#bah miss my old place but don’t get me started on that

[monsoon-of-art]

Donut Hole

Achilles Come Down

Achilles, Achilles, Achilles Jump now, You are absent of cause Or excuse.

So self-indulgent, And self-referential No audience could ever want you.

[An uncharacteristically warm night in the Pearl Settlement. Big shoutout to anonymous bestie for beta reading!] [ao3 link here!]

Ingo explaining his encounter with the wayward child currently in Calaba’s tent only gave Irida more questions.

It truly seemed as if Berry had just…appeared. He had no ties to any of the groups currently living in Hisui; and even though he used Pokeballs like the Galaxy Team in Jubilife, they hadn’t made any mention of a missing boy (putting aside his vehement hatred for them).

His clothes were clearly foreign. Ingo had mentioned his dialect was strange, and this was coming from Ingo of all people, the man who had to be taught the local language. ‘Berry’ was either a terrible fake name or just a terrible name, period. No one had any idea who this ‘Palmer’ fellow was, and if he really was Berry’s father, why hadn’t he stepped forward? And how did Ingo of all people know him?

Irida chewed on her bottom lip as all of these thoughts swirled in her head. Glaceon nudged at her, fruitlessly trying to grab her attention out from the whirlpool of her mind.

Ingo, awkwardly sitting opposite her, cleared his throat. “I told Gaeric as well. I admitted that the boy seems familiar to me…and he told me that the boy looks like you.”

“Oh, don’t tell me that.” she groaned. “I didn’t see it, anyways. Just because we both have lighter hair doesn’t mean we’re related.”

“I am simply relaying what he told me.” he said softly. He knew her well enough to tell she was stressed about this. He felt partially responsible, he was the one who dragged the boy here in the first place. 

Ingo wanted to place a hand on her shoulder, to comfort her, but he didn’t want to overstep. Instead, he began petting her glaceon. “I am certain once the boy has his wounds looked over, and has a decent meal, he may be more open to listening to us.”

“...Yes. Yes, you are correct.” Irida agreed, glancing at him. “He…he looked terrible, Ingo. Did you see him? Of course you did, you carried him here-”

“Which is why he’s with Calaba now.” Ingo risked placing a hand on her shoulder, sensing that she was starting to spiral. “He’s in the best place he could be right now. Besides, even if he does set off, he certainly won’t get far. His cab isn’t optimized for this weather.”

Irida took a breath, placing her hand on his. “You’re right. We just need to wait, I suppose. I still don’t know how I can talk to him without my obi, or my headdress-”

“We will cross those tracks when we get there.” Ingo reassured her. “Perhaps Calaba can explain. She first greeted me, and she was…” he hesitated. “...Maybe we should have someone else.”

She snorted at that, pushing his hand off playfully. “Oh, don’t let her hear you!”

“She is an excellent medic. Her bedside manners, though…”

“She is old.” Irida waved off his concerns. “You know how she is. Do you know when the boy will wake up?”

Ingo shook his head. “Sabi said not for some time…but that conversation itself was some time ago. It could be anyone’s guess.”

“And what will you do in the meantime?” she asked. “You seemed…shaken up by the encounter.”

“I will…retire, for now. To my station. But I will be here if you need me.” Ingo’s answers were short. Concise. His voice sounded like he was so, so far away. “...I need to think.”

“I understand.”

---

Calaba looked over the boy laying on her floor. “This is bad.” she pointed at the bandages around his leg, practically a solid mass of dried blood at this point. “Especially that. That is bad.”

“I put those on myself.” Palina muttered, mostly to herself. “They should have been changed several times over by now.”

“Bah, classic teenage foolhardiness.” Calaba grumbled, setting down her pack of herbs and beginning to rummage through it. Besides her, her bibarel chittered in agreement. “They believe themselves to be invincible. Start unwrapping it, so I can assess the damage.”

Palina squirmed at the thought. The wound was bad when she first wrapped it, there was no doubt it had gotten worse. And as she peeled the matted mass of blood-soaked wrappings away, Palina was right. His leg was a sickly canvas of reds, purples, and yellows. Swollen slightly, and warm to the touch.

“Sweet Almighty Sinnoh-” Palina covered her mouth with her hands, turning away. “It’s bad. It’s bad.”

“Not surprised.” Calaba said with stoicism only a well-practiced medical professional could muster. “I have some leeks, this should ease the swelling at least.”

She knelt beside him, grimacing slightly at the infected wound before cracking the leek in half. “Won’t fix everything, but it can only help.”

The boy shuddered as the leek juices touched his skin, the only sign of life since he had arrived. “That’s a good sign.” Calaba mentioned offhandedly, taking a fresh towel in order to rub the juices in more thoroughly.

“I’ll start wrapping his leg, you look over the rest of him. Check for bleeding, check for bruisings. Anything that looks off.”

Palina desperately wanted to say that she knew what she was doing, that she knew when someone looked injured, but she was much too wrapped in concern to be snarky. From the tears in his outfit she could see exposed skin, skin littered with cuts and scrapes and bruises.

“I’ll take off his coat-” she said, carefully looking for latches or buttons-

Berry moved. Subtly, enough for Palina to spot it from the corner of her eye. At first, she feared that he was waking up. What would he do when he saw her? Last they met, he ran off the moment she took her eyes off him.

But she saw the movement again, and she realized something.

Berry wasn’t moving. Something inside his coat was moving.

She jumped back as if he was concealing a live voltorb in his coat, scrambling on her hands to a safe distance. “T-There’s, there’s-”

“What? What?” Calaba quickly joined her, equally as startled, even if she hadn’t seen the same thing. “Spit it out!”

A muffled chirping filled the room as the thing inside Berry’s coat continued to squirm, looking for an exit. Bursting from his jacket like a parasite from a carcass, out popped a mothim’s face.

It blinked, blue antennae twitching as it took in the new surroundings.

Palina stammered, “I-Ingo said it was in its pokeball! H-He counted! All of them were accounted for!”

“Ingo must have counted wrong.” Calaba said, reaching for her broomstick. “It’s only a mothim, Palina. Get something to help me shoo it away.”

The mothim glared at the two, seemingly remembering Palina from before. It hissed at them, crawling out further from Berry's coat. Its wings were still soft and limp, folded at its sides.

Calaba raised the broom. “Alright, you need to leave. You’re not welcome in my tent.”

“P-Pest. Its name is Pest.” Palina said quietly.

Calaba turned, staring at her with a strange look. “He named them?”

Pest the Mothim continued to hiss, puffing up as it readied an attack. “Alright, it’s going to spit some string.” Calaba grumbled, raising the broom to block it. “I’ll start swatting, you grab it.”

The mothim huffed and puffed, a ring of light swirling around its thorax, before absorbing the light entirely. 

And it proceeded to start spitting fire.

“AH!” Calaba dropped the broom as the flames caught the dry wood. “What in Sinnoh’s Name?!-”

Pest unfurled its bright blue and yellow wings, furiously flapping in a clear threat display. With each furious hiss, embers flickered from its mandibles. Then, the moth began puffing back up, preparing another fiery blast.

“OUT! OUT!” Calaba demanded, pushing Palina and her bibarel away from the fire and to the cold outside.

“What about Berry-” Palina started to ask, squeaking as the mothim spat fire at them as they fled.

“Worry about us first!”

As they fled the tent, fire did what fire did best. Spread. The wooden support beams, furniture, flooring, and the piles of actual firewood made for excellent kindling. The canvas walls did nothing to stop the fire from spreading, if anything they only made it spread faster.

Pest stopped spitting fire, then, watching as the tent caught ablaze. It then turned to its unconscious trainer, frantically nudging at him and flapping its wings to keep the flames at bay.

---

Barry could see it. The light at the end of the tunnel. Each step closer lifted a weight from his shoulders. “We’re almost there…We’re almost there!”

He could feel himself start to walk just a bit faster. “Come on! Keep up with me! If you’re late, I’m fining you a million!”

He was running now, his feet echoing on the tiled floors. “Come on! Come on! Too slow! Too slow!” he laughed, feeling lighter than air. This felt…right. This felt right! They’d go back home, and they’d play tag. And he’d be faster, always be faster, but maybe he’d slow down for her to catch up.

The moment his shoe touched the tufts of grass growing just beyond the cave's influence, Barry spun around-

[____]'s foot hovered just above the grass. Frozen completely in place. 

The warm light of the outside hadn't reached her yet, shadowing by darkness. She slowly lowered her foot back down, back inside the confines of the cave.

She hadn't left yet.

She was still inside.

"...I'm sorry." Came her soft whisper.

Barry's smile died. "No."

From the darkness shot black claws. They wrapped around Her, stifling her screams before they could even leave her throat.

“NO!” he screamed, darting back, hand outstretched to grab her own.

But the Cofagrigus lid snapped shut, sealing her away. “I am so sorry, but the station is now closed.” the Cofagrigus said, voice echoing like an intercom. “Please make your way to the exits in an orderly manner-”

Pounding on the metallic body, he shouted, “NO! NO GIVE HER BACK! WE WERE SO CLOSE!”

“Please stand behind the yellow line! Please stand behind the yellow line!”

“WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!”

The cave walls flickered like a glitching gif, rapidly switching back and forth between the dark cave walls and the broken spires of Spear Pillar. A swirling vortex rumbled above, crackling with lightning and specks of light.

“I-I don’t want to be here.” Barry whimpered. “I-I don’t-” He turned back to the Cofagrigus. But the Cofagrigus was no longer there.

Replacing the Cofagrigus was an enormous, looming shadow. Beady red eyes, hot as coals, bore into him.

As the monster screamed, it felt as if nails were being driven into his ears and fire licked at his limbs.

Fire! Fire!

…fire?

Barry coughed as the smoke filled his nose. As he blinked away the red-eyed monster, his vision filled with the concerned face of a bug pokemon instead.

It felt as if he had stepped from one nightmare to another. His mind was foggy, his ears were ringing, and he couldn’t feel his extremities just yet.

The bug pokemon sitting on him was chirping - he could see its mandibles moving, but he couldn’t quite hear its frightened cries. It was as if Barry's head was full of cotton.

“Woag.” Barry slurred.

Finally, he acknowledged the bug currently tugging on his ears, trying to get his attention. It had a dark face and huge, blue eyes. “...Pest?” he asked.

Pest nodded frantically. But Barry’s confusion only grew. “Ah…aren’t mothims orange?” he asked. “Are you…sick?”

The fogginess of the mind was beginning to clear. “Wh. Where am I?” 

Glancing around, Barry realized two things; he did not recognize the house-thing he was in, and everything was currently on fire.

“Oh. Oh shit.”

Unbridled panic mingled with the dense fog in his mind, creating a toxic cocktail of confusion and terror. They needed to go. Now.

“My legs. I can’t feel my legs.” Barry wheezed, shooting to a sitting position, Pest crawling up to rest on his head. “Oh god they cut off my legs-” he looked down at his perfectly attached legs. “...OK they didn’t cut off my legs. That’s good. That’s good.”

As he stood, he haphazardly covered his mouth with his scarf and tucked Pest under his arm and out of the smoke cloud.

As he struggled to find the exit within the clouds of smoke and crackling flames, Barry tried to push past the mind fog to answer a simple question; how did he get here, exactly?

Last thing he could remember was being in the mountains with Fern, and then-

Subway Master Ingo. Of all the people, Subway Master Ingo appeared in his path. Looking like a captain that had died at sea, challenging him to a battle. The rest of the battle was a rage-filled blur…but Ingo had knocked the boy out and kidnapped him.

So, Subway Master Ingo was working with Team Galactic now. That was cool. Awesome. And he had kidnapped Barry and left him in a burning building to die. Double cool. Amazing, even.

Finally, Barry had managed to stumble into the door. He was surprised to be hit with a blast of cold wind, seeing a frozen-over town just outside the fiery home.

Mostly frozen.

From wherever the fire started (oblivious to how he was the root cause of it) it had spread to most of the homes by now. With the wind spreading the embers, the homes and buildings made of wood and canvas had absolutely no chance.

People and pokemon alike screamed as they fled the fires, some of them trying to extinguish the roaring blaze. All of them sported the pink circular symbol, but none of them seemed to care about Barry.

Was it egotistical to expect to be sprung upon the moment he opened the door? Or was it paranoia?

Barry wasn’t sure. But after looking around and determining that he wasn’t about to be jumped, he began to stumble into the snow.

Either the sleeping powder hadn’t completely worn off, or he had inhaled too much smoke, or maybe even a secret third thing, but Barry felt bad. His mind was fuzzy, his vision was blurry, he still couldn’t quite feel his fingers and toes, and his legs currently felt like bendy straws.

“Le…let’s get outta here.” he muttered. Despite being unconscious for…Arceus only knew, all Barry wanted to do was lay down and sleep.

He sure as Hell wasn’t going to sleep here, though. Picking a direction, Barry began to shamble like a corpse, not caring for the blazing fires nor the frightened people. All he knew was that he needed to leave before someone did notice him.

---

When Irida heard the terrified cries of “Fire”, she had hoped it had been a cruel joke.

But when she opened her doors, instead of being met with bored teenagers, she was greeted with half of the settlement ablaze.

Irida felt a little bit of herself wither away right then and there, as if she was a piece of paper in an oven.

Their settlement wasn’t built for fires. No, quite the opposite, they were built to protect from the cold and rains; insulated with thick canvas, cloth, fibers, wood. All of those a veritable buffet for a wayward blaze.

Off in the distance, she heard one of the older wood-burning stoves explode from the pressure.

But once the moment of sheer horror had passed, Irida set to work. 

She commanded her glaceon to try and dampen the blaze with its icy breath - carefully, of course - and demanded that Warden Ingo be roused from…wherever he had gone.

But she found  Ingo shortly after, having brought his kadabra and gliscor to aid in evacuation and douse the fires, if possible.

“I was in my tent, when I heard the screams!” he said, and Irida found herself thanking for his naturally loud voice, able to hear him clear as a bell over the crackles and hisses of nearby flames. “How did this happen?”

“Your guess is as good as mine-” she began to say, glancing around, her eyes noticing movement between the burning homes. Staggering through the snow, tripping over every snow bank, seemingly uncaring for the destruction surrounding it…

Without a word, Irida made her way over. Stepping over smoldering rubble, wincing from the residual heat stinging her exposed skin.

“Wait! Wait!” she called after the stumbling figure. It too traversed the destroyed settlement, a moth-pokemon tucked under its arm.

Irida knew who it was. But she still hoped that she was wrong.

She grabbed the boy’s wrist, stopping him in his tracks. His skin was near burning hot and slick with sweat, and Irida wasn’t sure if it was from the fires or fever.

Now, Irida had to admit, she had a certain visage of the strange child in her mind, the way Palina and Ingo described him. A crazed blonde-haired boy, wielding a knife and controlling equally rabid pokemon by his side-

But Irida was met with a boy barely older than Lian; thin, injured, sick, and covered in ash. Face lit by the fires, all she saw in his eyes was confusion and terror. Barry slowly looked down at the hand on his wrist, baffled as to why he stopped moving.

Then, he looked back to her. “Why…are you me?” he asked, voice hoarse and quiet.

Irida honestly didn't expect him to say that. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but certainly not…that. Ingo had mentioned it before, and Gaeric before him, the blonde boy bearing some minor resemblance to her.

It was nothing more than coincidental. Irida had no blood family. Not anymore.

The grip on his wrist tightened ever so slightly, fearful of him slipping away like sand between her fingers. “You can’t go.” Irida said. “Please. You can’t.”

“I have to.” 

With three words, Irida felt her blood run cold. Despite the clear confusion, he spoke with such conviction. That neither Time or Space would stop him. That this wouldn’t stop him.

Irida finally tore her gaze away upon hearing Ingo shout in surprise. Looming above him was a gardevoir? Or maybe a gallade? 

Ingo did not fear pokemon. He did not fear the Alpha Garchomp in the south, nor the powerful Alpha Mamoswine that lived in the wastes, nor did he even fear the Alpha Zoroark that stalked the night.

But the panic in the man’s face as the not-gardevoir-not-gallade was palpable. It had him by the collar, his pokemon equally terrified but waiting along the sidelines. With shaking hands, he reached into his coat to pull out Berry’s bag, offering it to the pokemon.

"FERN!" Berry began waving his free arm to get the Pokemon's attention. "I'm over here, buddy!" 

Slowly, the pokemon turned to face them. Irida could almost physically feel its rage, radiating off the creature in waves. It dropped Ingo to the floor like a bag of sootroots, his pokemon quickly snatching him away before ‘Fern’ changed its mind. Irida found herself frozen in place, even as the pokemon stalked closer and closer, crunching through the snow.

Berry finally pulled away from her, yanking his wrist from her grasp and mumbling, “Alright, gotta go now. I gotta find my friend.”

“Friend? Who?” Irida asked, finally tearing her gaze away from the mystery pokemon back to the child. 

“...I don’t even know anymore.”

With whatever ‘Fern’ was by his side, Berry half-heartedly waved goodbye to her. Irida responded with the same amount of puzzled enthusiasm.

And she watched the two leave the settlement, vanishing into the dark and snowy night. Part of her knew that she wouldn’t stop them.

No. She couldn’t stop them.

She blinked, the spell over her seemingly broken. Thrust back into the moment, she spun around to face the burning settlement behind her. Somewhere, another wood stove exploded. The distant screams and shouts of her people rang in her ears.

Pushing aside any previous thoughts she had about the boy, she began focusing on the task at hand. At the current moment, this was far more important than a wayward child.

Although the haunted look in his eyes refused to leave her mind.

---

[NO ONE EXPECTS PEST- and he's shiny! Surprise! I never mentioned it aloud but everytime I showed him off in a team update in the notes I would use a shiny Burmy sprite! At least one person guessed it, though!] [Also god, Barry. Barry :(] New Team Update:

[joytraveler]

#2: Egg Catchem

berd_snurglar: haha i'm been saving up all my egg puns for a day like this Baconnaise: This is not men, what are you doing

Bea is controlling an astronaut(?) who can only dodge between three conveyor belts. Eggs are slowly rolling by on the belts: brown ones are supposed to go untouched, landing in the brown basket at the end. White eggs are less common, but the object is to push them into the wastebasket on the opposite side.

Llord_Kuruku: Well, there's your man... one out of two chance Syrupentine: Why is an astronaut reenacting an old Lucy sketch?

"You can't put them in your mouth if you're in a helmet, man!" She misses the first few but quickly picks it up, humming Powerhouse before long. "Nnno. Nno! Bad eggs, off with ya! BEAT it!"

berd_snurglar: hey all my jokes :( Glockroach: *yolks. how could you fuck that up HNV: Better scramble before Bea devils you any further aroseahorseboy: she's a bit of a benedict arnold

As Bea's score climbs higher, a new egg appears-- mossy green. When she takes it to the wastebasket, the wastebasket turns green; the green egg seems to have hatched! Now she has to keep putting bad eggs into that one, or else a long 'tongue' will reach out of the wastebasket to grab the good brown eggs!

"I have no ham to go with this so I'ma toss it.. oh.. OHH, EW. What did I do here??" She does her best to keep it fed, but it doesn't seem like the next stage will ever come! "Some of our eggs are healthy and some will completely turn your trash can evil. I want to complain to the egg manager please.."

Baconnaise: Green Eggs.. and DEATH

More green eggs are appearing, and luckily she can feed them to the green bin without trouble. Then, with an ominous bass sound, a large blue egg appears. The question of whether it's good or bad is answered almost immediately, as it hatches two spindly little legs and goes marching around on the conveyor belt eating up the good eggs!

Bee52: See, this is why I didn't want to take over my dad's farm. Syrupentine: Oh god it's like that video where the worms come out of the praying mantis

"I hate this!! Ooh I really don't like the way it walks either, the little march? it's way too happy about this!" she ends up chasing the blue egg around, forgetting to keep her eggs sorted, and soon she's racked up her first game over!

aroseahorseboy: BUZZBOMBED Bee52: BUZZBOMBED Bee52: bah, seahorse beat me

[Editor's note: "Buzzbombed" is a ritual chant given in the chat when Bea loses a game. Most of them from here on have been excised for redundancy's sake.]

"Rrrrrrrgh, I can't be in two places at once! I don’t know how you counter that, I didn't see any power-ups or anything, but, i guess its just one of those survive game!"

Syrupentine: It looked like a cute old arcade game until it started getting gross and weird HNV: I hope that's a theme with all of these!

"Well, sure it was weird but, I would HOPE so anyway! That's half the fun of these, seeing what crackpot ideas go into them. Having said I don't want to do this one anymore right now. I don't think I can win anyway, what's next..."

[lifeflowingon]

| RECS |

The kind that stays with you after reading 🥰

Only for Love x JJK @lysjeon

➝ summary: for almost four years it had been just him and sarang, and he had no plans on changing the life they had become accustomed to any time soon, but of course y/n has to come and shake his world.

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life x OT7 @bts-reveries

➝ summary: We all knew that to get to the pretty parts of life, you’d have to get ugly first. 

If you ever feel like you’re falling apart, maybe you’re just falling into place.

Maybe

Just maybe

You’re about to reach the most beautiful moment of your life.

Do it Again x MYG @kimnjss

➝ summary: Months after deciding to end their three year long relationship, a sex tape hits the internet. fans go wild speculating that rap star, min yoongi and aspiring model, yn are the stars. old feelings arise as the couple try to figure out a way out of this.

My Only Wish x KNJ @ppersonna

➝ summary: There are few things you hate most in this world. Hornets, unnecessary fruit pieces in otherwise perfectly good jello, certain shades of orange… But nothing takes the cake more than two simple things. Christmas. And Kim Namjoon. So why did you agree to pretend to be Kim Namjoon’s girlfriend at his family Christmas party? Bah-Humbug. 

Dichotomy x KTH @kpopfanfictrash

➝ summary: You hate him. He hates you. It’s a fine line though, isn’t it  – between love and hate?

The Art of the RomCom x JJK @gukyi

➝ summary: FILM395, the art of the rom-com, was supposed to be an easy a with one of your favorite professors, but it’s not. it’s actually a sisyphean torture that comes in the form of fellow film student jeon jungkook, who has no problem responding to every one of your discussion posts about the consumerist ideals underlying every romance movie with his own paragraphs on the beauty of love like the hopeless romantic he is. and when the two of you find yourselves partnered up for your final project, which is to create a short film on rom-coms, jungkook decides to take it upon himself to show you what love is really like.

The Wedding Planners x JJK @/gukyi

➝ summary: Jeon jungkook is three things: cocky, terrible, and your worst enemy. then your best friend hoseok gets engaged to the love of his life, and suddenly jeon jungkook is four things: cocky, terrible, your worst enemy, and the man you will be spending the next seven months with in order to plan your best friend’s wedding.

And then, as if your life couldn’t get any shittier, you make the poor decision of sleeping with him on the first day of the job.

Love Me or We Both Go Down x KTH @/gukyi

➝ summary: After going through with an arranged marriage to please his parents and secure his inheritance of the family business, kim taehyung thinks he’s got it all figured out. he doesn’t. apparently just being married to you isn’t enough, not when everybody and their mother can pick up on the fact that the two of you absolutely loathe each other. but taehyung wants his inheritance one way or another, so he decides that desperate times call for desperate measures: the two of you need to fall in love, and you need to fall in love fast.

Four Weeks x KTH @/gukyi

➝ summary: Four weeks. that’s how long you’re trapped on campus after missing your flight home because of a grossly overtime final. and as you’re walking around your empty campus, thinking that you could sink no lower, you find yourself alone in the art building with a certain freshman-year-dorm-neighbor from hell, and he’s got an offer that you don’t think you can refuse: he’s staying on campus this winter break as well, and he’s happy to let you live with him.

Or, four weeks is all it takes to fall in love.

Let it Snow x KTH @suga-kookiemonster

➝ summary: It all started by accident, but it continues by choice—even before you began sleeping together, things with your friend taehyung have always been comfortable and easy. simple, and this new arrangement between you is certainly no exception to that rule. well...that's definitely what you thought before a major snowstorm traps the two of you in his apartment over the holidays. now? now, it is quickly becoming apparent that things are a bit more complicated than you realized.

The Hush Series x KTH x JJK @/suga-kookiemonster

➝ summary: Four seats, five bodies. “careful, sweetheart,” he breathes into the shell of your ear, hands tightening over your waist in warning. you lick your lips, pausing just long enough to ponder: what if you don’t want to be careful?

Bad Influence x JJK @noteguk

➝ summary: In which you know Jungkook is a bad influence on you, but you can’t avoid falling for him every time.

Wicked x JJK @/noteguk

➝ summary: In which incubus!jungkook likes to ruin pretty innocent things, and you might just be the perfect target. 

The New Law x JJK @theunknowncryptid

➝ summary: After half of the Earth’s population is killed, International Governments take drastic action and Y/n is forced to live her worst nightmare.

The Clue x ? @/theunknowncryptid

➝ summary: After being locked inside their restaurant, Y/n and the boys must fight for their lives to escape the night and discover a murderer.

Once Upon a Bracelet x JJK @/ladyartemesia

➝ summary: You were born to nothing, but your powerful craft caught the eye of a charming prince. However, his distinctly un-charming younger brother challenged your betrothal and is routinely challenging you. Jeon Jungkook is (probably) a former necromancer and (definitely) the wrong prince…

But the bracelets tell a different story.

Scattered Stars x JJK @taegularities

➝ summary: It’s easy to despise Jungkook when your contradicting magic doesn’t allow you to touch each other without fatal consequences - but what if your eternal enemy turns out to be your soulmate with whom you, unfortunately, do fall in love? 

Obsidian x KTH @/kpopfanfictrash

➝ summary: The world of magic is divided into dark and light, witches and warlocks, choice and fate. You’re a prodigy of light, a witch who works within the police force. You’ve heard of Taehyung in passing, spoken in whispers as the warlock of dark who has the world holding it’s breath.  All this changes on the night you’re assigned as security for a mysterious singer named V and you come face to face with Taehyung himself. What happens after that might be fate.

The Art of War More x JJK @/kpopfanfictrash

➝ summary: Jeon Jungkook had messed with you for the last time. That was what you thought when the hockey team – led by the insufferable Jungkook – kicked your dance team out again from your reserved room at the gym. In retaliation, you planned a prank of epic proportions and were caught in the act by none other than Jungkook himself. Before the rift between you could grow any deeper, you accidentally overheard something you were not meant to hear. Something which overshadowed even your heated rivalry. Faced with the choice between obvious wrong and teaming up with your worst enemy – you reluctantly chose the latter. But what will you do when feelings you once thought of as hatred become something decidedly… not?

The Truth Between Us x MYG @/gukyi + @jimlingss

➝ summary: A book deal should be the most exciting time of your life, but there seems to be a constant and omnipresent damper on your mood in the form of a certain min yoongi, who you would just cut out from your life, if he weren’t your editor. but then, the world shifts beneath your feet, and you begin to wonder if maybe you’ve always been looking at life from the wrong angle.

Under Wraps x KTH @jungkxook

➝ summary: There’s nothing you and taehyung seem to hate more than each other - except for christmas. having recently been dumped by your (now ex) boyfriend only seems to make this holiday even worse. but when taehyung suggests that you should pretend to be dating each other to save you both the embarrassment, pity, and bothersome questions from family and friends alike for a fun carefree month of celebrations, you can’t possibly say no.

I'll Float Away x MYG @/ppersonna

➝ summary: Years after the breakup, yoongi, a successful award-winning rapper with an unhealthy addiction, finds your wedding invite on Facebook.

Heartstrings Melodies x MYG @whitesparrows97

➝ summary: Min Yoongi, the fuckboy of the whole college and the guy all girls fall for, should be your soulmate? You don’t believe that, you don’t want to believe that. Therefore, you and your best friend make a pact: She pretends to be you and gets together with Yoongi. Nothing can go wrong with that, right?

Love is a Foolish Thing x KTH @/whitesparrows97

➝ summary: Falling in love… it sounded so simple. Falling. Like one wrong step, a small stumble and you were deeply in love. But there was nothing easy about love.

Bound x OT7 @/kpopfanfictrash

➝ summary: In a world where marriage isn’t by choice and love isn’t an option – will you ever find happiness? Or just continue to search? 

Inevitable x JJK @ahundredtimesover

➝ summary: You convinced Jungkook to break up years ago so he could pursue his lifelong baseball dream. Now he’s back home, staring at you, and the little boy next to you who looks unmistakably like him.

Please Love Me x JJK @/ahundredtimesover

➝ summary: As the only unmarried Jeon and Kim children, your families propose a union to symbolize your unbreakable bond that spans generations. But despite developing an affection for Jungkook growing up, he never returned it; he never seemed to like you, actually. You’re okay with the proposal, but surprise surprise, he isn’t.

Nice Guys Finish Last x KNJ @ktheist

➝ summary: You thought you were over yoongi’s dick move of ending your engagement through his parents - not even a text when he disappeared out of your life. that’s why you agreed to the newly arranged marriage with his brother, namjoon, but on the brink of your wedding day, it becomes apparent that you haven’t really let go of the past as you tear up in front of your soon-to-be husband at the back room of the church.

(Why) We Got Married x KTH @/ktheist

➝ summary: They say the 7th year of your marriage is always an uphill battle - but with the existence of your prenup coming to light thanks to taehyung’s lawyer slash family friend’s slip of tongue - first it reached your and his families, and then your family’s close friends and then your family’s close friends’ friends until - almost everyone is speculating on the grounds of you and taehyung’s marriage being anything but love.

You’re not sure if you’re even going to make past the second year mark in your marriage. But is the reason you got married really as important as why you choose to stay or leave?

F is For x JJK @1kook

➝ summary: We collectively had a vision of a hot lecture bae fuckboy and well... Here we are.

The Dark x MYG @bratkook

➝ summary: Your small town thrives on the occult, luring tourists in with endless themed festivities, but the only place you’re determined to see is the mysterious club that comes to life the week before Halloween. what makes The Dark so exclusive, and what secrets are they hiding behind closed doors?

Lovely Demons x PJM @/kpopfanfictrash

➝ summary: As penance for a crime committed long, long ago, the Witch Council banished you to the feared Tholoss forest. Your sentence was one hundred thousand days of solitude – or death, whichever came first. Your only hope of salvation comes from the demon names routinely sent your way; creatures who escape the inner circles of Hell and pose a threat to the mortal realms. For each demon you kill, days are removed from your sentence. For years you’ve existed, biding your time, until one morning you receive a name which throws your entire world into chaos: the name of Park Jimin, High Prince of Hell himself.

Rattled x JJK @gukslut

➝ summary: "He should have hung up the phone. He should have called her crazy, insisted on some kind of proof. He should have used a condom. He should have spent the last two hours searching the internet for the safest infant car seat. Instead, he sat, glassy-eyed and numb, watching the sun rise behind the building he’s parked in front of."

Warm Hands (Ice Cold Heart) x PJM @hobidreams

➝ summary: For those of you who belong to the upper echelons of society, the holidays are synonymous with parties. lavish and (in your opinion) excessive gatherings — opportunities to show off what you’ve accomplished and acquired over the year. unfortunately for you, tonight’s particular celebration features two special guests: the man you thought you would be with for the rest of your life, and the man you married.

First and Last and Always x MYG @floralseokjin

➝ summary: You and Yoongi broke up two months ago. It was mutual, you’re positive, but there’s one teeny tiny issue... You never told your parents, and now they’ve invited you back home for Christmas. Both of you. You can’t say no, but you also can’t bear to go alone, so you do the only thing you can think of, plead with Yoongi to come with you and pretend like everything’s okay...

Mind in the Gutter x JJK @/kpopfanfictrash

➝ summary: Starting over is never fun. Especially not when you decide to take the phrase fully to heart; new job, new city, new coworkers and new relationships. When you are dragged to a happy hour by your new co-worker, Taehyung, you end up sitting beside a (very) cute, (very) shy IT worker named Jungkook. Several drinks later, he mentions he is in a professional bowling league with his friends and you rather enthusiastically invite yourself along. As time passes and you begin to grow closer, you still find it impossible to read Jungkook. Working in the same company and seeing each other so often, it is only so long before one of you snaps. But who?

Wicked x JJK @adonis-koo

➝ summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

Euphoria x JJK @btssavedmylifeblr

➝ summary: At the end of your life, you are given one day to live again with the man you loved. A lifetime’s love story told in a single day. 

A Holiday Snowdown x JJK @/kpopfanfictrash

➝ summary: The Inn on the Hill is in trouble. Or that's what your boss, Namjoon, says during the last-minute All Staff holiday meeting he calls. You need money, and you need money fast, or his parents are planning to sell the resort. When no one can think of an easy solution, Namjoon proposes his parents' idea: a weeklong social media blitz with a celebrity guest. The celebrity? None other than Jungkook Jeon himself: two-time Olympic gold medalist, world-class snowboarder and the nation's sweetheart. What's the problem? You happen to have met Jungkook Jeon before, and sincerely hoped you'd never see him again.

Ember Burning x JJK @/kpopfanfictrash

➝ summary: The dragon riders of Duret Ghal are known across the continent; fierce warriors who take to the skies on their leashed, winged beasts. You are the last Dragon Queen of Ashya, ruler of a dying species who can transform from human to Dragon at will. When a new foe emerges which threatens both Dragon and rider alike, you find yourself forced to broker peace with your former enemy. The King of Duret Ghal, and a dragon rider himself: Jeon Jungkook.

Raise the Bar x PJM @/kpopfanfictrash

➝ summary: You and Park Jimin have been rivals for as long as you’ve known one another; ever since he tripped you in the front row of your first dance convention. When you graduate from high school and enter Russet Ballet Academy, you tell yourself you’re leaving all past quarrels behind. The main problem with this though, is that your past seems determined not to leave you alone.

Worse still, the obstacles you face while out in the real world might prove more challenging than anything your enemy has to offer.

Like a Pirate x KNJ @yoon2k

➝ summary: You were immediately met with heavy boots stomping right in front of you, the mindless chatter ceasing as the voices you had blocked out drifted back into your consciousness. Your eyes trailed up the tall body of the human that had dared stepped close to you. Your teeth bared as you met his eyes. His woefully cruel and boasting eyes. Kim Namjoon.

New Guy x KNJ @kithtaehyung

➝ summary: All you want to do is have a successful meeting after experiencing dwindling attendance. but the new guy is completely disrupting things... or is he?

This Christmas x MYG @/suga-kookiemonster

➝ summary: It's been a while since you've been home for the holidays, but this year, you finally plan on rectifying that. things are going well for you—great job, great friends, and a new boyfriend who you have a pretty great feeling about—and it seems everything in your life is finally slotting into place. but, of course, the past is a relentless specter and the universe always has a way of humbling you. in a ridiculous twist of fate, you soon find yourself stuck in a car with the very reason you have avoided coming back in the first place.

Signed in Black x MYG @yoon-kooks

➝ summary: Min Yoongi. That was the name magically tattooed to your skin. You were told he was your lover by fate. And as cute as it would be to have a soulmate, Yoongi was the last person you ever wanted to be bound to. But thankfully, there was a way to remove the tattoo. All you had to do was convince six Bulletproof Fairies that the two of you were in love.

The Crown that is Ours x KTH @taeshobipop

➝ summary: You never wished for it, but it was inevitable — an arranged marriage to a royal stranger. The Crown Prince Kim Taehyung.

A year into your marriage and life still holds you firmly in its grip. How do you plan to steer through this mess when the public suddenly comes knocking at your door, pitchforks and torches in hand, threatening: "death to all who commit fraud!"

Into my Bones x MYG @inkofyoonkoo

➝ summary: Small slice-of-life scenes in non-chronological order that describe the slow growth of your relationship, started as a friends-with-benefits affair. Aka, Yoongi is dumb and learns that love can’t be controlled.

9 Months to Fall in Love x KSJ @/floralseokjin

➝ summary: It seems like everyone around you is either already in love, or in the process of falling, and while normally you couldn’t give a damn, finding out the co-worker you’ve had a teensy crush on is dating someone else at the office seems to sucker punch you right in the gut. It’s stupid, and you’re irritated at yourself, but you can’t seem to shake out of the funk you’ve fallen face first in.

Feeling lonely and heartsore, and mad for no reason, during drinks with your best friend you spot a man at the bar. Tequila confident, you make your way over to the stranger, and successfully one thing leads to another. The next morning you leave before he’s woken up, feeling satisfied in one way, but still as discontented as ever. Telling yourself it was an inebriated mistake, you quickly try to forget about it.

Only, three weeks later that night comes back to haunt you – in a very unescapable way…

House of Serpents x OT7 @smasmashie

➝ summary: Straight-A student by day, Kim Namjoon’s personal toy by night, you didn’t live a terrible life. At least not until you met his six equally depraved “friends.”

Bunny x JJK @btssmutgalore

➝ summary: An anonymous streamer puts on a show every couple of days. When you become one of his biggest fans, your social life takes a hit—you'd rather stay glued to your laptop and stare at him than go out and meet men in real life.

But, what if?

Et Sic Incipit x KTH @lavienjin

➝ summary: For Taehyung, born of old and  before the dawn of man, tempting mortals is nothing more than a  pass-time to quench his boredom. Everything changes when he met you,  literally too good to be true, but no human has ever resisted his pull. And he’s sure that you’re no different.

How I Love You x KNJ @/ahundredtimesover

➝ summary: Sometimes distance isn’t a space between two people, but cracks and crevices that build up over time. It's what you learned after being married to Namjoon all these years. But all it takes is a trip back home and the acknowledgement of what your relationship has become, and the realization that it might be the final puncture that would make everything else break. 

Hold Me Close x JJK @/ahundredtimesover

➝ summary: When Jimin hits a crisis, he enlists the help of his older sister - you - and his best friend, Jungkook, to put the pieces back again. That proves to be difficult when 1) Jimin’s a brat and a certified pain in the ass, and 2) Jungkook has grown and suddenly, you can’t keep your eyes off him. 

Love To Hate x JJK @/kpopfanfictrash

➝ summary: Born with a silver spoon in your mouth, you've done your best to rid yourself of the taste since you were old enough to walk. Occasionally though, your mother manages to rope you into an obligatory function – or a blind date with playboy billionaire, Jeon Jungkook. Jungkook stands for everything you loathe about the world you left behind, but you can’t deny the spark of attraction between you. Intrigued by the promise of mutual satisfaction, you agree to one night in bed… and quickly realize you’re in far, far deeper than you ever intended.

Officially Yours x JJK @/personasintro

➝ summary: you're his and he is yours on the paper – but what is the reality?

Love Again x PJM @taestefully-in-luv

➝ summary: A friend of yours is eager to introduce you to her new man but what happens when Park Jimin, the man who broke your heart 5 years ago walks in through the door?

The Lucky One x JJK @babystrcandy

➝ summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.    

Hours x JJK @sugakookitty

➝ summary: You walk across the hall and visit your neighbor Jungkook every Wednesday to drink, chill, sing some karaoke… watch some Netflix. But you always end up wobbling back to your apartment after hours of doing all kind of unholy things. Not tonight.

Candles and Flames x JJK @/taegularities

➝ summary: He wasn’t supposed to be yours. His foolery wasn’t supposed to target you. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

||||

[chocolatecakecas]

Quality Family Time: Baby Jack ficlet

for the bah discord besties<3

In Dean's humble opinion, the week was off to a pretty good start. Sunday, he and Cas took Jack to the library and let him go wild in the children's section, then let him run off his "excitement about literature" in the park, ending with lunch at their favorite diner, which is Dean's humble opinion qualifies as a pretty great Sunday afternoon. And then Sammy and Eileen finished up their hunt earlier than expected, and they even brought back Claire and Kaia as a surprise. Meaning they got to all have a much-needed family dinner, movie night, and catch up with the girls. And they decided to stay for a few days, which meant extra babysitters, which really meant, he and Cas could have their date night this week. And of course it also meant Dean had a few days to just hang out with his family, watch some movies, watch his kids bond, run some stupid errands, cook some big meals. 

Now it was Wednesday, and Dean was spending the day with Eileen and Jack, while the others opted to help Sam with the supply run. Eileen was getting a movie queued up for Jack's nap, while Dean got a start on some laundry.  

(read the rest under the cut)

He was currently running out to the garage to grab the blanket he keeps folded in Baby's trunk, smiling fondly at the memory of Monday's date night.  

So yeah as far as Wednesdays go, Dean was having a pretty good one.

At least, he was.

Dean's stomach dropped as he flicked the lights on, barely registering the clang of his keys hitting the floor, standing frozen in the doorway.  

He's hallucinating, he must be. There's absolutely no way that-

He squeezed his eyes shut, counting to ten while he tried to will away the hallucination with his mind. But unfortunately for Dean, he didn't have that kind of mind power, because that thing was still sitting there when he opened his eyes.

Fuck.

Forcing his feet to move, Dean stepped further into the garage, reaching out a shaking hand as he inched forward. 

He'll just touch it and his hand will go through it, and he can blame this hallucination on that questionable burger he ate at some local joint they all went to last night. It'll be fi-

Dean's blood turned to ice as his hand connected with cool metal. He quickly jumped back in shock, jaw hitting the floor.

Because last time he checked, Dean didn't leave an 18 foot long Lightning McQueen sitting in his beloved Baby's parking spot. 

He tried to speak but all that came out was an incoherent squeak, as he raced around the car inspecting every inch of it.

He couldn't get any of the doors open or the hood for that matter, but as far as he could tell it seemed to be a real car, despite being a cartoon look-a-like. 

Well, at least it wasn't talking. 

"Ka-chow"

Dean slumped over onto the roof of the car, banging his head, fists following in defeat.

Because there was a Lightning McQueen look-a-like with a toy voice box, parked in the garage of their super top-secret underground Bunker, in place of one of his most prized possessions. 

Maybe he spoke too soon about having a pretty good Wednesday. 

Why is this happening? How did this thing get in here? Where is his Baby? Is she alright? Can he even get her back? How the hell did this ev-

Son of a bitch. 

"Jack!" Dean called, voice coming out more strangled than he'd care to admit. 

Of course. Cars had become Jack's new obsession over the past week, they first watched it on Friday night and he's insisted on watching it at least once a day ever since. 

Dean groaned scrubbing his hands down his face. There's truly never a dull moment with a half-Nephilim toddler. 

Jack probably didn't even realize what happened. Sometimes his powers react before his mind can catch up with them, like when he subconsciously made all of his toys come to life after Toy Story became his favorite movie. The kid probably didn't even know about the Cars wannabe parked in the garage, besides his kid would never tamper with Bab-

"Dee! You found Lightning!" 

Dean's jaw once again found its way back down to the floor. His own kid.

He turned to see his four-year-old come bounding into the garage, practically bursting with joy.

"What the hell"

Dean tore his gaze away from Jack to see Eileen frozen in the doorway, who's jaw also joined Dean's on the floor. 

"Look see it's just like Lightning, Dee!" Jack cheered as he ran over to check out the car, regaining Dean's attention.

"Uh...ye-yeah buddy. I-I can see that bu-" Dean began sounding pained, only to be cut off by Jack.

"It's a real car, Dee. You can drive it! And look I gots all the stickers on it too"

"Yeah kiddo, bu-"

"And it can talk too! It says all of Lightning's things! Do you like it Dee? Where you surprised?" Jack asked as he wrapped himself around Dean's legs, smiling up at him without a care in the world.

Dean still mostly in shock, glanced up at Eileen who looked to be in the same boat, except she was holding back barely contained laughter. 

Great no help from his best friend, traitor. So Dean shakily knelt down placing his hands on Jack's shoulders.

"Listen, Squirt. I was definitely surprised. But yo-"

"Oh my god"

Dean's head jerked up to see Sam, Cas, Claire, and Kaia now standing with Eileen in the doorway, dropped grocery bags spilling out onto the floor. All of them too stunned to move, except for Cas who luckily must have noticed the distress in Dean's eyes.

"Jack, Baby. What is this?" Cas asked, quickly making his way over to them, quickly kneeling down beside Dean.

"I made Baby into Lightning! Ta da!"

"Wait, that thing is my Baby?" Dean asked voice cracking. 

And of course, that's what did it.

Sam doubled over in laughter, Eileen, Claire, and Kaia quickly following, and Cas was beside him, clearly trying to conceal his laughter.

"God this is the best thing I've ever seen" Sam wheezed in the background, and if Dean weren't still reeling he'd walk right over and punch him. 

Cas placed a grounding hand on Dean's shoulder, all while trying to bite back his smile. Well, Dean appreciated the gesture, at least he was trying to be considerate, unlike some people he knew.

"Bug, do you remember what Daddy and I told you about using your powers?" Cas begins, trying and failing to sound stern.

"That I can't make my toys be alive! And I didn't Baby isn't alive, and she's not even a toy!" Jack explains with a smile. 

"Yea-yeah Squirt, but the second part of that little talk was that you shouldn't use your powers unless you ask Daddy, or me, or Uncle Sammy or Aunt Eileen, remember?" Dean supplied after he finally got his gears spinning again.

"Ooooohhh. Oops, sorry!"Jack shrugs and he even had half a mind to at least look a little bit sorry, but it's drowned out by another fresh wave of laughter.

"I'm so glad we decided to stay longer, does stuff like this happen all the time?" Kaia laughed behind him, as Claire wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Oh I'm so glad my distress is amusing to all of you!" Dean shot back, voice still a little unsteady, which only caused them to laugh harder. Cas met his eyes, as he squeezed his shoulder, scooting closer.

"Squirt it's okay, just uh don't do it again....now where exactly is the real Baby?" Dean asked cutting right to the chase, not missing the look Cas gave him for glossing over the whole "don't use your powers without asking" lesson.

But there was time for that later, because right now his Baby was currently a firetruck red cartoon racecar with eyes.

"That is Baby. I just made her look like that, it's her. See!" Jack explained jumping up and dragging Dean over. Everyone else followed suit, Sam giving him a shit eating grin as he handed Dean the discarded keys.

To Dean's surprise, the key unlocked the car just like baby, and the interior looked exactly the same.

"Wow kid, this is honestly pretty cool" Claire complimented with a low whistle, which earned her a death glare from Dean, only making her laugh harder.

Unbelievable. All of his kids have it out for his car today.

Dean heaved a sigh as he watched his family examine every inch of the car, not bothering to hold back their laughter at this point.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing we didn't watch How to Train Your Dragon" Cas quipped wrapping Dean in his arms as he pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Dean flopped over and laid his forehead on Cas's shoulder, letting a soft laugh escape.

"Yeah well, at least my car wouldn't have been caught in the crossfire" Dean groaned back, feeling Cas' laugh rumble in his chest.

"Yes I know this is a tragedy, clearly the real live dragons would have caused less damage-well less emotional damage anyway"

"Woah, look at that, he's got jokes. Alright everyone step away from the racecar" Dean smirked, yelling that last bit as he pushed away from Cas' chest. He made his way over to Jack who was currently in the driver's seat (keys nowhere near the ignition of course), showing everyone how the horn says McQueen catchphrases now.

"Alright Houdini, while the Lightning McQueen trick was very cool, and we've reminded you that we don't use powers unless we ask. It's time to turn him back into Baby, capiche?" Dean said in the most no-nonsense tone he could manage as he kneelt down to Jack's level.

And of course Dean's very logical, very simple, very warranted request resulted in an uproar from his family.

"Wait you aren't even gonna take it for a spin?"

"You've literally got thee Lightning McQueen sitting in your garage"

"Dean c'mon one dri-"

"Nope. Not happening. Now way am I driving that thing" Dean cut in, flinging his arms out for emphasis and effectively silencing the traitor-his family.

Then he felt a little tug on his shirt.

"Please Dee? One time, then I change Baby back?" Jack asked with his best puppy dog eyes, and Dean quickly made a mental note to kick Sam's ass for teaching him that.

And as he slowly tilted his head back up, he was met with four pleading faces, all hovering around the car He desperately turned his gaze towards Cas knowing he'd be the voice of reason, he'd neve-

"Well, it would be a waste not to take the car for at least one ride" Cas shrugged almost sheepishly, barely hiding his grin. Dean stared back into his eyes trying to will him to change his mind, but he knew it was pointless.

Dean sighed his defeat, running a hand down his face. Damnit

"Fine, one drive-and I mean one. Twenty minutes tops" He shouted, throwing his hands in air in exasperation as everyone cheered.

And when Dean found himself driving back to the bunker four hours later, he and failed tried to hid his smile. He glanced in the mirror at Claire and Jack passed out, while Kaia and Sam held a whispered conversation in the magically (which Jack may or may not have had a hand in) stretched out backseat. Eileen turned in the front seat joining the conversation, as Cas sat in the middle, pressed up against Dean.

Cas gave his hand a squeezing, shooting him a knowing smile, which only earned a nudge from Dean.

So yeah, maybe Dean did almost have a heart attack earlier in the day. And maybe he did have to let a bunch of annoying people in the next town over pose for pictures with the car when they stopped for dinner. And maybe the horn said "Ka-chow" and "I am speed". And maybe the drive was more than twenty minutes. But in Dean's humble opinion, it was still a pretty good Wednesday after all.

Lightning McQueen be damned.

Tag list pt 1:

@wormstacheangel @smiledean @chaoticdean @midnightwings-deancas @jellydeans @sunshine-jack @archervale @wikiangela @subbydean @organicpurplepants @you-cant-spell-subtext-without

@tkdwolf2012 @doemons-blog @rolling-stoned-girl @skylerkernaghan @icefire149 @dakiaty @seffersonjtarship @angeltiddies @feraldean @teamfreebees @keshetcas @jewishdeanwinchester @martymar1963 @midnight-sparks-studio @aestheticflyer26

@athenixrose @slipper007 @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @winchester-novak @lyonessrampant @thiscowboyisbisexual @carverera @milfcodeddean @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 27

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 27 - This Venerable One Will Cook You A Bowl of Noodles

Chu Wanning felt completely faint.

He blamed himself for being so distracted and unsuspecting on Life-Death Peak. He didn't even notice someone come over.

What was going on? Where did this child come from? His last name was Mo, but Mo. . . what was is again. . . ? Mo Shao? Mo Zhu? Mo. . . Yu?

He composed himself and put on an expression that screamed: "get away". The surprise and panic in his phoenix eyes were quickly masked by his usual harsh and threatening demeanour.

"You—"

He raised his hand out of habit to discipline him, but something suddenly caught his wrist.

Chu Wanning was stunned.

He had been around for a while yet no one had ever dared grab his wrist so casually. For a while, he was frozen in place, not knowing what he should do.

Pull it away and give him a backhanded slap?

. . . It felt like a good word to describe that would be "indecent," like he was no different from a woman in this situation.

Then pull his hand away and not slap him?

. . . Wouldn't that seem like he was being too nice?

Chu Wanning hesitated for a long time and didn't move but the young man laughed: "What's this on your hand? It's pretty good-looking, do you teach how to make stuff like this? Everyone else has introduced themselves already but you haven't spoken yet. Which elder are you? Hey, do you have a headache?"

With so many questions thrown at him, while Chu Wanning's mind hadn't hurt before, now it did.

His mind felt like it was about to split in half. . .

As he got irritated, a golden light in his hand started to glow. When they saw that Tianwen was about to be summoned, the other elders were horrified and moved - Chu Wanning was crazy, right? He would even dare to whip Young Master Mo?

Then, Mo Ran was suddenly holding his hand.

Now Mo Ran had trapped both of his hands. Mo Ran didn't up on the danger of his situation. He pulled him closer and stood in front of him. He tilted his head and said with a smile: "My name is Mo Ran. I don't know anyone here, but just from looking at you, I like you the most. How about I worship you as my shizun, okay?"

This was completely unexpected. The people around them were even more horrified. Several elders gaped with mouths ajar.

Elder Xuanji: "Huh?"

Elder Pojun: "What!"

Elder Qisha: "Oh?"

Elder Jielu: "Uh. . ."

Elder Tanlang: "Hah, ridiculous."

Elder Lucun was the most feminine of the bunch with wavy hair and eyes flooded with peach blossoms: "Ah, this little boy is so bold. He's truly a courageous young man. He might even be so bold as to touch Elder Yuheng's ass."

". . . I beg you, can you not say something so repulsive?" Qisha said with disgust.

Lucun rolled his eyes gracefully and hummed: "Fine, let me put it more eloquently. He's truly a courageous young man. He might even be so bold as to touch Elder Yuheng's buttocks."

Qisha: ". . ." Just kill him and forget this ever happened.

The most popular of all the elders was the gentle and jade-like elder Xuanji. His techniques were easy to learn, and he was a modest gentleman. Most of the disciples on Life-Death Peak worshipped underneath him.

Chu Wanning originally thought that this Mo Ran would've been just like all the others. If not Elder Xuanji, then it should be the energetic Elder Pojun. It never should have been his turn

But Mo Ran was standing so close to him. His face showed a kind of intimacy and affection that was unfamiliar to him. He was like some clown that was just chosen. It was all so distressing for no reason.

Chu Wanning only knew how to deal with "awe", "fear" and "disgust". Something like "affection" was too complicated.

He didn't even have to think about it. He immediately rejected Mo Ran.

The young man froze. Hidden under his slender eyelashes, there was a sense of loneliness and unwillingness in his eyes. He lowered his head, thought for a second, and unreasonably muttered: "Anyways, I still choose you."

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

The Lord was watching with great interest. He piped in with a smile:, "A-Ran, do you know who he is?"

"He didn't tell me, how would I?"

"Haha, since you don't know who he is, why would you pick him?"

Mo Ran was still tugging on Chu Wanning's hands. He turned his head, smiling and said to the Lord: "Because he looks the most gentle and easiest to talk to."

In the darkness, Chu Wanning's eyes snapped open, everything appearing fuzzy.

. . . That was one hell of a scene to see.

He didn't know what the hell was wrong with Mo Ran's eyes back then to actually think that he was gentle. Not to mention that all of Life-Death Peak heard about it. They all sent affectionate greetings to Young Master Mo Ran with looks that said "look at this foolish kid".

Chu Wanning lifted his hand to the corner of his faintly throbbing forehead.

His shoulder hurt, his mind was in turmoil, his stomach was hungry, and his head was spinning.

It seemed like he wasn't going to sleep anytime soon.

He fumed on the bed for a while. He sat up and was about to light a stick of incense to calm his mind when suddenly there was another knock on the door.

Mo Ran was outside.

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

He didn't answer. He didn't say whether to stay or leave.

But this time, the door opened by itself.

Chu Wanning looked up gloomily. The lit match in his hand hovered in mid-air but never reached the stick of incense. After a while, it went out.

Chu Wanning said: "Get out."

Mo Ran strolled in.

He was holding a steaming bowl of noodles, fresh from the pot.

This time it was a bit simpler. The noodles weren't as fancy. The rich white noodle soup was garnished with chopped green onion and white sesame seeds, small spare ribs, bok choy, and a slightly browned poached egg.

Chu Wanning was incredibly hungry but he didn't let it show on his face. He glanced at the noodles, then at Mo Ran. He turned his face away and didn't say anything.

Mo Ran put the noodles on the table, and gently said: "I asked the inn's chef to make another bowl."

Chu Wanning lowered his eyes.

Sure enough, Mo Ran didn't make this dish himself.

"Eat some." Mo Ran said. "This bowl isn't spicy, has no beef, and no bean sprouts."

After speaking, he left and closed the door for Chu Wanning on his way out.

He apologized for Chu Wanning's injury.

But he could only do so much.

In the room, Chu Wanning leaned against the window, not knowing what to think. He crossed his arms and stared at the bowl of spare rib noodles from a distance until the heat of the noodles dissipated and they grew cold.

He finally walked over and sat down. He picked up the chopsticks, stirred up the cold and soggy noodles, and slowly ate them.

The case of the Chen family's haunting had been closed.

The next day, they picked up the black horses they had boarded from inside the stables and returned to the sect the same way they had arrived.

In the streets and alleys, tea stalls and rice shops, the people of Caidie Town were all talking about the Chen family's affairs.

The not-so-small town had broken out in scandal, one large enough for the townspeople to talk about it for a whole year.

"I didn't expect that Young Master Chen had been secretly married to Miss Luo for so long. Miss Luo is so pitiful."

"If you ask me, if the Chen family hadn't gotten rich, they wouldn't be able to survive this affair. Sure enough, men can't handle their money. Once they have money, only misfortune will await them."

One man was unhappy and said: "This wasn't Young Master Chen's fault. It's his parents' fault. Mr. Chen, that son of a bitch. His children and grandchildren should only give birth to children without assholes in the future."

Another said: "The dead are pitiful but what about the living? Look at Chen Yao, Yao Qianjin. She's the one who's truly been wronged. That black-hearted mother of the Chen family deceived her. Tell me, what should she do now?"

"Just get remarried."

The man rolled his eyes and sneered: "Remarried? Are you here to get married?"

The mud-coated man who was teased bared his teeth and picked at them, grinning: "If that woman at home agrees, I'd marry her. Ms. Yao looks so beautiful, I don't mind her being a widow."

"Bah, the toad wants to eat swan meat*."

(T/N: 癩蛤蟆想吃天鵝肉 - means having unrealistic wishes or expectations)

Mo Ran sat on the back of the horse, ears perked up, listening to all the conversations in high spirits. If it weren't for Chu Wanning's closed eyes, frown, and the words "extremely noisy" essentially spelled out on his forehead, Mo Ran might have wanted to go join the villagers.

They walked together and finally left the main city, arriving at the outskirts.

Shi Mei suddenly gasped and pointed to the distance: "Shizun, look over there."

In front of the ruined Master of Ceremonies Ghost's earthen temple, there was a large group of peasants in brown clothes and shorts. They were busy moving the bricks and stones. It seemed that they were planning to repair the damaged earthen temple and remould the golden body of the Master of Ceremonies Ghost.

Shi Mei said anxiously: "Shizun, the old Master of Ceremonies Ghost is gone but they've made a new one. Will this be cultivated into an immortal body again and do evil?"

Chu Wanning: "I don't know."

"Should we go and persuade them not to?"

Chu Wanning: "The custom of ghost marriages in Caidie Town has been around for several generations. How would you or I be able to persuade them in just a few words? Let's go."

As he spoke, dust flew up from the horse's hoof and he walked away.

It was already dusk when they returned to Life-Death Peak.

Chu Wanning said to the two disciples in front of the mountain gate: "You go to Danxin Hall and explain what happened. I'll go to the Court of Discipline."

Mo Ran looked puzzled: "Why would you go to the Court of Discipline?"

Shi Mei, on the other hand, looked worried: ". . ."

Chu Wanning nonchalantly said: "To receive my punishment."

Although it's said that an emperor commits the same crime as the common people, what emperor would actually have to go to jail for killing someone? The same goes for the cultivation world.

The elders who break the sect rules are as equally guilty as the disciples - in most sects, it's just empty talk.

In fact, if an elder breaks a rule, it was good enough just to write an apology letter. What fool would actually go to be punished with a willow vine or dozens of sticks?

So, after listening to Chu Wanning's explanation, Elder Jielu's complexion turned green.

"No, Elder Yuheng, did you really. . . did you really beat your client?"

Chu Wanning was indifferent: "Yes."

"You're so. . ."

Chu Wanning raised his stare and gave him a sullen look. Elder Jielu shut up.

"According to the law, for breaking this rule, the punishment is two hundred cane strikes, kneeling in Wushan Temple for seven days, and being forbidden from leaving the grounds for three months." Chu Wanning said. "I have no defence, and I voluntarily accept the punishment."

Elder Jielu: ". . ."

He looked around and hooked his fingers, and the door to the Court of Discipline closed with a clang. The surroundings fell silent, and it was only the two of them that stood opposite each other.

Chu Wanning: "What's the meaning of this?"

"Well, Elder Yuheng, it’s not that you don't understand the rules and their consequences, it's just that it shouldn't be something that you should be overly concerned with. This matter is finished. Let's forget it. If I beat you, won't the Lord be angry with me when he finds out?"

Chu Wanning didn't bother to talk such nonsense with him and simply said: "I hold people accountable according to the law, and I should also be held accountable myself according to the law."

Kneeling down in front of the hall, facing the plaque of sect rules, he said:

"Punish me."

[writeyouin]

Hi there, can I request a headcannon list for tfp ratchet? Something where Reader, who is usually very easy going and wears a smile on their face is one day very quiet, only for Ratchet to find out that their family is practically estranged from them when they found out that they're gay. ty for your work!

Transformers Prime / Reader Insert – Family

A/N – Hey, so this got pretty angsty and bittersweet. I just hope that all of you know that being gay is great. It can be so difficult to be proud when someone doesn’t accept you, but I promise that the world gets better, especially when you find other supportive people. Friends are the family we choose for ourselves, and I hope that message stays with all of us.

Warnings – Angst.

Rating – T

For once, Ratchet found himself able to work peacefully in the base. The other Autobots were out on various missions. Jack, Miko and Raf were in school. Agent Fowler was at his own official place of work, and you had gone straight to the archives room as soon as you had entered the base.

‘Yes,’ Ratchet thought, satisfied. ‘All is quiet.’

It took him a long time to turn his processor to you. While it wasn’t unusual for you to go about your own business, it was certainly out of character for you to pay so little heed to Ratchet.

Sure, you always let him work when he was busy, but you also always greeted him with a smile, pestering him until you got one in return.

Ratchet couldn’t remember a day when you hadn’t told him not to be such a sour-puss, or sang his name until he paid you heed. Out of the humans, you were his partner, helping him in many a scientific task, once he had taught you what to do.

You joked, you sang, you danced, and you laughed. So, what had changed today?

Yes, Ratchet had found that he was able to work better in the peace and quiet that had befallen the base, but was there such a thing as it being too quiet?

“Bah,” Ratchet grumbled. He was over-reacting.

You couldn’t always be the easy-going, happy-go-lucky person who radiated warmth and life throughout the base. There had to be a limit to your seemingly endless supply of energy. Reassured in his conclusions, Ratchet got back to work. You would come to see him when you were ready to, and probably with some data from the archives that he needed.

Hours later, when Ratchet was sure that he was close to a breakthrough in his research, he found that he had hit something of a mental block. On the rare occasions when that happened, you were always there to talk him through his problems, or listen to him rant until he figured out what he was missing. It seemed that you always had a way of sensing his troubles.

Ratchet waited to hear your voice, but he was met with only silence. There had been a time when he worked alone, needing no such reassurances from anyone, but that time was long gone. The simple fact of the matter was that he needed your seemingly endless supply of positivity to spur him on.

Muttering to himself in a way that only those with old souls do, Ratchet left his work console in search of you.

“(Y/N), do you have a minute?” He called, upon distractedly entering the archive room. “I need to bounce some ideas off you.”

You stared up at Ratchet with hollow eyes. Ratchet had seen every emotion possible in his fellow Cybertronians. He knew sadness, guilt, despair, anger, resentment, and longing. As a medic, it was his job to heal the mind as well as the body. He had sworn an oath to help those in need where he could, and clearly, you needed his help now.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?” Ratchet said, getting straight to the point; he never wasted time beating around the bush where people’s health was concerned.

“Hm? It’s nothing,” You answered in a dull monotone that didn’t suit you.

“Don’t lie,” Ratchet reprimanded.

You looked to the ground sadly, making Ratchet feel somewhat guilty that he hadn’t spent more time adopting a soothing tone. Still, it was too late for pleasantries now, so instead he waited for you to speak.

When it became apparent that you weren’t going to answer him, Ratchet spoke again.

“You can tell me now, or you can tell me later. Either way, neither of us are leaving this room until you talk. Clearly something is bothering you, so you may as well get it over with now.”

You knew that Ratchet wouldn’t really hold you verbally hostage against your will. If you told him that you weren’t ready to talk about what was bothering you yet, he would leave you be. Still, you didn’t want him to worry over you, nor did you want him to treat you like you were made of glass, afraid to say or do anything that might upset you.

“I’m just having a hard time right now… With my family,” You admitted.

Ratchet considered your statement momentarily. Cybertronians rarely had problems with so called ‘family.’ While all Cybertronians had creators, it didn’t seem to hold the same weight as the title of parent. Besides that, the few Cybertronians that did have family by Earth definitions were usually estranged from them, or their relatives were dead. Ratchet had a nephew, Medix, out in the galaxy somewhere, but he had not seen the young bot for quite some time.

Humans, he had learned, had strong familial bonds where possible. Ratchet wasn’t sure that he had the cultural understanding to help with whatever was troubling you; however, perhaps just the simple act of listening would alleviate your troubles.

“Would you like to talk about it?” He asked.

You swallowed your fears, wondering exactly where you should start. Although you knew that Ratchet would not judge you for whatever you might say, your irrational mind reminded you of your previous rejection, injecting you with fear that it would happen again.

“I…” You began, closing your eyes against tears that threatened to spill. “My family don’t want anything to do with me.”

“Why?” Ratchet demanded, offended on your behalf. You were wonderful, positive, intelligent, and caring. What cause could they possibly have for abandoning you?

There was a time that Ratchet believed that Miko was estranged from her family, but it turned out that they simply wanted what was best for her, and they thought the answer to that lay in America. All the same, sometimes the girl would take the ground-bridge to Japan, so she could watch her parents through the windows of their familial home; it was the only time that she was ever sombre.

Ratchet instantly knew from your tone that this wasn’t the same.

“Don’t worry about this, Ratchet,” You told him, courage abandoning you when faced with telling him of your troubles.

One stern look from Ratchet told you that this issue wasn’t going to be dropped. You loved that he cared for you enough to ask about this, yet you also hated it. There was a time that you felt that you could tell your family anything, and it had cost you everything; you would be remiss to make the same mistake again.

However, pinned by Ratchet’s penetrating gaze, you felt obliged to continue with your story, explaining what had happened.

“Three years ago today, my family stopped talking to me… I just get sad around this time when I think of it.”

“(Y/N), please tell me what happened between you and your family.”

You wiped your eyes with the back of your arm, your voice cracking when you next spoke, “They don’t want me because I’m gay.”

Gay? Ratchet searched his memory banks for a brief conversation he’d had with Jack. Gay was the term humans used for attraction to the same gender. He remembered that humans had this primitive idea, usually based on perversions of religious texts, that attraction to the same gender was shameful, disgusting, or dangerous.

Anger flared inside Ratchet’s processor. Both as a medical professional, and your friend, he wanted nothing more than to give your family the telling off that they deserved. However, as good as that would make him feel, this wasn’t about him, nor would it help the situation.

“There is nothing wrong with being gay,” Ratchet said resolutely, showing support in his unwavering stubbornness. “And your family are foolish for thinking so. I hope one day they get their heads out of their afts long enough to see what a wonderful person you have grown to be, and when that day comes, they had better beg your forgiveness.”

Although those weren’t traditional words of comfort that Ratchet was offering you, you knew that he was doing his best.

“Thanks, Ratchet,” You murmured. “I hope so too.”

“Well…” He hummed, clearly unsure of where to go from here. “Would you like to help me with my research?”

You smiled sadly, “If it’s all the same to you, do you mind if I have a little alone time today?”

“Of course,” Ratchet nodded. He was about to leave when he thought of one more thing that had to be said. “Cybertronians know little of family matters. That being said, the other Autobots and I are honoured to have you as a part of ours.”

“Thank you, I needed that.”

Ratchet gave a sympathetic smile, leaving you in the archive room and vowing to check on you again before you left.

[peachtree-dish]

A Te Che Sei Il Mío Grande Amore

Chapter 3: Senza che tu mi dica niente tutto si fa chiaro

Luglio 01, 1969

Luca’s birthday rolled around faster than anyone expected, the day arriving with clear skies and high temperatures. Luca awoke to his mother’s voice echoing through their home as she prepared breakfast. Stretching, the fifteen-year-old shook his nonna as gently as he could to wake her. She grumbled at his attempts and swatted at his claws.

“Nonna,” he sighed, shrugging with a smile and swimming into the kitchen to greet his parents. During his time in Porto Rosso, Luca enjoyed every moment he could swimming and spending as much time in the water since he couldn’t do as much in Genoa. He, along with Giulia and Signora Mia, had snuck to the shoreline in the early hours of the morning every few weeks or so just so Luca could refresh his scales and get the nutrients he needed. It was especially necessary when the temperature had become too cold and made him lethargic and ill. Luca shook his head softly, sending bubbles rippling above him in search of the surface. Signora Mia had been just as kind as Massimo, and just as headstrong in a lot of ways. He made a silent promise to call her with Giulia to make sure she was doing well, even if he were sure nothing could fell the infamous Mia Berni.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Daniella kissed Luca’s cheek and handed him a plate full of seaweed and fish flank on his way to the table. Returning the sentiment, the youth sat beside his father and informed his parents that grandma had decided to sleep in a little longer.

“Ugh, she does this every time. MA!” Daniella shouted in frustration, only to be startled by her own mother swimming around the corner.

“You’re being dramatic, dear. I only do it when I think it will annoy you.” The elderly sea monster smiled toothily at her disgruntled daughter who muttered, “Which is every day,” and finished setting the table.

“So, how does it feel to be another year older, son?” Lorenzo floated a piece of fish to his mouth and chewed animatedly, his gaze never leaving Luca’s. Luca shrugged in response and picked at the seafood drifting across the coral table.

“Not any different than last year, honestly. I still feel like I’m fourteen, so nothing special.” He slurped the seaweed into his mouth, much to his mother’s chagrin, and instantly missed the taste of pasta.

“Fifteen is a pretty big deal, though, you’re becoming a young man and that means changes and more responsibility.”

“I hardly think now is the time to discuss any of that at the table.” Luca’s grandmother scoffed before he could reply.

“What, it’s just the basics; Longer tail and fins, not to mention attracting the pretty lady gills, eh?” Lorenzo nudged Luca in the side who nearly choked on his food and spluttered white bubbles over the table, his scales flushing darkly.

“Lorenzo!” Danielle cried, her claws slapping the table in mortification.

“What? We were around his age when we met. If I remember correctly, you thought I was quite the catch.” He batted his eyes at her, pursing his lips teasingly.

“I was young and silly; I didn’t know any better.” Try as she might, Daniella couldn’t stop the smile that threatened to break her scowl. She busied herself by shredding the fish flank and wrapping it in seaweed. Undeterred, Lorenzo lifted from his chair and leaned in closer, trying to further fluster his wife.

“Yeah, maybe, but you still accepted my courting pearl after the Spring Swim Festival.” Lorenzo pulled a reluctant Daniella out of her chair and began to lead her around the room in spins and pivots, grinning madly as she shrieked with laughter. Luca watched with a mixture of amusement and confusion, his discomfort fading as he pushed the idea of ‘lady gills’ far from his mind. When he peered at his grandma, she appeared nonplussed and continued munching on her food although a genuine smile lifted her aging scales.

“You were skinnier and more handsome then, of course, she fell for you.” Lorenzo pouted at his mother-in-law and led both he and Daniella back to the table.

“I simply grew into my man body,” He emphasized his point by sticking his gut out even farther and patted it proudly. The table burst into laughter and Luca quickly finished eating after, his stomach nearly as full as his heart.

After he finished, he turned to his mother and asked, “Is it ok if I go visit Alberto and Giulia for the afternoon?”

Daniella conceded with a content nod, “Just don’t forget about our dinner tonight at Massimo’s, we don’t want you kids to be late.” Luca agreed cheerfully and kissed each family member on the cheek before swimming out the entrance.

“Hey!” Luca turned mid swim to see Daniella at the entrance. “I love you.”

“I love you too, ma!” Grinning, Luca took off, the water gliding past him as he made his way to the surface and his friends. As he leaped through the blue waves, he imagined he was like the superhero from the newspaper comics that Giulia and Mia both read. Pointing both fists forwards, Luca broke the surface with a whoop, water streaming behind him like a cape.

When he arrived at the Marcovaldo residence, the only beings there to greet them were Machiavelli and a few of his kits, each of whom wanted his attention and brief affection. Finding some of his spare clothes in the drawers of Alberto and Giulia's shared room, Luca quickly left the house and wandered the streets, eager to find his friends. Judging from the sun, he knew the morning fishing trip had come to an end not too long before which should mean Giulia, and Alberto was out delivering. Walking through the town square, Luca waved to a few of the patrons he recognized, mentally wincing as he remembered his first attempts at greeting Porto Rosso’s patrons. If anyone had been the stupidi, it had been them.

Chuckling as he went up the city’s hill, Luca caught sight of two familiar heads of curls along with two faces he was not expecting. Tensing at the sight of Guido and Ciccio, Luca prepared himself for a fight and made to run the rest of the way before he heard laughter. Guido was laughing at something Alberto had said and lightly touched his shoulder. Somehow, the movement was worse than if he had punched Alberto instead. A dark and ugly feeling reared its head within Luca’s belly, causing his face to burn and his hands to clench. Clenching his teeth, the young sea monster marched up the cobblestone pathways, intent on not showing his discomfort.

“Ciao,” he muttered shortly, arriving beside Alberto, and instantly causing Guido to lift his hand from Alberto’s shoulder. Giulia nodded hello from her seat on the bike as Alberto wrapped an arm around Luca’s shoulder.

“Oh, hey Luca,” Alberto cheered even more so upon seeing Luca. “You remember Guido and Ciccio, vero? I helped their families in the off-season while you were away.” Luca looked at the two teens who stood abashedly in front of him and offered his hand after a moment of hesitation.

“It’s good to see you both again,” Not, he thought as he shook the brunette’s hand. Ciccio spoke up, his round features coloring.

“We realize we never officially apologized to you before you left, si? We’re really sorry about last summer, Luca.”

“Si, Ciccio, and I were very foolish and ignoranti, we hope you can forgive us, and we can start again.” Guido smiled warmly, his gaze sincere. Taking a deep breath, Luca felt his earlier feeling of… whatever it was, fading away. If Alberto and Giulia both felt they could trust these boys again, then he could follow their lead.

“Lo apprezzo. I know being around Ercole wasn’t the easiest either, it’s all water under the bridge now anyway.” He smiled genuinely this time, heartened when the two ex-henchmen immediately relaxed.

“Bah, no lie, I’m so happy to be rid of that jerk,” Guido nodded at Ciccio who nodded and twisted his hands anxiously.

“He ate so much of my family’s bread,” Ciccio whispered horrified, his gaze wide. Giulia shared a weirded-out expression with Alberto who only shook his head.

“I didn’t know your family baked,” Luca interceded, ignoring his friends’ lack of subtlety Snapping back to the present, Ciccio grinned widely showing his perfectly white teeth.

“Oh, si, Pasticcini al sale Marino is the pride and joy of Porto Rosso and my family. Our baked goods bring customers from miles around; you should see the line of people who want to buy my mother’s Sfogliatella.” He leaned in conspiratorially to whisper, “My siblings and I have been helping since we were little, so only we know the recipe.” He puffed his round chest out proudly, only to be poked by both Alberto and Guido.

“Knowing a recipe and following it correctly are two different things, Ciccio. Your batter was not very good the last time you tried to make Bombolini.” Guido teased and Alberto nodded knowingly.

“I still don’t know how you mixed up salt and sugar,” the older sea monster screwed his face in disgust, remembering how the supposedly sweet treats and mistakenly been made with copious amounts of salt. “Seriously, Ciccio, even the ocean’s not as salty as those things were.” Ciccio pouted good-naturedly as the group laughed.

“It’s still not as bad as the time Guido set the auto garage on fire,” the blond argued mildly to which said boy grimaced.

“I thought we agreed to never speak of that again; I thought my papa was going to skin me alive.”

The teens chatted a bit more and Luca began to warm up to the two boys who had hurt him so much the past year. Perhaps, he reasoned, they had been good all along and had simply needed the chance to prove themselves.

Bidding Guido and Ciccio farewell, Luca joined Alberto and Giulia as they made the rounds. Luca asked a question that had been on his mind since arriving in Porto Rosso.

“So, whatever happened to Ercole? I haven’t seen him since we’ve been in town.” Alberto placed the cash from his previous sale into the leather pouch of the cart before answering.

“Honestly, the guy kind of disappeared after the race. I think he was embarrassed enough to keep his head low for a while, but other than that, I’m not sure. Maybe he left?” Giulia thought for a moment, her gaze focused on the road ahead.

“Maybe, I don’t think he went away to university, but he could have. His family is really wealthy, so they could afford it no matter the grades he got.”

Luca kicked a pebble, his thoughts skipping back to that one word: university.

“What’s the point of grades anyway, doesn’t that, like, stress you out more?” Alberto mused.

“It certainly does for me,” Giulia huffed. She bid Buongiorno to a young mother who bought the last of their fish and both Luca and Alberto filled the empty space as they headed back down the hill.

“I think it’s mostly competition, to see who really wants to be an academico or no,” she contemplated. “Sometimes if you have really good grades, the universities will pay you to study in their schools. That happened to mama when she moved to Genoa.” Alberto winced slightly at the mention of Giulia’s mother, the story of her separation from Massimo fresh in his memory.

“I wonder if I was good enough, they’d do that for me?” Luca hummed, his eyes following the drains that spread across each building they passed.

“Well, duh, they’d be stupid not to; you’re better than good enough right now,” Alberto bumped his shoulder with a smile. Luca blushed and tossed his friend a grin.

“Hey, happy birthday by the way. It’s about time you got to my age,” the older boy winked and wrapped his arm around Luca again, causing Luca’s skin to hum with energy.

“Oh, yeah! Are you excited for tonight?” Giulia asked over her shoulder.

“Thanks, you guys, really,” Luca felt warmer with Alberto’s arm around him, and he was sure it had nothing to do with the afternoon sun. He wondered briefly if said boy could feel how hard his heart was pounding. “Should I be excited, I thought we were just having dinner?” Luca asked, brow furrowing in confusion. He twisted around to face Giulia as she pulled into the plaza and made her way towards the small coastal home. Alberto lifted his arm when Luca turned away, causing him to feel its loss.

Giulia glanced at him and grinned excitedly. “Papa saved some fireworks from the Festa Della Repubblica since we were in Genoa, and he wants to set them off for tonight.” Luca gasped and jumped in his seat.

“Santa mozzarella! Are you serious?!” He shared an animated glance with Alberto who smiled as he hopped off the cart.

“Of course! I mentioned to him how much you had enjoyed the fireworks during Vigilia di Capodanno last December. He decided that would be his gift to you this year.” Giulia locked the bike and carried their bag of earnings inside, the two boys following after her.

Inside they found Massimo at his stove, his presence filling up the majority of the room. He turned to greet them as they entered, placing a kiss upon Giulia’s curly head.

“Buon cumpleanno, Luca. May you live to see many more,” Massimo rumbled fondly, patting Luca on his checkered shoulder. Luca returned the sentiment and wrapped a short hug around the large man, his arms too small to wrap fully around him.

“Grazie, Massimo. For your wishes and for your surprise gift,” Luca pulled away while Massimo smiled happily, his eyes disappearing behind his bushy eyebrows.

“Giulia,” Massimo chided lightly, turning to his daughter who was counting out money, “I thought we agreed to keep it a secret until after dinner?” Giulia smiled apologetically.

“Scusa, papa, we were just too excited,” She and Alberto began counting the coins on the table while Massimo ushered Luca over to the stove.

“Come, Luca, you will help me prepare dinner,” Massimo handed him a bag of clams and ordered him to wash them thoroughly in the sink. Luca would be the first to admit he was not a cook, but Massimo was gentle in his orders and easily guided Luca in making a perfect pasta dinner.

Once the Paguro family arrived along with Ciccio and Guido, once again to Luca’s surprise, the night was filled with much laughter and filling food. The linguine pasta alle vongole was instantly a hit and paired nicely with the red wine Ciccio had brought on behalf of his family. To the teens’ disappointment, the adults were adamant that they were still too young for alcohol. At one moment, Lorenzo laughed so hard, he inhaled his pasta and sent part of it into his nose much to the delight of the children. After dinner, the group trouped outside with fireworks and dessert in hand. While Massimo and Lorenzo set up the fireworks near the edge of the waterline, Daniella, Giulia, and Ciccio helped serve gelato and watermelon.

With a happy sigh, Alberto nestled himself into the sand alongside Luca, happily chewing on the red-fleshed fruit. Luca’s eyelids were drooping as his body felt full and warm, accompanied by his own friend’s radiating heat. His gaze lingered as Alberto licked gelato from his lips, the cream dripping from the corner of his mouth. Forcing his eyes to look anywhere else, Luca shifted closer to Alberto. Instead, his gaze landed on his father asking animatedly about the fireworks in Massimo’s hand, the larger man looking both confused and entertained by Lorenzo’s energy.

“I know I already said it, but happy birthday,” Luca dragged his eyes back to the tanned boy next to him and smiled. He jumped slightly at the first explosion, watching in delight as the light of the fireworks made his friend’s skin glisten with multicolored hues.

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” He replied easily. Neither made comment as their arms brushed or as their hands splayed out behind them with barely any space between. Up above the merry group, bright color after bright color bloomed across a starlit sky, the stars twinkling their own delight.

[thesmokingguns]

It’s 3AM and I remember you

Word Count: 1019

Summary: Written from lover to Duff POV. Remembering what it was like to be in love with your soulmate and have the love of someone who was your everything. Feeling all the love and memories you shared and being brought down by the worst day of your life. Will it ever get better?

A/N: I love writing the 3AM series so I had to write a few more parts. I’m still recovering after surgery so this will be a queued post.I hope you all are enjoying everything. I am so sorry for not interacting with you the past couple days. I feel like I’m dying and instead of prescribing me a mild painkiller my doctor prescribed a super strong opioid that if I take it will knock me on my ass. Thank you all for interacting well I’ve stepped away for a fews days to recover. I really appreciate it! 

It’s 3AM and I remember you

The pictures and feelings flash through me like a kaleidoscope of memories, rolling together and boiled down to feelings of our time together.

The warm happiness of you smiling at me over a crowd, finding me and reaching out for me, our hands entwining and you not letting go. The bubbling of joy that burst through me when you surprised me at work with flowers, like champagne when you pulled the cork out I shot into your arms lavishing you with love over a bouquet. The softness of your love, how you’d rub your hands down my arms and press your lips to my temples. No words needed in the quiet comfort of your arms. I feel the sharp prick of hurt, like stabbing myself with a sewing needle when I’m doing a project, the swell of blood, frustration and tears but the quiet sighs of continuing on the project I love. The problem with that is I missed a stitch the last time I saw you and now it’s all unraveled.

I remember you singing songs in the kitchen as you made macaroni and cheese for breakfast, shaking along thinking you were dancing because you liked to hear me snort with laughter. Pulling me off the dining room chair and dancing around well you over cooked the macaroni noodles. Placing my feet over yours and doing the Frankenstein dance because the joy you brought me had me unable to move from being hunched over in happy giggles. You always loved hearing me laugh.

I remember what it was like to love.

To feel so happy to call you on my lunch breaks from work. Pushing a dime into the metal machine just for the satisfaction of hearing your voice call me beautiful without even seeing me. Or for you to sound out a song with the ‘bath-bah-wahhhs’ of your mouth that you were working on. The joy of going home  and having you meet me, arms circling around me like we had been parted for months instead of hours. The passion between us seemed  to be overwhelming us and flowing like white water rapids. An adventure, thrilling and wild, full of trust and excitement. It was lovely.

I remember everything.

That’s the problem that keeps happening. That even though my memory is overflowing with good times, bad times still manage to weave their way in.

The dark cloud that settles in after hours of joy gets into every crevice of me, my mind is overcome with the memory, my heart aches, my soul feels lonely missing you. I remember that night, walking into the studio thinking about how excited you would be to see and finding you excited to have a random person between your legs.

And I remember the pain.

The feeling of my heart beating so loudly my ears started to ring. The feeling of all the ‘love yous’ you had layered into our relationship running away, leaving a void as the words turned useless. The feeling of you loving me being ripped from my arms before I could even really process what was happening.

I remember when I started to feel a little better and didn’t feel like a cracked tea cup, ready to shatter if someone placed me down too hard. Building a new life that was lonely and absent of you.

But what was I supposed to do, babe?

I needed to talk things through with someone to understand how after almost three months I was still in love with the man that broke my heart. But the problem about losing your soulmate is that you also lose your best friend. It would have been you that I was tucked up with, talking my feelings through with. You with your fingers brushing my hair, nodding as you're listening to me speak and letting me know that I was heard. God, you were so good at making me feel heard and giving me advice. That’s why I love you.

You, Duff.

Was it selfish that I still loved you? It felt selfish to need someone and love someone so much who had hurt me. It felt like I was being unkind to myself, like I didn't respect myself. Like how somehow loving you was a cruel act against myself.

Oh babe, how did it get like this? How did everything get so bad so quickly? How did we love each other so passionately and let it sour like rotten lemons?

Wiping the table and setting down the silverware that needed to be wrapped I let my mind wander to the memories of us; unable to focus on the work as memories overcame you.

Do you remember our first kiss? It was in a diner like the one I was spending as many hours I could stand, forgetting you in soulless work with grabbing handed men who didn’t tip well. We had come here after a show where we had met. All we could afford was breakfast food, three flapjacks between the pair of us, with a splurge of Coca-Cola’s. We were huddled against each other, this spark between us that both of us felt but didn’t want to talk about it. The way you were looking at me, seeming to hang on my words as we overshared our lives and then we overshared our emotions.

Who kissed who first?

We must have met in the middle with lips pressed against each other and this need for one another. A need that I was feeling harder to give up and chalk up as a want.

I needed you.

Do you remember, Duff?

Do you remember loving me or have I been replaced with someone else? Have you stopped loving me? Is it all in the past?

The memories I was remembering were getting older with nothing new replacing them. And it started to feel like it would only be old memories to live through again with nothing new coming my way.

But it was a great love to remember. And I don’t think I would ever get over it.

[doubleshotofsomething]

To Hell & Back

Part Two: “Lucky for me, your kind of heaven’s been to hell & back”

Summary: You still hate Bucky. But you need him to keep you from going to jail... So, what’s the harm in inviting him over to dinner?

Prompt: “I don’t want to live on this planet anymore.”

Warnings: Angst?? (i think). Probably typos( which will be fixed). Implied violence. 

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

--

Part one [In case you missed it]

----

It's Saturday.

Your day off. Well, what used to be your day off until it was turned into a family therapy session.

Well... Not an actual therapy session. It is literally just dinner with your family, including your sister's husband - a man you refuse to identify as your brother in law for reasons that will end in you being called the j-word. The husband, because he's the only son-in-law your parents have, has been dubbed the "referee" of the Saturday Sessions.

Each session, since you've been discharged, has made committing murder seem more and more appealing.

So appealing, that you're standing in front of your neighbour's door with a basket of muffins and a please-keep-me-from-committing-felonies smile.

Bucky, because he just spent the afternoon searching for a new bar, is standing on the other side of the door. Both confused and frightened to see you at his door voluntarily.

"Is there a bomb in that basket?" He asks, eyes roaming over you suspiciously. "Believe me, it's not gonna work."

You blink at him, then at the basket. Then back at him. "Why would I put a bomb in a muffin basket and then hold it?"

He raises a sceptical eyebrow at you.

You huff. "Fine, they're poisoned. I accidentally added laxatives while making them-"

"Accidentally?"

"Yes, accidentally-" you glare at him. "-they're not for you. They're from us."

He blinks at you, confused. You haven't spoken to him, actually spoken to him, for a few months. You avoid him like he has a disease and when your paths do cross, you just glare at him like he threw your cat into on coming traffic.

It's been a few days since the coffee machine incident. He has a brand new one - better than the last one - sitting on his kitchen counter, waiting for him to develop the courage to give it to you. It should be easy. He has mastered the art of making amends.

But... He can't, for some reason, bring it to you.

"Wait-" he frowns, your words finally registering in his head, "-did you just say from us?"

You set the basket down. "So, remember when you broke my one shot at happiness?"

"Oh god." He forgot how dramatic you are, as well.

"Yeah, you can fix that little error by being a doll and-" you pause, then frown, struggling to find the right words.

"Muffin poisoned your tongue?"

"I'm trying to ask you to be my plus one for tonight's dinner-" you grit your teeth, your blood beginning to boil. "-at my parents house."

You didn't look him in the eye when you said that. And by the sounds of it, he doubts this is something he should be going to. Or something you should be going to. Not if it brings out this side of you.

"Who are the muffins for?"

They were for your sister. You broke her nose last week, which was never your intention, and the guilt has been eating you up alive since. The punch was meant for her asshole husband.

"You coming or not?"

"Let me grab a wine and the keys."

"We have muffins. No need to waste your good wine on mediocre tastes."

"I'm bringing the wine."

"If you make us stop to pick out flowers, I will watch porn with the volume on full blast every night for a week."

"Why are you always so violent?"

--

"So, how bad is it?" Bucky asks.

You've been in the car for a half an hour, because you chose the busiest route and the most congested during rush hour, and that's the first thing either of you have uttered since you politely dragged him out of his apartment.

You shrug. "Three roads lead to this one, so we'll be here another half hour."

"I mean the situation-" he drums his fingers against the wheel. "-you literally chose to be in a car with me, for the longest time possible. Either you want to get there late or you don't want to get there at all."

"Maybe I just like spending time with you."

Bucky scoffs, but doesn't question you further.

The car is silent, aside from the traffic outside, and you could almost relax. For just a moment, you could close your eyes and imagine you're somewhere else.

But you can't. Because you're not. You're on your way to a dinner that shouldn't be happening and is only happening because you're part of your neighbour's redemption list.

Because he just had to have a conscious.

"I punched my sister last week," you mumble.

Bucky wants to laugh. He wants to laugh so badly. He has met your sister, a handful of times - at the hospital, outside your room and outside your apartment door.

Every time she'd come over, she would knock hard enough to make him think she's part of SWAT team. And each time, he would could hear you scramble to switch off all devices that could alert her of your presence inside.

One time, you'd both arrived a few minutes after each other. His door was closer and already open, so you shoved your grocery in his hand and dived into his apartment to hide from your sister. He had to pretend he hasn't seen you since you left for work , and that the packet of sanitary pads that fell out were for his girlfriend.

He didn't have one.

He wants to laugh, because he doesn't like her at all. But he doesn't, because she's your sister. "What did she do?"

"She married an asshole-" you scoff. "-and decided to get in the way and I tried to punch said asshole."

At this, he grins. "And you need me there because?"

"I need you to keep me from trying to kill him," you begrudgingly admit. "I'm too high maintenance for prison."

"How bad is this guy that you need me to help you not kill him?"

"Bad enough that I'm gonna need you to park a few blocks away from the house," you turn to look at him, his confused eyes meeting yours for a quick second. "I told them we're taking the bus."

"Wow."

"Which means we only get to spend less than two hours there, if you drive a little slow-" you pause when he drives passed a McDonald's. "-hey, can we stop and get milkshake?"

He deadpans. "We have dinner plans with your parents."

"I get that you and them might have gotten along since you decided to be a hero," you glare at him. "But they're not as cool as the hospital visits made them seem."

Your parents have invited him over to dinner a handful of times, and each time he had to decline. You and him weren't on the best of terms, and he didn't want to make things worse by showing up for dinner without your knowledge.

He knows, first hand, that a few interactions aren't enough to give the full depth of a person. But he saw how devastated they were, how heartbroken they were, at the sight of tubes and needles sticking out of you.

He doesn't believe, he can't believe, for a second that they're as bad as you say they are.

But he won't argue with you. Not about this. "We'll get milkshake after."

"Hey, remember that coffee machine you br-"

"Oh, fuck you!"

***

You're not a fan of wine. At least, not the wine Bucky brought to the dinner.

An hour into the dinner and you've already had enough glasses to have Bucky worried. The wine is halfway to empty by the time dessert rolls in, and when your sister's husband clears his throat, you abandon the glass and drink straight from the bottle.

The second hour into the dinner is where things got interested. Interesting enough for Bucky to take the bottle from you before you could throw it at someone's head. Mainly because he wanted to throw it at someone's head. Your sister's husband's head to be specific.

Just as your mother gets up to start making tea for the muffins you brought, Bucky is the first on his feet and the first to use the 'we have to get going before we miss the bus' excuse.

You grin at him, vision slightly hazy from the wine you drank on an empty stomach.

"Mhmm," you hum as you cling into him to get to your feet, "the bus. We gotta- the bus. Bah-yeee."

"I'll make sure she gets home safe," he promises to your parents and they believe him.

Hell, you believe him. If there's one thing you can trust your neighbour to do, it's to save your life. But not your coffee machine.

He guides back to the car, which is parked exactly where you told him to, and he's never been happier to have listened to you. You sing all the way back, some ridiculous song about when you're fat and old, and you're the most content he's ever seen you.

Drunk off wine, eyes glassy and smile wide, as you try to mimic his steps. You sigh when you get into your seat, even though you fight him on opening your own door, and fumble lazily with your seat belt until he helps you clip it in.

Your struggle to find a comfortable position, but forget all about that when he parks the car outside your favourite coffee shop. You're out before he can even unclip his seatbelt and you're inside before he makes it to the door.

"Hi," you whisper-yell as you lean against the counter. "Pssst. Hi. Hello."

The barista blinks at you. Bucky cuts in before he can get a word out. "We'll take coffee. Filter. And anything that's bread-"

"-don't listen to him, he breaks hearts for a living. Sometimes he rips them out." I jab your pointer finger against the countertop. "I will take the strongest coffee you've got. I'm in the mood for bad decisions and-"

"We'll be at the booth, in the back." Bucky gently pries you from the counter. "One coffee and two bottles of water-"

You try to smack his hands away. "Why must you be so- Barnes, I swear to god, I will take your parking space."

He shoves you into the booth, then takes a seat opposite you. You attempt to make a break for the counter, but the glare he fixes you with is enough to keep you in your place.

It should scare you. The look he gives you. You know what he is capable of, without mad scientists to control him, you know the damage he's done. It takes a special kind of strength to face people like the flag smashers, and a special kind of crazy to go after them.

Bucky is both. And yet, his glare doesn't scare you. So much so, that you return it.

"I hate your brother-in-law-"

"Sister's husband," you cut in to correct him. "I refuse to recognise him as my anything."

He nods. "Right. So, let me get this straight-"

Bucky pauses as the barista sets down the coffee, the water, two croissants, some breadsticks and a garlic roll. When he's satisfied that there's nothing else, he leaves you alone with Bucky and the breads.

"You got work tomorrow-" he puts sugar into your coffee and stirs, before handing it to you. "-so you're gonna need to eat as much, so that it absorbs all that wine."

You glare at him but still do as he says. He's right and you'd rather sulk than admit it.

"So," he clears his throat to get your attention. "Your sister is an asshole, that married an asshole. And your parents are enablers of all that bullshit?"

You nod, practically shoving the garlic bread into your mouth. You didn't touch the food your mother cooked and, other than that milkshake Bucky bought you, you haven't had anything to eat all day.

"Instead of just sending you to therapy-" he scrunches his face in disgust at the thought. "-I can't fucking believe I'm advocating for that, but instead of paying for therapy. They do that? Host a dinner, sit a circle and kumbaya the problems away?"

Taking a sip from your coffee, you continue to nod. "Is it helping?"

He frowns, meeting your eyes. "What?"

"The mandated sessions-"you swallow. "-I heard you and Wings talking about it."

Thin walls. Shared balconies. Despite not being in each other's life, both of you know more than enough because of your apartments.

Your balcony and his are separated by a small barrier, but you can still hear his conversations - and visa versa- if you leave your glass door open enough when he's out there.

The wall that separates your apartment is thin enough for him to pick up on your habits. You don't think you're a creature of habit, but he would disagree.

He can tell, just from your foot steps, what you're going to watch or do in the living room. From the little sounds you make, he can tell which series you're binge watching for the umpteenth time and which one is on just for background noise.

If you weren't a creature of habit, he wouldn't have found you in time. You wouldn't be sitting in front of him, asking about his wellbeing, instead of dealing with yours.

"Wings is Captain now," he corrects, and you accept the deflection.

You would never overstep, or push. Not with him. Never with him.

"If Captain, why Wings?"

Narrowing his eyes, he pushes the bread sticks closer to you. "Fine, Captain Wings."

Again, you obey the silent instruction.

"Where were we-"

"We were plotting an asshole's abduction," you tell him, "and then dropping him off at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean. If that's not available, then maybe near Dyer Island."

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Why would we drop your sister’s husband on an Island?”

"It's a place, with a shitload of great white sharks."

"And you know this because?"

"I like to always be prepared."

"For what?" His brows furrow. "Do you just know random places to dump people that–"

You cut in. "–will lead to an inevitable death by natural causes? Yes."

He stares at you. Actually stares. Openly, at you. He can't remember the last time he did that, looked at you, for no other reason than to just look.

You didn't always hate him. When he first moved into your apartment building, and the landlord introduced you too, you were indifferent. He didn't think you knew who he was, most people don't at first glance, so he was relieved. Indifference was definitely better than everything else.

That was until you walked passed him and Sam in the lobby of the building, a week after he moved in.

"Sarge–" you nodded at him, as you checked your mail. Then nodded at Sam as you made your way out of the building. "–Wings."

You knew, you always knew who he was, and just didn't care. That was refreshing, to say the least.

The hate only came that night, or the following morning, he wasn't sure. All Bucky knows is, he meddled, and now you hate him for it. For saving you.

He's tried to talk to you about it. Countless of times, he's tried, and each time you hate him a little bit more. Or so it seems.

He wants to talk about it now. It's obvious in the way he's looking at you, like he can't believe you're here, in front of him. You can't either, but you won't ever admit that to him.

Hell would sooner freeze over before you actually admitted that maybe, just maybe, he should have meddled sooner.

You won't. So, instead, you put down the bread stick and sit back. "I know a really cool coffee place... If you still need a new place to hang."

It's an olive branch. You don't ever say what you really mean, he knows that, and he smiles at that little fact. That he knows that, he knows you.

"Is the barista as dramatic as I hear?"

"Only to strangers that break down her doors," you shrug. "Oh, and guys who break her coffee machine–"

"You're never gonna let that go, are you?"

You grin. Because you're just as petty as he is.

---

Tags: @sunflowerxbarnes , @ginger-swag-rapunzel​ , @arctic-duchess​

[bookstantrash]

A/N: Just saw that I hit 200 followers! I didn’t expect that even in my wildest dreams, so thank you so much for those of you who follow me, like/retweet my posts!! 🥰

Thanks aside, enjoy this chapter! I ended up not making it as angst as I intended it to be, so lucky you!

In which she makes a friend, Part Eight

Cassian’s headache was going to kill him.

The past week had been exhausting. Azriel had left only a day ago, leaving Cassian with more work and more troubled thoughts regarding the advance of the rebels.

At least now he had something to occupy his time during his sleepless nights, preferring to work instead of simply staring at his bedroom’s wall until the first rays of sunrise appeared.

Cassian was also worried about Kaelin. The young Illyrian had dismissed Nesta’s worried look, simply stating that his hair had been bothering him and that a few bruises were common. He had only been unfortunate enough to receive most of the blows on his face.

Both Cassian and Azriel had confirmed Kaelin’s words, but he had caught Nesta whispering with the young Illyrian when they thought nobody was looking, and Cassian was starting to get worried that Kaelin was hiding something.

Nesta also occupied his thoughts. Now more than ever.

Although she had actually sided with Azriel, both messing with him non stop — Azriel’s dark humour having surprisingly matched perfectly with Nesta’s ironic one — Cassian would see how she sometimes appeared to be lost in thought, becoming a little quieter once in a while, no doubt with her mind busy with Kaelin.

Cassian had to discover what was happening. He had to make sure that Nesta’s rare and easy smiles — even the way her stormy blue eyes softened more than less nowadays — would not disappear. She deserved all the happiness in the world. As did Kaelin.

But first, he had to rid himself of the nasty headache that had been bothering him all day.

“Now I know why Azriel rubs his temple so often” Cassian thought as he made his way for the healers tents, rubbing his own temple in a vain attempt to ease the pounding inside his head.

As he walked further into the tent, the smell of different herbs assaulted him, and Cassian took a deep breath, an expecting scent he could not name laying a blanket of calmness over him, easing his pain.

“Somebody give me some salt! An evil spirit has arrived!” Cassian heard a familiar grumpy voice shout.

“I missed you too Esmée” he said, stopping near the table where the matron of the healers appeared to be making a complicate looking potion.

“Bah, missed me! You missed coming here and charming my healers to give you extra bandages to wrap your fists, that’s what happened” Esmée replied, snorting.

“You usually need to wrap your hands or else they’ll get hurt even more. Am I wrong ladies?” Cassian playfully said, winking at one of the healers, who blushed.

“Hurt hands!! As if!” Esmée indignantly exclaimed “You are one vain warrior who does it for the aesthetics in four out of five cases!”

“And stop flirting with my healers! You’re distracting them!” she added, hitting him on the head with the small wooden stick she used to grind the herbs.

Cassian gave a surprised yelp, earning giggles from the healers.

“Great, now I’ll have a pump in the morning along with a headache” he thought, massaging his head.

“Esmée” Cassian charmingly tried, giving the old female his best puppy eyes “Uyara of the healers”

“Flattery will not get you anywhere kunumim” she huffed, but Cassian could see her eyes shining with secret delight.

Uyara meant Lady, owner and even dominant in the Illyrian tong. And Cassian may use flattery, but he was no liar while doing it. Esmée was the best healer the Illyrians had. She knew secrets long lost, passed only from matron to matron of camp. And her abilities were just as legendary. She truly was the Lady of the Healers.

“This time I did not come here to ask for bandages” Cassian said “I was wondering if you had any herbs for headaches. Mine is killing me”

Esmée surprised Cassian by raising her hands and cupping his cheeks, bringing his face down so she could inspect it.

“You have dark shadows under your eyes. Your eyes are tired, and you are a little anaemic” the old healer’s voice got unusually soft, maternal concern lacing it “You work too much. Have you been having trouble sleeping kunumim?”

Cassian felt his chest tighten a bit at Esmée’s words.

It had been a long time since someone had noticed how tired he felt beneath his happy facade. Since someone had cared to stop and really look at him.

Cassian loved his family. But even around them he felt the need to keep up the appearances.

He had to be the funny one. The one always there to make sure everyone was happy and comfortable.

Cassian sometimes wanted to scream. Wanted to cry and complain.

Wanted someone to hug him and let him slip his mask off.

Wanted someone who loved him enough to hear his troubles.

But Cassian could not afford to be selfish right now.

He had a camp to take care of.

“I’m fine Uyara” smiling weakly, Cassian gently took her hands off his face, squeezing them in reassurance.

Esmée clicked her tong in annoyance, her mean and grumpy attitude back in an instant, as if she was not worried at all about him.

“Lucky for you,” Esmée said, motioning for him to follow her to the back of the tent “we have recently made some painkiller tonics”

Her next words, however, got lost when Cassian smelled that calming scent again.

Closer now, he could clearly smell lavender and vanilla, a familiar scent.

And that’s when he saw her.

Nesta, an apron tied over her dark green dress, her sleeves pushed back — Cassian caught himself staring at her bare forearms and resisting the urge to run his fingertips softly against her milky skin — and brows knotted in concentration while she filled some vials.

“Nesta, grab two of those vials and pack them for this headstrong Commander”

At Esmée’s words, Nesta raised her head and looked in their direction, stormy blue eyes widening slightly when she spotted Cassian beside the healer.

“So this is where she disappears to everyday after lunch”

Nesta quickly recomposed herself, effortlessly filling the small glass flasks and placing them in a little pouch, Cassian not taking his eyes off of her for a single moment.

Esmée huffed in approval, but when Nesta tried to hand it to her, the healer refused it.

“You also need to rest. You think I did not see you dozing off? Or the way you were blinking heavily while mixing the herbs?”

Cassian’s attention peaked at that, and he noticed the shadows underneath Nesta’s eyes. They were faint, fainter than his, but they were still there.

“I’m fine Esmée” Nesta strongly argued, not backing off.

“You’re off duties until you’ve had some sleep and that’s final” the matron replied “What’s the problem with you two and not sleeping? It’s not as if you don’t have a bed”

And before they even knew what had happened, Esmée had ripped the apron from around Nesta’s waist, threw her coat and banned them from the tent.

“If that overexcited pitanga appears I’ll let him know that you already left with the Commander” with this last warning, Esmée left them outside, both a little lost.

Nesta was the first one to recompose herself. She wore her coat and started walking back to the cabin, not waiting to see if Cassian was following her.

Which he obviously was, effortlessly catching up to her given his long strides.

“You seem to be very fond of walking” he tried, casting her a side glance.

“I have no wings” she snorted “How else am I supposed to get anywhere then?

“Is that an invitation to fly with me Ness?” Cassian said, half joking and half expectant of her answer.

He would not lie and say the opportunity to hold her close to him did not tempt him. And he would not lie further by saying he had not been dying to show her how beautiful Illyria could be from above.

“No” she swiftly cut his offer down, staring straight ahead.

“It’ll be fun” he tried again.

“What’s so fun about making someone sick?” Nesta snapped, and Cassian remembered the last time she had flown.

How Rhysand had purposely flew faster than she could possibly stomach, no doubt a petty move from his side.

“I would fly very slowly” he tentatively said “And not even that high”

Cassian only received silence in answer, but he could tell from the way Nesta was pursing her lips that she was tempted to say yes.

“It is faster this way” Cassian added.

“Fine,” Nesta finally answered, a hint of annoyance in her voice “but one smart trick from you and you’ll wake up with burnt eyebrows tomorrow”

“I wouldn’t dare and try to make Your Highness uncomfortable”

They stopped walking, Cassian hesitating to take the first step and embrace Nesta.

The same could not be said about her, however, who boldly got close to him.

“So? Are we going or not?”

“Eager aren’t we sweetheart” Cassian gathered her on his arms, Nesta lacing her own around his shoulders “If I knew you were so desperate to hold me I would have brought this ideia up sooner”

Before she could throw a barbed reply his way, Cassian opened his wings and shot to the sky, feeling Nesta tighten her hold and bury her head on his shoulder.

Siphons flashing, Cassian pulled a shield over them, the air that high up being colder, specially when autumn was nearing its end.

He may or may not have taken the opportunity to discreetly take a better look at Nesta.

At the way the few strands of her hair had escaped her braid, tickling his cheek as they were blew by the wind.

At the way she got braver and raised her head a little, her blue eyes the colour of the cloud free sky and sparkling with wonder.

“It’s beautiful” and Nesta’s voice was so soft, so full of wonder, that Cassian imagined if that was how she had been before the war. When she was human and all she wanted was to keep Elain happy and travel the world.

“It is”

But he was not looking at the view.

Was not looking at how the sun sparkled against the shiny peeks of the mountains, how the vast green forest beneath them looked like a gigantic carpet laid over Illyria.

Cassian was looking at the female on his arms, savouring every precious second of the moment and thanking the gods he had promised to fly slowly, just so he could hold Nesta longer.

Letting her go once they were back on the ground was one of the hardest things he had ever done, missing her warmth and her jasmine and vanilla scent as if he was missing one of his own limbs.

He hoped he affected her the same way she affected him.

Hoped she felt even a minuscule fragment of what he felt for her.

Hoped he had not misunderstood the way she too seemed to regret letting him go.

~•~

Cassian didn’t even have to take the medicine for his headache, that annoying pounding having disappeared mid flight.

Nesta Archeron, he decided, was the best medicine he could have.

And it seemed that luck was finally on his side, for when they had arrived and Cassian asked her if she’d like to eat something, Nesta surprisingly said yes, going as far as to put the kettle on the stove to boil some water for tea.

Feeling bashful and enjoying his luck, Cassian attempted to make some small talk with Nesta, asking her about her day, what she liked about learning to be a healer, what she thought about Esmée.

He had been scared she’d shut him out, but she answered his questions with no problem, asking him some in return.

Cassian’s day had started awful but seemed to be walking towards being the best he’d ever had, specially when he appeared in living room after a warm bath and spotted Nesta, once again sitting comfortably on the couch — one of her new books laid on her lap — hair in a simple braid and wearing that mouth watering leggings, combined with a white tunic that drew attention to her eyes.

The fireplace was, as usual, empty.

Cassian could not understand how Nesta managed to make do with only fur blankets, specially now that winter was fast approaching.

“The fireplace.... why don’t you like to light it?”

That caught Nesta’s attention, and he saw how she flinched.

Dangerous. It was a dangerous ground that he was walking on.

They had only talked about futilities so far. But to ask her something so personal, something he suspected was related to the war and her traumas...

He didn’t want to see her back to the dark and empty place she used to go when she had first arrived, eyes faraway and empty.

“You don’t have to answer that if you’re not comfortable, but I’m... worried” Cassian flapped his wings a little, an evident sign of his anxiousness “Winter in Illyria is ruthless”

“It was no different from when I was human” Nesta snapped, but her voice had a slight tremble to it.

“It is. And you...we won’t be able to go through it if we don’t have a fire burning” he walked towards the sofa, daring to sit down beside Nesta, but holding himself back from touching her hand, which clutched the hardcover of the book “Even the wards and walls here are not enough to keep the cold away. Winter at Illyria won’t be like winter in the human land. Or in Velaris”

Nesta only stared and stared at the fireplace, as if it would light up any minute. After some time, she spoke, her voice almost a whisper.

“The sound that the fire makes...when it burns...it reminds me of bones” she shuddered “Of bones breaking”

Her father’s neck.

Maybe even his wings.

He hadn’t known.

Hadn’t known and last solstice she had stayed all night, without complaining about the noise. Without asking to diminish the fire or even make it soundless — Cassian knew that Rhysand, Amren or even Mor would be able to do it. But she had not asked to. Had not wanted to appear weak. To most probably not worry Feyre.

Nesta had been suffering all this time.

Alone.

“I... I have no magic. At least not any apart from the killing power every Illyrian has. So I’m not able to make the fire soundless”

“But you could do it” he added softly “If you lit the fire with your powers... I think you’d be able to turn the sound of the wood snapping off. The fire would be yours to tame. To control”

“You think it would work?” she asked, and Cassian felt a sliver of hope in her tone.

Control. It was all about control. And if Nesta felt like she was in control of the situation, she would be able to support a burning fireplace, sound or not.

“I think you are able to do whatever you wish to, but the first step is to try”

“Grab the wood then” Nesta said.

And Cassian did. He piled the wood neatly, and Nesta moved to stand in front of the fireplace, standing her hands in front of her.

“Just like we practiced” Cassian softly said, moving behind her, his front only a couple of inches from her back “Reach deep within you for it, and then redirect it to the wood”

He could picture Nesta knotting her eyebrows in concentration, and her silver flames soon appeared on her hands.

“Good, now project them towards the fire” Cassian’s voice took the tone he usually used during training, a way to ground her.

Nesta’s flames got brighter and with a little push of arms they flew towards the wood, burning it.

It started small, but soon the fire was roaring, the crack crack of wood filling the air.

“Now turn it off Nesta”

“I-I can’t” she said, her whole body starting to tremble “I don’t know how”

“You can. And you will” he placed a hand on her lower back, like he had once done a lifetime ago in a war tent “You’re the one in control. The flames obey you and no else”

Nesta’s breath was coming in pants now, but the cracking of the fire gradually began to get quieter.

“Just like that Ness” he encouraged, daring to get a little closer, until his front almost touched her back “You’re doing amazing xe nhia”

With a grunt, the sound of the burning wood died out completely, and Nesta staggered back into Cassian’s chest, the flames around her fists also disappearing.

He held her against him, filled with awe and proud of her for meeting her fear head on.

Nesta straightened herself, turning to face Cassian, her blue-gray eyes shining with some hidden emotion.

“Thank you” she whispered, and Cassian swore he had never heard more precious words.

“It was all you” he shrugged “You don’t have to thank me sweetheart”

“I wouldn’t have tried it if it weren’t for you” she stubbornly replied “So accept my thanks and stop being so headstrong”

“Me? Headstrong?” Cassian chuckled, his arms tightening around her “Aren’t you talking about yourself Nessie?”

Nesta snorted, placing her hands on his chest and Cassian prayed to the gods that she wouldn’t notice how fast his heart was beating.

Being so close to Nesta did things to his heart.

And to other parts of him.

“Go make dinner you stupid bat” she said, pushing him away “Kaelin should be arriving, and I bet he’ll be starving after training”

As if on cue, the door opened and the Illyrian walked in.

“Hey...” Kaelin greeted weakly, and Cassian noticed fresh bruises on the kid’s face, the older ones barely healed.

“Kaelin!” Nesta exclaimed, practically running towards the young Illyrian “What happened?”

“Oh this is nothing” he shrugged, wincing slightly “Just lost at an one on one spar today”

“Kaelin...” Nesta tried to touch him, but the kid swiftly backed off, avoiding her.

Cassian saw the look of hurt flashing on Nesta’s face before she concealed it beneath a mask of coolness.

“I’ll just wash up and then help with dinner” saying that, Kaelin quickly left the room.

It seemed that Cassian’s luck could only go so far, for his worries about Kaelin seemed to have doubled.

•

Fixed tag list: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth @arinbelle @caotica-e-quieta @vidalinav @swankii-art-teacher @ireallyshouldsleeprn @duskandstarlight @greerlunna @thegoddessaltenia @dayanna-hatter @verypaleninja @awesomelena555 @courtofjurdan @allilal @sensitiveillyrian @moe8 @illyrianwitchling13 @silvernesta @bri-loves-sunflowers @queenestarcheron @imwritingthesewords @vasudharaghavan @rainbowcheetah512 @darkshadowqueensrule @letstakethedawn @starlightorstarfire @city-of-fae

{Please let me know if you’d like to added to my Fixed Tag list}

[lu-undy]

Happy birthday, Solitude But Two!

Here is a bonus Chapter!

"You guys will be alright, yeah?" 

"Of course, Micky, it's not the first time you leave the kitties with us." 

"But it's gonna be more than an evenin' this time. Also, before I forget, I put one of Lu's shirts in the bag, they need it to sleep, don't forget it or they'll harass you until you give it to them."

Perle was gladly following Caroline around while Soot lay on Mike's lap, purring as the old man gently massaged the black cat. 

"Bah, we raised you and we used to have cats as well as dogs."

"Your Mum's right." Mike answered from the sofa. "We'll be fine. You go and have fun with Lucien. Did you tell him by the way?" 

"Nah, not yet. I'm keepin' it a surprise for him. Speaking of, I really gotta go or we’ll be late. He’s waitin’ to have lunch with me before I take him." 

"You arranged everythin'?" Caroline asked.

"Yeah, almost. Right, you guys take care, alright?"

"We will, Micky, you go and have your fun with your Lu'." Caroline answered as Mundy opened the front door.

"Meow!" Perle came trotting to her father and Soot jumped out of Mike's lap to join her. 

"Oh, sure, baby, c'mere you guys…" Mundy squatted down and dealt headbutts and scratches left and right to both the felines. "You behave with Grandma and Grandpa, yeah?" 

"Meow." 

"Good babies." He left a kiss on their heads and pushed himself back to stand up. "See ya!"

"See you in a few weeks, Micky!" 

A few moments later, the Aussie was on his motorcycle, racing through the streets and in his own mind. He had been preparing this for a while now. 

It had been one year. 

One year since he had put a ring on Lucien's finger and vice versa. Well, it would be one year exactly in a few days and this was what it was all about, celebrating the first anniversary of Lucien and him being… well… husbands? 

Of course, their legal status remained single but in their hearts and their heads, they were very much taken and faithful to each other. Mundy never did attract a lot of attention from ladies and gents, but Lucien… 

Every time the couple was having dinner outside, or enjoying a party with the few friends they had made, one person would walk to Lucien and hit on him. The first time it happened, it was a woman but Mundy nonetheless felt the itch to show her the rings, Lucien's and his. As he came close to his lover, he heard Lucien chuckle at the poor woman's attempt to pull her into her bed. He remembered it with a smile now…

“Oh, here you are, Mundy.”

“Hey, Lu.”

The woman had raised her eyes to the Aussie. 

“This your friend?” She asked. 

“More than that…” Lucien put a hand on Mundy’s chest and leaned on him. “Please meet my everything, Mundy. Mundy, this is the charming Amanda.”

“Hey there.” Mundy had stuck to being cold but polite, a defensive hand went to grab his Lucien and pull him to himself, almost defensively. 

“What d’you mean, ‘your everything’?” She chuckled with a raised eyebrow, confused and slightly mocking. 

“I mean this.” Lucien answered and pulled Mudy’s neck down for the Aussie to be at his lips height. He pushed a loving kiss on his lips and released him. Mund opened his eyes again, his mind still on the kiss even though Lucien’s lips had parted from his. 

Amanda’s jaw hung low and wide. 

“He is my husband, look!” Lucien went on, uphased. “This is the ring. It has only been a few months, mind you, time flies, but we love each other as if we were half our ages… Oh? Amanda?”

The woman had spun on her heels and left, leaving Lucien to chuckle and turn back to Mundy. 

“So, mon loup, are you enjoying your evening?” 

[My wolf]

“Uh… Y-yeah… Wasn’t she hittin’ on you?” Mundy nodded in the direction of the woman. 

“She was, very much.” Lucien answered. “But for some reason she left now. I cannot think why… Women shall remain a mystery!”

“Maybe that’s cause you snogged me like there’s no tomorrow in front of her?” Mundy answered.

“Oh, that? Maybe.” Lucien answered and leaned against Mundy’s shoulder again. He stared at the woman refilling her glass with whatever strong alcohol she could find before he raised his light blue eyes to his lover. 

They exchanged a smile. 

“You’re a devil, you know that?” Mundy said. 

“Maybe, but I am having great fun.”

“Why did you do that to her? You could have just said that you were already with someone.”

“And miss this laughter we shared? For nothing in the world. This ring that she chose to ignore,” Lucien raised his hand to Mundy. “It means that I vowed to make you happy. You did laugh, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did. “

“Then I am upholding my vows. Très bien.”

[Very well] 

 “You’re mean, Lu’. Look at her now…”

“I am not mean. If anything, she was.”

“What?!” Mundys eyebrows jumped in surprise.

“I am wearing my engagement ring and she still chooses to approach me. She knew she was taking a risk and she liked the thrill of it. Well, let this be a lesson for her: not all the risks are worth taking, Madame Amanda.”

“Well, if you put it that way…” Mundy agreed. 

And Mundy reached his destination, which pulled him out of his daydream. He parked the motorcycle safely and entered his house. 

“Mon loup, c’est toi?”

[My wolf, is that you?]

“Oui, mon amour.”

[Yes, my love.]

Lucien rose from his armchair and met his love at the front door. 

"Your accent when you speak French is delicious…" He said before pushing himself to the tip of his toes and kissing Mundy. 

"I'm makin' progress, aren't I?" Mundy laced his arms around Lucien's waist.

"Oui, but please, never lose your accent." 

"If it goes like it does with you, I'll still have my accent in a hundred years."

"Are you saying I am old?" Lucien frowned in an exaggeratedly sad way. 

"I'm not the one spendin' my time sayin' 'You'll see when you get to my age', eh!"

"Pfff…" 

They chuckled together.

"You ready?" Mundy asked. 

"Where are you taking me for lunch?"

"Where d'you think?"

"Hm…" The couple exited the house and Mundy locked the door as Lucien thought out loud. "Maybe the new Lebanese place that opened in town? I am told it is exquisite and very reasonable in price." 

"Since when d'you care about the price of things?" Mundy smiled. "Oh, no, no, Lu', we're not goin' with the bike. I called a taxi." 

"Oh? This means that you intend to get drunk, so maybe the Irish pub? But isn't it early to get drunk?"

"Never too early to be with you, baby." Mundy raised his arm for the taxi to stop while Lucien's blush took a moment to fade. 

They both embarked in the taxi. 

"Where to, Sir?" The driver asked. 

"Where I told you on the phone, please." Mundy answered. 

"Alright." The driver let his foot press on the gas pedal and off they all went. 

"Tu me caches des secrets?"

[You are holding secrets from me?]

"Oui." Mundy answered. 

"Dis-moi où tu m'emmènes." Lucien asked.

[Tell me where you are taking me.]

Mundy shook his head and took a glance in the inside rear view mirror. The driver was busy. Good. The Aussie slid his hand to take his lover’s. 

“C’est une surprise, doll.” He answered with his accent. 

[It’s a surprise.]

“D’accord.” Lucien smiled and nodded.

[Very well.]

And the ride took them away from where the usual restaurants the couple frequented used to go. Lucien straightened his back and looked through the window. He started frowning when he saw the control tower of the airport, the same one he had landed in, a few years ago now. And it got him thinking. What if he could go back and see the Lucien that disembarked on the plane that day. Would the slightly younger Lucien believe him if he had told him what he would become? What would he even tell him? 

Tu rencontreras l’homme de ta vie et ta vie basculera. Tu ne demanderas plus comment ni pourquoi. Tu vivras l’instant, tout simplement, comme quand tu avais vingt ans. Tu vivras et aimeras, comme quand tu avais vingt ans. Tu seras heureux comme jamais tu ne l’as été. 

[You will meet the man of your life and your life will flip upside down. You will not wonder how or why anymore. You will live the instant, simply, as you did when you were twenty. You will live and you will love, as you did when you were twenty. You will be happy as you never were before.]

Would the younger Lucien believe him or would he laugh at him, scornful and disdainful, before he would realise that perhaps, the older him was senile, old, and out of his mind? 

Pff, in the end, Lucien did not even care. He smiled at that version of himself. The bitter, cynical and lonely old man. He was now even older, but so much happier…! 

"Lu'?" 

Mundy's voice broke the Frenchman's train of thought. 

"Oui?" 

"Je t'aime." 

[I love you.] 

Mundy said those words with such honesty in his eyes that Lucien's cheeks turned pink on their own. 

"Moi aussi."

[Me too.]

He smiled back at him and clenched his fingers a bit harder between Mundy's. 

"Alright, we're gettin' there, Sir. Which door should I drop you at?" The driver asked. 

"Departures, please." Mundy answered, his eyes sealed on Lucien's and the Frenchman's eyebrows jumped. 

"Departures?" He repeated.

"Yeah."

"Are we… travelling?"

"Yeah." 

"But Mundy, we haven't taken any luggage with us?" 

"Don't be silly." Mundy gently chuckled as the driver parked. 

Both men exited the car and Mundy winked at Lucien. 

"C'mon, Lu', keep up! We don't wanna miss the flight…!"

"W-wait!" Lucien caught up with his lover. 

The airport was as busy as an anthill. People coming, going, running, pushing carts, holding their hats on their heads as they ran. 

"Mundy, were you serious?" 

"Course I am! We're goin', c'mon!" Mundy glanced up at a screen and quickly spun on his heels to change direction. Lucien followed, sometimes even trotting after his lover. 

"But where are we going?" 

"Told you, and in French at that, it's a surprise." 

"You cannot keep the surprise going forever, I will soon know." Lucien answered. 

"Yeah, but meanwhile, I'm likin' this whole 'Lu' doesn't know what's happenin'' business." Mundy smirked and looked down at Lucien, which he knew the Frenchman had a weakness for. 

"I shall find out myself!"

"Alright, good luck, Sherlock." Mundy winked and Lucien smiled. 

They walked through halls and corridors. 

"Uh, uh, uh! Gimme what you took from my pocket back!" Mundy stopped walking and turned to Lucien

"How could you possibly know?!" Lucien stopped. "I made every effort for you not to feel it!"

"You stole somethin' from my back pocket." Mundy said and opened his palm flat. "Give it back…" 

"How did you know?" Lucien frowned. 

Mundy sighed with a smile. He took the step that separated him from his lover and bent slightly such that his lips were next to the Frenchman's ear.

"I felt you touched my butt, and I liked it."

"Ah…" Lucien lowered his head and raised the plane tickets that he had taken from Mundy's back pocket. 

"Thank you, now stop bein' a spook and follow me."

They went on following sign after sign and looking at all the screens they met. 

"Here, that's the search thingy. I hope you don't have your blade with you." Mundy said as they queued. 

"What do you take me for?"

Both men started undoing their belts. Mundy removed his glasses and his hat. When the Aussie finished, he walked through the metal detector and soon after, his lover followed him. 

BEEP! 

"Ah, oui, I must explain myself." Lucien calmly said and Mundy observed the scene. "This is my passport. If you run a check on me, you will understand." 

The security employee took the passport and disappeared for a while. He came back and his colleague stopped him. 

"Hey, don't let him go, he had a knife in his belongings!"

"No, we have to let him go." The man handed Lucien his passport back. "With the knife and all. Have a good day, Sir, and sorry for the inconvenience." 

"No problem, you are but doing your job, Monsieur." Lucien took his belongings back and left the area. "Mundy? Are you coming? I do not know which gate we should head to."

Mundy had been standing there, his belt half put on, half still dangling down. His jaw had dropped as he watched. 

"Uh, y-yeah."

"Mundy." Lucien stopped him. 

"Yeah?" 

"Maybe you should finish putting your belt first?" Lucien tilted his head on the side and Mundy looked down at his waist. 

"Ah, uh, yeah…" 

A few moments later, both of them were standing in front of a screen. 

"Well, this is the moment where you'll see where I'm takin' you, doll." 

"Oui, it is. So? Which gate shall we go to?" 

"Forty-five." 

Lucien's eyes scanned the screen. 

"Oh… Mundy, but… Why Paris?" 

"Because I love you, and I wanna see what it's like over there."

"I…"

"C'mon, let's go." 

When they sat on the metallic, back-breaking bench at the gate, they chose a corner where they could be alone and in peace.

"Mundy, why go to Paris, honestly?" Lucien looked up at his lover. 

"Told you. I wanna see what your life was like when you were there. I mean… I know you told me you're not from there. But still… Besides, you've been livin' with me in Oz for a while, you've seen me and my life, I wanna see yours."

"I have indeed seen the Bushman in his natural habitat." Both exchanged a chuckle. 

"Look, if you don't want it, we can go back home. I don't wanna force you, baby." Mundy cast his eye around and dropped his hat on his thigh. He then slid his hand and pulled Lucien's underneath it. The Frenchman felt Mundy's thumb brush against the back of his hand.

"So, what d'you say?" Mundy asked.

"I say we go and I will show you the city where I grew up." Lucien answered. 

"You sure?" 

"We are about to board, Mundy, it is rather late to turn and go back home, non?" 

"No, not at all. If you feel awkward or anythin', we can go back home. I wanted to make it a surprise for you but the point's not for you to feel weird about it." 

"Non, Mundy, you are right. I should show you." Lucien clenched his grip on Mundy's hand. 

"You sure? I mean, are you happy to do it?"

"Delighted."

And Mundy took a second to stare in his lover’s eyes. Was he lying just to please him? To not make him feel awkward? The Aussie slightly squinted. He looked through the crystal clear irises to see the soul beyond them. Were Lucien’s lips deceiving the Aussie? Bah, it wouldn’t be the first time but… When was the last time that Lucien had lied?

Hm. 

Oh! Yeah, Mundy remembered it, it was… 

At the lake, almost exactly one year before, the wig. Lucien had worn a wig because he thought his lover could only look at him with the eyes of love when he made himself more feminine. It was obviously wrong and Mundy had tossed the long-haired lie away. That was Lucie’s last one.

Mundy blinked and his eyebrow relaxed. Lucien was not lying. He was looking up at the Aussie with eyes that screamed his limitless love for him. 

“Alright then, doll. Glad you’re happy to show me around.”

“Of course.” Lucien answered. “I am surprised by this trip but welcome it warmly. I think we should probably have done that before but I suppose we did not stop to think about it.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Got any ideas on what we should see?”

“Apart from the classics like the Tour Eiffel, the Arc de triomphe, and other tourist attractions? Hm, I shall think about it.”

“Can I ask you to show me some stuff in particular?”

“But of course. What do you have in mind?”

“Where you lived, where you worked, places you liked to eat at, that kind of thing.” 

"I will."

They exchanged a conniving smile and the call to board the plane interrupted them. 

"Ready, baby?" 

"Oui." 

"Right, let's go and queue." 

A few minutes later, both found their seats in the plane and Mundy looked through the window. The sky was blue despite the relative cold of winter. Well, once in Paris, it will be summer… The plane took off and when the couple was higher in the sky than the clouds themselves, Lucien looked up at Mundy on his left. 

“I am surprised.”

“You’d better. Been hidin’ evidence of everything.”

“How did you do it?”

“Gave the tickets and everything to my Mum.” Mundy smiled. “I even tried to not think about it. I never know with you; could turn out that you can read my thoughts or somethin’.”

Lucien chuckled. 

“I could indeed.” He confirmed with a lingering smirk on his lips. “However, I choose not to.”

“Why?”

“The Lucien of the previous life used to read minds because he needed it.”

“And now it’s just a hobby?” Mundy chuckled. 

“Almost.” Lucien answered. “Non, I value my relationship too much with you to not give you the same privacy that you give me. It is a question of respect. However, it is cute to see you try to read me to see if I lie sometimes.”

“Ah, uh, well…” Mundy scratched the back of his head. “Sorry...  I don’t want you to think that I don’t trust you…”

“Not at all. It gives me the impression that you really want to know what is going on in my head, which I appreciate.”

“Really?”

“Oui, I like this side of you, the side that wants to read all my fears in my eyes before I am fully aware of them.”

Mundy blushed. 

“Yeah, well… Sorry, can’t help it.”

“It is a gift and a blessing, thank you for being so.”

“You’re welcome, baby. But uh, Lu’?”

“Oui?”

“Why did you say you were surprised?”

“Ah…” Lucien chuckled before he even gave the answer. “I did not take you for the business class ticket kind of a man.”

“I was gonna go for the economy thing, but then Mum said that in business we’d get a booth and we wouldn’t be bothered by people givin’ us looks. So I can do this…” Mundy reached for Lucien’s hand and took it. “And no one’ll look weird at us.”

“Cutely thoughtful of you, mon loup.”

“You can thank my Mum for that.”

Both chuckled and Lucien leaned his head on Mundy's shoulder. 

“I will, but in the meantime, thank you, mon amour.”

Minutes passed that turned into hours and the sky naturally darkened. After the dinner they were handed in, the couple closed their eyes. 

“Mornin’, luv’.”

“Bonjour, mon amour.”

[Good morning, my love.]

Both yawned, woken up by the bright morning sun above the clouds. 

“Slept well?”

“I think my neck will hate me for a few hours only. What about you?”

“My legs…”

“How long do we have left until we land?”

“Uh…” Mundy checked his watch. “A few hours…?”

“Mundy.”

“Some number of hours…?”

“Mon loup.”

“Alright, ok, we got three hours left.”

“That isn’t that bad, actually.” Lucien answered, surprised.

“Yup. Oh, Lu’, I just thought about something.”

“Oui?”

“Uhm… Y’know how I told you I wanted to visit your workplace?”

“Oui, I remember.”

“How’re you gonna do it? I mean you're supposed to be dead for the Ministry back there, aren’t you?”

“Indeed, I am. You will have to call me by my second name when we get there so as not to raise suspicions.”

“But you still look like yourself. People will recognise you, won’t they?”

“Non, they will not. I was once a spy: entering places I shouldn't be while being someone I am not was my occupation for decades and not a trade easily forgotten.” Lucien raised his eyes to Mundy. “Do not worry, I will show you the Ministry.” He smiled tenderly.

“Alright, I trust you. But if you think we can’t make it or somethin’, there’s no shame in sayin’ it.”

“Non, absolutely not, you are right. But this will be easy.”

A few hours and a nap later, the pilot announced the imminent landing. Mundy looked at the city below the plane. He could see a river flowing, zigzagging through the capital. 

“C’est la Seine.”

[It is the Seine.]

“Oh…”

“Ca, c’est l’île Saint-Louis… Et ça ? tu peux me dire ce que c’est ?”

[This is the Saint-Louis Island… And this? Can you tell me what it is?]

Lucien pointed and Mundy squinted to see better. 

“It’s… Oh! C’est la Tour Eiffel, non?”

[It’s the Eiffel Tower, isn’t it?]

Mundy answered in French and Lucien looked at him as he always did, yet each time, the Aussie couldn’t help but fall slightly deeper for his lover. 

“Oui, c’est la tour Eiffel.”

[Yes, it is the Eiffel Tower.]

Lucien confirmed. 

“It’s the real thing? It’s tiny…”

Lucien’s smile vanished. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s tiny! I thought it was supposed to be very tall!”

“Well, you will climb it using the stairs and I swear to God your thighs will make you regret these words!” Lucien answered and Lundy burst into laughter. 

“I’m jokin’, you sensitive, patriotic old baby…”

“Hm, joking now, aren’t you…? I will still make you climb to the top of it on the stairs.”

“How many steps is it to the top, d’you know?”

“One thousand six hundred and sixty-five. It takes between half an hour and forty-five minutes to climb it to the second floor which is not even the top.”

“You're pulling that out of your arse, aren’t you?”

“You shall see….!” Lucien leaned back on his seat with a smug smile on his lips. 

“Hm… Hold on, we aren’t gettin’ closer to the ground, the Eiffel Tower’s still tiny…”

“It is because it is forbidden to fly over Paris.”

“Are you serious?”

“Oui, I am, it has been so since the Second World War, if I remember correctly.”

“Woah… You guys know no Germans are gonna come and bully you again, don’t you?”

“We know. But we would rather keep our sky blue and free of planes.” Lucien answered. 

“Fair enough. Makes it more calm I guess."

When the plane landed and both made it through, Mundy held Lucien back in front of the airport's closed doors. 

"Hold on, before we step into actual Paris…"

"Oui?"

"I love you, Lu'." 

Lucien smiled. 

"I love you too."

"Alright, now, we can go." 

They took a step more and the doors slid open. The first rays on the Parisian summer sun hit their skin warmly and the lightest of breezes grazed their cheeks before rolling up to the sky. 

“Here we are then, eh? Paris.” Mundy said looking around him.

“We are outside of the city itself but I guess you booked a hotel inside?” Lucien asked.

“Actually, I didn’t.”

“Oh?” Lucien raised surprised eyebrows. 

“I was kind of counting on you to know where to go…?” Mundy admitted with a half ashamed smile.

“Oh, of course. I have recommendations.”

“You choose then, Lu’. I looked up the hotels and stuff but there were too many of them and I didn’t know which one to pick.”

“It is fine, let us call a taxi, I know where we should go.” Lucien smiled.

“Thanks, Lu’.”

“My pleasure.”

After half an hour inside a taxi, both stepped out in front of a hotel and Lucien waited for the car to disappear behind him. 

“Welcome to the Ritz.” Lucien said and Mundy looked up to take the large three-floor building in. The architecture was nothing like he had seen so far. At the end of a flight of stairs hidden by a red carpet, the doors stood wide and tall between spiral-trimmed slim plants and equally fancy dressed porters. A French flag was flying above the double door that put a slight proud smile on Lucien’s lips. The walls were all made out of light beige stone and on each floor, rectangular windows were neatly and equally spaced. On the first floor were slim balconies adorned with a golden plated logo of the hotel. As Mundy’s eyes followed the column of clean stones, jumping from one window to the one above, he noticed that high up, the roof was covered in dark slate with windows surrounded by smoothly moulded, light beige stone.

“Gosh…”

“Come on, we both need a shower at least.” Lucien smiled at how absorbed Mundy was by the looks of the building. 

The couple decided to take a few days of rest and let the jet-lag fade away slowly. They had their clothes bought and delivered to them at the hotel and enjoyed their meals either in their suite or in the restaurant downstairs. 

“What did you say the room we’re in was called?”

Lucien chuckled. 

“It is not a room, but a suite, mon amour, and it is called the Coco Chanel suite.”

“Funny name…”

“It is the name of a prestigious designer. She designed the room herself.”

“She was French?”

“Oui, she was.”

“Ah, guess it makes sense… How much is it per night?”

“A price that pales next to that of your company.” Lucien poetically answered. 

“Thanks, Lu, but I meant in Francs?”

“About a hundred…”

“Oh that’s quite cheap for a suite.”

“... Thousand Francs per night.”

“WHAT?!” Mundy almost spat his coffee out.

Lucien burst out laughing, catching his breath in the short little snorts that Mundy fell in love with. 

The next couple of days were spent visiting all the tourist-heavy places: the Eiffel Tower, the cathedral of Notre-Dame, the Palace of Versailles… Mundy saw more paintings and sculptures in those few days than he did in his entire life.

“Stop.” 

Lucien’s voice was firm, too firm and cold to be addressing Mundy. The Aussie turned and saw Lucien with his hand on a young man's wrist. 

“Hold on, that’s my wallet in your hand…!” Mundy snatched it back from the stranger's hand. 

“La prochaine fois que tu pick-pocket quelqu’un, choisis mieux ta cible et ne regarde pas autant que ça à droite et à gauche, on te voit venir à des kilomètres.”

[Next time you pickpocket someone, choose your target more carefully and don’t look so much left and right, you are telegraphing all your moves.] 

The young man opened wide eyes and as soon as Lucien released his wrist, he darted off. 

“Attends.”

He stopped and turned to Lucien, a few metres away from him. 

“Tiens. Et tu n’es pas mauvais, tu devrais en faire quelque chose.”

[Here. And you are not bad, you should do something out of it.]

Lucien handed him a note. The young man took it and left. 

“You gave him money?” Mundy asked. 

“Oui.” Lucien resumed his walk and Mundy followed him. 

“Why?”

“Because stealing is rarely a hobby. If one does it, it is out of necessity. Throwing  this young man in a cell will not help him at all. On the other hand, helping him such should.”

Mundy fell silent for a moment. 

“Besides,” Lucien started speaking again. “I was once this young man, only I never got caught.”

The next day, the couple woke up normally. Good, the jet-lag had finally passed. 

“Mundy?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to visit the ministry today?”

The half woken up Australian opened wide eyes in a flash. 

“Sure. Uhm, how are we gonna do this?”

“I have an idea. But I need to call Maurice first. You go and take a shower, I will telephone him and will let you know.”

“Alright.”

A couple of hours later, both men stood in front of an elegant building in the heart of the fifth district of Paris, or as Mundy liked to call it ‘the fancy one”. 

“Shall we?” Lucien asked. 

“I’d follow you but ho ‘re we gonna go through these soldiers?”

Two military looking people were guarding the entry and checking everyones credentials. 

“As easy as just follow me.” Lucien answered with a smile before he took the flight of stairs up and met with the soldiers. 

“Bonjour, Messieurs. Nous venons de la part de Maurice de Ronzières, en Australie.”

[Good morning gentlemen. We come on behalf of Maurice de Ronzières, in Australia.]

“Je dois vérifier.”

[I must check.]

“Faites donc.”

[Pray do.]

Both men waited at the door and when the guard came back to them, he let them in. 

“Gosh, Lu’ - I mean, Louis… We’re in…”

“Oui, welcome to a place that they redecorated and I barely recognise…” Lucien shook his head disappointedly as he held his hips.

“That means we can’t visit it cause you don’t know where stuff is anymore?”

“Non, non.”

“Then why d’you look uh… not happy with it?”

“Because they redecorated and made it is ugly!” Lucien raised his arms in the air before letting them drop again. “Had I been still alive, I would have given the Minister of Defense a piece of my mind…!”

“Hold on…!” Mundy caught up with his lover and walked through the corridors. 

They abruptly stopped walking in front of a small door hidden under the stairs, on which Lucien gave a few knocks. 

“Qui est-ce?”  A muffled, old man’s voice asked.

[Who is it?]

“C’est moi.” Lucien answered and the door opened.

[It’s me.]

“Grand Dieu, Maurice a dit vrai…!”

[Good Lord, Maurice spoke the truth…!]

A short, skinny, old man emerged from what Mundy understood was the broom closet. He had lost most of his hair on his head and wore round, thick glasses.

“Comment allez vous, Georges?” Lucien opened his arms and the old man took a step forward and hugged him.

[How are you, Georges?]

"Ça doit faire une éternité! Les cheveux gris vous changent, Louis, mais je vous reconnais bien.”

[It must have been an eternity since last time. Grey hair makes you look so different, Louis, but I still recognise you.]

“Parlez-vous un peu d’anglais?”

[Do you happen to speak a bit of English?]

“Oh, j’ai les rudiments, à force d’entendre tout ce qui se passe…!”

[Oh, I learnt the basics on the fly here, as I’m forced to hear bits here and there…!]

“Then,” Lucien naturally switched to English. “Please meet my husband, Mundy.”

Mundy blushed beyond his ears. It was so uncommon for Lucien to introduce him as his husband straight away. 

“And Mundy, please meet Georges, the ultimate spy.”

“Nice to meet you.” Mundy extended his hand and the old man shook it with a smile. 

“Does he understand French?” Georges asked, his accent so thick that next to him, Lucien sounded like a native…!

“Bits, oui, I have been teaching him.” Lucien answered. 

“Then, mes félicitations, mon garçon!”

[Congratulations, my boy!]

“Oh, uh, thanks… But how are you the ultimate spy?” Mundy asked. 

“We can chat as we walk, boys, come on, follow me!” The old man pulled a trolley of rags, dusters and all kinds of cleaning products out of the closet before he started pushing it. Lucien and Mundy followed him. 

“Georges here is responsible for the cleanliness of everything you see. He also happens to have the keys to every room in this building apart from a very select few of them. And all of that makes Georges the best guide to this place." Lucien explained as the trio walked through the corridor. 

The old man pushed his trolley through the corridors, making sure to take all the stair cases that nobody usually takes. 

"And I forgot to say," Lucien added through Georges' explanation of the rooms and corridors. "This man here is invisible to everyone meaning that if we stick to him, we become invisible too." 

"And so you don't break your cover… Ah, I get it…" Mundy nodded to himself. 

"Georges, could you take us to the portrait room, please?" 

"Yes, I can. They didn't move it cause they say history can't be changed." The old man answered, the keys jiggling from his belt loop.

"Ah, perfect." 

Georges took a second to unlock the door and push it open. 

"You have ten minutes, fifteen tops, before my colleague comes here to dust everything off. I'll try and buy you some time but he's young and finds I talk too much so he usually just leaves me alone to do his job. Counting on you, boys, be careful with the time!"

"We will be. Merci infiniment, Georges." 

[Thank you infinitely, Georges.]

"Avec plaisir." 

[My pleasure.]

Both men entered and Lucien shut the large, wooden double doors after them.

“Wow, what’s this place? Who’re these people?” Mundy said as he found himself in a room surrounded by painted or printed portraits. The oldest were black and white engravings while the most recent ones were coloured.

“This is the portrait room. It contains the photograph, painting or engraving of every man who made a decisive contribution to the establishment or security of this country.” Lucien explained. “Please, do have a look.”

Mundy started walking in what felt more like an art gallery than a room. He admired the faces, sometimes commenting on the military attire or the old style moustaches and beards. Lucien tried his best to recall the bits of history he knew about those important figures of the country, mentioning a few anecdotes when his memory allowed him to. 

“Golden frames for everyone, eh? That’s fancy as all hell…” Mundy said. 

“Indeed it is.” Lucien answered. “I am told that nowadays, when young spies finish their training, they are brought here and come out of this room with the hope that one day, their face will be on thiese walls.”

“Yeah, I can get the enthusiasm.” Mundy said. “Oh, Lu’... Hold on… Is that…?” Munddy squinted in front of a photograph and took a step forward. His eyes zigzagged on that of the man with light eyes and coal black hair. “Bloody hell, isn’t that you?!”

Lucien chuckled. 

“Guilty as charged.” The Frenchman said. 

“How old were you on this? You look half the age of the others!”

“I started my career early and abruptly. Some would say I even started without knowing it myself. But to answer your question, I was in my early twenties in this picture.”

“Bloody hell… You look like an angel back then already.”

Lucien smiled. 

“Merci.”

“What did you do to get your face up there?”

“I helped in the Résistance to free France from the Germans. I started as a courier boy, delivering messages until I grew up and understood that my, ahem, ease to approach women could be an asset for the country. Countless Nazi were caught through their wives and their mysterious lover.”

“You…?”

“Mh-hm, me. I broke a lot of German hearts back then, even before France’s liberation.” Lucien chuckled.

“Wow… Id love to take a picture of it.”

“We could take it back, if you want.”

“What?! You wanna steal it?!”

“It is my face and I am dead. I can claim it back.” Lucien shrugged.

“Hm.” Mundy fell deep in thought. “You know what?”

“Mh?”

“Leave it there.”

“You have changed your mind?”

“Yeah, leave it there for folks to look up at you and remember you. You changed my life, yeah, but you also changed an entire country before that. Let them have a souvenir.”

Lucien smiled. 

“Very well, mon loup.”

The next day, the couple woke up with the first rays of light, wrapped in the satin sheet of the Coco Chanel suite at the Ritz.

“Lu’?”

“Oui?”

“Uhm, there’s somewhere I wanna take you today.”

“Oh?” Lucien’s surprise was obvious. Mundy wanted to take him somewhere? Where? Why? And above all, how? The Aussie had spent the past week or so following his lover blindly and complaining that he did not know how Lucien could know where he was going. “Sure, when do you want to go?”

“This evenin’, if that’s fine with you too. We can go have dinner somewhere and then we’ll go?”

“Perfect for me, Mundy.”

And for the entire day, Lucien kept on thinking about it. Where would Mundy take him…? Until of course it was time to go. He followed his tall lover through the streets. The Aussie stopped only a few times to check his map and make sure they were heading in the right direction. 

“Alright, should be after this street.”

They stopped when they reached beautiful dark blue, wrought-iron gates. 

“A park? You wanted to take me to a park?”

“I uh… I don't think it’s any odd park.” Mundy answered and Lucien frowned. They both entered and wandered inside, following the yellow narrow roads. 

“Why did you want to bring me here, Mundy?”

“I think you guessed why.” Mundy answered. “You know we’re not in any park.”

“Indeed, I do, so why here?”

“Because it’s part of you and it’s important.” Mundy answered before he stopped walking. “Now, you gotta guide me.”

Lucien took a deep breath and let it all out in a long sigh. 

“Très bien.” He started walking and it took a few minutes of silence before they reached their destination, under a tree. 

“Is it here?” Mundy asked. 

“Oui, it should be.”

“Gimme your blade.”

Lucien took it from his inner pocket and passed it to Mundy who went down to sit on his knees and started digging. The Frenchman waited, his arms wrapped around himself. He felt slightly cold even though the day had been scorching hot and he evening was still warm. 

“Here we go...!” Mundy unearthed a small tin box. “Let’s go back to the hotel.” He stood up and dusted his knees off before both him and Lucien headed back. 

When they were in their suite and alone, Mundy headed for the bathroom. He cleaned the box of all the soil on it and brought it back to the living-room on a towel. Lucien had been sitting on the sofa, his stare blank. 

“You alright?”

“Oui,” He shook his head as if to land back into reality. “I was just lost in thought.”

“C’mon, ask me.” Mundy said and Lucien sighed. 

“Why did you do this?”

“Because you told me that everythin’ that was you before was in a box, that you had buried it in a park in Paris as the rain was pouring down in the middle of the night. You told me that it has all sorts of things like pictures of you, maybe even of your family and everythin’.” 

Mundy took a deep breath and took Lucien’s hand in his. 

“It’s been one year of you and me bein’ a solid thing and it’s been even longer of us just spendin’ all our time together, and even longer of me lovin’ you to bits.” Lucien blushed at the last part and smiled shyly. “And today, it’s been exactly one year of us being a thing. I put a ring on your finger and you put one on mine one year ago exactly. I just… I don’t wanna make you feel bad at all, I love you, I just wanna see your life from before and beyond that, I want you to be at peace with what you were before.”

“Hm.”

“I don’t care what you were, I just want you to accept whatever's in that box as a part of you. It doesn’t need to be buried down in the ground, it shouldn’t be there. It should be with us, with our pictures and memories.”

Lucien had sat silently through his lover’s speech. 

“You understand, baby doll?”

Lucien raised his eyes to his lover. 

“You are right, Mundy.” He took the box and put it on his lap before gently opening it. “This is the only photo album I have ever bought in my life, before we got ours. The oldest pictures are of my parents, then me as a baby and a young boy. The next picture is when I was officially made a spy, after the end of the Second World War, during which I served in the Résistance.”

He flipped the pages and pointed for Mundy to follow.

“Wow, you were already gorgeous back then.”

“Thank you.” 

The Aussie wrapped an arm around his lover to pull him close and Lucien leaned on him.

“Mundy?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know which hpark it was?” Lucien asked. “I don’t think I mentioned the name of it.”

“I asked Maurice for the park where we could spend some quality time that would mean something for you.”

“Ah, I see.” Lucien turned the page. “This is the few pictures of Marie and Jérémy that I have.”

“She was real pretty.”

“Oui, she was.” Lucien smiled at the pictures. 

“And Jeremy kind of looked like you a bit, I mean, his hair’s lighter than yours but…”

“He was born blond like the sun.” Lucien said. “His hair darkened as he grew up and was dirty blond before he passed.”

“Oh, I see.”

“This is us, all together.”

“Look at you bein’ a dad… You look so comfy handlin’ the baby. I’m always scared when I’m handed a kid. Always scared to drop them or hurt them or somethin.”

Lucien smiled with nostalgia.

“You should not. They are indeed very fragile but you are very strong.” He turned his head and pushed his lips on Mundy’s. 

“Thanks, luv’.”

“Thank you.” Lucien put the photo album aside. 

“There’s more stuff in the box?”

“Oui. Here, this was my first ever blade.”

“Oh, you kept it?”

“Oui, as a souvenir. When I was in the Résistance, I never thought that doing what I was doing would turn me into a spy, get me a job and a life that is reasonably put together. I just did it because I could and I was told I had a gift for it.”

“And you went on to become the best spook ever.” Mundy said, recalling the portrait at the Ministry.

“Something like that.” Lucien smiled. “Here, this is all black and old, but it used to be silver and shining bright.” He handed a thin, yet very old string of metal to Mundy. 

“It’s a bracelet?”

“It bears my name on it. It is a common gift that young children are offered here. I kept mine because it reminded me of my mother, whom I loved beyond everything else. Oh and this is a very old and worn out thing now, but I used to wear it to cover my mouth and nose, for people to not recognise me when I worked to liberate France.”

“It’s a black bandana?”

“It used to be Burgundy red.”

“We could give a polish to your bracelet and a good wash to your bandana. I’m not good with clothes but I’m sure there’s ways to bring it back to life.”

“I think so, oui. Ah, there it is… Although it is broken, this used to be the bracelet that I offered to Marie, when we first started to meet each other regularly.”

“It’s a pearl bracelet?”

“Oui, I have always liked pearls on women, I think it might be because my mother used to have a pearl necklace that she treasured more than anything else. It was a gift from my father. I remember as a child, I one day found it as I was prying into whatever I could lay my hands on in the house and she told me off for touching it.”

“Oh, wow…”

“Wow indeed.” 

Mundy took a second to look at the way Lucien was looking at his belongings from another life. His eyes were almost dreamy and his gaze, very soft, filled with nostalgia and bittersweetness. And soon, the smile widened and it was not an awkward listing of antics but objects that threw the Frenchman’s mind back when pictures were only black and white, when uniforms were compulsory at school, when with a Franc, you could buy a mountain…

“Oh, I am enjoying this actually, Mundy.” Lucien raised his eyes to his lover. “Thank you so much, mon chéri.”

[My darling.]

“You're welcome. See? It’s better to acknowledge everythin’ and even if it's bad things or mistakes that you can only blame yourself for, so be it. The only way to repent I guess, is to not make those mistakes again.”

“You speak truth and wisdom. May God keep you by my side for as long as we want.”

“Amen, baby.”

“Thank you for… Well… Half-forcing me to do this. I realise that I should have done it long ago.”

“How d’you feel?” Mundy asked. 

“Better, lighter in a way.” Lucien wiped a silent tear. 

“Hey, you sure you good?”

“Oui, it is not tears of sadness. It is… The intensity of all this. Finding myself in the Ritz again, but this time, not on duty, not for business, just for our enjoyment, the breakfasts, lunches and dinners here now taste so much more flavourful, I never realised that their food was exquisite. I knew it but I never felt it as much as I have in these past few days. And the outings with you, seeing the sights, guiding you through Paris, telling you her story. It is better than a dream come true.”

Mundy smiled compassionately.

“Lu’?”

“Oui.”

“Happy first anniversary.”

“Oh…” The Frenchman dived head first into his lover’s chest and let the tears run down his face. 

“It’s ok, Lu’, I’m here.”

“This is why you wanted to take me to Paris?” Lucien pulled himself out of his lover's embrace.

“Yeah, for our anniversary.”

“Je t’aime, Mundy.”

[I love you, Mundy.]

Lucien took his handkerchief out and wiped his face. 

“Je t’aime aussi, mon Lucien.”

[I love you too, my Lucien.]

[some-serendipity-snail]

Dear Wormwood

There before the threshold I saw a brighter world beyond myself And in my hour of weakness You were there to see my courage fail For the years have been long And you have taught me well to sit and wait Planning without acting Steadily becoming what I hate

Pairing: Dengar x (Gender Neutral) Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Amnesia, Fluff

Summary: After Dengar’s near-fatal accident, he’s not been the same man you remember. Read below the cut!

How it had happened was a mystery to you. To both of you, considering that he had forgotten anything about the event at all. In fact, he had forgotten a lot. He had forgotten the dangerous job he’d taken on, how reckless his experimental tactics had been, where he’d left his holopad, and most notably-- you.

You terrified him when he woke up. He had jolted awake, instinctively making an attempt to snatch one of his blasters from his hip. Only to realize he could not move. Dengar had sunk his teeth into a slab of meat far too big and tough to take a bite of. You’d tried to warn him, said the job didn’t sound safe, that he should reconsider. He had merely answered your worries with a pat to the head and a “bah, been on harder jobs!” 

That had been months ago.

Between then and now, he had gradually regained his strength and his mobility. However, the scars were stubborn, many of his limbs had required cybernetic replacement or assistance. Dengar had accepted the fact that you were here to help him, he was friendly toward you again. But he did not remember you. For what medicine could remedy a wound so invisible, intangible? Every day seemed to get more difficult to concede with the fact that he might never remember, but you had to keep trying. For him. Presently, the source of this complicated mess of emotions sat idly stirring a spoon in a mug of caf he’d made for himself. He was quite proud of it, he’d been unable to do even the most menial of tasks for far longer than he was comfortable with. He had been so dejected for so long, it melted you to see him smiling crookedly down at the dark liquid. Feeling your gaze on him, Dengar flicked his ocean gaze to you and snorted.

“What?”

You mirrored that snarky smile of his, rolling your eyes. Although he didn’t quite remember why you were here, and why you cared so much about his healing, he did seem to understand that you didn’t mind his stupid puns and smoldering humor. He liked to flirt with you, but couldn’t see just how bittersweet and melancholy it made you. He saw you, he enjoyed your company. But that creeping, incessant, obnoxious nagging swelled in the depths of your mind with the meagerest smile. You could never share those wordless, sidelong glances the two of you shared when the sun had sunk low in the sky, painting the world a technicolor dreamscape, full of tender emotion. He could never understand the jokes you’d coined together, the words that could send both of you into hysterics based on a moment so brief, you were surprised sometimes that you could even recall it. You weren’t even sure if you could rekindle the fire that had once been there. He was a shell of the man he had been. He didn’t joke or laugh as much as he used to. He didn’t hum under his breath when he thought he was alone. He no longer drummed his fingers along the windowsill, rambling to you about all the things he wanted to do when he got the money. You might never hear another one of his poems, scribbled down on a discarded piece of flimsi. To see him so sullen and lost; it tore you apart.

“How’s the caf?”

“Ehh, nothin’ special,” as he muttered his reply, a hand reached up to subconsciously tug at the bandages wrapped around his skull. He’d been doing that a lot lately. He missed his hair. You’d assured him it would grow back in due time, but he wasn’t convinced. As he brought his hand back down, his muscles spasmed briefly, causing the machinery in his new hand to knock the cup of caf out of his other hand.

Both of you scrambled to catch it, he ended up grabbing the mug by the handle, his fist balled aggressively around it. Looking from the mug to you, his eyes were wide as his expression of shock shifted to a relieved sort of laugh. He chuckled and shook his head, moving to set the mug on the table. But his metal grip must have been too tight because the cup’s handle shattered in his grip. You gasped in shock, his smile faltered. The glass, broken off of its handle, clattered to the floor, the hot liquid splattering onto the tile. He didn’t even say anything, just hung his head in his hands, his elbows rested on the table. Cursing under his breath, his shoulders slumped and shook, a noise emitting from his chest. For a moment, you thought he was crying. Concerned, you approached him, stepping cautiously over the broken pieces and the spilled beverage. But you soon realized he was laughing. Somehow, that only increased your worry. Gently, you placed a hand on his back, rubbing it in slow circles. You tried a small smile, hoping to keep his hopes up.

“Ah, didn’t much like that mug anyway.” “You’re wasting your time with me, y’know?”

Taken aback, your rubbing abruptly stopped as you stared down at him. He did not meet your gaze. Furrowing your brows, you scoffed at that comment.

“Why? Because you dropped a cup? I’m a lot clumsier than-” “Pretty person like you could be anywhere you want and instead, you’re choosin’ to sit here with a trainwreck. I think it’s time you think about leavin’.”

An emotion you couldn’t quite place stirred in your belly as you glared at him. You knew he was just upset, that he didn’t know what he was saying. To him, you were just some good-hearted friend that pitied his horrible condition. But he was regaining his strength. Maybe he wanted to be alone. But you- you didn’t want that to be the end of it. You sat in the chair across from the one he occupied. Crossing your arms over your chest, you firmly shook your head, refusing his implications.

“Nope, not leaving you.”

There was anger, unbridled rage in those sky blue eyes of his as he lifted his head to meet your glowering. But behind that, there were tears. Almost immediately, your persona crumbled. Reaching out to him, he recoiled with a grimace.

“You never do listen, do you? I don’t need your help- never did, love.”

Standing, he seemed to be making his way toward the door. It wasn’t the first time he’d stormed out like this, but he’d never said anything like that to you before. He’d never shown you any hostility- not like this. You were dumbstruck, had to take a moment to process what had just happened. As soon as you came back to your senses, you chased after him. Of course, you caught up to him easily. He was still getting used to all those new limbs of his after all. Placing yourself between Dengar and the door, you huffed indignantly, he flashed you a look, growling in aggravation. What in hells was going on with him? Where was he even trying to go?

“Stop! Where- what are you trying to do?”

“If you’re not gonna leave, I will,” Dengar assured, snatching a blaster from one of the nearby shelves. “And you are gonna stay out of my way, got that?”

“Absolutely not. You need to stay here, with me.”

“Why’s that? Y’think I’m weak, dontcha? Sorry to break it to you, darling. But I ain’t weak.”

“I didn’t say that!” You were clearly exasperated, throwing your hands up in the air.

“Then what is it, huh? There’s gotta be some reason. Y’just feel bad for me? Ohh poor old Dengar, so sad and lonely, poor Dengar. Some kicked puppy you make me out to be.” There was venom in his tone, his lilting tone mocked your voice as he batted his lashes and clasped his hands together. His brow knitted together, regarding you with a pained kind of distaste.

“No it’s- I can’t- Dengar, you know I care about you!” “Do you?” he was feigning false understanding.

Before you could even try to say anything else, he was already pushing past you with an acquired strength you didn’t even know he’d had in him. He shoved you out of his way, but you grabbed his arm. Snapping his head to look at your hand, then at you, he wrenched it off. But you just grabbed him with your other hand. Taking him by both his shoulders, it just slipped.

“I love you, Dengar!”

Both of you were equally as shocked. Jaw slack, he stared, skeptical. Not knowing what to do, you pulled him closer to you and closed the distance between you both. When your lips met his, he wasn’t fighting it. Your mouth remembered the feel of his, you’d longed for it. You could have burst into tears right then, savoring this stupid moment of impulse. Dengar was stiff for what felt like forever. But then, you felt his hands rest on your hips. He slowly gave in, eventually returning your kiss. You gently pressed him against the wall behind him, tilting your head to deepen the embrace. His arms wrapped around you now, the kiss becoming much more heated and passionate. All those pent-up emotions- on both sides- poured out, spilling into each other with every movement. The world disappeared. Everything, all the fear, and the panic, and the heartache; it went away for just this short sliver of time. And for the first time in a long time, you thought maybe there was hope. Maybe he would remember you. Remember all the things you promised you would do together. Remember how extravagant he wanted your wedding to be, how absolutely sloshed he was planning on getting. How he’d have to ask one of the boys to be his best man. Remember the family he’d stayed up all night many cycles ago to tell you he wanted to start with you. All the plants he planned on filling the apartment with.

Feeling him pull away, you did the same. You were pulled back to the present, and realized now that he likely wouldn’t react in the happiest manner. But as you gazed into his eyes, his expression was tender, the tears had returned, pricking at the corner of those gorgeous eyes of his eyes. He reached out to cup your cheek in one of his palms, his voice choked as he murmured to you.

“I know who you are, now…”

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Mission of Mercy: One

“Where’s she headed?” Bucky asked watching the woman loading the back of her small SUV with a duffle bag and assorted odds and ends.

She was a friend of Sam’s, one from his days at the VA, Bucky knew, but he couldn’t remember her name. Sam had got her the gig with SHEILD. I guess he figured they all needed counseling. Or a team mom. Or whatever it was she did. Outreach, Bucky figured. Generating good PR. 

“Looks like a mission of Mercy,” Sam said with a small, slightly sad smile. Bucky looked at him for explanation and Sam sighed, instantly looking sadder and a few years older. 

“She’s a third generation Army Brat,” Sam explained. “Dad never came home from Desert Storm and Brother didn’t come back from… whatever the fuck he was doing. Mom was a VA nurse before she retired… So Y/N knows a lot of grumpy old fucks that don’t like to leave their houses. She makes rounds a few times a week still, for the people she’s known since she was just a kid. Friends of her dad’s, some cousins twice removed.”

Bucky exhaled slowly and nodded. That he hadn’t known. He’d never really paid that much attention to you. But now he looked again. You were packing down styrofoam coolers with what looked like milk, eggs, cheese, and assorted lunch meat. And you had a few labeled boxes of cans. A couple cases of beer… That made Bucky smile a little. And he could respect what you were doing. 

“Y/N!” Sam called across the motor pool, “Who’s on your list?”

“Joe, Rocky, and Cooksy, at least for today,” you answer, “Mac and Wild man are still in the nursing home for rehab.”

“Joe, huh?” Sam said walking over, Bucky trailing after him looking confused.

“You wanting to go along?” you ask, smiling, tightening the ratchet straps that held the styrofoam coolers in place.

“That old man still owes me a rematch,” Sam said grinning. 

“Rematch in what?” Bucky asked, catching a case of beer that had started to slide of it’s perch and slotting it carefully into an open space for you. 

“Dice,” you snort, “Sam swears he cheats.” You give Bucky a smile of thanks and slot a small gift bag in next to the case and Bucky has to look away from you. His face feels hot and he feels like you’re looking through him. So he looks at your hands. Work roughened. Nails bitten to the quick. Useful hands. Not just ornaments at the ends of your wrists. Efficient. 

“He Does!” Sam’s voice breaks through Bucky’s distraction and jolts him back to the world. Back out of his head. And for that, Bucky is momentarily grateful. And a scolding gasp from you immediately makes him too aware. 

“Get off my bread you fucking heathen,” you grouse, only half playing as you give Sam a shove away from a bag.

“My bad,” Sam said, quickly, holding his hands up in surrender, “You got a minute though?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “Go get your stuff. I don’t want to wake Joe up before he’s ready.”

Sam gives you a grin and trots off and Bucky sighs, mentally trying to figure out what to do with the rest of his day. He didn’t want to assume he was going. 

“Joe did intelligence work during WWII,” you tell him, “You guys can always swap some bullshit stories… If you want to come.”

Bucky looked at you. You aren’t looking at him, instead you’re leaning on the bumper of your car and looking somewhere not quite the middle distance, but at something, anything else. And he can’t decide if you’re nervous or just awkward. And he can’t decide how he feels about making you nervous. He was nervous. His palms felt clammy and the rolling in his stomach couldn’t decide if it wanted to be butterflies or hornets. 

“Joe won’t mind?” Bucky asked. 

“A friend of mine is a friend of his,” you say, and Bucky can see that the corner of your mouth is upturned in a smile. “He’s a cousin… kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“He’s a cousin of a friend of my mom’s… He used to look after me sometimes when mom had to run a night shift.”

Bucky nodded, “That-” he couldn’t decide if that was “nice,” or “Cool,” or “weird.” 

“He taught me how to draw in three point perspective, gamble, and make a decent martini,” you say, and Bucky can hear the fondness in your voice. “Most importantly I guess, he never let me be a weirdo by myself.”

Bucky let himself chuckle. And when you chanced looking up at him, the rolling in his stomach decided it was butterflies. 

You were smiling. The kind of smile that would be seductive outlines in red. But right now? With no make up on and your hair falling out of a haphazard ponytail? You looked like a kid about to cause trouble. And he wanted to see what trouble that was going to be. 

Sam retuned before Bucky could formulate something flirty to say. Something that wouldn’t sound too dirty or too corny. Something that might make you swoon a little... though. As you swore at Sam across the motorpool telling him to hurry the fuck up, Bucky doubted very much that you had ever swooned in your life. But he could absolutely see that having a grumpy old man baby sit you had had some other amusing outcomes. 

Swear words didn’t look like they fit you. Your mouth was too sweet looking and the words were too blunt and ugly. It looked like they would fit wrong and come out worse. But. The way you said them was so casual. As if you had never not said them. And that… For some reason, tickled Bucky. He likes smart girls. He liked girls with a temper. And listening to you bicker with Sam just… It definitely burst some more butterflies out of their cocoons. It was nice, Sam having to put up with a smart mouth instead of being the one to dish it out. 

__________

The drive was fine. 

Sam didn’t even complain about the music you played. A blend that gave Bucky whiplash and something of a headache behind his eyes. But. That wasn’t your fault. A lot of the music past his own time did that. 

The Audio bombast of discordant sounds and coded meanings of the ever evolving slang was… a lot. So he mostly focused on the scenery. The cars. The people. The sky. The architecture. That helped. Some things about New York would probably never really change. There were more people now. Fewer dresses and more people in pants… And fewer roving packs of kids. But. It felt the same.

It wasn’t until he was standing on the doorstep. He and Sam looming over you like bodyguards that he noticed differences. The lack of washing hung out to dry. The consistent low hum of multiple air conditioners. The lack of kid noises. The lack of… community. The way everyone was together, and apart simultaneously. 

But when the door swung open slowly, and Bucky was greeted by a little old man. One with thick glasses, a bald head, and stooped shoulders. A neck that made him look like a turtle… A sudden warmth washed over him. 

“There’s my favorite ray of Sunshine,” he said, pulling you into an unembarrassed hug. The kind men in his time reserved for their mothers and beloved children. “And my second favorite pain in the ass!” he said, rasping a laugh as he clasped Sam’s hand in his. 

“I moved up a spot,” Sam chuckled.

 “Eh, the neighbor’s dog died last week,” Joe said, giving Bucky a steady, appraising look.

“Aww, Bear died?” you say sadly, “poor old man… How’s Irene doing with it?”

Joe turned back towards you and chucked you under the chin gently with a small smile. Bucky didn’t miss the tears that had welled up, and evidently, neither had the old man. “She’s heart broke,” he said, “But, she told me to tell you he loved the blanket and it made his last couple weeks more cozy.”

Joe stepped back and ushered you into the house, letting you pass him to go and quietly pull yourself back together, Bucky figured. The butterflies in his stomach catching a sudden chill. 

“Who’s he?” Joe asked, arms folding across his scrawny chest as he straightened himself to his full height… or as close to it as he could manage.

“Winter Soldier,” Sam said grinning, clapping him on the shoulder before going to get the stuff you had for him out of your trunk.

“No shit?” Joe said, adjusting his glasses.

“No shit,” Sam answered, calling over his shoulder. 

“Well Son,” he said to Bucky, “Come on in. I gotta add a bottle of Jack to my grocery list… it looks like I lost a bet.”

And Bucky can’t help it. He laughs.

In the Hall, just inside the door, Bucky  can hear you rattling around. It sounds like dishes being done. And maybe a broom being used and Joe shakes his head. “She’ll make someone a nice wife some day, but fuck if I know what kind of man could handle her.”

Bucky wasn’t sure if that was for him to hear or just Joe Musing to himself out loud, but he smiled anyway and followed him inside. On the walls, there were pictures. Covered bridges, flower gardens, portraits… Presumably of people that the old man knew. Or had known. And the smell of dust and old paper. Decades of smoke from meals cooked and packs of cigarettes. It smelled like age. A sepia tone that mellowed and dulled all the colors around him. But somehow there was nothing harsh. Or forbidding. 

“Will you sit down?” The old man groused, “I have a broad that comes in and does all that shit.”

“Then you’re paying her too much because she ain’t been doin’ it right, old man,” you tell him over your shoulder as you rinse a plate. 

“Bah,” Joe said, flapping his hands at you. Clearly realizing that this wasn’t a fight he could win as he lowered himself into his spot at the kitchen table. “Siddown, son,” he said to Bucky, “Take a load off and let these stupid kids do the grunt work.”

“Kids,” Sam scoffed, putting boxes on the counter with an eye roll as he nudged you.

“I hear him,” you snort. “Careful old man,” you tease, “You’re cruisin’ for a bruisin and at your age, replacement parts are hard to come by.”

“Listen Heifer,” Joe said, eyes dancing behind his thick glasses, “If you wanna kick my old ass, you better pack a lunch.”

You shake your head, and pull the top off a styrofoam cooler, “I got your lunch meat and some eggs. That was it right?”

“Yup,” Joe said, “How much do I owe you?”

“A Dr. Pepper,” you answer over your shoulder, making Joe give you a stern look. 

“Young Lady-”

“You’re not giving me money, ya old coot,” you say, more fond than scolding as you kiss the top of his bald head.

“The hell I’m not-”

“I’ll tell momma and she’ll have both our asses. Me for taking the money and you for payin’ me.”

“She’s got you there Joe,” Sam said, grinning. 

“You shaddup,” Joe said grumpily, eyeing your back. And Bucky could see he was trying to gauge how likely it was that he could slip you some money without you knowing you’d been given any. Bucky grinned and Caught Sam’s eye before bumping the table with his knee to get the old man’s attention.

Once the Old man’s sharp eyes had fixed on him, Bucky glanced meaningfully towards the coat rack. Where your jacket hung so conveniently.And Joe followed his gaze, he grinned and touched his nose in acknowledgement. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ do it,” you say not turning around. 

And Joe made a silent “rats” gesture, before sticking his tongue out at your back

[mldrgrl]

Broken Things 9/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

He likes her more and more with every minute that passes.  In some ways she reminds him of his sister.  Samantha was such a determined and spirited little girl and he can see the same qualities in Katherine, though it’s clear she tries to suppress them.  He suspects that’s a product of both her upbringing and her previous marriage.

He’s excited to get her settled on the ranch and to have her there.  As a man raised by a strong woman of considerable influence, he’s missed both the female perspective and the companionship.  There is a different energy that women bring with them that has been inspiring poets and heroes throughout history.  Perhaps that energy is what Monica Doggett was referring to when she was talking about auras.

The ranch is alive with activity when he arrives.  Jesse and Jimmy are training in the corral.  Richard is mending fence posts and Trevor is moving the sheep from grazing back to the pen, with Queenie keeping the small herd in line.  Melvin is nowhere in sight, which could mean he’s getting supper together or tinkering in the barn.

Mulder stops the wagon just outside the barn.  He helps Katherine down and she waits to help with the unloading of her things.  He gives her the valise and insists on doing the rest even though it will take a few trips.

“Go on ahead,” he tells her.  “I’m going to see to the horses and I’ll be along in a minute.”

Trevor comes along as Mulder is unhitching the wagon and he takes the horses away to be watered and fed.  Before he unloads the packages he stops by the corral and checks in with Jesse and Jimmy on the training.

With his arms loaded with packages, he steps into Katherine’s room, but stays just inside the doorway to wait to be invited in.  She has removed her hat and has the valise opened and is standing before the open wardrobe.

“Looks like Melvin has been busy,” Mulder says, noting the vase of fresh wildflowers on the side table and the quilt folded at the foot of the bed.  The room smells of lemons and a feather duster has been abandoned on the side of the wash stand.

“He shouldn’t have gone to any trouble on my account,” she says.

“I’ll be sure to scold him later and send him to bed without supper.  Where would you like these?”

“I’ll take them.”

He hands off the packages to her and she places them almost gently on the bed and then touches one almost reverently.  He wonders when the last time she had something new and for herself was.  He hopes she got everything she needed and at least a few things that she just wanted.

“I need to take care of a few things with the horses so I’ll let you settle in.”

“I’d like to get started on my responsibilities as soon as possible.”

“You wouldn’t like a day or two to yourself before you start taking things on?”

“No, thank you, I like to keep occupied.”

“I’ll track Melvin down and send him to you.”

“I’ll put my things away then and wait here.”

Mulder takes a few steps to the bed and then twirls a bit of the twine knotting one of her packages around one finger.  “This is your home now,” he says.  “You are the lady of the house.”

“Are you trying to gently remind me that I should not act as a guest here?”

“Or reminding myself not to treat you like one.”

“Then I will find Mr. Frohike as soon as I have unpacked my things and have him show me what needs to be done.”

“As my lady wishes.”  Mulder smiles and then bows slightly.  “I will see you at supper.”

↭

She doesn’t have to find Mr. Frohike, he finds her, whistling as he enters the room and then stops when he sees her.  He’s carrying two oil lamps, one in each hand.  She has just finished putting her packages away in the wardrobe and is folding the paper and balling the twine to repurpose at some point.

“Mr. Frohike,” she says.  “Please, come in.”

“Pardon me for not knockin’, Madam,” he says.  “I didn’t know you was here.  And we’re not big on formalities, you can just call me Melvin.”

“Only if you call me Katherine.  Could I help you with those?”

“These are for you, actually.  I was just makin’ sure they were filled and the wicks were cut.  Got one for the table and one for the desk.  I can rustle up a few more, I think, if’n you want.”  He sets the lamps down where he said they belonged and then grabs the feather duster that was left behind and shoves it handle-first into the back pocket of his pants.

“No, I can make do just fine with these.  I’m glad you’re here, I was just going to come look for you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, I’m ready for you to show me what my duties are.”

“Duties, huh?  What kind of duties you after?”

“Cooking, cleaning, mending.  Or anything else you think I should take care of.”

“Oh, so Mulder brought you here to overthrow me, did he?”

“You can think of it as lightening your load.”

“Alright then, I’ll give you the rundown on who does what ‘round here.”

Katherine learns that Trevor is the youngest and newest hand on the ranch.  He’s sixteen, orphaned from a tender age, and came through town at the beginning of summer, looking for work.  Melvin happened to be at the sawmill that day for some lumber when he came asking.  He took one look at the boy and knew he was still too puny for hard labor, so he brought him to the ranch and Mulder put him to work seeing to the livestock.

The livestock, she soon learns, was also unintentional.  They started with keeping chickens for the eggs, but then Mulder started taking in injured or abandoned animals.  It was fairly common for folks to pick up stakes after some time and turn their stock out when they left.  And there were also folks who Mulder may have nursed a sick horse back to health for and they may have shown him their gratitude for his time with a pig or a goat.

“That old gal right there,” Melvin says, pointing out a grey goat mixed in amongst the sheep.  “She’s called Lucy, which is short for Lucifer.  Folks dropped her off with us and said she was the devil himself and they were either going to put her down or see if Mulder could tame her, since he’s so good at breakin’ horses.”

“She looks alright to me.”

“Oh, she is now.  Sweet as pie.  Mulder knew there was somethin’ bothering her from the start.  Said she was buttin’ and stompin’ because she was mighty afraid and just pretendin’ not to be.  Turns out, them chickens at her old place were harassin’ her and causin’ the terrible disposition.”

“How did Mulder know that?”

“He says he asked her and she told him.”  Melvin laughs.  “Likely he just observed that she got ornery when the ladies of the coop got to cluckin’ and put two and two together.  He moved the goat pen to the far end over here, away from all them chickens and now she’s got no worries as long as they keep to their end of the ranch.  The folks said we could keep her and so we’ve had her with us since.”

“He really cares for these animals, doesn’t he?”

“That he does.”

She learns that Jesse and Jimmy are brothers, the youngest of a family of eight.  Their parents have a sheep farm about fifty miles out on the way to Fort Worth.  Their two oldest brothers and their wives run the place now and Jesse and Jimmy figured it was time to set off and do for themselves.  A lot of mouths to feed out there and there wasn’t much of a place for them any longer.  Jimmy is the same age as she is, twenty-two, and Jesse is only a year older.  They’ve been working for Mulder for more than two years and spend most of their time helping with the exercising and training of all the horses.  At Mulder’s insistence, they ride out and spend at least one week’s end with their family every few months.

Mulder met Richard in Fort Worth when he was there doing some trading.  He was skin and bones and crazy whiskers when he boldly went up to Mulder’s wagon, opened the jockey box, and started tinkering with the wheels.  When Mulder asked him just what in the hell he thought he was doing, Richard shrugged and said that the pivot was loose and the pin needed fixing.  

Richard could fix just about anything, but he’d been kicked out of the army for arguing with the sergeants one too many times.  They don’t know nothing about nothing, is what he will say about that.

“He’s a bit of a lone wolf,” Melvin says.  “Set in his ways and nobody can tell him nothin’ when he’s tryin’ to solve a problem.  Got hisself a temper, but only takes it out on hisself too.  Got a wanderin’ spirit, and I think he would pick up and go sometimes if’n the streets hadn’t been so mean to him, poor beanpole.”

“What about you?” Katherine asks.

“I’ve been here from the beginning.”

“But, what’s your story?”

“Bah.  I ain’t got a story.”

“You don’t have to tell me.  I know that some things have to be kept inside.”

“It’s time we started on supper, let’s get on in the kitchen.”

Katherine follows Melvin into the house, noticing as he walks up the stairs that he has a hint of a limp.  He shows her where pots and pans are, where the dishes are, where the spices are kept, how to open the cellar door for the canned vegetables and salted meats.  She learns what the boys like for breakfast, what a typical noon dinner is like, and when supper is served.  

Melvin is slicing beef steaks and she is slicing potatoes when he starts to talk.  “I had a wife once,” he says.  “Eliza.  Her family settled near ours in what’s now called Lee’s Summit in Missouri.  She showed up at the schoolhouse one day with her sister Becky and I was smitten.”

“How old were you then?”

“Nine.  She was eight, but she was one of them kids that takes to book learnin’ like a duck to water, so teacher put her next to me to share my reader and work on sums together.  I knew I was going to marry her the day I met her.”

“And you did.”

“Yes, we did.  I was seventeen, she was sixteen.  I got a little plot of land to start a farm and she wanted to be a teacher.  We did good that year.  The crops were profitable and she was teachin’ at a nearby settlement called Blue Springs.”

“Excuse me a minute, I’m going to put these potatoes on to boil.”

“Almost done with these steaks here and I’ll help with the carrots.”

They move about the kitchen in silence for a few minutes as they tend to supper.  She checks the fire on the stove while he greases a pan and then she starts to chopping up carrots and he joins her.

“We weren’t too far off from Independence,” he says, continuing his story from where he left off.  “People were comin’ through all the time gettin’ themselves ready to head out to the Oregon territory.”

“I’ve heard tales about the journey.  They say it was long and harsh.”

“Yes, it was.”  Melvin stops chopping for a moment and looks off into the distance.

“You went to the Oregon territory?”

“Eliza had an adventurous spirit.  As a girl, her family come to Missouri from Wisconsin, and I think she remembered the trek with a child’s excitement.  All them folks comin’ through, eager for new land, new starts and the like, it caught her like a fever.”

“She wanted to go, but you didn’t?”

“I wanted what she wanted.  We waited until the followin’ spring, sold the farm, and then headed out to join a caravan up in Independence.  Our parents begged us not to go, said it was too dangerous and we ought to stay right where we were with our nice farm and all our family and our friends.  But, Eliza could not be swayed and so neither could I.”

“You were eighteen then?”

“Just turned nineteen.  We left the day before Eliza’s eighteenth birthday, the twenty-sixth of April, 1850.”

“I bet that feels like a lifetime ago for you now.”

“Several lifetimes.  You know, I just had a thought, if we peel up them apples Mulder brung in, we could spice them for dessert.  The boys will like that.”

“I’ll get them.”

Melvin gathers the carrots into a bowl to boil when the potatoes are finished and he checks the fire in the stove this time while Katherine gathers the apples.  It takes her some time to find the peeling knives, and she makes a few mental notes on how she’d like to organize the kitchen when she takes it over to maximize efficiency.  She’ll have to ask Melvin about it later so as not to cause any offense.

“What happened next?” Katherine asks, as they sit down to peel the apples.

“The first part of the journey weren’t so bad,” he answers.  Nothin’ real excitin’ to look at, but the journey itself was excitin’ enough, I think.  We got to Fort Kearney where people did some swappin’ and then we followed a river up to Fort Laramie.  I got a little worried because even in the summer it was so cold up there, but Eliza said it was nothin’ what compared to a Wisconsin winter.  And the rain was just...so many folks got themselves stuck in mud and we had to leave them behind and hope they’d catch up down the way.  We come close a few times, but I think I had the strongest oxen on the earth and they managed to pull us out.  I wish they hadn’t, though.”

“You wanted to be stuck?”

Melvin is quiet for a few moments.  “We carved our initials on this great big hump of a rock they call the Register of the Desert.  Soon after we made a slow climb up into the mountains and on to Fort Hall.  By that time there was only half of the caravan left.  Some folks just gived up a long way back and turned for home, some folks just died where they was because it was too hot or they were too sickly or it was just too dadgum tough.”

“Did you ever think about turning back?”

“All the time.  I think I knew it was a mistake before we even set out, but Eliza was as certain as I was skeptical.”

“What happened, Melvin?”

“They’re called the Blue Mountains.  Steep, hard to navigate, rough terrain.  I told Eliza to get on in the back of the wagon because I was afraid she’d fall off the seat, it was so uneven.  The oxen were slippin’ and I could tell they were tired, but we couldn’t stop.  I’ve never been so grateful for anything in all my life when we reached the top and I figured the way down would be easier.  It was just too narrow.  Too dadgum narrow.”

Katherine stops her peeling and puts a hand over Melvin’s.  He lays down his peeling knife and lifts one arm to wipe his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt.  She finds that her own eyes are wet and she doesn’t need him to say anything else to know the rest.

“I’m sorry,” she says.  “You don’t need to tell me anymore.”

“It’s alright.  It’s been thirty-six years, but it stays fresh in my mind.  The back wheel went off the path and I know them oxens tried real hard to pull it out, but the fact is, it was just too heavy for them and it happened too fast.  We overturned and providence saw to it that I landed with no more than a busted ankle, but Eliza was inside the wagon.  I always wonder if things could’ve turned out different if’n I hadn’t told her to go on and get in back.”

“I ask myself a variation of that question all the time.  I try not to think like that, but I know it’s harder said than done.”

“It pains me the most that I was spared, and not her.  I made it to Oregon with a family that carted me and my busted ankle in the back of their wagon, but she was the one that wanted to go.  I spent a lot of years after that feelin’ sorry for myself, roamin’ around this country and refusin’ to settle.”

“You didn’t go back to Missouri?”

“Not ever.  I couldn’t face Eliza’s parents after what happened.  Or her sister.”

“And you didn’t remarry?”

“There’s no one compares to Eliza.”

“How did you end up here?”

“Same way you did, I guess.  Or Richard, or them goats or the whole lot of us.  We was in the right place at the right time and we run into a collector of broken things.”  Melvin wipes his eyes once more and then lightly slaps the table.  “So, that’s my story.  Maybe one day you’ll tell me yours.”

“Perhaps I will,” she says.  Unlikely, she thinks.

[elisaphoenix13]

Once Upon A Summer (Ch.4)

Tony woke the next morning...on his own? It was nice to sleep in a little since Peter had woken up a few times throughout the night and he wasn't about to complain. He didn't even feel like getting a few more minutes of sleep, so he sat up and looked over at the crib. Only to find it empty. Either Peter had regained his ability to climb on the walls, or Stephen had once again walked into his room to retrieve the infant. After a quick glance around his room and finding it devoid of a spider baby, Tony rolls out of bed to go confirm his suspicions. He made sure he looked somewhat presentable before he left his room because he still had an image to maintain... although, then again...Stephen saw him drooling.

What he saw when he walked down the stairs to the kitchen was nothing short of heart warming. Stephen had indeed taken Peter from Tony's bedroom, and he was in the middle of trying to feed the baby some puree which proved to be difficult if the sorcerer's shaking was anything to go by. Stephen looked determined to get his trembling under control, and Peter was sitting there with his mouth open and clearly all the patience in the world.

Maybe deep down his teen self understood Stephen's struggle and forced his baby self not to fuss? This all happened because of magic so it wouldn't surprise Tony if his kid had some semblance of control over his six-month old self. Even from a few feet away, Tony could see Stephen's full mug of tea that he would bet money had gone cold ages ago.

"Any requests for breakfast?" Tony finally asks and winces when the younger man jumps and misses Peter's mouth. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

Stephen sighs and lowers the spoon to wipe his missed attempt off Peter's face. "It's alright. Maybe you're better off taking over. He's gotten maybe five spoonfuls since I started feeding him."

"Nonsense. Pete was happy that you took the time to try." Tony says and walks over to kiss the top of the baby's head. The giggle he got in response was a nice way to start his morning. "I'll make breakfast and you can keep feeding him. Don't think too much about it."

"Tony, I have permanent nerve damage that causes me chronic pain every day." Stephen sighs again and Tony frowns.

"Sorry. I didn't realize the pain was that bad." Without thinking, the engineer gently takes one of Stephen's hands and balks at the feeling of cold skin. "Yeesh! Your hands are like ice!"

Tony starts to gently rub his thumbs along Stephen's hand to help stimulate some blood flow and hopefully warm up his hands, and the doctor remains silent. He didn't even realize the situation they were in until he was almost done with the first hand and ready to grab the other to give it the same treatment. Tony didn't stop though. Stephen didn't protest and already his mind was coming up with something he could make that would at least help with Stephen's pain. Maybe some gloves? Nothing too fancy. The sorcerer seemed more humble than his previous life as a famous neurosurgeon.

"Your noses are similar." Stephen suddenly mutters and the seemingly out of the blue comment makes Tony falter for a millisecond before he continues his massage.

"Just so we're on the same page here…" Tony starts and then trails off in the hopes that Stephen will explain what's going on in his head.

"Yours and Peter's." Stephen elaborates. "I noticed it while I was trying to feed him but once you came down...I saw it on you too."

"It's just a nose Doc."

"There are other similarities." Stephen says and Tony meets his eyes.

A grey-blue that looked right back at him with... curiosity? Stephen was studying him. And then the baby in the high chair. And then back at him.

"Please don't take this the wrong way...but did you ever have women claiming they had your child?" The doctor suddenly asks.

The bluntness of his question definitely sent Tony reeling for half a minute.

"Uh...yeah? Kind of comes with the territory of being me and my past." Tony finally answers, though he wasn't sure why he did in the first place.

"Do you remember every woman?"

Tony winces. No...he didn't. There were times he definitely had company but he had no memory of taking them home or to his hotel room, and sometimes even woke up alone. There may have been a small possibility that he got someone pregnant and she actually didn't claim to--

"What are you getting at?" Tony sputters out and then clears his throat once he realizes how ridiculous he sounded.

"Is...there a chance you may be Peter's father?" Stephen asks carefully and Tony feels his mouth go dry.

"What? No. He had a dad. Peter's parents died in a plane crash when he was little. Like 5 or 6." Tony shakes his head.

"His father could easily be someone who took responsibility for Peter's care because he loved him and his mother." Stephen points out.

Tony looks at Stephen flatly, but he had to concede to the sorcerer's point. He doubted Peter shared any of his DNA, but he could understand where Stephen's train of thought was going. What if Peter really was his son? It wouldn't change much since he kind of already thought of the kid like his own...but related by blood still made his mind spin. Peter was an amazing kid. Smart enough to keep up with Tony, and weirdly adorable for being sixteen. Of course he was overly obsessed with Star Wars and a chatterbox but Tony was able to overlook that. Peter always tried to do what he thought was best.

"I think whatever similarities you see are just a coincidence." Tony says. "He's my kid, but he's not my kid."

Stephen raises an eyebrow before grabbing his cold mug of tea and getting up. "Maybe...but I think you should take the paternity test."

"Will it get you to drop the subject?" Tony turns to finish feeding Peter. The baby boy really did have all the patience in the world if he sat in his highchair and waited for Tony to finish with Stephen's hand without a fuss.

"I guess it doesn't matter either way. You did say he's your kid." Stephen replies as he dumps out his cold tea and goes about making some more.

Tony never thought he would have tea in his house. He didn't even drink it when he was sick. But it was what Stephen preferred and Tony couldn't help but make sure the doctor had everything he could ever want. He'd heard of Stephen and even saw him at a few galas and the doctor had an ego on par with Tony's. But after Stephen's accident and the man was said to have disappeared, he came home humble...and broke. It made Tony wonder how Stephen was affording food.

Did he do birthday parties…?

"Bah!" Peter yells out and smacks his hands on the tray of his highchair. It effectively broke Tony out of his thoughts and turned his attention to the baby. Covered in food.

"Alright, alright. Let me get a washcloth." Tony chuckles.

"Here." Stephen holds out a wet washcloth before Tony can get up and then sips his hot tea. "Thank you again for ordering the tea."

"Sure. Like I said, you can get whatever you want. The chocolate I ordered for you should arrive today."

Stephen glances at Tony over his mug as the engineer wipes Peter's face clean. "Umm... chocolate?"

"Yeah. You like chocolate don't you?" Tony asks and gets up to pick up Peter from the high chair. "There you go Underoos. How are those gums huh?"

Tony persuades the infant to open his mouth and inspects his gums. Peter giggles when Tony obnoxiously turns his head this way and that and then toward Stephen. Baby laughter was probably one of the best things Tony ever heard, but he was also a little biased since it came from Peter. He really loved the kid. Teenager or baby.

"You see anything yet?" Tony asks.

"Hmm...nope. Maybe another day or two." Stephen replies after leaning closer to take a look.

Tony had to keep himself from inhaling. Stephen smelt good and it wasn't any kind of cologne. In fact, Tony wasn't sure what it was. Everything Stephen could want was available to him to use but Tony didn't buy anything that smelled like Stephen did right now. Maybe it was those sticks that the sorcerer liked to burn when he got a chance to meditate? Or the tea? Or his books?

Maybe all of the above.

"There's a teething ring in the freezer if you want to preemptively give it to him." Stephen continues as he straightens. "So what are your plans for today?"

"Baby rocket packs." Tony grins and gets a swift smack to the back of his head, making Peter laugh again. "Ow! I was kidding."

"Have you actually played with Peter since he got turned into a baby?" Stephen asks and Tony cringes.

"Uh...no. I was kind of preoccupied with learning to change diapers and figuring out what Peter could eat." Tony admits.

Stephen simply raises an eyebrow at him before walking over to the couch and sitting down. While he got comfortable so he could read, Tony carried Peter over and put him down on the floor before pulling some toys down for him. Peter liked the large Legos that Tony, of course, got for him, but he also liked slobbering all over the wooden blocks. Tony placed both options down by Peter and waited to see what the baby would choose and snorted when Peter picked up a block.

He sat on the floor with Peter and did his best to keep the baby entertained and stimulated with a few blocks and some plastic. It wasn't hard, Peter enjoyed every moment Tony spent with him picking up and placing the wooden blocks in the typical tower fashion. But eventually Tony started to get bored. He loved seeing Peter smile and giggle...and drool, but he wasn't used to spending time with kids like this. Wasn't used to being fully responsible for someone's well being. Teenage Peter could at least feed himself.

So Tony almost sang hallelujah when Peter started to rub his eyes.

"Nap time kiddo." He says softly and gets up with Peter.

The baby did his cute little yawn as he laid his head on Tony's shoulder, and the engineer found himself lucky. Peter was asleep before he even made it up to the master bedroom, so it was easy to lay him in the crib, make sure Friday was watching him, and then slip right back out to rejoin Stephen down in the living room.

"Reading anything interesting?" Tony asks as he sits on the couch next to the doctor.

"A novel actually." Stephen responds and turns a page.

"Here I thought you only read those stuffy magic spell books." Tony jokes as he reaches for the remote. "You mind?"

"Not at all."

Tony nods and turns on the tv to let something play quietly that he only paid half attention to while the other half of his attention was directed at Stephen. At least the art of subtle attention. Tony couldn't help but admire the younger man. If it wouldn't be taken as creepy, he could probably do it all day. Stephen was... beautiful. His high cheekbones, the ever changing color of his eyes (something Tony noticed just recently because he was a sucker for pretty eyes), and just remembering the expression on Stephen's face whenever he took care of Peter.

And the fact that Stephen looked content right now. Content and relaxed. Tony wondered when Stephen did that last. The doctor looked the type to run on fumes.

"Do you sleep?" Tony blurts out, clearing his throat to hide his... embarrassment. "I mean... you're always up early and something tells me you don't go to sleep the moment you go to bed."

"My body sleeps." Stephen answers.

Tony looks at him flatly. "Your…body. What about your mind? Wait. How exactly does your mind not sleep when your body does?"

"Astral projection." Stephen says and looks over at Tony.

"Hey, can't believe I'm going to say this considering my rap sheet...but maybe get some real sleep? Shut it all down for the night. How about tonight?" Tony suggests.

"Are you offering to help?" Stephen asks and Tony waggles his eyebrows.

"You coming onto me Doc?"

That earned him a smack with the book. Fortunately it was a paperback.

"Hey! It was just an idea!" Tony laughs. "Get a little oil--okay, ow!" He rubs his head when he gets smacked with the book again. "That's starting to hurt. How many pages is that? Four hundred?"

"Five." Stephen sniffs and puts the book on the coffee table. "How about an early lunch since neither of us have eaten yet?"

"Sure. Need any help?"

"I'm just making sandwiches."

Tony got up to help him anyway, opening the refrigerator to pull out whatever they may want in a sandwich and letting Stephen put them together. It was kind of nice doing something as mundane as making lunch with the doctor. Tony liked seeing him relaxed (compared to the irritated expression Stephen had on his face back at the Sanctum), and even enjoyed hearing him laugh. Even if it was because Tony spectacularly failed at eating his sandwich without dropping a glob of mustard on his pants once they finally sat down. Stephen called him a slob as he laughed and handed Tony a napkin.

Tony was a little in love but he wasn't actually aware that's what he was feeling. He was just...more than happy. Like he could see himself doing this with Stephen every day. The younger man was smart, quick to snark back, clearly adored Peter even if he didn't realize it, and the best part? Stephen seemed to enjoy Tony's company, and the engineer liked to believe that it wasn't just because of Peter. If he really wanted to, Stephen could leave and keep to his promise with the bare minimum like Tony had originally expected.

A quick check on Peter to make sure he was alive and well and then leave each day. But Tony tried not to think about that.

"Boss, Peter is awake." Friday suddenly says just as Tony throws the last of his sandwich in his mouth.

"That wasn't a very long nap. Maybe I should've given him the teething ring earlier." Tony sighs and wipes his hands before getting up. "I'll be right back."

Tony heads up the stairs to his room, opening the door quietly so he doesn't startle the baby, and then freezes at the sight that greets him. There was no longer a six-month old baby in the crib. In fact, it looked like Peter was at least two years old and he was standing up in the crib, looking over at Tony in excitement and adoration. His clothes and diaper somehow grew with him and remained on his little body, but Peter was more alert now. He could stand and...

"Daddy!" Peter screeches happily.

Talk.

Tony forgot to breathe until black started to cloud his vision and he finally took a breath. Stephen wasn't lying when he said the magic would take time to wear off, but he wasn't expecting this. The discovery still had his head swimming so he did the only thing he could think of.

"Stephen!"

[rex101111]

For a glass of Cactus Wine

Summary: Migelo does both his duties at the fete, one to the Empire, and the other to his kids. 

Rating: T

Fandom: Final Fantasy XII

Well! Been a while since I wrote something substantial, but @sevi007 has been doing a live blog of this game, thus reminding me how much I love it, and so here’s a fic depicting the one missing scene in this game I really wanted to see, also to give Lizard dad the content he deserves. Enjoy!

Seeing Arcadian troops stomp in the halls of the Royal Palace made Migelo want to crawl right out of his hide. It’s been two years since those bastards in their tin plates stomped into his home and his city and still he could only barely keep his anger in check at how disrespectful the whole lot of them were.

Leaning on pillars built centuries past, wiping their feet on rugs that took months to weave, pointing and laughing like children at art that they would never understand the importance of. If he heard another one of these piss-drunk bureaucrats call one more thing in this palace “quaint” he’s going to use that same thing to break it over their heads.

Still, years of experience in burying his feelings and opinions about his costumers helped him plaster a smile on his snout. This was simply business, he was providing sundries and food for an event, like he’s done dozens and dozens of times over his long career.

“Watch that crate!” He yelled out to one of the servants, “it’s got wine in it, worth more than ten of your lifetimes! Handle it with a bit of care why don’t you?” The servant sheepishly apologized and asked for help from another servant as Migelo turned his gaze elsewhere, “dear girl, you’ll break your back like that!” He went to a maid and corrected her posture and how she held her tray of food, “there we go now, better?”

“Thanks Migelo.” The maid smiled gratefully, before her face turned sour, “these imperials get nasty when they’re drunk, they keep asking me to run back and forth for all sorts of nonsense.” She sighed harshly, “probably just want a peek up my skirt.”

“You let ol’ Migelo handle them, Meina.” He soothes, turning her to a different direction, “empty that tray and take a break for ten minutes, I’ll have someone else make sure they don’t notice you gone, yes?”

She went off with a smile and Migelo continued like that, his time cleaved cleanly between ordering servants this way and that soothing fraying nerves. This fete needed to go flawlessly, with the consul himself attending every hand on deck needed to give it their all and then some. If the pompous royal left this evening with a good opinion of his food, he might transfer said opinion to the rest of the city. If he did that, maybe his boys and girls could have more room to breathe.

He looked ruefully over the staff, some of the younger ones he’s known since they were children, helped them train for applying for work in the palace. Rabanastre was a small city, everyone knew everyone, and that only became stronger as the plague and the war ravaged the place. Seeing these kids, his kids, running around like cockatrices with their heads cut off for the sake of their invaders made a lick of fire burn in his gut, no matter how hard he tried to douse it.

Worse of all was that he knew he was delaying the inevitable, he had an invitation to answer soon, and the longer he ignored the worse things would get not only for himself, but everyone else living in Rabanastre.

He took a few long breathes, practiced his best servile smile in a nearby plate, pictured the smiling face of every single child under his care in his mind, and went off to sit at the right of the eldest living son of Emperor Gramis, Vayne Carudas Solidor.      

The consul was deep in debate with the others sitting at his table, something about tax rates and territory dispute that went right over Migelo’s head, but as soon as the old bangaa drew close enough, as if he could hear his footsteps over the rancor of the room, Vayne stopped talking and turned his head to meet his gaze.

“Ah, Sir Migelo, so nice of you to finally join me.” He motioned for one of the nearby soldiers to pull back the chair at his right side, “please, sit.”

With practice ease, and complaining stomach, Migelo bowed in apology, “I hope you would forgive me, Lord Consul, I had so many things to fix and move, my responsibilities nearly made me forget your most gracious offer.”

“Think nothing of it good Sir,” Vayne waved off easily, “We should all wish to have your work ethic Migelo, so we could accomplish our own work half as well.” Vayne complimented him smoothly as Migelo finally sat, the others at the table nodding sycophantically, before beginning to pour the store owner a glass of red wine. “But, let me remind you that I asked of you to refer to me by my first name.”

Taking the glass with all the grace he could manage, Migelo bowed his head again with an outwardly warm smile, “ah, forgive this old lizard sir consul, I still feel ill at ease referring to one of your station so informally.” The other reason was the only people he called by name were his friends and his kids, and Vayne is not, would never be, either. “Perhaps I’ll manage that better,” he made a show of laughing from his belly, “with a bit of fine Arcadian wine in my system, eh?”

“Of course.” Vayne’s sharp eyes and sharper smile made Migelo feel as if he were strapped to a table, “please, indulge as you please, we have all night after all.”

Nodding, Migelo started to drain his glass, and had to fight his gag reflex with every gulp. Arcadian wine made you feel like someone was trying to prove something to you, too rich, too fruity, too damn much. Seeing the people around him gulp this stuff down was aggravating as it was confusing, you could stuff as many flowers into a bottle of Slaven piss as you wanted, it was still a drink of cold piss.

Decades of honing his poker face in the interest of more returning costumers made sure none of that disgust was visible on his face of course, to any casual observer Migelo savored every drop of the expensive Slaven piss, finishing his glass with a pleasured sigh. “Ahh, what an excellent, uh, flavor profile! So full of life and character!” He turned to the consul with a toothy grin, “How’s about you give me another to loosen my tongue?”

“You are a man of great taste, Sir Migelo.” Vayne complimented, smiling thinly as he filled the offered cup before filling his own. “I’ve heard Dalmascans do not have a high opinion of my home’s signature brew.”

“Bah.” Migelo scoffed easily, “children with no experience on their tongues Lord Consul, nothing to be offended by.” He internally grits his teeth, he heard some of the younger men voice some of their very loud opinions about Arcadian wine in a place where a couple of soldiers could hear them. It ended well for absolutely no one, and he was only glad to make sure his kids didn’t see or hear it. “We Dalmascans are very proud of our own drinks, I think you would see it would make sense to be a bit defensive.” He took another gulp, “pardon m’candor, of course.”

“Indeed.” Vayne nodded, finishing his own glass, “and you have a great many things to be proud of, I’ve heard a fair share of good things about Dalmascan cactus wine.” He looked at Migelo with a gaze that made his scales itch, “have you tried it before?”

He was almost insulted the man had to ask, “o’course I did lord consul!” He tried to be casual about it, but a bit of hometown pride seemed to seep in every other word, “Cactus Wine is easy to brew in large amounts, made from Cactoid fruit and the sands are absolutely littered with the little buggers, it’s what you order when you have something to celebrate or as a victory drink.” Migelo could go for an entire barrel of it right now. “It’s a…simple drink. Simple but hearty.”

Vayne nodded politely as the bangaa went on, before he took the bottle of his expensive wine and looked at it quietly, “…I suppose there hasn’t been much call for it, lately.”

Migelo nearly swallowed his tongue, for all his talk of taking in all of Dalmasca’s hatred onto himself, the consul seemed adept at choosing words to inspire said hatred. “Y-No, Lord Consul, not a lot to celebrate.” He quickly recovered, smiling again as he waved his glass about, “b-but fret not! Us Dalmascans find reason to celebrate no matter the weather! You’ll have your taste of cactus wine before long don’t you worry!”

“Why wait my friend?” Vayne said smoothly, Migelo barely exerting the restraint he needed to stop himself from cursing the consul out on considering himself something he is not, “I have found myself a few bottles for this grand occasion.”

Migelo was stopped short, he had double checked every scrap of food and drink meant for this fete, triple checking the alcohol in particular, and he was sure there wasn’t a drop of cactus wine in the whole palace, he figured the imperials wouldn’t want to touch the stuff. “Y-you did? F-from where lord consul?”

“From the palace cellars of course.” He replied, motioning with his hand to another maid, Kayta if Migelo remembers right, who held a very familiar clay jug in her hands. “If one kind of wine isn’t enough to call me friend, perhaps two would suffice.”

Migelo held Kayta’s conflicted gaze for a moment, before he turned to Vayne with a doubtful expression, “the cellars my lord? Those haven’t been disturbed since the war ended! Who knows what kind of vermin have found their way to the stores?”

“I had my men carefully inspect each bottle.” Vayne assured, which only made Migelo more ill thinking about what Imperial soldiers considered inspecting. “Please, do not be reticent, I find myself curious what a man of your expertise has to say about the difference between one wine and the other.”

Kayta poured Migelo a glass with a sorrowful expression, Migelo soothing the girl as best he could with a smile only she could see, and the bangaa took a long whiff of the drink, before slowly draining his glass.

Cactus wine was sweet, almost sweet enough you could give it to a child without them puffing their little face. Its taste was subtle, airy, doing nothing more than what a wine ought to do and made your face and belly warm. It was cheap drink, cheap enough that working folk could indulge in it without endangering their pay over-much.

It was Dalmasca to the last drop, warm and honest.

“So, sir Migelo?” Vayne inquired when the bangaa finished and had not said a word, “how is your home’s brew compared to mine?”

He was quiet for a few more moments before he turned to the consul, “I must admit to having a bias sir.” He put the glass back down on the table gently, reaching over to grab a grape nearby to soak some of the alcohol in his system, “I’ve been drinking cactus wine since I was a whelp, y’see, it’s a drink for the heart as much for the stomach nowadays.”

Vayne chuckled good naturedly, “well, now you have me curious.” He picked up his own glass and motioned for Kayta to fill it, the girl nearly tripping over herself to bow as she poured without spilling it on him. He took a careful sip…and stopped, an emotion Migelo could not name fliting across his face. “…it tastes…” The consul was quiet for a moment, the rest of the table perfectly silent to await his judgment, “…honest.”

Migelo released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, allowing himself the tiniest amount of pride as he looked at Vayne, “Dalmasca knows no other way, Lord Consul.”

“Pritas.” Vayne looked at one of the people sitting at the table, some peacock in a stuffy red shirt with a pencil moustache, “you should try it, I am certain people in Archades would flock to try this, exotic yet gentle on the tongue.”

Pritas hurriedly motioned for Kayta to pour him a glass, and no sooner than he had a drop of it he was nodding enthusiastically, “y-yes Lord Vayne! You are absolutely correct; everyone will want a bottle of this for any price!”

Migelo, despite his mood and the alcohol in his system, found himself smiling at the sound of it, feeling someone patting his shoulder. “Migelo, after the fete be sure to grant Pritas here the information for whoever you get your cactus wine from, they’ll find more business than ever.”

Migelo could picture the family of brewers in his head, nearly jumping for joy at the chance that fell into their laps, a contract to sell cactus wine halfway across Ivalice. He then imagined their faces when he told them to which half of Ivalice the wine would go. He imagines the shock, the outrage, the sorrow.

He imagines the table with one more chair then they needed, the extra gathering dust for two years now.

“Yes, Lord Consul.” He said as calmly as he could manage, looking into the face of a man whose night has gone exactly as he had planned, down to the last detail, painting a smiling on his snout. “Thank you for this opportunity, I’m sure they’ll see this as a chance to build their life back up to how it was…” He could feel his lips curling over his teeth. “…before the war, that is.”

Vayne’s face drew downwards slightly, an almost robotic motion, “yes, the war has devastated both sides long enough,” He squeezed the shoulder he was holding, in a move meant to be reassuring, “it is past time we helped each other back onto our feet.”

Vaan crying into his shoulder, cursing and yelling and screaming every curse he knew. Penelo holding him tightly as she sobbed. Fire in the sky, visible from his window.

His home, under siege and under iron boots.

Migelo bit his tongue, brought to mind every orphan he and Old Dalan have struggled to keep fed and working and warm, and managed an impossible smile, “yes…way past time…Lord Consul.”

Vayne shook his head with a fond smile, and poured Migelo another cup of Arcadian wine. Migelo drained it without tasting a drop.

(Not long after, barely an hour after, he sees his boy in chains and his girl crying for his freedom, and all the wine in his veins is cold and freezing.  

As they dragged his boy away, as his girl fell into the arms of Kayta as she sobbed, Vayne Carudas Solidor came to him, smiled, and clapped his shoulder.)