseen freckles dotting over her nose and cheeks.

So many stories came to mind at the sight, most prominent of all being one she had overheard as a child.

It was during recess in second grade, her friend, Monica, sniveling and sobbing her eyes out as other girls teased her for her moles and freckles as Lilith stood by to comfort her, risking ostracization herself. She laughed at the memory. Truly, her history of doing anything for girls she liked stretched back even longer than she thought.

After the teacher had arrived and scolded the other girls, she pulled them aside, Lilith refusing to leave the other for as long as she cried coming with them, Monica refusing to let go of her hand.

There, in the corner of their colourful classroom decorated with plastic planets and paper fishes and cardboard elephants, she whispered to them in her delicate voice about how people were made in heaven.

She spoke of angels sculpting them from clay, their hands gently and lovingly shaping them before handing them over to God so he could breathe life into them. Sometimes, she said, the angles would look at them and love them so much that they would kiss the clay, blessing them, leaving a mark that would stay with them when they got to earth in the form of a freckle.

Oh, how she wished to become an angel, if only so she could kiss Eve, if only so she could place upon her the mark of her love.

Granted, she wouldn’t have lasted long as one…

But being able to kiss Eve would have been worth the agony that was falling from heaven’s “grace.”

“As that’s that for orientation! You guys can go now,” Veronica said, clasping the sides of the whiteboard as she wheeled it back inside the shed. “Oh, except Eve Peccator and Lilith Damien!”

She locked the garden shed and grinned.

“You two stay. We need to talk about a few things.”

Lilith, having been very gay for a very long time, had only one reaction to such words.

“Oh fuck. Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh-”

...

Eve, having been very scared of being like Lilith for a very long time, had a similar response.

It being: “Oh no. Oh God, please no. Oh-”

Really, the words made her heart drop, the half hour spent in utter glee suddenly fading into a crippling sense of danger and nervousness.

“Okay so,” Veronica began, “you probably already noticed that you two are the only members in their senior year, yeah?”

The girl walked them deeper into the gardens, casual as ever. “That’s going to cause us a few problems since I’m only a junior and we only have a day for club per week, unlike you guys who get two since you’re going to be graduating soon. I heard someone say it had something to do with adding to your portfolio?”

“Does that mean we need to leave?” Lilith asked.

While the fear of being discovered had faded since Veronica began to speak of gardening, it had shifted again, this time into a crushing sorrow. She hadn’t even touched a plant yet and now they were getting kicked out…

“Nope! We’ll just be making a few adjustments.” She then said, waving away their fears. “As it is, we’re kinda short on members so we can’t afford to kick anyone out.”

She quickly realized what she said was rather impolite and backtracked.

“Not that we were going to do that if we weren’t short!”

They went under the fruit trees, most of which were barren, having already been harvested, their leaves turning a seasonal orange. Then, they passed the vegetable section, filled with surprisingly healthy crops despite the colder weather. Briefly after, they passed the second shed, apparently filled with chemicals like weed killers and rat poison as well as the heavier equipment of the club, the woodchipper and a chainsaw, that Veronica said only they wouldn’t be provided keys for.

“But yeah, since me and the others will only be here on Tuesdays, you’re going to be given keys to the shed and to the garden gate along with some tasks and instructions I’ll be printing out before the next meeting.

“Wait, so we’re going to be here all alone?” Eve asked. “Without anybody else?”

“Yeah!” She already began filing through her key ring in search of the duplicate keys. “Well, except when we’re here, but your club time during Fridays will be spent alone.”

Eve was fairly certain she was going to scream. Or puke. Or pass out. Or maybe all of that at the same time. Looking over at Lilith, it seemed she was also panicking. (She wasn’t. In part, she was mostly shocked and worried for Eve.)

Veronica was finally able to wring out the keys, one silver and one gold, handing them to Lilith.

“I don’t suggest you try anything with them, you’re the only ones with the spare keys so it’ll be pretty obvious it was you two if anything happens.”

Lilith took them with a simple “okay” before putting them in her pocket.

“That should be it!” Veronica said, her (probably usual) cheer returning to her after speaking her warning. “Remember, gold key is the gate, silver for the shed.”

 ...

With those words, they were walking back to the garden gate, picking up their bags from where they rested on the sides of the shed.

They were leaving.

She had to do this and she had to do it now.

A deep breath for courage and…

“Hey, can we stay for a bit?” Lilith asked. “I’ve never actually been in here and I wanted to have more of a look around.”

“Uh…”

“We’ll lock up after!”

She risked a glance at Eve and silently hoped her plan would work. Lucky for her, it didn’t look like the blonde would bolt or bail.

“You know what, okay! Just be sure to use the lock and the latch when closing the gate.”

“Thanks!” Without waiting a second more, she grabbed Eve by the hand and together they went further back into the garden, Lilith pulling them behind the small space of the second shed.

There was barely a meter between the wood of the shed and the wire of the fence. No one spoke, the two girls simply staring at each other in silence.

It should have been suffocating and awkward.

It wasn’t.

No, it was anything but that. The silence was charged, as if they didn’t need words, as if it was speaking in their place, as if they could hear each other’s hearts hammering and let that speak for itself. Their stares were heavy and filled, a more intense version of earlier. Still filled with love, still filled with longing, brimming with tenderness, an unspoken yearning. Again, so potent, so palpable, practically tangible, utterly electric.

“Lilith…” Eve’s voice shaky. She hadn’t let go of Lilith’s hand, she hadn’t tried putting more space between them. “Why did you bring me here?”

All you could hear after those words was their breathing, ragged, nervous, yet still going, matching the frantic rhythm of their hearts.

She didn’t answer, instead pulling Eve to her chest in a hug.

“Okay, this is my chance.”

 ...

Eve couldn’t resist, couldn’t even pretend to, not a single protest coming from her mouth. She wanted this. More than anything else, she wanted this. Arms pinned to her side by Lilith, there was nothing she could do to reciprocate; to scared that speaking would make the girl pull away, she hoped, if only this once, that Lilith would hear her heart, her love.

The passage of time was lost to her, all Eve could focus on was the other’s face buried in the crook of her neck. Lilith’s breath was hot. She could feel every sigh, every rise and fall of her chest. Her lips would brush against her pulse with every shift. They were soft and warm, pillowy.

As suddenly as Lilith had grabbed her, she was let go.

The girl pulled away from her with a gentle, satisfied smile.

Surprising herself, she grabbed Lilith’s hand when she backed away.

Her mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Eve wanted more.

But how could she ever say that?

She let go and they left the garden, locking up, never letting loose another word.

 ...

Later that night, she would open her messenger bag to find a light brown book with a pastel yellow sticky note on the front cover.

In large, messy letters it read: With love, from Lilith.

_________________________

Taglist: @atahensic @anomiewrites @leahstypewriter @madame-ree @melpomenismask @littlemisscalamity @phillyinthebathroom @gaypeaches @extrabitterbrain @pirateofblood @i-wanna-be-a-rock

OKAY CHAPTER 13 IS HERE!! YAY!!!!

SO IN MY EXCITEMENT TO POST THE LAST CHAPTER I FORGOT TO MENTION THAT THE BOOK EVE WAS READING IS A PREVIEW OF THE OTHER BOOK I'M WORKING ON IN THIS UNIVERSE BUT FURTHER BACK: THE CULT OF DIONYSUS!!!!

Lmao since @atahensic and @gaypeaches were excited about that they're getting tagged twice 💛

That's all for this chapter!! Thanks for reading 😁💛

[talesmaniac89]

Well, Hello There Stranger - Part 1

Pairing: Dean x Reader (established relationship)

Summary: Sam informs you that Dean’s suffering from temporary memory loss and has forgotten you. Yet, when you meet your boyfriend, it isn’t the cold eyes of a stranger that meets yours.

Triggers: Fear, Worry, Temporary Memory Loss (Next part is fluffy, I swear!)

Y/N = Your name | Y/E/C = Your eye colour

Read Part 2 Here

---

“(Y/N), before you go in there… There’s something you should know,” Sam was standing at the door when you nearly threw yourself out of the car as soon as you’d parked the beat-up old truck next to Dean’s Impala. Your phone with the many missed calls from Sam as you’d chosen to focus on the road lying forgotten in the car, telling the same story the younger Winchester was clearly going to force you to stop to listen to.

The big guy had to physically reach out to stop you from trying to rush past him and into the room. Your earlier conversation with the younger Winchester still ringing in your ears and making you deaf to his words. 

“I know you’re a few hours away, but you need to come back to the motel (Y/N). Dean got hit, and… Shit...  Just come,”

Dean was in there, and something was wrong. Hell… You might not have been given enough information to know what was wrong, but that was all you needed. Your Dean, the man you loved more than life itself, was in trouble. There was no way you weren’t going to be by his side. 

“(Y/N)! Listen to me!” Sam stood in your way once more, stubbornly separating you from your boyfriend with just his body and the flimsy motel room door. It hurt you, physically and mentally, to hold your body still and stop from rushing past him to be with Dean. But, as you squared your jaw and set your pained, angry eyes in the youngest Winchester, your anger quickly faltered a little at the worry that has stained his hazel eyes. Quickly replaced with the whispers of soon to be heartbreak.

Oh God… No.

A thousand different scenarios were playing out behind the door and in your mind. Each was as true as the next until you could see what was hiding behind the thin motel room door with your own eyes. Like some twisted and cruel form of Schrodinger's Cat, with your heart playing the part of the feline. Unwilling to let you know whether your heart was broken or whole until you opened the door and confirmed yourself. 

“Dean’s alright… Or, well, he will be,” Sam hurried to add the words as an arm reached out to steady you. Clearly seeing the pain darken your (Y/E/C) eyes as your heart acted the part of Schrodinger's plaything; not whole nor shattered, just somewhere in the painfully grey middle. 

“Then just let me see him Sammy! I need to see him,” 

You could hear the barely controlled hysteria through the shake of your own voice as you looked up at the hunter who was forcefully holding you in place. Unwilling to let you run to your boyfriend’s side. Though your whole body, every fucking gasp of air, was crying out to him. Aching to be near him.

Yet, even with the promise of Dean’s life being safe, Sam didn’t release the hold on your shoulders. Nor did any of the worry in his eyes subside. Dean was alright, or would be, yet something was still wrong. And if Sam wasn’t worried about his brother’s life… That could only mean that worry was focused elsewhere.

“What’s wrong with him?” You added, much more quietly, as you realised the truth hiding behind the hesitant worry in Sam’s eyes. He wasn’t worried for Dean’s safety; he was worried about how you would react to whatever was on the other side of the door.

“Hear me out… Please, don’t think it’s as bad as it sounds…” Sam’s words were still hesitant. His hands finally dropping from your shoulders, now that he knew you weren’t going to run in guns blazing to save your boyfriend from whatever threat, real or imagined, that was out to hurt him.

“Spit it out Winchester,” You flinched at the harsh steely cut in your tone as soon as it left you. But you couldn’t control it, not until you could see that Dean was in fact alive and well with your own eyes. 

“The curse… It rebounded when we were trying to get it under lock and key,” The younger hunter’s voice barely rose above a whisper as he relayed the news to you. The knot in your stomach growing into a tangled mess that resembled the collection of protective charms on your side of the bed you shared with Dean. 

“Dean was hit…”

“What does that mean Sam?” Your words came out shaky and breathless as you tried to remember the finer details of the curse. The small, unassuming book that hid the curse had just one word printed on its cover in pretty cursive letters.

Memories. 

That was exactly it. The damned curse stole people’s memories. In the back of your mind, empty eyes and vacant souls stared back at you from the many lives the curse had already stolen. Painting a warped image of the man on the other side of the door. Forest green eyes empty, like a long-forgotten field left to wither. Unable to even remember his own name.

“It’s… Not as bad as it sounds. The curse didn’t manage to fully work, it’s just some backlash. Cas says it should correct itself within the next 24 to 48 hours. At first it was correcting itself faster, but it’s slowed down and...” Sam said, speaking over the broken sob that threatened to explode into the empty motel parking lot. 

“He just… (Y/N), Dean can’t remember anything from the last four years,”

The worry in Sam’s eyes suddenly made sense. Four years ago, Dean Winchester didn’t have the faintest clue who you were. You’d met him on a hunt, two years and five months ago, the two of you were soon coming up on your two-year anniversary. Two years of blissful happiness by the side of your soldier. So, that meant, the man hiding behind that door, your Dean Winchester, didn’t have the faintest clue who you were. Of what the two of you shared. 

You’d been discarded by his mind. The picture-perfect memories you shared were nothing more than a crumpled and faded polaroid to the hunter, with your smiling face scratched out and forcefully removed from the equation.

He wouldn’t remember the quiet nights spent wrapped in each other's arms soothing away the pain of another lost friend or ghosted kisses over still forming bruises. All the empty promises of an apple pie life after you finally managed to get rid of all the evil bastards. He’d have forgotten all your inside jokes, all your little shared quirks, the comforting morning routine you’d easily slipped into as you woke up by his side every day. All of it, every little memory that was more precious to you than life itself, was lost to him. 

Dean couldn��t remember you. He couldn’t remember ever meeting you, or… Loving you. 

“Oh…” Was all you managed to push out, suddenly unsure if you wanted to enter the small motel room. If what would meet you were the eyes of a stranger. 

A man who’d look at you like you were just another piece of a puzzle he couldn’t make fit. Another case. Would you be able to deal with watching his green eyes, that usually burned like a forest fire, look at you with the blank disinterest of glancing over a stranger he’d pass by on the road? 

“But! It’s only for a day or two. Castiel is sure his memories will return, and soon. Hell, he’s already showing signs of getting better. Before you came… It was 14 years,” Sam’s eyes were pained as memories of earlier hours, while he waited for you to join them, sprung unwanted up in his warm eyes. So much had happened in those fourteen years. And with Dean’s memories gone, it’d been up to Sammy to be the strong one. To weather every question. 

“Things were returning faster, but still… The memories started slowing down at around the six-year mark and now…”

“I’m sorry Sam,” You whispered, unable to think up any words of comfort that wouldn’t just add to the man you considered a brother’s hurt. 

“Don’t be… It’s, hell, this is going to sound kinda mean, but… It’s kind of funny,” Sam gave a choked laugh. A small sad smile replacing earlier worry, though you could still see some pain in his eyes. 

“Funny?” For a second you worried the curse backfiring had led to some unwanted side effects as you gave Sam an incredulous look. 

“I mean, yeah, at first it sucked. Not knowing if he’d get better. But now… He’s not really digging into the future or asking loads of serious questions. He’s just making outdated early 2000s jokes and asking if the Office is still on or if Led Zeppelin has made a comeback,” Sam said, a tired whispered laugh betraying the mixed emotions behind the words. 

“So… Dean knows that he… He knows?” You stopped yourself from vocalising the amnesia. Unable to deal with how just the thought of his forgotten love for you sent sharp shots of pain through your very core.

“Yeah, we told him. I couldn’t just let him be. I mean, he didn’t know who Cas was at first, but I needed to make him understand that he was a friend, and that he’d lost his memories,” Sam said with a shrug. “I just… I didn’t want you to go in there not knowing. He will remember you (Y/N), it’ll just take a little while longer,”

“Thanks Sammy, I’ll be fine… Just knowing he’s healthy and that he’ll be right as rain soon is already enough,” You sighed, steeling your heart for what waited in the motel room at the same time as your body visibly calmed down. The tension that had rested there since you jumped in your car and broke every speed limit to make it to Dean’s side finally gone. 

Sure, it would probably still hurt a bit to see no recognition in Dean’s eyes. Or feel the warmth of his love seeping through you, like you always did when his eyes met yours. But it was only temporary. You were a big girl, and you’d get through this bump in the road as well. No use crying or screaming, it was only a few hours, it wouldn’t hurt… Not too bad at least.

Who were you kidding? 

It would hurt like hell. But it would hurt a lot more not to be by his side. Not when he needed you there. Even if he didn’t know it right now. Even if it wasn’t temporary, you still would’ve stayed. You’d help him make new memories. After all, the best part about your memories was making them with him.

“If you’re sure…” You shook away Sam’s hesitant question with a small shaky smile. Choosing to reach for the door instead of letting him talk you out of it. No, you weren’t sure. Shit, you were basically never sure about anything. As a hunter, over two thirds of your life was uncertainty. But you wouldn’t let that stop you. 

Not when the person on the other side of the door was your Dean Winchester.

Taking a careful breath to swallow the sob that threatened to act as a knock and signal your arrival you let the cold motel doorknob ground you. Mentally preparing yourself to meet his blank eyes head on and wait…

Wait for your Dean to come back home. To come back to you.

Next Part

---

Dean Winchester Tags: @ria132love​

[script-a-world]

How do I keep my worldbuilding consistent when I have multiple timelines and alternate universes? Especially when memories can bleed over too.

Constablewrites: Really, really good notes. You’re gonna need something that allows for a high level of organization and categorization. That might be a tool like Scrivener or Evernote that lets you create folders and tags, or if you prefer physical notes you can use different colored pens, sticky notes, or even multiple notebooks. (There are probably tools out there specifically designed for such a purpose, but I’m not personally familiar with any.)

However you keep your lists, you’ll want to have one set of notes for each timeline and universe that impacts the story. If you have characters hopping around, you’ll also want to have notes for each character’s personal timeline (so the order in which they experience events, which timelines/universes they travel between, what they remember when, etc.). These lists don’t have to be super long or involved--just a brief phrase describing the scene or event can be enough to keep it straight.

Even for writers only working with a single timeline, it can be useful to have a calendar of events. You can call your start point Day 1 and go from there, assign events to arbitrary dates on our calendar, or go into detail with your own system, whatever works for you. The key is just to have a way to be sure of how much time has passed, so you don’t have something like characters saying they’ve only known each other a couple of days when it’s established elsewhere that it’s been a month.

Also, this doesn’t have to be done in advance. Doing it as you go is fine, and so is assembling the lists as you’re preparing to edit and untangle everything. You might save yourself some effort down the line if you sort that stuff out before writing, but not everyone’s brain works like that and that’s okay.

Tex: It’s difficult to make lists and notes if you don’t know what information to put in them. This is a fairly common issue, since the plethora of information available to particularly worldbuilders can easily become a sensory overload.

A calendar of events is an excellent idea, if you’ve got events to catalogue (and dates to go along with them!). Unfortunately that won’t cover the rest of a world, so you’ll need to be careful in how your organize your notes. Please note that both of our suggestions are but one of many methods to arranging worldbuilding notes, especially when it comes to multiple timelines.

Scrivener, Evernote, OneNote, or even a set of notebooks or word documents can be very versatile depending on your style of note-taking. I deeply prefer an iterative process to worldbuilding, wherein I slowly collate and organize scraps of notes into a polished whole that functions as an archive. Usually I keep multiple versions, in case I need to roll back to certain timelines of development and branch off in a different direction, and keep the discarded versions in case there’s a new way to incorporate the research and ideas.

There’s a lot of debate about digital vs physical copies. For digital, the pros are that you can easily edit and transmit files to a high volume capacity, as well as store them in a comparatively small container or even purely online. Its cons, however, are that they’re easily lost, corrupted, or stolen.

For physical, the pros are that the copies are tangible, easy to visually reference in large volumes, and can usually withstand long-term storage without corruption issues. Its cons, however, are that they have a physical weight, can be cumbersome to carry around, and are difficult to edit while retaining coherency.

One of the most successful note-taking styles I’ve seen is a blend of digital and physical. When you’re still developing an idea, a digital format is very useful until you’ve gotten some concrete decisions down. You can do this with some throwaway notebooks or loose paper, too! Just make sure it’s collected in the same place, or at least is annotated in a way that’s easy to identify (e.g. headers of the same colour, washi tape, dedicated ink colours, dedicated folders, etc).

The intermediary point is usually the difficult part, because transitioning into firm decisions about your worldbuilding is where packrat tendencies kick in. “But what if I need this?” is a very common refrain. However, if you’ve isolated your first step, you’ll still have all of your sketches and ideas and notes!

A basic sorting process of “I’ll keep working on this” versus “I’ll set this aside in case I still need this” will tamp down on a lot of that inevitable anxiety. This will give you control over the flow of development, and you’ll always be able to incorporate things from that second pile if necessary.

The main characteristic of the intermediary point is the filing system, and is incredibly useful even when dividing a world into multiple timelines.

The best method that I’ve found for working on multiple timelines is to start from the most common details. Since these notes are likely to be stored with other stories, the first order is fandom vs original work. If you only write original work, it may be helpful to arrange things by title and/or genre.

I’ve made a sample worldbuilding folder on Google Drive (available here) that can be downloaded locally or into your own Drive, and am narrating the main path way; any additional folders you see will largely be blank in order to allow others to learn the overall structure. You can always copy the folders and files I mention into the additional folders, and rearrange as best suits you!

Since I made this for primarily fandom (re-title as necessary for original work), this means choosing Fandom 1 and then World Name 1. Traditionally the first world is the “canon” world, or the original seed, so it gets first pick.

I have in World Name 1 some things pre-seeded:

Timeline 1

Timeline 2

Unsorted

World Name 1 - Meta Info.txt

All of the individual files in there - usually .txt or .docx - have information on them regarding suggestions how to use them. If you already have a method, then disregard and populate as you prefer.

The Unsorted folder acts as a catch-all, and there’s going to be one of these at roughly each level. For the Timeline level, this means working in conjunction with the Meta Info text file - usually discarded snippets and/or research. While you can definitely create subfolders in this one, I would recommend keeping it loose so you don’t create a stressful, nitpicking situation that loses focus on your main goals.

If you have a main timeline, then that’s going to be Timeline 1. However you choose to prioritize the other ones, just make sure you’re consistent with it, and clearly label everything.

Within Timeline 1, you’re going to have the following items:

Story folder

Plot folder

Unsorted folder

Culture folder

World Name 1 - Timeline 1 - To Do List.txt

You already know how the Unsorted folder functions, so pass that one by. I’ll cover the file before delving into the folders. It’s a text file (that’s a bit oddly sized, apologies for that - it can be resized upon opening with Notepad or a similar program), and left without any instructions or suggestions. World Name 1 - Timeline 1 - To Do List is, as it says on the tin, meant to keep track of things that need doing for this timeline. Be it items that need updating, necessary tweaks, reminders for other things, it’s a relatively isolated way to keep track of this timeline on a meta scale.

Moving on to the rest, the Story folder contains two of its own - Chapters and Master Story. I’ve found this method useful, since it’s dumping drafts into a virtual outbox on an as-completed basis. Master Story has a preseeded doc, while Chapters is meant to contain each chapter unto its own folder (Chapter 1 has its own preseeded doc, as well). The guide docs are colour-coded and contain notes for both fanfiction and original work.

The next folder in Timeline 1, Plot, comes with three pre-seeded guide docs of its own:

World Name 1 - Timeline 1 - Characters.docx

World Name 1 - Timeline 1 - Plot Unsorted.docx

World Name 1 - Timeline 1 - Plot.docx

You see how there’s still an Unsorted folder, albeit in file form? That’s for information that can’t be put into Characters.docx or Plot.docx. All three have notes and some sort of sorting and colour-coding applied to them, with some modularity for copying and pasting. Plot.docx functions a lot like programs like OneNote and Scrivener, so the formatting can be ported over if you prefer a more literal digital notebook style.

The last folder in Timeline 1 is Culture. I’ve divided this into Non-Physical and Physical. There’s a readme text file in both detailing the types of things would go into each folder, though otherwise both left blank so you can dive right into creating sub-folder systems of your own. As with the higher-level folders, you can always duplicate the methods of unsorted folders and meta docs!

[ghoststudios]

A Short Beggie Chrismas Fic

Words - 775

Reggie Mantle was standing in the frozen microwave meal aisle, looking for microwavable turkey breasts for one. Like most days, Reggie Mantle awoke to find a post-it note on his fridge. Today’s note was his mother informing him on Christmas eve, both her and his father would be at a charity holiday banquet so he would be alone, like every year since he was ten. Though if you asked him about it he would just shrug it off.

He was quietly mumbling to All I Want for Christmas is You as it was playing on the radio as he scanned the shelves. On normal days, he would cook for himself; but he was really wanting Turkey, mostly due to the way Needle Nose was describing it two weeks ago had really made him crave it. He felt like getting a treat for himself for Christmas, as it was a few days away. Before selecting a meal, a familiar voice halted him right in his spot.

“Reggie?” A sweet flowing soft-spoken voice called out to him  

He perked his head up, “Oh, Hey Betts.”  It was Betty Cooper. The only other member of his imitated friend group who was still in Riverdale for the holidays. “What are you doing in the freezer section?”

“I could also ask you the same?”

“You First”

“I’m on the quest to find vegan stuffing-” Betty said with a flair of confidence, “and by the look of things, you’re finding tv dinners for one?” she ended the sentence with a chuckle.

“Yeah, Yeah-” He swatted the air “Blame Pinhead, They were describing roasted turkey like it was the reincarnation of Christ.”

“Haha, Juggie does get that emotional with food” she paused for a moment, giving Reggie a fair moment to look at her basket.

Oddly enough she had a box of Merci chocolates peeking out the bag despite him knowing that she (usually) had all her gifts ready way before the winter break. Clearly, Betty noticed his slight puzzlement at the item in her basket, she cleared her throat.

“Oh sorry, just wondering why you have chocolates.” He said in a bit of shock  “Didn’t you make gifts for basically everyone already?”

“Well, since you asked. My Sister decided this week to tell us, she got a new boyfriend” she announced with a little bit of irritation, “and he’s coming over for Christmas, Yaay” she fist pumped the air to add to her obvious sarcasm. “Ugh- Polly knows how I work, I can’t start a project this late, I don’t even know what colours of wool to use or how thick to do it, hell what would I even make him!-”

Reggie looked down at the cozy dark maroon muffler she made him this year, he thought about how different it would be if she rushed it definitely not the fine craftsmanship; Nor would it reflect him as well as the maroon did, as little of he thought about it the colour really popped out when it was paired his usual black leather jacket.  He had to hand it to Betty, she really excelled in her craft.

Betty took a few deep breaths and fanned some cold air from the freezer in her face. When she gained her composer she got back to her point,“Anyways, I don’t feel like cooking Tofu stuffing from scratch so-”

“Oh you should try it sometime,” Reggie butted in “heh, sorry.  I actually tried cooking some last week and it’s actually really good.”

“Oh, alright” She said a bit taken aback. “Why did you do-”

“Experimenting” he shrugged.

“Ah-”

An instant awkward silence flowed into the frozen food section as neither teen knew what to say next. But unknowingly they had a similar thought.

“Jugs out of town to visit family,” Betty said, somehow thinking listing where their friends are will kill the silence.

“More like they are out of town for a free banquet”

“Yeah, if they don’t get drained from talking to their family for more than an hour.”

They both shared a chuckle before more silence

“Veronica is celebrating the holidays in Manhattan.”

“And Archie’s in another state with family; otherwise he would be at my house.”

They both looked at each other, and then looked elsewhere.

Ending the painful silence, Betty  “Well, Happy Holidays” before walking out the allies, seemingly forgetting the whole reason she .

“You too,” Reggie smirked. He opened the door and picked up a cheap one serving turkey meal.

Betty paused at the end of the row and turned back around “Reggie?”

“Yes?”

“Would you mind coming over for Christmas?”

“Not at all Bets, Not at all Bets,”

[maraudererasmut]

Black and White (Part XXIX)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX | Part XX | Part XXI | Part XXII | Part XXIII | Part XXIV | Part XXV | Part XXVI | Part XXVII | Part XXVIII | Part XXIX | Part XXX

Remus Lupin was standing in the middle of a gallery that was hosting his art show.  

This was something he had always dreamed of, but never expected to actually happen. There he was, in Black and White, with his paintings on the wall, each with a price tag next to it. Better than that, there were art collectors and consultants roaming about, viewing this work, considering them for purchase. This was everything Remus had ever wanted.

Why, then, was his mind focused on something entirely different?

As Remus shook hands with wealthy people and smiled professionally at them, his only thought was of his kiss with Sirius. It was tender and intimate, with Sirius' hands holding him, finger tips tangling through his curls.

Every once in a while, Sirius would approach Remus, his Gallery Owner Grin plastered to his face. For all intents and purposes, it felt like a professional dynamic— then Sirius' hand would surreptitiously graze the small of Remus' back, gently guiding him towards something or someone. Was that normal? Did Sirius always place his hand on the small of people's backs? Was his smile always accompanied with that rosy glow of his cheeks? Did his eyes always sparkle that much?

At some point during the evening, Lily caught Remus on his own, approaching him and giving him a tight embrace. 

"Congratulations, Remus. This is an amazing turnout! And people keep saying how much they love your art! You should be so proud of yourself!"

"Heh… thanks, Lily," Remus responded, tearing his eyes off of Sirius, who was standing next to Dorcas and laughing. "And… you too. Your art is also beautiful. I've heard Dorcas is considering buying something for one of their clients."

Lily beamed at Remus, bright red lips parted joyfully. 

"Thanks, Remus! Yeah, they talked to me about commissioning some stuff. It's pretty exciting!" Lily paused, looking at Remus expectantly, raising a delicate eyebrow. 

"What?" Remus asked pointedly, trying to keep a straight face. "You clearly want to say something. Spit it out!"

Lily's ivory cheeks flushed as she glanced behind her shoulder at Sirius before turning back to the other artist.

"He seems to be in good spirits..." 

"So he does."

"Remus, what happened? You two were arguing and now… you haven't taken your eyes off of him all night!"

Remus shifted his gaze away from the gallery owner, who he just happened to be looking at. He brushed his hair from his eyes, trying to detract from the blush that was spreading across his cheeks. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Lily."

"Mhmm…" She clearly didn't believe him.

"Look, we'll get coffee tomorrow, okay? For now, I have to concentrate on being…" Remus gestured to himself, as if he was wearing some sort of costume and had to ensure that he was acting the part. 

Lily leaned in to give Remus a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze of the arm. She pulled away and winked at him.

"It's a date. We'll talk tomorrow."

As Lily glided away, Remus felt a hand press firmly on his shoulder. He turned around and grinned at James, who looked completely and utterly satisfied with himself.

"Glad you fixed it," he said, his eyes lingering on the lithe silhouette of his wife. "'Cause I was ready to hit someone."

"I'm glad you didn't," Remus responded with a chuckle. "My face is far too fragile."

"I never said it would be you…" James put his arm over Remus' shoulder and tugged him closer, causing the artist to stumble slightly. James was quite a bit stronger than he let on. "So!" He continued cheerfully. "You haven't introduced me to your friends or family yet! Which of these guests are yours?"

Remus shrugged nonchalantly, trying not to let the sudden heaviness in his heart ruin the mood. 

"I didn't invite anyone."

"What?!" James pulled away from Remus, placing a hand firmly on each of the artist's shoulders and bending down to look him straight in the eyes. Remus stared straight ahead, his mind focusing on the deep, ruddy brown of James' cheeks, the velvety darkness in his eyes. "Why didn't you invite anyone?! This is your first art show, Remus! You should be celebrating! Your family should be here with you! Or your friends! Someone!"

Remus steeled himself, trying not to show any of his anxiety on his face. He thought of painting, he thought of colours, he focused on the man in front of him. James' colours always reminded Remus of autumn, with their warm glows and subtle orange undertones. Autumn and summer— that was James and Lily.

"My friends are here," Remus managed to choke out, trying not to get emotional. "And I'm so glad that you guys came."

Remus was losing his resolve as he watched James' dark brown eyes fill with tears. James scooped Remus into a bear hug, squeezing tighter than the artist thought possible.

"We love you, Remus. So much." James' voice was muffled in Remus' shoulder, but the artist managed to make out the words. He patted James on the back, glancing over to Lily pleadingly, hoping for some kind of explanation.

"I...uh… I love you guys, too? Thanks James…"

James pulled away and held Remus' arms at his side.

"I'm so honoured to be your friend, and I'm thrilled that I get to celebrate this with you."

"Uh… right back at you, James…"

"James, honey!" Lily appeared out of nowhere, placing a gentle hand on her husband's shoulder and offering Remus an apologetic look. "Let's let Remus mingle with the other guests. He has some art to sell!"

"Yes, yes! We'll see you later, Remus. Good luck!"

James and Lily departed, leaving Remus stunned in the middle of the gallery. Just as he was about to go to the bar to grab himself a drink, he was approached by someone he hadn't met before.

"Remus, is it?"

"Yes?" The artist smiled at the stranger and held out his hand. He was used to the routine by this point in the evening. "And you are?"

"Caradoc. Dearborn. Pleasure to meet you."

Caradoc's grip was surprisingly firm as he shook Remus' hand. He was a large man, taller and broader than Sirius, and he held himself with confidence. He had beautifully dark skin, emphasized by the contrast to the bleach blonde of his closely shaved hair. When he smiled, gleaming white teeth showed and his rich brown eyes glimmered with excitement. Caradoc had round cheeks and a chiseled jawline, classically handsome features that Remus' heart responded to with a few sporadic thumps. 

"Likewise," Remus mumbled, lost in the woodsy colours that made up Caradoc's irises, and the smokey scent of his cologne. 

"Figured I should introduce myself to London's next big thing. I want to be in your good books for when you're famous!" He accompanied his grand statements with a cheeky wink.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Remus said casually, trying to remain modest despite the flattering words. "This is still my first show."

"And what a show it is!" Caradoc motioned around him, his arms spread wide in a bold gesture. "Look at everyone! They can't take their eyes off of your art! I've already heard talk from the owner of a second show!"

"Have you now?" Remus raised an eyebrow and glanced over to the spot where Sirius stood, chatting to a group of wealthy socialites. "I hadn't heard that from him."

"Well," Caradoc continued with an almost wicked gleam in his eyes. "If your next show isn't here, you should definitely consider showing elsewhere. It'd be a sincere pity if you didn't continue to ride the wave of your success." Caradoc pulled out a card from the inside of his jacket and leaned in close to Remus to slide it into his breast pocket, giving it a pat for good measure. "If you do feel like showing elsewhere… or just want to discuss the future of your art career…"

He gave Remus another wink and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Remus standing in stunned silence.

Was this really happening? Were other galleries propositioning Remus? Was this show exactly what he needed to kickstart his career?

Remus was so excited by the prospect that he nearly spun around right into Sirius Black, who held his hands out to catch a potentially falling artist.

"Oh, hello, Remus…"

"Hello…" Remus tore his eyes from Sirius', trying not to get lost in their depths. He knew he was blushing, but he couldn't help himself. He felt Sirius' grip tighten slightly on his arm as the gallery owner leaned in closer.

"The show is going wonderfully. You should be proud of yourself."

"I am," Remus mumbled, staring at the pair of lips mounted on the wall and desperately not thinking about Sirius'. "Tonight has been… amazing."

"It's not over yet…"

Remus didn't have a chance to ask Sirius what exactly he was implying before another guest approached the two of them and began discussing Remus' work. 

The entire evening had been a whirlwind thus far, and Remus just had to remain afloat as the rippling crowd tugged him this way and that. It would be over soon, and he would finally have a moment to himself to decompress and wrap his mind around everything that had happened. 

((Author’s Note: I know this chapter isn’t my strongest one yet, but I really wanted to get across that feeling of being pulled from every direction and the hectic feeling of being the center of attention at a show! I also wanted to introduce a few new things so that I have some new plot points to explore in future chapters. Please forgive me for this one!)

[foxcub02]

The New Avengers: Broken World Part 3

Chapter 5: Can't be contained

《WARNING, WARNING, WARNING》

*I've got to make my move, and fast*

Sirens were booming through the fortress, who had broken out, WHY had they broken out and what were they after, soldiers running around, guns in hand ready to hold the escaped convict at gun point when they clash, who knows when that might happen, of if they would do it at all, who knows, they might've already gotten to them first.

The officer, inventory control, quite young, must be his first few days here, he's nervous they can sense it, well he is held at gun point after all I mean...who wouldn't be, especially when your life is in his hands right now.

"My mask...and fur coat, if you please. That is if you would like to keep your life." The officer tries to keep his cool as he asks.

"M-m-may I have a name..sir?"

"Really?" He chuckles "you really don't know who i am?" He looks the officer in the eyes and puts his weapon down "Zemo...Baron Zemo, if you will"

"I shall g-g-get your things...right now" the officer quickly shuffles to the lockers, each one labelled with different cell numbers, the metal rusted, labels fading away, its surprising that the labels can still be read. He opens the locker '2187' and pulls out a purple ski mask and a very stylish fur coat.

"Best Regards" Zemo chuckles and slips his mask on and throws his coat around him as he walks off pulling a detonator out of his pocket and turning around one last time, stood by a hatch that he now kicked open. "I shall also bid you farewell, мой друг" he jumps down the hatch and seals it pressing the detonator.

¬ мой друг means "my friend" in Russian

"Hey Buck, I don't think your buddy is around here any more" Sam flies over the Raft...or well, what was left of it, from where Sam was it just looks like nothing but rubble and flames. "I don't know how, but he escaped, clearly this was his doing we didn't have anyone else there that's that maniacal"

"No signs of any hints that could show us how Sam? " if all else fails, Bucky might know a place where Zemo could be lurking but he was hoping that he would be wrong in that case.

"Negative, where do you think he will be?" there was a little bit of worry in his voice, like he might have an idea where he would've went.

"I hope he's not going where I think he's going Sam" he stops for a moment while he looks out over the horizon. "Wakanda"

Hours Later, Elsewhere on the Globe

Music booming, bright lights, colours lighting up the sky...this didn't seem like Wakanda, this is Madripoor, and Zemo's place of hiding.

"I love your coat" a black haired, petite woman strokes along the fluff of his coats collar, then runs the finger onto his face and lifts his chin a bit to make direct eye contact. "But I would love it even more if it was off" she lets out a flirty giggle while biting her lip.

He keeps constant eye contact while letting a smirk rise on his face. "You really think you can handle me? but you're a sweet young woman, I couldn't possibly make you crave me more than you already do" he's looking so smug into her eyes, knowing she's moments away from just having him right on that chair.

"You're pushing it Mr" she says while caressing her hand across his face while letting out another flirty giggle.

"Oh really? then lets head somewhere private and maybe you can get your request, the coat may come off darling" he says while brushing his thumb across her cheek and then lips before doing what ever criminal does best, steal. Steal a kiss from her red, glossed lips. keeping them pressed passionately against his, then leans back out "You taste sweet, I take it you accept my offer? let us go to my private quarters and let me taste you more" he smirks again at her, looking straight into her eyes.

Before they could even properly stand up something crashes through the ceiling, the music stops and there's dust everywhere, screams of panic arose before a figure stands up within the dust, nothing but a shadowy figure stares Zemo down before he tries to make a run for it, pushing people out the way stumbling over the others that had fallen due to the fright. Before he could make it to the door Bucky kicks it open, crashing into Zemo knocking him down at the feet of the shadowed figure. he turns around to look at the figure.

"Going somewhere were we?" the figure starts to look more clear with the dust finally settling.

"Stand down Vision" Bucky walks into the room and picks Zemo up by his collar and makes him stand. "You have some nerve...." Bucky's expression didn't exactly show his irritation but his tone certainly did.

"I have no business here Mr Barnes, I just merely want to lay low, live my life without trouble" he looked a little smug for someone in range of The Winter Solider. "You spared me, you seen that I can have a quiet life and remain hidden from the world" he drops his smug look "If you really wanted me dead, you would've done it yourself."

Bucky takes a few steps towards Zemo before Vision gets between them "That's not what we're here for Mr Barnes, If the Avengers are spread out then we will need all the help we can get"

Bucky stares into visions eyes before looking back at Zemo "Walk before I make you" he turns and walks out the door. Vision getting behind Zemo to make sure he walks ahead.

"Where's the new Captain?" Zemo says with a hint of more smugness towards the situation.

"I sent him to Wakanda, I needed to make sure you either A: wasn't there or B: don't step foot near there, being in Madripoor was my next shot but to kill two birds with one stone and get the best results of finding you I asked Sam to fly over to Wakanda, meanwhile I found Vision floating around looking for everyone. he explained how he's alive but not like its of any importance to you." He meets Sam outside that let him know about a major problem. something is tearing through New York City and without the Avengers the world was going to be ripped apart, through every version of space time itself.

"We need to hurry, Strange is already waiting for us to return, without the Avengers now he has no one to help sort out these Avengers level threats" Sam had the Wakandans help to make new and improved Quinjets, a Sleek black look with purplish glows for the engines. Similar design overall though.

"Do we know the cause?" Bucky shouts over the jets of the ship as they board one by one.

"No clue so far, we need to liaise with Strange to find out more." Sam sits at the wheel, ready to take off "Next stop New York City."

To Be Continued...