#but still :(( my free stolen espresso :(((

[hinamie]

one thing i miss abt cafe work is sneaking shots of espresso throughout th day :(

[ddagent]

Next Fic

So, my previous fic poll ended in a draw, so let's have another go! A few different options, this time, with some supporting evidence for each to help you make your decision!

May I present the poll:

And the supporting evidence!

Option 1:

"Uh, boss, your friend is here."

Detective Anthony Crowley looked up from his notebook and turned his golden gaze back to the crime scene tape a few feet away. Behind the white and blue tape, highlighted by the flashing lights of the police cars, was Reverend Aziraphale Fell. Clerical collar, sunny disposition, and two takeaway cups in his hand. One of those was six espresso; one was hot cocoa. Ridiculous man. Snarling, Crowley shoved his notebook into the back pocket of his trousers and stomped through sand to shoo Aziraphale back to his church.

"You can't be here."

"But—" Aziraphale began, a pout forming on those perfect lips. "—I can help. I was ever so good before—"

"—we were nine, Aziraphale. We're not making up mysteries and legging it in and out of caravans and arcades anymore." Which was a pity. The mysteries Aziraphale always dreamt up for them as children were less brutal than the one that currently laid before him. Huffing out a sigh, Crowley took the proffered coffee and gestured for a uniformed officer, Constable Honey, to escort the vicar out. "I'm sorry, Aziraphale. I'll see you on Sunday, yeah?"

"We'll see each other before then, no doubt." Sure, sure. "When you realise you do need my help."

Option 2:

Swiveling his hips, Crowley slid through the open bathroom window of AZ Fell and Co. Even though the bookshop had been broken into three times now, the proprietor, one Aziraphale Fell, still had no sense of security. No locks on the window, no alarms, no cute dogs that Crowley would have to pet and stroke in order to disarm. No, Crowley was free to move around the shop as he pleased. Maybe it was because Crowley had never actually stolen anything that Aziraphale felt safe.

Bah. Crowley didn't want him to feel safe. He wanted him to feel scared. Crowley could do anything here. Anything.

Slipping into the living room, Crowley noted that Aziraphale had fallen asleep on the sofa again. A threadbare blanket was pooled at his feet; a copy of some eighteenth century novel had fallen to the floor. Moving deftly, Crowley adjusted the blanket, placed the book upon the table, and tipped out Aziraphale's hot chocolate. There. Mental insecurity. Aziraphale would know that someone had been in there. Someone who could do anything.

As it was, Crowley committed the most heinous act of all: he left a rare book upon Aziraphale's coffee table, a product of his earlier activities. Gabriel Archer, that twat, wouldn't miss it. And it would certainly give the bookshop's profits a major boost.

Option 3:

"Excuse me, I was wondering whether you had a VHS copy of The Eastern Gate?"

From behind the counter, Crowley didn't even bother turning around to address his customer, so ridiculous was his request. Yes, Crowley had a copy of The Eastern Gate: it was one of Aziraphale Fell's early works, a black and white film focusing on an angel overseeing Eden. It had been very well-received at the time but public interest quickly waned. For years it spent time on BBC 2 on Sunday afternoons - that was where Crowley's copy came from, recorded with great care and attention onto VHS.

He had one copy. And it was not for sale.

The customer cleared his throat. "Dear boy, I do wonder if you could—"

"—in a minute. This is the best part." The Bastille had come out in the 90s, part of the interest in musketeers and the French revolution. Aziraphale looked delectable in the heavy iron chains and all those pretty frills. Just gorgeous. But, with great reluctance, Crowley pressed pause and turned to 'attend' to the customer who wanted the impossible, even in Crowley's memorabilia shop. "Listen—"

But Crowley didn't say another word. Because his customer wasn't just interested in Aziraphale Fell. He was Aziraphale Fell.

Option 4:

"Crowley, can I ask you a question about Twitter?"

Crowley immediately zoned back into the room. He had been fixated on the slight tinge of silver and white at the temples of Aziraphale's blond hair; the curve of his mouth as he indulged in dessert at The Ritz. For some time, Aziraphale had been discussing his latest project: a gripping drama for ITV featuring a gay romance between two childhood friends. It was the sort of project that Aziraphale did often - but this time he had been paired opposite BAFTA winning actor Raphael Archer.

Not that Crowley was jealous or anything. He hadn't campaigned for the role. Hadn't sent an audition tape and told he wouldn't be believable starring opposite Aziraphale in a romantic role. As if he hadn't spent thirty years yearning for this man. Oh, they had played detectives together, odd-couple roles, best friends. But never romantic leads.

And the first time a project came up that was perfect, Crowley lost to Raphael Archer. That Scottish twat. Breathe, Crowley. "What about Twitter, Angel?"

"I don't use it." No kidding. "But Raph does." Oh, Raph is it? "And a lot of his followers have started using a hashtag. Something #raphaphale?"

Crowley's glass immediately shattered. Thirty years as Aziraphale's shadow and this Scottish wanker gets a ship tag?

Option 5:

He was here again. Sitting in the front row with his delicately pressed tan trousers, neat little waistcoat with the gold buttons, and the delicate puff of blond curls. In his lap (which Crowley noted, not for the first time, was rather spacious) was his paddle, with the number 666 printed in red lettering. Since the man had started attending the auctions at Eden's Auction House, Crowley'd had fantasies about that paddle.

How the hell was he going to make it through today's auction?

Still, Crowley was a professional (allegedly). So, he took to the podium, gavel in hand, and addressed the crowd. "Lot number one is a collection of Austen, incredibly preserved from the period, featuring four books - including Pride and Prejudice and Persuasion." He swallowed a number of sarcastic remarks, bit back his need to share the crackpot biography he'd read about diamond heists and whisky smuggling. Not the crowd. Never the crowd. "Shall we start the bidding at fifteen hundred?"

The man was the first to take the bid. As it was accepted, he wiggled happily in his chair. Oh, Crowley was gone.

[loverslakes]

writing patterns

rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 8 posted fics (and 2 wips) and see if there's a pattern!

(thanks for the tag @apassingbird 🤎)

rwylm wip

Mike rolls out his shoulders for what feels like the billionth time this shift, cursing whoever decided what the average height for counters was supposed to be. He’s trying to work on his posture — his mom nags him about it — but when he’s constantly having to hunch over to pull espresso shots, it’s out of his control at that point. Sue the counter-measurement-person. He’s been here for six and a half hours, and while he normally loves his morning shift, the pungent smell of roasting coffee beans is serving no purpose but nausea.

very delayed new years wip

The first thing Will sees when he wakes up is snow, delicately falling out of the sky against the perfect evergreen tree outside the window in his room.

The second thing he sees are wild, red curls flying in the air before a body is crashing into his on top of the piles of blankets he and Mike had stolen from the main room last night because Will hates being cold.

“Mmmpph,” Will groans.

holding the stars in place

A week into the Byers being back in Hawkins, rain falls. It begins overnight and feels like the town is getting washed and rinsed from its sins.

the wonders of my world

El Hopper enjoys her new job. She feels at home — giggling with five-year-olds all day long, decorating her classroom with sparkles and colors, and watching their little minds activate and mold as the weeks go on. Communicating with their parents isn’t always fun, but for the most part, she’s overjoyed that she chose to become a kindergarten teacher.

honey, i’m still free

"Looks like you've made a lot of progress since I was here last."

Will's shoulders rise quickly to meet his ears, and he looks back from the large canvas he is poring over – a commission for a big client he's been working on for weeks. He turns around to find Mike standing in the middle of his studio, a toothy smile spread across his face and holding two coffee cups.

‘cause if we don’t leave this town

“Okay, I think that’s everything.”

Will hears an accomplished exhale from Lucas and the sound of the U-Haul door slamming as he sluggishly climbs into the back seat of the Sinclair family Expedition, which was passed down to Lucas when he graduated high school.

when it ends

"You're staring," Will says from the other side of the couch. His hair is a little messy, growing out so it flips up off the back of his neck the way Mike loves. He's wearing one of Mike's crewnecks with shorts and socks that stop above his ankles. His legs are scrunched up like he's trying to make himself small – a default position for Will when his mind is elsewhere.

"Do you not want me to?" Mike wonders.

tried and true blue

"Okay, and—yeah, that's fine sweetheart, of course I want to see you—no, Lucas won't mind—you're sure you're okay, though?—drive safe, I love you," is the half-conversation Lucas hears Mike murmur into the telephone receiver in the kitchen.

if only to say you’re mine

"I think it's kinda cool how everyone's more eager to celebrate the little things now, after almost losing so much," Will ponders after Max voices criticism at the frivolous decorations around Hawkins High.

you got a fast car

"Let's go somewhere— anywhere. Whisk me away."

tag: @storybook-tiles @longtallglasses @lovetriangled @queerxqueen @newlesbianprideflag @parkitaco & anyone else who wants to (also sorry if i’ve tagged you before there’s truly no pressure ever hehe)

[nicolashernandez]

May 17th

So turns out that a lot could go wrong. My day started a lot earlier than what I would have wanted, 5:00 am to be exact. I woke up from a mosquito bite that was bothering me, only to find our door wide open. Alejandro was still sleeping though. He must have gotten up for something and forgotten to close the door right? When I tried to check the time only to not find my phone, I began to search the floor. It probably fell while I was sleeping because there's no way we were robbed, right? It wasn't until I realized that my nightstand was also missing my watch and airpods that I realized… maybe possibly… We were robbed. I woke up Alejandro and the nightmare began. His phone was missing too, Ron's room was wide open as well, and later we found out that two more people were missing devices. The guy was nice enough to leave a random power tool for us, but we all really preferred our phones and a couple more hours of sleep to be honest. We woke up Mr. Bassetti, contacted the police, and arranged to go to the police station in an hour. That hour did not seem like real life. I got ready and just sat on the bench, disgusted by the room we forgot to lock the night before. I know it's cliche but it was the first time in my life that I truly pinched myself believing that there was a possibility I would wake up. I knew all of our stuff was replaceable. I knew I wasn't alone and that I would be fine without a phone. But it was the lack of responsibility that bugged me. It was our false sense of security that irked me. How could we mess up that bad? We got played and I couldn't even be mad because it was our fault. Surprisingly, I was sitting on the bench pretty calm. I was just reflecting while I waited for the day to start. After a trip to the police station, jotting down everyone's numbers on a piece of paper as my lifeline and having three espressos, I set out with the smart people who locked their doors at night to salvage our free day. I'm very thankful that the others waited for us while we went to the police station. Throughout the day I got upset, mad, and anxious trying to figure out all the logistics that comes with getting your phone stolen, but never at any point did I feel alone. Pretty quickly I learned how immersive not having a phone on you can be. We were at a jewelry shop later in the day and I was waiting for the others to finish shopping. Usually I would take advantage of the time and respond to some messages on my phone but obviously I didn’t have that option available to me. Instead I decided to gather the little Italian I knew combined with my Spanish and tried to have a conversation with the shop owner. I asked him if he had eaten lunch and if he hand made all the jewelry in the store. In response he recommended that I try a carbonara and invited me downstairs to his workshop where he made all of the jewelry. He showed me his tools and the metal slabs he carves designs into to mold the metal. He then grabbed a mold of the famous Florentine flower symbol and a 50 cent coin. He pressed it through a roller and gifted me my favorite souvenir from Florence. None of this would have happened if I was lost in my phone. Going without it was a big reminder that there is a story to be told and heard everywhere you go and that anywhere can be an adventure. All it takes is an open mind and staying present in the moment.

[scapegrace74-blog]

Love Stained, Chapter 8

A/N  For the record, it’s still Monday in Hawaii, so I managed to keep my promise to post this chapter only a day late.  So long as you’re in Oahu when you read it.

In all seriousness, I’m very sorry for the delay.  Work has been an absolute gong show lately, and I spend most of my evenings staring at Youtube videos and listening to the hamster wheel in my brain squeak.

What can I say about this chapter?  It was one of the first I saw clearly from beginning to end, although I flipflopped on how to relay the memory of Jamie’s assault.  In the end, I opted for the vague outlines of a dream, rather than an explicitly recalled memory.  I would still caution that this chapter contains reference to a past sexual assault, so please read accordingly.  If you want to skip over that bit, it is the italicized section at the opening of the chapter.

Now, before you all come after me with pitchforks, there is a happy ending to this story, and it comes in the next (last) chapter.  Provided my business trip this week leaves a little time in the evenings to edit, I will post the finale on Saturday, to make up for being a day late this week.  Until then, let there be angst!

The dream began innocuously, as it always did.  

A limestone streetscape, horns honking, the spring sunshine warm on his face.  Profusion of flowers, each donning its showy raiment of Easter egg colours.  The Luxembourg gardens, near his old flat.

She walked beside him, just a pace behind where he could not see her face.  Her hand was dainty in his own.  Pride filled him like a balloon, but she held him to earth in her surprisingly strong grip.

Laughter.  An outdoor café.  Bitter aftertaste to his beer.  More laughter.  The sunshine defragmenting like a kaleidoscope.  Spinning on a carousel.  Glass breaking at his feet.  Murmured apologies.  A narrow stairwell, endless trudging upward.

Waking in the dark, his bilge water brain sloshing about in his skull.  Sheets rough on his hyper-sensitive skin. Naked.  Cold.   He tried to move but he was pinned to the bed like a butterfly specimen.  Panic, muffled and confused.

Her voice again.  Taunting.  Blaming him for wanting to wait.  For being so desirable.  For making her want him.  Cruel laughter as he tried to squirm away from her touch.  Shame as his body responded without his consent. Begging.  More laughter.  Pressure against his cock, slick and foreign.  Eyes shuttered closed, acid in his throat.  Pleading.  No, not like this.  No. Not me.  No.

Jamie woke with the gasp of a surfacing free diver, pulse angry in his chest. He paced to the kitchen, running the tap until the water was icy cold, trying to rinse the phantom acrid taste from his mouth.  She’d drugged his beer, stolen the weapon of his strength and then taken what he wasn’t willing to give.  The irony was that he’d been considering sleeping with her, but wanted to make it meaningful, memorable.  Now it was the memory he couldn’t escape.

The clock read half four.  From experience, Jamie knew he wouldn’t find peaceful rest again tonight, so he dressed and prepared for a long, exhausting day.

***

His phone chirped as he stared vacantly out the studio windows at the retreating light.  Ostensibly, he was editing his latest work in Lightroom, but his thoughts were as scattered by fatigue as thistledown on the wind.

8:03pm: Are you free tonight?  I know it’s late notice, but Frank is having drinks with a visiting colleague.

8:04pm:  I really want to see you, Alex.

8:05pm:  Aye, I’m about.  It’s too late to drive to your bothy, though.

8:06pm:  I thought of that.  The Ibis near the University?

8:06pm:  Meet me in the lobby.  9pm.

There was no time to run home for a shower, so Jamie settled for the next best thing: three shots of espresso.  A clean pair of jeans, teeth brushed and cologne reapplied, he felt halfway human as he hurried down the street.

He was familiar with the Ibis but had never spent time there with a woman; a fact that seemed inordinately important as he entered the lobby and spotted Claire waiting for him, dewy and radiant as a freshly born star. He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, like a suitor meeting his beloved.

“Have ye grabbed us a room?” he inquired, low enough to avoid being overheard.  Nine in the evening was a perfectly respectable time to be checking into a hotel, but his instinct was to protect her privacy.

“No, I only just arrived.”

Regretfully leaving her behind, Jamie waited in line to check in. Glancing over his shoulder as the clerk ran his credit card, he couldn’t help but feel a surge a pride that he was accompanying the loveliest woman in the room.

Key card in hand, his arm found its place around Claire’s back just as the elevator doors opened.  He was half-aware of the couple that stepped out, the woman half the man’s age and simpering.  Beside him, Claire froze.  Her cheeks, so recently a pretty blush pink, went ashen, her eyes wide with horror. The couple, wrapped up in themselves, crossed the lobby and out into the night.

“Frank.”  The word fell from her lips with all the quiet catastrophe of a precious vase tipping off a shelf.

Sizing up the situation quickly, Jamie caught the closing elevator door with his free hand and shepherded his companion into the confines of the cab.  Beneath his palm, he could feel her starting to shake.  The walk down the hallway to their room felt endless.  Claire stared straight ahead into emptiness, mute and robotic.  He had to let go of her to swipe open the door, and it was only then that she revived from her trance.

“That bloody bastard,” she whispered with as much vitriol as a scream. Twin pools of tears gathered in her eyelashes, but she refused to let them fall.

Jamie went straight for the mini bar, grabbing all four tiny bottles of sub-par whisky.  Pressing the glass into Claire’s hand, he sat beside her on the ugly blue bedspread.

“Ye didna know?” he asked, then winced when he heard his own words. He had learned the hard way that love obscured the view of a partner’s faults and failings.

“I… I don’t think I did?”  She sounded so unsure, so unlike the woman he’d grown to know and admire over the past months.  It hurt his heart.

“Will you stay with me, Alex?  I can’t…  I can’t go home to him right now.”

“Of course, lass.  For as long as ye need me to.”

It was an easy promise to make.  It would be a cold day in hell before he left her to face this alone.

He thought about turning on the TV, anything to fill the silence punctuated by her shaky breath.  Beside him, Claire downed her drink in three long gulps.

“God, I’m such a cliché,” she raged, her fingers crimping the edge of the mattress.  “Trying to save my marriage while that asshole fucks a teenager.  I bet she can get him off.  Probably has a pussy tighter than a snare.”

Mildly shocked by her vulgarity, Jamie was nonetheless relieved to witness the re-emergence of Claire’s fighting spirit.  Her passivity, however momentary, had scared him.

“I was going to make love to you tonight,” she confessed.  Her syntax wasn’t lost on him.  Frank fucked his mistress, but Claire was going to make love to him.  

“Aye, I ken.”  And he had. It was why he’d rushed out the door.

Rising to her feet, Claire placed her glass on the dresser with deliberate care.  He watched with rapt hunger as her hands traveled to the zipper of her dress, easing it down until the garment fell to her hips.  Beneath she was wearing something lacy and sheer, her plump nipples darkening each cup.

“Claire, I dinna think…” His words died as she shimmied the dress over her hips, revealing the matching thong.  She stepped between his parted knees, so close he could count each downy hair on her torso.

“Please, Alex.  Give me this one thing.  I just want to feel wanted.”

His resolve, already weakened by fatigue and desire, wavered. He could smell the perfume of her yearning, but also the yeasty tang of the whisky.

“No’ tonight, mo nighean donn.  Not while ye’re angry.  Not like this.”

He’d been prepared for the loosed arrow of her rage, but not that she would aim it at herself.

“Fuck, what’s wrong with me?” she cried in despair.  “I never should have told you about my back.  I’m hideous.  No wonder you don’t want me!”

“Not want ye?  Not want ye!” he rose to stand chest to chest with her.  “Lass, I have burned for you since the moment we first met.  Ye’re the most beautiful woman I’ve e’er seen, and if ye were mine, I would fuck you until your ears ring!”

Their panting breaths merged, their eyes tethered, and suddenly they were kissing.  With no heed paid to his caution, Jamie threw himself backwards onto the bed, dragging Claire with him.  They tore away his clothes until his impatient cock begged for entrance against the thin strip of fabric that guarded her sanctuary.  The torrent of lust that had dragged him to that point receded, letting the faintest glimmer of sanity sneak in.

He couldn’t do it.  If they ever came together, there would be only two people in the room, neither of them accompanied by the ghost of their faithless partners.  She deserved no less, and so did he.

But neither could he deny her heartrending cries or twisting limbs. Dragging his mouth downwards, he sought out the ripe heat between her legs, glorying in the satisfied wail that burst from her lungs as he wrenched her panties aside.  Mindless, he ate from her orchard, letting her juices baste his chin. Every flick drew more flavour to his tongue, and every immersion tightened the muscles beneath his hands until she sang like the strings on a well-tuned instrument.  So engrossed was he in her sensory symphony that he failed to realize he was humping his cock against the nubby-textured bedspread in time to her moans. The drop in atmospheric pressure somewhere south of his spleen signaled the onrush of his release, too late to suppress.  His yell of triumph and anguish was muffled in her flesh, which echoed with her own glory.

***

Jamie lay with his back to the door.  Claire fit perfectly in the nook between his shoulders and thighs. The soiled bedspread lay crumpled on the floor.

“What will ye say to him?” he asked as he traced the ivory slope of her shoulder.

“I suppose I’ll ask him to stop seeing her.”

His hand stopped moving.

“Ye mean, yer giving him another chance?”

Claire sighed impatiently.

“He’s my husband, Alex.  That still counts for something.”  A pause. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

Unable to stay next to her, Jamie swung his feet to the floor.  

“A mistake?  Forgetting your birthday is a mistake, Claire.  Leaving the kettle boiling is a mistake.  Not dallying with some schoolgirl while ye blame yerself for his disinterest.  Not taking away yer right to chose with pills and some rope!”

Realizing what he’d said in his exhaustion, Jamie fled to the bathroom.  He ran the water to cover the sound of his sobs.   There was no sound from the other side of the door, and he wondered if Claire had left. Realizing he couldn’t hide from the truth forever, he splashed cold water on his face.  He breathed again when she came into view, still lying amongst the sheets.

“I have to try, Alex.  I know what you must think, and you’re probably right, but I promised myself that I would never walk away from someone I love.”

He nodded his acceptance, not trusting his salt-abraded voice.

“Will you still stay?  Just to sleep?” she begged.

Of all the things he’d done or ever would do for Claire Randall, she would never know that this one was the hardest.  Donning his underwear, he slid beneath the sheets.  As though they’d practiced the move on a thousand other nights, Claire curled against his side, her messy curls spilling over his shoulder.

“Rest, mo nighean donn,” he murmured.  “I’ll watch o’er ye.”

Hours crept by, and Jamie marked their passing on the sleeping window of his lover’s face.  Sometime in the tungsten hours before dawn, he slipped into a dreamless sleep, waking only when the maid knocked on the door at noon.

A quick scan of the room told him what he already knew; he was alone.  Dressing in haste, he almost missed the single sheet of hotel stationery pinned between the bathroom door and its frame.

Alex,

I have no words to thank you for what you did last night. For what you’ve done since we first met.  

You looked on the broken parts of me, without pity or disdain.

I know you think I’m wrong, but I need to give him one more chance.

I won’t be needing your services any longer.  I consider myself wholly cured.  Geillis will have your full payment.

It’s none of my business, but I can’t leave without saying that whoever hurt you, whatever she did to you, it doesn’t define your worth.  You’re an amazing man, Alex, and I hope that you find the love that you so richly deserve.

Always,

Claire

Walking down the sidewalk busy with lunchtime traffic, it occurred to Jamie that for the first time since Paris, he’d slept next to a woman.  A woman who he loved.  And he’d woken to a nightmare all the same.

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 73

Title: Best Laid Plans

Warnings: some profanity, talk of domestic abuse, child death

Tagging:  @tragiclyhip, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @ocfairygodmother, @lokitrasho, @miss-smutty,  @raith-way​, @ocappreciation​

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28860450/chapters/85024549

He’s up at quarter to six; throwing on a muscle shirt and a pair of work out pants and slipping into the well worn sneakers he keeps by the back door. A run on the beach as the sun peeks over the horizon is exactly what he needs; his bad knees cushioned by sand beneath him, a steady, cool breeze blowing in off the ocean, and the sky painted in vivid orange and gold and stunning pink streaks. The two dogs run on either side of him; their tags clinking against their collars, each carrying a tennis ball in their mouths in hopes of play after the hard work is done. The excursion to his body is calming to both brain and soul; pushing all thoughts of Mark and his devious intentions onto the back burner and concentrating on nothing but his breathing and his heart rate and the sights and sounds around him. And once at the finish line, he bends at the waist and places his hands on his thighs; eyes closed as the sweat trickles off his forehead and runs down his nose and his temples and gathers at the nape of his neck. Chest heaving and burning; a familiar discomfort that serves to remind him of just how far he’s come. Fighting against the odds to complete the long and painful recovery after the incident with Nathan and coming out almost as good as he was before; strong, agile, his health better than it's ever been. He’d somehow survived and he’d long ago swore he'd never take another minute for granted; always grateful to wake up and find himself on top of the ground instead of below it.

After a half an hour of entertaining the dogs, he returns home; splashing cold water on his face and neck and running wet hands through his sweaty hair and then heading for the kitchen. Busying himself with the morning routine; brewing his coffee and the three shots of espresso he always adds to it. The smoothies are next; a wide selection of fresh fruit and various supplements and vitamins recommended by both his doctor and Esme’s fetal and maternal medicine specialist. And the moment he hears her footsteps above -small and light, but just heavy enough to NOT be a child- he begins preparing her breakfast; kettle boiling for her tea while he throws a couple of slices of bread in the toaster and gathers up a container of plain yogurt and a handful of different fruits to chop. He glances over his shoulder and smiles in greeting when she joins him; messy hair held away from her face and out of her eyes with a sparkly purple headband stolen from one of their daughters and her tiny frame clad in a pair of baggy Hello Kitty night shorts and one of his t-shirts. And before he can open his mouth to offer up a ‘good morning’, she’s wrapping her around his waist from behind; yawning loudly and rubbing her cheek against the fabric of his shirt before laying her head against his back.

“Babe…” he warns. “ I probably stink. Gonna make you pass out. Give the baby in utero PTSD.”

“Bullshit. You smell good. You smell like a man. MY man. “

“All the kids still asleep?”

Esme nods. “You already went for a run?”

“Just a small one. Took the dogs with me. Tired them out.”

“I thought you said Sunday was your ‘set in stone rest day’?

“I did. But that’s just for lifting heavy.” Turning around to face her, he takes her face in his hands, turning her head up towards him as he leans down to kiss her. “I’m still going to run every day.”

“You know how I feel about this; when it comes to you pushing yourself too hard.”

“I know you worry. I know you don’t blow out my knee or fuck my femur up somehow. I’m taking it easy; I’m not going full tilt and I’m not ignoring my body when it starts screaming at me. I’m doing a lot better; when it comes to recognizing the signs and paying attention to them.”

“I just want you to be careful. I don’t want you hurting yourself. And you've been spending a lot of time in the gym. You went from one three hour a work out a day to TWO. That’s a lot, babe. Even for a bad ass like you. I know you feel this need to be bigger and stronger and…”

“I’m past that. Maybe just looking to put on another ten. That’s it. That’s probably as big as I’ll ever get again. Sorry. No return to the thicc, lumberjack stage that you enjoyed so much.”

“I DID enjoy it. You had the big muscles and the extra weight in your tummy and your hair was short and your beard was really thick. It was a good look on you. A VERY good look.”

“But…”

“But I love you EVERY way. And how your body is right now? That’s how you looked when we met. When I fell in love with you. So it tends to be my favourite. It’s very sentimental to me. And you know what would make it even MORE sentimental?”

“If you want me to get the haircut, I’ll get the haircut.”

“You would do that for little old me? You’d do that to keep your pregnant and extremely hormonal wife happy?”

“I would do anything for you. Pregnant or not.”

“Best husband ever,” she declares, and stands on her tip toes as he kisses her once more; hands tightly grasping the sides of his t-shirt.

She’d long ago gotten used to that ‘after work out’ stench; the potent tang of sweat , the lingering remains of laundry detergent, and the cool, brisk, freshness of antiperspirant. It’s HIS smell. One that reminds her of safety and protection and love. Of HOME. When he’s away, it’s those combined, familiar scents that offer comfort; bringing solace to her aching heart and effectively relieving at least some of the fear and worry nagging at her. Sleeping with his pillow every night and often wearing one of his t-shirts or bundling herself up in one of his hoodies; soothed by the smell of him clinging to the sheets and clothes and subduing her rattled nerves just enough for her to fall asleep.

It never gets easier; kissing him goodbye at the front door or the airport and then wondering -as he walks away- if she’ll ever see him again. The job isn’t a life you ever really get used to; lying to yourself when you tell others that you’re completely fine with your husband being thousands of miles away, putting his life on the line in the hopes of saving another. But she copes; knowing he can more than handle himself when it comes to the physical aspect and that he’ll do whatever it takes to get back to her and the kids. But the ache is real when he’s not under the same roof; both her and their brood feeling his absence and both saddened and angered about it. And the worry and fear never disappear; feeling as if she’s holding her breath the entire time, never releasing it until the moment he walks back through the front door. Safe and sound.

Pressing his lips to her forehead, he turns towards the counter once more; snagging a knife from the butcher’s block and preparing the only breakfast her stomach has been able to handle. Dry toast accompanied by chunks of fresh fruit, a smoothie containing all the vitamins and supplements recommended by her doctor, and a tea that helps with calming both her tummy and her nerves. While the nausea lingers throughout the entire day, the mornings have been especially horrendous; unable to keep even the smallest sips of water down and struggling with both weakness and dizziness. All of the pregnancies have been the same in that respect; losing weight before actually managing to put it on, suffering from headaches and queasiness and even a handful of scares that sent them running to the hospital in fear there was something terribly wrong. But the sixth pregnancy is turning out to be an even bigger struggle; half a dozen different medications fighting to keep her blood pressure down, help her sleep, and keep her eating and drinking properly.

“I’m surprised you’re up,” Tyler remarks, as she moves to the stove to tend to the boiling kettle. Offering a mug with the tea bag already in it; his hand briefly resting on the small of her back as he places a kiss on her temple. “You were sleeping pretty good when I went on my run.”

Sighing, she sets the mug down on the stovetop and fills it with water. “I probably still would be if your spawn didn’t wake me up out of nowhere and send me on a mad dash to the bathroom. I’ve come to expect SOME sickness, but this?”

“This one’s giving you an extra hard time, huh? What did the doctor say? Something about making too much human growth hormone? I don’t know. She completely lost me when she broke out the science speak.”

“A variant of it. And it’s too much of ALL the hormones. Kind of weird; that the last pregnancy would be the worst. You’d think it would be the easiest; your body totally used to everything, able to push that sucker out with only two tries. I swear to Christ, Tyler. If this is another Millie labour…”

“You’ll cut my dick off?”

“That’s a little extreme. You need your dick. It’s still very useful. I’ll just chop your balls off. So you can’t make any more swimmers.”

“How about we not do that and just let the surgeon handle things?”

“I want a goddamn guarantee from him that this isn’t going to happen again; your penis remarkably healing itself and letting those swimmers of yours have free reign.”

“I’m going to jump in here for a second. You realize your body fucked up too, yeah? That it took BOTH of us to make this baby? Your tubes were tied. Right after you had Kota and Brookie. You’re not supposed to be able to get pregnant in the first place.”

She stares at him over the rim of her mug. “Even if I hadn’t gotten them tied, you weren’t supposed to be able to produce any sperm. Ever again. For the rest of your natural born life. But low and behold…”

“You…” He points the knife at her. “...need to accept some responsibility in all of this.”

She huffs, taking a sip of tea and then setting it on the stove; hands on her hips in a show of defiance. “I will do no such thing.”

“Come on, this can’t all be pinned entirely on me. Both our bodies had to screw up for this to happen. So be a big girl…” snagging her by the front of her t-shirt, he gently pulls her into him. “...and take some of the blame.”

She stares up at him; a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth and those enormous, dark eyes sparkling mischievously. “No. You can’t make me.”

“Listen pocket wife, I’m a foot and three inches taller than you and almost a hundred pounds heavier. I can make you.”

“I’d like to see you try. You don’t intimidate me. Your muscles and your resting asshole face and all those tattoos and scars. They don’t scare me a bit.”

“You realize I have ways of convincing you, don’t you? Ways that don’t involve intimidation. “

“Yeah?” Both hands clutch the front of her shirt as her body leans into his. “What kind of ways are we talking about then?”

He swipes the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip. “Sexual ones.”

“You realize that sounds more like pleasure than punishment, right?”

“You remember that thing we did back in New York City. In the bathtub. The thing you claim to hate but always seem to love? The one thing that I always can count on to make you squirt? Do you know what thing I’m talking about?”

“I know EXACTLY what you’re talking about.”

“Well next time around, when you least expect it? I’m going to do that twice as much. Only this time there won’t be a happy ending. For you, anyway.”

Her eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t.”

“Yes. Yes I would.”

“You’re evil.”

“Most evil husband out there.”

“You may be the most evil, but you’re also the sexiest out there. So at least you have THAT going for you,” she chides, giving a tiny yelp when he brings a palm down on the cheek of her ass in a ringing slap. Giggling when his hand reverts to lightly pinching and squeezing before drawing her into him; body pressed against his and her hands tightening their grip on his shirt as he leans down to kiss her. Long and slow and deep; the brief contact between their tongues finding her curling her toes and sighing into his mouth.

When he pulls away he’s smiling down at her; blue eyes sparkling with a mixture of unbridled lust and pure adoration. Hand moving from her ass to the side of her cheek; knuckles grazing over the soft skin before gentle fingertips clear wayward strands of hair away from her face and tuck them behind her ear. “You’re beautiful.”

“You need glasses.”

“I already knew that. But needing them doesn’t mean you’re not beautiful.”

The smile she gives is shaky; tears welling in her eyes as a lump of emotion wedges firmly in her throat. It’s overwhelming at times; seeing his love, adoration, and affection laid so bare. This big, strong man with his myriad of tattoos and scars and a lifetime of trauma, guilt, and regret. So brave and fearless yet so vulnerable at the same time; possessing a heart that he’s even bigger than his body and a beauty to his soul that not even his father, Asif, Mahajan, or Nathan had been able to rob him of. Working as a team, she’d spent years helping chip away at the seemingly impenetrable walls that he’d built around his heart; patiently urging him outside of his comfort zone and encouraging that humanity lingering inside of him to make itself fully known. In the end, the reward was far beyond anything she could ever imagined; a man that loves her so wholly and completely. And profoundly. So much so it often takes her breath away; and all consuming and often leaving her feeling unworthy of such devotion.

He frowns when he notices the tears in her eyes and the tell tale wobble of her lower lip and chin. “What’s the matter? Why are you gonna cry? What…?”

Her voice comes out as a childlike whimper; reminding him of Addie when she’s been scolded or has had a particularly rough run in with Millie and the teasing was just too much to take. “I really need a hug right now.”

Setting the knife on the counter, he gathers her in his arms. One arm circling her waist as a hand settles on the back of her skull; palm lightly pressing her head into his chest. And when she stands on the top of his feet and perches on her tiptoes in order to return the embrace, he crouches down until she’s able to successfully wrap both arms around his neck. His beautiful, tiny wife; his best friend, truest confident, and his rock during his darkest and most dire of times. Always sticking by his side no matter how difficult he sometimes makes things; forever patient and attentive during the long and painful recovery after Nathan, always forgiving him for his sins and mistakes even when he can’t forgive himself. Suddenly seeming so weak and vulnerable herself; her entire body trembling and her tears seeping through the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re gonna be alright,” he promises, and presses a kiss to her ear. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s ALL gonna be okay.”

*****

He hates seeing her like this; face lined with worry and exhaustion, shoulders drooped as if carrying the weight of the world upon them, eyes dark and downcast instead of sparkling and playful. He’d long ago gotten used to her morning persona; overly cheerful and extremely talkative compared to his grumpiness and need for complete and utter silence until he’s at least finished his coffee. So it’s unsettling when she deviates from the norm; missing the familiarity and the routine of her chattiness and her teasing and witty banter. Instead completely silent as she sits across from him at the table on the back deck; her feet resting in his lap as she merely nibbles at the dry toast and moves the pieces of various fruits around on her plate.

He gestures at her plate with his fork. “You need to eat. Start putting weight on instead of it dropping off.”

“It’s not like I’m NOT trying.” She spears a chunk of watermelon and brings it to her lips, taking a tiny bite before setting it back down again. “I WANT to eat. My body is BEGGING me to eat. But it’s kind of hard when you just feel...I don’t know...off.”

“Something we need to worry about? Something to do with the baby?”

“No. I feel fine that way. Other than being crazy nauseous and already having insane heartburn. How much hair is this kid going to have? Because the only other time I suffered this bad…”

“We ended up with Addie. Hairiest damn kid I have EVER seen. Hands down.”

She manages a smile, then nibbles at a slice of dry toast. “Remember how it was practically head to toe? Because she was a preemie?”

“She looked like a little monkey. A cute one, mind you. But a monkey.”

“Don’t ever say that to her. It’ll be her new obsession; monkey this, monkey that. None of our other babies had much hair. If any at all. Well, Declan…”

“I will never forget seeing that head of hair. Bright red.”

“You looked so confused,” Esme muses, as she once more pulls her plate towards her and attempts to eat. “When he was crowning. It was like he had two heads or something.”

Tyler winks at her from across the table. “I was trying to figure out when you had time to get busy with me AND the cable guy.”

“Baby, he is all yours. Without a doubt. The cable man didn’t stand a chance getting close to me. So unless you can get pregnant just by breathing the same air as someone…”

“I hope you’d have better standards than that guy. If you’re going to do something like that, can you at least have the respect to go a notch higher than I am in quality?”

“That’s not even remotely possible. You’re already on the very top rung of quality. In fact, you’re in another league all your own. All by yourself. If you have the best, why settle for less?”

A grin plays on his mouth. “You are so good for my ego.”

“Besides, we both know I’m the last person that would EVER do something like that. I am way too hopelessly and madly and wildly in love with you. Always have been. Always will be. So unless you’re planning on going somewhere, you’re stuck with me. For the long haul.”

“I’m perfectly happy where I am. And with who I’m with. You know that, yeah? That I’d never do something like that. No matter who’s trying to get with me? I would never...EVER..cheat on you.”

“This is stemming from my insecurities, isn't it? Those women yesterday.”

“I just wanted to get it out there. I don’t care about any of them. There might as well not even be any other women on earth. The only one that matters? The only one I want? Is you. And that’s not going to change.”

“And you say I’m good for YOUR ego?”

“I mean, maybe it doesn’t need to be said. Maybe you already realize all that. Or maybe you’re going to tell me that you don’t need the words; you can see everything in my eyes anyway. I just think sometimes I should say it. Who knows, maybe I need to tell you more than you need to hear it.”

Well…” She reaches for his hand that rests on the tabletop, running her fingertips along his forearm and over his palm before lacing their fingers together. “...a girl DOES like to hear how much she’s adored and worshipped.”

“I thought you like it better when I SHOW you how much.”

“That too. But sometimes it’s a nice little bonus; hearing the words.”

Pushing his chair away, he stands and leans across the table; free hand reaching out to cradle her cheek in its palm. “I worship you. I adore you. I love you. And I can’t live without you.”

While tears sparkle in her eyes, her smile is genuine; filling out her cheeks and crinkling the bridge of her nose. “And you say you’re not romantic.”

He bends down to kiss her; the soft press and languid movements of closed mouth upon closed mouth. “I do have my moments,” he says with a grin, running the tip of a finger down the bridge of her nose, playfully tapping the end of it before returning to his seat.

They sit in companionable silence. Enjoying the crisp, refreshing breeze that rolls in off the ocean and the familiar yet calming sounds of the outdoors. The waves rolling up onto the shore, the rustling of the trees as they sway in the wind and the different melodies that come from Esme’s collection of wind chimes attached to the awnings of the pool house. It’s home. The familiar yet never boring sights and sounds of the where they’re the most comfortable; where they grow and nurture their family and take advantage of the many spoils given to them by such a beautiful and expansive piece of land.

Returning to Australia had been the best move they’d ever made. The start of strengthening not only their marriage, but every aspect of the life and relationship they share; making sure to nurture and grow each separate component that makes them, THEM. Often having to pull back from the chaos and stress of everyday existence to remind themselves that they’re not just spouses and people raising kids together; they’re each other’s confidants, best friends and devoted and faithful lovers. Two unique individuals that share a bond unlike many could ever fully understand; broken and in tatters when they’d first met yet somehow managing to comfort and heal one another. What had happened in Dhaka will forever remain the foundation their life together has been built open. A rather odd concoction of many things; shared grief and regret, adrenaline and fear, profound lust accompanied by the pangs of the heart that remind you that you’re still human. And a lot of blood, sweat and tears. All combined with the unforgettable stenches of raw sewage, blood and sweat, and spilled gasoline.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He breaks the silence first, pushing away his empty plate and reaching for his smoothie. Satisfied with her attempt to get food into her belly; her own meal almost completely finished save for a couple bites of toast and a small handful of grapes. Her feet once more resting in his lap; both hands curled around the plastic tumbler that contains the thickened ‘super shake’ he’d made for her earlier.

“By ‘it’ I’m assuming you mean Mark?”

Tyler nods.

“What more is there to say? He’s in town. Not like there’s anything we can really do about it. Not until he at least makes a move.”

“I’ve got guys trying to track him down. Looking into every hotel, every bed and breakfast, every short term rental within a fifty mile radius. Unless he’s gone totally off the grid and he’s holed up in a cave somewhere, my guys will find him.”

“Is that really what you were doing last night? Taking care of all of that stuff? Getting people going on all this?”

“It was some of what I was doing. Not all of it. When you came in, I was doing exactly what I told you I was. I’d already gotten it all set up; guys already starting to dig. Told ‘em not to leave any stone unturned; Mark’s crafty and he’s slippery and he’s going to do everything he can to avoid me catching up to him. He wants the element of surprise; get to you when my guard is down. I’m hoping to get to him before that happens.”

“When do you ever let your guard down?”

“Even I slip up, Esme. You know that better than anyone.”

“Tyler Rake doesn’t make mistakes when it’s family on his line. He rarely makes them when it’s complete strangers he’s looking out for. You’re not the type to fall asleep at the wheel, babe. Especially when it comes to the kids. And ESPECIALLY when it comes to me.”

“I can’t be around you twenty-four seven. There’s going to be times I can’t be with you. As much as I’d love to be glued to your hip…”

“Do you trust the guys you picked? You don’t exactly hand that out lightly, Tyler. And you’ve always been very careful about who you bring into the business. You’ve always had the strictest hiring practices I’ve ever seen. You don’t just bring anyone aboard. And if you’re willing to put them in charge of keeping an eye on him…”

“I trust them when it comes to the job. They’re some of the best I’ve ever seen, actually.”

“Other than yourself, you mean.

“They’re good, Me. They’re quick on their feet and they’re strong as fuck and they will not back down. From anyone or anything.”

“But…”

“But I don’t fully trust anyone when it comes to you. That’s not something I can give; just hand over your life like that. No matter how well I know someone or how good of a merc they are. But I don’t have a choice, do I? It’s not possible to be around every second of every day. I wish it was. I wish I was the only one taking care of you. But…”

“If your gut tells you that these guys can handle it, then that’s what you go with. I trust you, Tyler. Whether it’s protecting me on your own or making the decision to hand it off to someone else. Your instincts are so strong. Some of the strongest I have ever seen. And if they’re telling you that this is right...that these men are right…”

“They’re telling me that I don’t have any other choice. That I NEED to trust these guys. And I want to Esme; I want to be able to sit here and tell you that I trust them one hundred percent. But other than you? There’s no one I trust that way.”

“If you say this is the right decision and that these are the right people, then I’ll go with that. Because I trust YOU. I always have. I always will. So if this is the move you need to make and you’re confident in it…”

“As confident as I’m gonna be.”

“Then there’s nothing more to talk about. If you trust them, then so do I. Simple as that.”

He nods slowly as he considers her words, then offers a small smile and once more takes her hand; lifting it to his lips and pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

“I know you don’t have any answers. And to be honest, I don’t expect any. But I just don’t understand. Why is he doing this? Why now? If it’s a revenge thing, why wait this long? I haven’t been married to him for fifteen years. Why wait that long?”

“I don’t know, Me. I don’t even know if that’s his angle.”

“Everything says it is. What else could he possibly want? Do you think he’s a threat? To me?”

“Yeah,” Tyler reluctantly admits. “I do. He wouldn’t come out of the woodwork after all this time and play all those little mind games in New York and then make it a point to show up here IF he wasn’t planning something. I just don't know exactly what it is. Or when he’s gonna make his move. And hopefully the guys I have trying to find him will track him down. Sooner the better.”

“What will they do with him? If they do find him?”

“Found a little out of the way place in the northern territory. Somewhere they can keep him; until I can get there. Off the beaten track, no through roads, heavy bush. Not a single soul around. Figure that’s for the best, yeah? Keep him somewhere no one can hear screaming and pleading for his life.”

“You’re going to handle that yourself?”

“Hopefully. Told my guys that they can rough him up, but I want him very much alive. So he can feel every goddamn thing I do to him. And I know you’re probably thinking this is a throwback to McMann; taking him hostage and torturing his ass. But…”

“You do what you need to do, Tyler. You do whatever you feel he deserves. I’m not going to think any less of you. And Lord knows that I’ve had quite a few fantasies about how brutal I would love you to be if you ever got your hands on him. I’m not going to ask how and I don’t expect you to tell me. You just do what you need to do. To make him suffer and make him pay for what…” Her voice cracks; tears of both rage and insurmountable pain welling in her eyes. “...just make him pay. Promise me you’ll make him pay.”

Sliding his chair away from the table, he’s at her side in only three long strides; dropping to a knee in front of her and taking her trembling hands in his.

“Promise me, Tyler. Promise me you’ll make him pay.”

“I’ll make him pay, Esme. I promise.”

“Everything he did to him. Everything he said. It’s just all coming back. All those horrible, mean, degrading things he called me. All the times he forced me to do disgusting, horrible things to him. All the nasty, gross shit that HE did to ME.”

He feels the rage that immediately begins to take hold; his jaw setting and tightening and the blue of his eyes becoming much darker. Bile settling in the back of his throat; acrid and burning. He hates hearing about it; the horrific things that she’d been subjected to at the hands of someone who was supposed to love her, protect her, and give her a good life. The person he loves more than anything else in the world and would gladly lay his life down for. Not just his wife, but his best friend and the mother of his children and the centre of his universe.

“You don’t have to talk about this,” he says, and tightly squeezes her hands. “Nothing good will come from going there. Nothing…”

“He is an evil, sick, demented person,” she continues, words struggling to make it through the sobs. “He used to make me clean the baseboards and the grout with my toothbrush and then he’d force me to use it afterwards. If he was in a mood and didn’t like what I made for dinner, he’d throw it on the floor and he’d make me get on my hands and knees and force me to eat it. Like I was a dog! And when I tried to fight back, the beatings just got worse and worse and worse and…”

“That’s enough,” he gently orders, and releases his hold on her hands in favour of drawing her into his embrace. An arm wrapped around her waist and a palm resting on the back of her head; pressing a kiss to her temple and her cheek before drawing her face down to his shoulder. “No more. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t go back to that place.”

One of her hands clutch desperately at the back of his shirt, the other clamping down on the nape of his neck. “How do I ever get over it? How do I ever fully leave all that behind? I thought I was doing okay with it. I thought I was finally putting it all past me. I thought…”

“Sometimes there’s things we don’t really get over. Not completely, anyway. And that was fucking hell; the shit that he put you through. I’m sorry, Me. I am so fucking sorry.”

“Is it weird that sometimes I think about ‘what if’? That I’ll wonder what it would have been like if we’d met some other way? Some other time. Some other place. Before all the bad shit ever happened. Imagine? If we’d met before all of that; if we’d found each other and healed one another sooner?”

“There’s nothing wrong with thinking about that stuff. But babe….listen to me….” He pulls away and cradles her face in his hands; thumbs swiping at the tears that continue to fall “...you can’t live the rest of your life thinking about that. Because if none of the bad ever happened? We wouldn’t have met. Because all the loss and the bullshit put us on the path that led us to each other. And yeah; it was fucking painful and I wanted to put a gun in my mouth and pull the trigger so many times. But in the end, all that crap? All the hard stuff? It brought you into my life. You know that. I KNOW you know that.”

“What if it was all for nothing? You spent YEARS trying to make up for all his mistakes. You didn’t care how messy I was or how messy my life had been before you. You just picked up the pieces and you put me back together. And you never complained ONCE; You just did it.”

“I did it because I love you. Because I couldn’t exactly go and find the guy and kill him with my bare fucking hands. And believe me, I’ve thought about it many times. About how I’d do it. And how I’d make it as slow and painful as possible.”

“All the time and the work you put into fixing me. What if Mark puts me over the edge and I become a big mess again? What if all of a sudden I’m in a million fucking pieces again? What then? It will all be for nothing?”

“No. It won’t. And you know why? Because even if you fall apart a thousand times, each time I’m going to pick those pieces up and I’m going to find a way to make them up. I love you, Esme. More than I ever loved anyone. More than I even thought was possible. And if it DOES happen...you do fall apart...I’m just going to be here to pick you...and all those pieces….back up.”

“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve YOU.”

“Baby, you deserve the fucking world. And I’d give it to you if I could. Come here…” Pressing a kiss to her brow, he tangles his fingers in her hair and draws her head down onto his shoulder; other hand moving in slow, comforting circles in the middle of her back. “...everything’s alright. There’s nothing to be scared of. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“It’s not that I’m scared. Not of him getting a hold of me. I know that you’d never let him get that close. You’d do anything to protect me. I’ve never...ever...doubted that. I just hate what it’s doing to me; him being back in my life. I feel like I’m drowning in all this stuff from the past and that there’s no way you’ll be able to pull me out of it. Like it’s going to suck me under and you won’t stand a chance of getting me back.”

“That’s not going to happen. I won’t LET that happen.”

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,,” she admits. “Worrying all the time about the baby and trying so hard to take care of the other kids and now this crap with Mark and him being so close to us.”

“I know it’s really overwhelming right now, Me. I know it’s a lot of things being heaped on your plate. And believe me, I am taking as much of it off as I can. And this stress with Mark is just making everything else seem even worse. But I got you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I just need you to trust me.”

“I do. I DO trust you.”

“You got lots of help with the kids. You got me, you got Stel, Riley’s always willing to drop everything and lend a hand. And you know how much grandpa Koen loves to spend time with them. He’s always ready, willing, and able to step up.”

Managing a laugh, she pulls back and swipes at her tears with the back of her hands. “He was in fine form last night, huh?”

“He was definitely on top of his ‘shit talk Tyler’ game.”

“Everything he says, he says with love. He’s a wreck, you know. When he showed up in Dhaka. He was all laughs and jokes at first and I’m sure that was just to calm his nerves, because when he got to your room? He just lost it. Totally broke down. I’ve never seen him get that emotional since.”

“I guess he’s got a little bit of a soft spot for me. Considering I was an enormous shit head when I first met him and he threatened to beat the attitude out of me. And believe me; he tried a couple times. Tough love, yeah? He’s the guy that turned me into the solider I became. And tried to stop me from destroying myself after everything fell apart. Spent years trying to talk some sense into me. Never stuck.”

“Guess you just weren’t ready for that yet. You just had a bit more of your journey to take. I’m sorry it was as crappy as it was. That you had to go through what you did.”

“Lost my kid and my sobriety. And probably most of my sanity.”

“It’s not fair. That you had to go through so much. Starting right from you were a little boy. Not a single step of your path has been easy.”

“No. I guess it hasn’t. But every one of those steps was worth it. ‘Cause look where I am now. I’m a long way from The Kimberley.”

“Leaps and bounds,” she smiles. “Even in the last five years.”

“It was worth it. It was ALL worth it. And this? Whatever the hell THIS is? With Mark? That’s just another bump in the road we gotta get past. I just need you to trust me. That’s it.”

“I’ve always trusted you, Tyler. Always.”

“Everything’s going to be alright,” he promises, and once more gathers her into a tight, protective embrace. “I didn’t lose you in New York and I’m sure as hell not gonna lose you now. Especially not to him.”

The scrape of the screen door opening upon its track captures his attention, and he glances up in time to see his oldest son step onto the porch. Hair mussed from sleep and sticking up in several different directions; barefoot and clad in only a pair of blue, red, and white plaid pyjama bottoms. And it’s the first time that he’s noticed just how grown up that his namesake is becoming; only ten, but tall and athletically built with well chiselled ab muscles and noticeable definition in his arms and shoulders. All long limbs and torso and tanned skin; brilliant, expressive blue eyes and his once shoulder length dirty blond hair now chopped short. Despite his issues with impulse control, his diagnosis with ADHD, and his volatile temper, he always seems much older and wiser than his actual age; independent and detail and routine oriented and always willing to step up and lend a hand with his younger siblings or with chores and repairs around the house. And it’s bitter sweet; his first son after losing Austin growing up in what seems like the blink of an eye. Proud of him for the person...the man...that he’s becoming but missing the little boy he was; the one who’d be attached to his hip and who explored the world with wide eyed, breathless abandon and wanted nothing more than to exactly like his old man.

“Dad?” Worry tarnishes the ten year old’s voice; eyes darkening and narrowing as he observes the sight in front of him. “What’s going on? What…?”

“Nothing, mate. Your mum and I were just having a chat. She just got a little...worked up.”

“About what?” He finally approaches, a hand on the back of his mother’s chair as he leans in to check on her. “What were you guys talking about?”

“Just some adult stuff. Your mum’s just a little emotional today.”

“Mummy?” TJ lays a palm on her shoulder, gently squeezing and then pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Are you okay? What happened? What..?”

“I’m alright,” Esme assures him, and turns her face into his, pecking his lips. “Daddy and I were just talking and…”

“You don’t look alright. You’re crying. Why are you crying?” A mixture of panic, worry, and the beginnings of anger creep into his voice. And he fixes his father with a steely glare. “What’s wrong with mum? Why is she crying? What were you talking about that would upset her?”

“Just a couple serious things,” Tyler informs him. “ADULT things. Things you don’t need to worry about.”

TJ’s jaw clenches. “What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything. Why would you…?”

“Daddy didn’t do a thing,” Esme assures him. “Like he said we were having a chat and things turned a little serious and I got emotional. That’s it. He didn’t do anything or say anything wrong. I got upset and I started to cry and he was just trying to comfort me. That’s it.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause if something else happened…”

Turning sideways in her chair, she clasps her son’s face in her hand. “Tyler James. Listen to what I’m saying. Daddy did nothing wrong. I started crying and he got worried and he was trying to calm me down. He didn’t say or do anything. He was trying to help. He wanted to cheer me up. That’s all.”

“Mummy…”

“That’s all,” she insists. “I appreciate you worrying about me, but we’re telling the truth. I just got emotional about some things we were talking about. That’s all. Daddy would never...EVER...do anything to make me cry. Unless it’s happy tears.”

TJ sighs heavily. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure. But thank you.,” she presses a kiss to his lips and smooths a hand over his unruly hair. “I’m okay, baby man. There is nothing for you to worry about, okay? And good morning, by the way. Thought for sure you’d sleep in a lot longer; all the running around you did after the littlest yesterday.”

“Dad said we could go surfing. Before everyone else got up. I set my alarm.”

“Well the water looks perfect today. Or as you would say, the waves looking ‘bitchin’.”

Excitement replaces worry and simmering anger. “Dad checked the surf report last night. They said it was going to be perfect conditions. And that it could just be us. I like when it’s just us. It’s a lot more fun. And we sit on our boards and talk. A lot.”

“Then I’ll let you guys get to it. I’m sure you have a lot of boy stuff to talk about.”

Tyler pushes himself to his feet as his wife slips out of her chair; hand on the small of her back as she stands. “You good?”

“I’m good,” she assures him, standing on her tiptoes to return his kiss. “I’ll take the dirty stuff in and I’ll grab some towels and throw them out here for you guys. And maybe I’ll even crash on the couch; until the rest of the hoodlums wake up.”

“If you need anything, you know where to find us.”

“I’ll be fine, Tae. Everything will be fine.”

Nodding in agreement, he offers a small smile and presses his lips to her temple. Watching as she gathers the dirty dishes, mugs, and cutlery and carries them into the house. TJ gallantly holding the door open for her; a broad, beaming smile spreading across his face as she plants a kiss on his cheek.

“IS mum okay?” The ten year old turns to him once Esme is out of ear shot.

“She’s fine, mate. She’s just going through some stuff.”

“Bad stuff or…?”

“Just some stuff. Nothing you need to worry about. You’re mum’s alright. And you know I’d never hurt her, yeah? That I would never...ever...say or do anything to break her heart. Tell me you know that.”

“I do. But you used to. Do stuff like that. I know I was just little then, but…”

“I’m not that guy anymore, TJ. I haven’t been him in a long time. I would never hurt your mother. I love her in ways you can’t even begin to understand. And I would do anything to make her happy and to keep her safe.”

“Is there a reason to? Keep her safe?”

“No,” Tyler lies. “There’s not.”

*****

From the moment he first held Austin in his arms, Tyler had pictured these moments; introducing his son to surfing and forming a tremendous bond over their shared love of the water. Teaching him how to not only handle the waves, but to give himself over to the release and the escape that comes not with conquering them, but being submissive to them; gliding smoothly and confidently yet remembering that nature always has the upper hand and should never be questioned or underestimated. When he had first found out he was going to be a father, he’d often daydream about sharing his passions with his offspring; surfing, fishing, hiking, and camping trips. But military life had been all consuming, as had been his commitment to it; putting fighting the battles of others higher on his list of priorities than his wife and soon to be born child. And having the baby home hadn’t changed a damn thing; signing up for extra tours whenever he got the chance, putting his be all and end all into the army and having nothing left to give his family.

For his fifth birthday, he’d gifted Austin with two things; a custom made surfboard and the promise that he’d change his ways and become the dad that his kiddo needed and deserved. Neither of things ever came to fruition; Austin diagnosed with cancer just three weeks later and the board going unused and Tyler’s promise dying the moment the news had been dropped into their laps. And when Austin had died, so had all of the dreams and the hopes that Tyler had had as father; the loss tremendous and robbing him of both his heart and soul. The grief composed of many things. Not just the loss of his boy, but of all of those expectations, and fantasized moments, and the memories that would have been made during them.

He never dreamed that he’d ever be a father again; his marriage and his military career both disintegrating and finding him throwing himself headlong into mercenary life and a battle with booze and drug addiction. Wracked with so much guilt, regret, and profound grief that he truly believed he deserved his self imposed exile from the rest of humanity. He was a monster and not deserving of any form of a normal life; taking the most dire and dangerous of jobs in hopes one would kill him, drinking and popping pills in hopes of not just numbing the physical pain, but the mental anguish as well.

In the blink of an eye and in the midst of his deepest and darkest moments of suicidal ideation, everything changed. In the form of a tiny, tattooed and pierced brunette with the most beautiful smile and dark eyes he’d ever seen. Since then, every blessing has come with great sacrifice. Ones that he’s willing to pay over, and over, and over again for even a slice of the life that he has now. It’s a normalcy that isn’t normally rewarded to guys like him; a wife and children and a beautiful home in an even more beautiful place. So many bridges burned and toes trampled upon; exuberant coin in your pocket in exchange for scars that litter your body and enemies within all four corners of the world. It’s generally a short existence; catching a bullet in the midst of all the action or a bodyguard or a mercenary -contracted to take you out- catching you by surprise. Most never even attempt any form of domesticity; preferring the company of random women -or men- instead of committing and settling down. The job follows you. Stays with you. Remains embedded in your soul. Accompanied by long lists of evil people you’ve crossed and will forever seek revenge, debts that you can never repay and will forever be held over your head, and addiction and mental health issues. You’re never fully away from it; it will follow you wherever you go, keep you up at night, have you constantly looking over your shoulder or being wary of the smallest of bumps in the night. It’s easier to not get someone else tangled up in the madness; half the time it’s hard just to keep yourself alive, let alone a spouse and children. They’d be the first to pay the price for your misdeeds, and bringing them into that kind of world would be considered not just risky, but selfish as fuck.

Sometimes he still sees himself that way; a weakened, pathetic version of himself that opted to put targets on the backs of others instead of just dealing with his issues and his loneliness in a healthier, SOLO way. But love had found him. Somehow. In the midst of all the darkness and ruin and decay of his life, something...someone... so beautiful and bright had stumbled into his path. She’d effortlessly and easily saw past the hardened and fearless facade he’d created through an endless cycle of self loathing, sorrow, and regret; slowly chipping away at the walls he’d built around the remains of his heart and making him feel alive again. Opening his eyes to a different future and sparking a longing and a desperation and a hunger that he had felt to his very soul. Wanting her...ALL of her...in a way he’d never wanted anyone else. Trusting her in a way he hadn’t since the death of his mother; finding himself both soothed and ignited by the compassion in her voice, the kindness in her eyes, and the gentleness of her hands whenever she touched him.

His heart had been hers long before he’d ever gotten the nerve to tell her so. And he’d been both terrified and filled with hope when he’d even dare to think about a life...a future...with her. He has always felt that his time with her has been far more than he deserves; that kind of existence reserved for those who are morally stronger AND superior. But for some reason, fate had smiled upon him; giving a woman that so plainly wears her heart upon her sleeve and remains stalwartly devoted and faithful. Bearing him seven...eventually eight...children and building a home and a life beyond anything he could have ever imagined.

He’d spent the better part of an hour feeling tremendously grateful and unabashedly proud as he’d watched part of that life so confidently handling the waves below and around him. Ten years old but sometimes so wise and mature beyond his years; misunderstood by so many and not given the credit or the attention that he so rightfully deserves. A fearless, tough kid with an enormous heart; so much love caught up inside him that he’s sometimes unable to express or even cope with it. Exploring the world and the elements with near reckless abandon; always looking for adventure and forever staring challenge straight in the eye. And it’s bittersweet; the act of making the memories with THIS son that his mind had created with for the boy he’d lost years before.

“What do you think it feels like?” TJ asks, as they sit side by side. A hundred yards from shore where the water is calmer; perched upon their boards with their legs dangling over the sides. “To get bit by a shark.”

Tyler glances over; noticing small inklings of his wife inside the ten year old. The way his namesake tilts his head to the side and his eyes narrow as he contemplates a question. The smooth bridge of the nose and the shape of his jaw. But he’s definitely a ‘chip off the old block’; the brilliant blue eyes and the broad shoulders and the long, lanky body, the cheeky smirk and the smile that brightens his entire face. And there’s more. So much more. A strikingly similar personality; dry witted and quick with the sarcasm and the smart ass comments. And the temper; volatile and unpredictable, always seeming as if it’s on a permanent, slow boil.

“I don’t know, mate. But I can guarantee that it does NOT feel good.”

“Mick Fanning...the surfer that mum likes...he got attacked by one. During a competition. A great white. Hit him right in the face with its tail! Can you imagine? I would have been shitting bricks for sure! It would be kind of cool to see one, though. We’ve only ever seen a couple of dorsals in the water. When we’ve been hanging out on the beach. Kinda weird we’ve NEVER come across one.”

“I’d rather not if it’s all the same to you. I’ve spotted a few in my time. Long before you were even a twinkle in your mumma’s eyes. Wasn’t close enough to go one on one with ‘em. Thank Christ.”

“Sometimes I get this really weird feeling in my stomach. When we’re out here. It’s like something is just moving around in there; kicking at your insides and tugging at them and stuff. Like my body is telling me that there’s something underneath me. Maybe even WATCHING me. You ever get something like that? Where you just KNOW something is there?”

“Had that happen a lot. Always been too chicken shit to look down, though.”

“I like that, you know. That you’re not afraid to admit you’re scared of things. Lots of guys are. They act all big and bad and like nothing bothers them, but you know it’s all bullshit. You’ve never been like that. Even since I was little. You’ve always talked about being scared of things and how it’s okay to be afraid of stuff. And that we shouldn’t be embarrassed to get emotional. Cry and stuff. Do you still feel that way?”

“I do. I feel even stronger about it now. Nothing wrong with a guy being vulnerable. Doesn’t make them weak or pathetic or less of a man.”

TJ grins over at him. “Just makes them human.”

“You know, you sound a hell of a lot like your mum sometimes.”

“That’s a good thing, if you ask me. ‘Cause mum’s pretty awesome.”

“Yeah…” Tyler smiles wistfully, then glances towards the shore; his wife up from her nap and getting the littles settled for breakfast on the deck as the older kid’s lend a hand. “...she certainly is.”

TJ’s expression turns serious. “You meant it, right? When you said you didn’t say or do anything to make mum cry.”

“Everything we both told you was the truth; we were talking about some adult stuff and she got emotional. All I was trying to do was comfort her. That’s it. You know how your mum can be; when she’s feeling overwhelmed and hasn’t been sleeping well and she tries to take too much on.”

“She needs to learn how to rely on other people . And ask for help when she needs it.”

“It’s hard for her. Even after all the years she’s been with me. She finds it difficult to ask for help. Guess she’s so used to people letting her down, that she just can’t shake that part of her. We’ll just keep an eye on her and just chip in where we need to and hope for the best, yeah?”

TJ nods, then gives a bashful smile. “I’m sorry, dad. For kinda flipping out on you earlier. But I saw you kneeling in front of mummy and then I could tell she was crying and my brain just immediately went to think you’d done something wrong.”

“We’re a lot like, you and I. In a lot of ways. I tend to react a little too quickly, a little too soon. Old habits die hard. But I would never…EVER...hurt your mum. That is the last thing I want to do. Intentional or not. I love her, mate. In ways you can’t even understand. In ways I can’t even understand sometimes. I just hope that one day you get to feel that way about someone. Or close to it.”

“I just worry about her,” TJ sighs. “I don’t like when she’s upset. Especially when she cries. I hate seeing it; mummy sad. I wish I could find a way so she’d never be sad EVER again. Wouldn’t that be nice? If we could find a way to make sure mummy NEVER got sad again?”

“Yeah, mate. It would. But life isn’t like that. We gotta go through the good AND the bad. Unfortunately.”

“Mum’s been through a lot. I mean, I know you have too. But mum...I don’t know...she’s different. She’s...well...she’s my mum. I know you’re tough and strong and brave and all that. That you can handle things better. But mum puts on a good show for people I think. She lets on that she’s okay and she’s totally fine with taking care of everything one else. But sometimes? Sometimes I don’t think she’s okay at all. Do you ever think that? That she’s just pretending to be alright?”

“I don’t just don’t think. I know she’s doing it. And believe me, I’ve tried to get her out of it. But your mum…”

“And she has the nerve to call US stubborn? She is way worse.”

“She’s got a hard head,” Tyler agrees. “And in some ways, it’s a good thing. She never gave up on me. Even when everyone around her was telling her she should. She just ignored them. Had my back no matter what other people said.”

“It’s ‘cause she loves you. And you’re the first person to ever really love her. Other than her dad and he died when she was young, so ....” TJ rakes a hand through his wet hair. “...sometimes it must feel like it’s just you and mum against the world, huh?”

“I’ve felt that way. A few times. But then all you guys started coming along and our team got even bigger. I like to think we ALL have each other’s backs.”

“Of course we do. We’re family. We’re all in this together. And we’re Rakes. Means we’re tough and we don’t back down. From anyone or anything. We might be scared, but we’re still standing up for what’s right. That’s what you taught us. That even though we might be afraid, we gotta do the right thing. Always. A man isn’t measured by the things he has, but by the people he’s helped.”

Tyler grins. “Where’d you hear that?”

“I read it in a book at school. One of the grade eight kids left on the playground and I was bored and I found it and I just started reading it. I guess I liked that line for some reason. It stuck in my head. Even if there isn't much else up there.”

“Don’t you do that,” Tyler gently scolds. “I don’t want to EVER hear you do that. Talk shit about yourself.”

TJ frowns. “It’s kinda hard when everyone around you is doing it.”

“At school?”

He nods. “I’m the dumb, crazy kid. That’s what everyone thinks. Especially the teachers.”

“They ever say that to you?”

“Not to my face. But I walked by the staff room once and they were talking about that ‘Rake kid’. About how he’ll probably end up in juvenile detention by the time he’s thirteen. And in and out of jail when he’s older. You can’t tell me that it was about Takota or Declan. I might be stupid, but I’m not THAT stupid.”

“You’re not stupid at all. And I don’t want you ever calling yourself that again. You just need some help. Find different ways to learn. Not everyone learns the same way. I was like you in school; couldn’t focus, got ignored when I asked for help, that turned into me goofing off or getting frustrated. Lots of times I put a fist into a locker or a wall. A LOT.”

“Is that why you didn’t go to college? Like mum? Is that why you went into the military?”

“I suppose that’s part of it. Guess I liked the danger and adventure of it too. Going off and fighting bad guys and getting to shoot guns and all of that shit. Never thought about actually having to kill people and what that would feel like.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Not good, mate. Not good at all.”

“Even if it’s bad people? Like that Nathan that hurt you?”

“People like him are exceptions. But for the most part? I don’t like doing it. Not even if it’s in the course of helping someone else. But sometimes…”

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” his son finishes for him. “Sometimes it’s you or them, right?”

“Exactly. And don’t worry about school, alright? I’ll give them a call. Ask for a meeting. Get things sorted and get you the help you need. And deserve.”

“Man…” TJ grins. “...they are going to shit their pants when they hear from you.”

Tyler reaches out to ruffle his namesake’s hair. “Maybe. Hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Wanna head in? See what mum’s cooking up?”

“I don’t know." The ten year old's nose crinkles in disgust. "Do you think it’ll be edible?”

“Is it ever?”

TJ laughs. “Dad…”

“Whatever you do, do NOT tell her I said that.”

“Don’t worry…” Leaning across his board, the ten year old wraps both arms around one of Tyler’s; squeezing tightly and laying his head against his dad’s shoulder. “...your secret’s safe with me.”

[dirt-cup-draco]

Bucky x Reader- Yours

a...ging stops at 18 until you find your soulmate so the two of you can grow old together.  d...amage done to a person also translates into their soulmate’s body (cuts, bruises and all) 

Thank you @starofthedawn! love our bucky boi :’)

Time had become something that simply passed you by. The decades skipped and hopped, one to another and you remained stuck in the body of a young woman that had aged far beyond her looks. The soulmates that aged, the ones that found one another, they watched you with pitying eyes as they saw the heavy weight behind your eyes. It was clear the excitement of waiting on someone meant just for you had taken it’s toll and you weren’t sure if you’d ever find that special someone to grow old with. 

It wasn’t just the time that had chipped at the hope you’d held onto in the 1940s when every one of your peers waited for their soulmate and your parents were hoping you’d find yours before even a week passed. Everyone was eager and you had been too. You had wanted to know everything about whoever was out there. At first you hadn’t wanted to, thinking them a troublemaker, but you were certain they were just clumsy. It’s why you always ended up with a nasty shiner that you had to try and ice down or a split lip your mother helped you nurse. 

When the war started gathering up every capable young man across the country you were certain that you’d lose your soulmate, whether by distance or warfare. It was something you feared once- never finding your soulmate. So you had done the only sane, or not so sane thing, you’d offered yourself up to help the soldiers as their nurse. Every night you went to bed relieved that your soulmate had escaped another day seemingly unharmed, besides the deep set ache in your bones but you had soon forgotten if it was his or yours. 

The war had ended and things from there grew more bleak. Surely you’d know if he had been one of the casualties, wouldn’t you? But doubt crept into your mind. You remember laying on your cot one evening when you found a moment to rest, mind gone foggy from the days constant movement and too little time to yourself. You felt like bricks laid out against the stiff cotton and it was a struggle to even twitch your finger. 

Suddenly, the air was knocked from your lungs so forcefully youd choked out a cough just to remind yourself how to start breathing again. Your head began to ache terribly and your arm held a terrible weight to it. You tried to brush it off, you were just tired or maybe your other half was just feeling a bit lethargic that day- nothing serious. You had let your eyes fall shut but your rest was interupted with a vicious burning that made you scream aloud, eyes burning with tears as you clawed at the junction of your shoulder and arm. 

You shuddered, pulling your cardigan tighter around you as you remembered the night you’d felt unimaginable pain. You hadn’t really felt the same since. Disconnected, odd. Maybe it was a sign that he was gone, that you’d be stuck mourning and living out one existence after the other. You’d tried asking, the few willing to share, what it felt like to lose your soulmate whether it be before or after they’d met but no one could truly put the agony into words. 

Every so often you felt dull aches, a sore jaw from clenching too long, a sharp pain at the back of your skull... But it never lasted and as the world rocketed itself into a new age you believed that you were crazy and that these aches were just a phantom to remind you of a love you’d never get to experience. 

“Don’t look so glum,” Your boss Helen laughed, elbowing your side playfully and pulling you from your thoughts as you trudged through the back door. You tore your hat from your head, blowing a lose strand of hair from your eyes as you gave her a grim smile. 

“How could I look anything other than delighted when I know I’ll be in my lovely place of work for ten hours making grumpy people their caffeine fix for the day?” You teased back, a small grin working its way onto your face. Despite the decades spent wondering where half of your heart was, you had still found people and things to love. 

One of those people was Helen and one of those things was her lovely cafe. She’d employed you nearly three years ago and while you hadn’t aged a single day you were beginning to see the slight shift in her. A gray hair or two could be found in her amber locks, wrinkles at her mouth, eyes and forehead making her look...weathered in a way. Like a well loved book. She had stories full of excitement and happiness and more importantly, a soulmate. 

“You’re a brat but you’re my brat, now get out there and work your magic,” Helen commanded and you had to tear your eyes away from her. She was gorgeous, she was happy, she was loved, she was whole. 

The day went like clockwork, you clocked in at 6 and greeted the morning dump of sour sleepy people. The rush got you far enough along that by the time you were done cleaning your station your coworker James had punched in and you were set free to go on a fifteen minute break. It went too quickly and then you were half goofing off and half doing dishes until you took a lunch, your feet aching in your shoes but your mind gone pleasantly numb. 

Work kept you from the sink hole that had appeared in your chest. 

You hummed a tune, one always stuck at the back of your mind that played when you let yourself sink into the comfortable rhythm of cleaning the plates returned to you by customers who needed a nutritious or indulgent pick me up with their daily espresso or latte. The clouds had blanketed the sky and there was a familiar chill in the cafe that made the warm sink water lull you even further into your peace of mind. 

Now seven hours into your shift you were feeling eager to get home and kick up your feet but anxious to experience the dread that eventually seeped in. Your company had been enough for decades, or you had learned to let yourself be enough, but it didn’t end the longing of wanting someone there who knew you better than you knew yourself. 

“Y/N!” Came Jame’s clear as a bell voice, the echo of his tenor bumping against the glass wall you’d built in your mind to keep everything out. 

“Whatdya want?” You hollered to the front of the shop, drying off a mug as you took a few steps through the archway. James was at the back of the shop, cleaning up a spill and there was a customer hovering near the front counter. Their head was bent low and their shoulders hunched up to their shoulders. They wore a hoodie over their head and their hair cloaked their face, you couldn’t help but let your gaze linger but realized the man at the front must be why James had called for your help.

 “Oh!” You exclaimed, setting the cleaned mug on the edge of the counter as you approached the register. “S-sorry, what can I get for you?” You stumbled over your words and had to shake your head. It seemed you’d gotten a little too lost in your thoughts as you had trouble coming back to the present. 

“Anything with caramel,” Came a voice that warmed you from the inside out. Your eyes snapped out and you found you were trapped by icy eyes that held nothing but a gentle shyness in them. The stranger was strong, his appearance almost intimidating, but behind the curtain of thick hair was an almost boyish face. But yet it was his eyes that you kept going back to as you tried to remember where you even were.

They were the loveliest eyes you’d ever seen, but they were the saddest you’d ever encountered. You didn’t think you’d ever see such a lost look on anyone other than your own reflection in the mirror. Your heart stuttered uncomfortably in your chest and you fumbled to take the man’s order on the register. You gave up completely and spun around on your heel once you realized you’d been staring too long. 

In your sudden movement though you had caught the edge of the already forgotten mug and it toppled to the ground. 

“Fuck!” you cursed, immediately dropping to the ground to pick up the shards. You felt too warm, your head foggy and body floating yet heavy. Your chest was tight and you couldn’t put a name on the feeling. Maybe you were having a heart attack. You’d gone too long without a soulmate and time had finally caught up to your ageless body. 

You were once again trapped in your mind as you fumbled with the sharp pieces, inhaling sharply as you cut yourself. 

“Double fuck!” You whined, squeezing your finger tight, trying to stop the flow of blood as you dropped the pieces back to the floor. 

“Jesus, Y/N, you feelin’ alright?” James asked, coming to your side. You simply nodded and popped your finger into your mouth. 

“H-he wants caramel,” you said airily, nodding back to the stranger but when you looked back at him his eyes had gone wide, hood pulled back from the top of his head. You were nearly about to ask if he’d seen a ghost but then you saw the liquid ruby gathering at the tip of his own finger. The same one you had cut. 

Your breath had been stolen from your lungs and your legs went out from under you as you sank against the counter behind you. 

“Y/N?” Helen asked, the commotion grabbing her attention all the way from her office. “Sweetheart what’s wrong have you eaten? Can I get you-”

“I- um just thinks she’s a little in shock,” Came that lovely voice once more and you felt a bit more grounded. He was much closer now, having come around the counter, brushing his cut finger against his jeans. It was only now you noticed one of his hands caught the light and revealed a prosthetic. 

Your shoulder suddenly ached with memories and your eyes welled up. “Where have you been?” You croaked, hands shaking and knees still weak. 

He sank down to kneel in front of you, ignoring both Helen and James’ protests to be mindful of the shattered mug. His calloused hands were large and gentle as they gathered yours up. His own eyes grew misty as he took you in. 

“I know I’m late, it’s a long story so why don’t I just start with a hello?” He asked, helping you to your feet. 

You laughed a bubbly and nearly hysterical laugh that made you feel lightheaded all over again but he just held on tighter to you and you never wanted to be let go again. “Maybe you could start with your name too,” You teased and you felt nearly as breathless as you’d been the night you’d only known pain. 

You supposed that was going to be a part of his long story and your heart ached already at the thought of him experiencing any of what you’d only felt a fraction of. 

“I’m Bucky, and what can I call a beautiful gal like you?” Bucky grinned, his flesh hand releasing your arm so he could brush his fingertips against your cheek in wonderment. 

“Yours, I’m all yours,” You choked out, a watery grin painted onto your face.

Time had become something that simply passed you by, but now you were ready to begin the rest of your life. 

[theplanetprince]

Fanfiction Review

I can already tell this is gonna be super confusing bc I've been writing fic since I was 12 but have since gone through so many identity changes. But let's play anyway!

Thanks for the tag @redead-red

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

My current library is 8. I don't actually write fanfic too often unless a specific idea intrigues me-- or something in the fanon just doesn't line up with me. I do have at least 4ish more stories planned and maybe a revised version of an ancient story from when I was young. 2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

166,451! Pretty neato!

3. How many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

Uh, in no specific order,

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (lost to purging)

Doctor Who (you ain't gonna find these)

Sonic

NiGHTs into Dreams

Dead by Daylight (<3)

Danny Phantom (my beloathed) Supernatural (my other beloathed)

and uhhhh, I think a bunch of various other video games I can't remember. For the sake of brevity I'm gonna put the rest under the cut.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

This is actually pretty funny bc I have so few fics released. I only get emails for certain ones all the time, so I wrote this part out by guessing, but I ended up not needing to change it. (also, don't read most of these; they're old and bad)

1. Schrodinger's Adolescent, 337 Kudos (Danny Phantom)

2. Teen Years and How to Survive Them, 97 Kudos (Secret Trio)

3. Two Fake Feds Come up the Laneway the other dayyyyyy, 56 Kudos (Letterkenny/Supernatural)

4. Brother's Keeper, 40 Kudos (Halloween, DBD)

5. Beginner's Guide to Destroying the Moon, 37 Kudos (Sonic)

5. Which of your fic do you want more attention for?

I'll be real here, I still enjoy most of the work I did for both Beach House Bummer, and Beginner's Guide to Destroying the Moon. I just wish I got more love for the latter bc I might be inspired to finish it lmao.

6. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I really try to! I love the long rambly comments I get on Schrodinger's because I can feel those people are giving me the same passion I put into my work-- Though most of the time I get the generic "post more" or "update plz" which I dunno I'm grateful for the interaction. Still, I don't really want to repeat like "I'm trying my best, dude." about 12 times a day.

7. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I'll be real I only have two completed fics rn-- but I can tell you I had this one fic that I wrote when I was fourteen where the ninja turtles had to burn down a lab full of half-born mutant embryos, and like I remember writing that and then going to middle school the next day like "They don't know I'm a literary genius."

8. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Probably the Letterkenny/Supernatural crossover-- I feel very strongly about SPN and how people take it way too seriously, so when I found out it was filmed in Canada. It used famous Canadian actors from the show Letterkenny, it felt way too good to pass up. I do hope to write in that space again when I'm feeling less depresso-espresso.

9. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yeah. It's probably a big reason why you'll never see the tmnt fics for a while. I also used to write a lot of OC stories, and this was back in 2014 so like those were def hit the hardest. I'm glad to say it's like... subsided for the most part. I don't get hate as much as I just get really confusing and creepy comments, which don't hurt my rejection-sensitive-ass as much.

10. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Hahahaha, no.

I am kind of bad at writing it, and I don't really like writing it. Which yeah that makes sense. My friends sometimes when they find out I write fanfic as a joke they'll send me some of the worst examples smut they can find and to test my talent I'll try to rewrite it to make it some kind of titillating-- but alas it just isn't my forte. The cons of being an asexual I guess.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Uh, yes and no? I think I had one of my older fics stolen, retranslated, and then retranslated again to English? That was so long ago tho.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but I'd love to give it a shot sometime.

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Honestly, it's sonadow. I know it's cringe but I'm free, dammit. Outside of that I guess my favorite dynamic is jock/nerd, which you've probably gleaned from my resume here fhsdkjf.

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I've been working on Teen Years and How to Survive them since I was 16, I only started making headway on it when I was 19-- so I feel like that speaks for itself hskjhg.

15. What are your writing strengths?

It's been told to me that I'm very funny and I write convincing dialog that captures a character's voice. Which is extremely flattering despite the fact that I feel like I'm tricking you all.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

probably scenery and landscape, if I'm honest. I also accidentally keep creating scenes just for the dialog instead of action or environment.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I think as long as I can guess what they're saying from context clues, and the writer is courteous enough to include body language and the like, then it's mostly harmless. I love including a bunch of references in fic whether it's cultural, historical, or just like a quote from a movie or something so I have a bunch of tabs open regardless it wouldn't be too inconvenient for me to fire up google translate or something.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!

19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Probably Schrodinger's Adolescent, it really opened up a lot of doors for me in the DP fandom and I got to meet a lot of cool people because of it. It really cheered me up from a dark place. And despite me writing it initially out of anger and spite its grown into this soft thing that really means a lot to me.

20. What fic are you most proud of?

Honestly, I can't pick. I'm both embarrassed by them all and yet glad they bring people some form of comfort.

Uhhhh who to tag-- I don't really know

@ten0rreaper is the only one I can think of-- whoever else I guess can have at it. I'm not very good at these things lmao.

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

To Owe A Date

Request fill from AO3 I got carried away with.

@cecie-does-stuff-things I thought maybe you'd like to be tagged since it's DeSleep!

Summary: The new barista at the coffee shop Janus frequents is a shameless tease of a flirt. Janus finds he doesnt really mind.

Warnings: none

Ships: DeSleep, Janus x Remy

WC: 1,499

Rarely was Janus in a worse mood than he was that morning.

It had started off fine, his sons getting along relatively well for the most part. Remus had only stolen one shoe and hidden it the morning and Roman had only gone off on one tirade concerning some musical or another. He loved both of them dearly, chaotic as they were with their typical escapades and he loved listening to their interests and debates on those interests, but they often made for exhausting mornings that made him crave the sweet release of caffeine before he felt ready to face his clients, many of which acted less mature than his seven year olds.

As it was he gently massaged his temples as he kept a fast pace to the nearest coffe shop, which made average drinks at best but was cheap and on his way to the tattoo parlor so he really couldn't complain. Burying himself further in his caplet as he went (yes they were still in style, it was warm and kept his arms free) he stepped hurriedly inside, the small bell tinkling and alerting the worker behind the bar.

Janus' brow furrowed slightly as he took in the new cashier, styled hair swooping low over a dark set of sunglasses and an eclectic assortment of what looked like silly bands adorning his wrists. Sighing quietly he prayed that the newcomer knew how to make coffee already and wasn't a completely new trainee, otherwise this day was going to be a lot more painful than he had anticipated.

"Hey shortcake, what's your poison?"

Janus blinked, the server stood at least a head taller than him, making his comment instantly infuriating. "I have to wait until at least two before consuming alcohol. Unfortunately coffee is classier than wine before noon."

The barista laughed outright. "Ooooh, tired wine mom aesthetic! Don't worry, in this shop we love Karens."

"You won't in about five seconds if I'm still refused service, no ones too tall for a kick to the kneecaps." Janus leaned pointedly against the counter, refusing to acknowledge the others shameless flirting, if that's what it could even be called. The other whistled low and grabbed a small pad and pen, straightening and standing to attention.

"Yes sir." The sultry tone definitely didn't go over Janus head but he merely rolled his eyes and glared point blank. "Alright fine. Geez girl, you are absolutely no fun. Do you know how boring it is in here most days? Can't blame a guy for trying. I'm gonna guess...you're probably a lightweight, so decaf with lots of sugar hun?"

Janus snorted. "Fuck no. A mocha with two extra espresso shots and whipped cream. I'll pay the extra."

Raising his eyebrow the barista jotted down his order and smirked. "Love a man who can hold his espresso. It'll be just a minute...?"

"Karen."

Laughing out loud again, he just nodded and turned away forwards the various machines to go about filling the order. In no time at all it was done, his cup handed over with Karen ♡ carefully written on the side. Paying quickly, Janus turned to leave, only pausing when the man's voice called out to him.

"See ya later babes."

"Depends on how good the coffee is." Janus threw over his shoulder not bothering to look back as he left to actually go to his job. Walking briskly down the sidewalk he idly took a sip of his order while checking his phone for the time.

...well shit.

Concentration fully on his drink he realized that even if that shop wasn't already his regular coffee shop it certainly would be now.

-----

"Dad! Guess what I did today?" Roman jumped up and down excitedly clutching his backpack.

"No, his story's stupid! Guess what I did instead!" Judging from Remus' mud covered jeans Janus could definitely give a guest as to what he did. Sighing in mock exasperation, he shifted the groceries and continued to carefully step up the stairs.

"I suppose it'll be up to whoever can get the groceries over to Mrs. Gibson the fastest can tell their story first." That way too he wouldn't be tripping over them trying to unlock the door with an armload of groceries.

"RACE YOU!!" As soon as they reached the landing Remus took off, leaving a loudly protesting Roman to catch up with him.

"Quieter please, and be-!" A loud crash followed by apples skidding across wood. "-careful. Are you alright?"

His worry dispersed as Remus scrambled up and began picking everything up and shoving them back in the bags, his brother begrudgingly helping him. Smiling and shaking his head he turned to the door and attempted to reach the key while still holding the bags, a feat which he stubbornly refused to believe was impossible now that he had started.

"Do you like, need help or-?" A familiar voice had him glancing up, mouth running dry as he recognized the sunglasses wearing flirt from that morning.

"How am I supposed to be enraptured by my saviors eyes if I can't gaze into them like the star struck lover I am?" Janus drawled, still making a valiant effort to reach his pocket.

"No can do babe, fluorescents are just as bad as sunlight and I enjoy looking at your own eyes too much to risk blindness." So saying he reached over and took the groceries, smugly carrying them all one handed while holding a cup of coffee in the other.

Pretending not to notice his burning face Janus turned to finally get the door open just as the boys were running back down the hall.

"Dad Mrs. Gibson gave us candy-! Oh! Hi mister!" Roman stopped abruptedly in front of the stranger, who smiled and tipped his head.

"Sup kid." Unfortunately, Remus didn't have the luxury of paying attention, too enraptured by the bag of chocolate he had been given to bother slowing down and barreled his way straight into his twin.

Janus saw the dominos fall in slow motion; Roman stumbling forward and reaching out for something to grab, which just so happened to be the baristas arm. Coffee spilled in a waterfall on both of twins' heads and in a desperate attempt to remedy the situation the man jerked his hand up and away, getting a face full of ice and the remaining coffee in the process. For a moment time stood still, but taking in everyone's drenched appearance Janus couldn't help a small small to grow to a grin, a snort breaking the silence as he struggled to contain his laughter, apologizing through it nonetheless.

"I'm so sorry, are you-are you okay?"

Before he could answer he was cut off by Roman. "I'm so sorry I didn't mean to it was an accident-!"

"Hey kid, check this out." The man kneeled, setting the cup down before flipping his glasses up and letting chunks of ice fall from behind them. "No use crying over spilled coffee. It's chill."

Janus stared incredulously before letting loose another peal of laughter. He nudged open the door and ushered the boys inside. "Go clean up before you end up sticky. I don't care if you like it Remus go."

"Boy they took chaos twins to heart didn't they?"

Janus turned around and offered an apologetic smile. "I really am sorry about all of this-"

He waved him off. "It's cool babes. You just owe me coffee now."

Janus smirked and tugged on his groceries, taking them back. "I'd say I just owe you an offer to come in and clean up. Where's the coffee coming from?"

"Oh I might have a place in mind."

----

"This is not what I thought you meant." Janus stood with a deadpan expression as he took in the small cafe that was decidedly not the other's place of work.

"I never eat where I work babes." The man replied, reading Janus' thoughts.

"I thought I was just buying you coffee?" He sputtered following after him.

"Oh you paid me back with that yesterday when I washed my hair in the sink. This is because i owe you a date."

Who the hell- "You are really forward aren't you?"

The other tipped his glasses down slightly to wink. "You haven't told me to fuck off yet so I'm just taking it in stride."

"This is one date, to be clear."

"Sure Karen."

"Janus."

The other stopped and whirled around. "What babes?"

Janus ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "It's Janus."

Smiling, the man stepped forward and leaned slightly to fix his hair, making his face erupt in flames. "Call me Remy, shortstack."

Janus scowled. "I'm not that short!"

"Babes, I'm like a head taller than you. You're kids'll probs be taller than you by the time they're ten."

Bickering all the way to the door Janus couldn't help but smile. Short just meant dibs on being the little spoon, and he had every intention of taking advantage of that.

As always this work is also available on AO3!

[medievalmonk]

The Power Within: Power Trip

You’ve stolen Loki from Avengers Tower. Now you’re teleporting all over the globe, getting practice and staying several steps ahead of Tony and Thor.  Loki is helping to prepare you to get him off Midgard. A new adventure awaits, if you manage to survive the trip.

When you teleported to your cabin in Alaska with Loki, you landed in the living room with plenty of space around you. Since you rarely practiced at it, and the last long distance trip was two years earlier when you fled New York, you felt a headache coming on, along with ringing in your ears.

“Well done,” Loki told you, while squeezing your shoulders gently.

“I don’t understand why you wanted to come back here,” you replied, stepping back from him.

Before he could reply though, a sudden thought took you, so you put your finger over your lips.

I have a computer and WiFi access here, you said, motioning with your hands. Jarvis may be listening.  

Loki nodded, then watched as you unplugged the modem and turned the computer off. Then you turned off your cell phone, tablet and any other electronic device you could think of that Tony and Jarvis might use.

Why are we here? You asked.

The immediate need is clothes for you, he responded. Go pack what you can and change. Hurry, now. If they are wise to us, it won’t take long for Thor and Stark to get here.  

You moved quickly to the bedroom and grabbed a duffle bag. After changing, you stuffed it full with pants, shirts, undies, socks and extra pairs of shoes. Then you tossed in just a few toiletries. You were also careful to put the pajamas that you'd been wearing in the bag, hoping to leave no proof that you'd been there.

When you finished, you went to the kitchen to throw in any snack that would fit in the bag. Every piece of candy you had on hand went into the duffel, along with packs of snack cakes; a couple of apples rounded out the selection.

Just as you were finishing up, you stopped suddenly and glanced at Loki. He was slightly alarmed to see a faint purple in your irises.

Someone’s here.

Loki grabbed the bag and it disappeared from his hand, causing you to do a double take before he took your arm to get your attention. He tapped his temple, indicating the location for your next jump. You nodded while slipping your arms around him again.

You both heard the noise of the front door being broken down just as you teleported out of there.

— — —

“Just missed them, sir,” Jarvis reported, as Tony and Thor were still quite a distance from the cabin. “It appears that she only took clothes and snacks.”

“Any idea where they could be now?” Tony asked.

“No, sir,” the AI replied. “I suspect that she could very likely take him back to Asgard, if he wanted to go there.”

“I suspect that you’d be right.”

When Tony and Thor reached the house, the SHIELD agents that had been sent ahead were busy searching it. They were making quite a mess of it, much to Tony’s chagrin.

“Good job, fellas,” Tony said, sarcastically. “Did you wipe your feet before coming in?”

— — —

From the cabin, Loki guided you to a manor in Italy: Tuscany to be exact. The building was isolated and closed up. Once there, he selected a bedroom on the second floor, then he cast a spell on it that would hide any light so that it couldn’t be seen from the outside.

He also placed a spell on the exterior of the house that would warn him if anyone came in. The bed in the room looked halfway decent and you hoped that it wasn’t too ruined, because you really needed to lay down.

“Careful.” Loki caught your arm as you staggered toward the bed.

“Sorry, I’m tired and my head hurts,” you breathed, while gingerly sitting on the edge of the mattress. “How did you find this place?”

He gave a wry grin. “Stark’s computer assistant is most accommodating. It showed me how to use Google Earth.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Clever, but Jarvis probably kept both our search histories, so we’d best not stay in one place too long.”

Loki nodded before he produced your duffel, then dug through it for the food you'd put in it. He gave you a candy bar and an apple, before selecting something for himself.

“It’s not much,” you said. “I wasn’t sure if anything else would keep, since I didn’t know where we’d end up.”

“It will do for now, but we do need water,” he replied.

You watched while he went into the bathroom, then heard water running. After a couple of minutes, he returned with a small glass and offered it to you.

“I’ve purified it,” he told you. “It’s cool.”

“Thank you.”

While you ate, you struggled to keep your eyes open, causing Loki to make you lay down once you finished. You didn’t protest, as you were dead tired. You didn’t realize that the purple tint from the Power Stone still reflected in your irises. Loki suspected that the close call from the cabin, plus teleporting, caused the change that would slowly fade once you were rested and no longer felt endangered.

“You’ve done well, rest now,” he murmured, after producing a clean blanket out of nowhere. “I’ll keep watch.”

You were asleep from almost the moment your head hit the pillow. Loki smoothed your hair out of your face before straightening the blanket over you. He watched you for a few minutes, then stroked your cheek.

Since he was now out of reach of his brother and that irritating Stark, he had time to think about what you'd done. It was very clear that you were capable of many things: you’d teleported with him twice, flawlessly. So far you haven’t had to use telekinesis, but he knew that it would come in handy when the situation called for it.

Now that you both were away from the Tower, he would start by having you teleport short distances, then work your way up until you both were confident that you could actually reach another planet without killing yourself or him.

Loki then began to plan how he would actually help you to teleport off-planet. He had a place in mind where he could obtain a spaceship; if he couldn’t find one to buy, he’d steal it. Then he would be free to go anywhere he wanted, although he would keep his distance from Asgard, for the time being, at least.

Once he was sure that you were sound asleep, he moved away to glance outside the window. The full moon illuminated the grounds of the old house and let him check for any movement, although his spells would alert him.

Unknown to you, Loki had your money belt in a dimensional pocket; he’d taken it after Bucky removed it from your waist. No one had asked about it, so he kept it, just in case. He wasn’t fully familiar with how the slips of paper currency worked, but he would leave that part up to you.

There was a conundrum, though. There was a real possibility that you’d both be recognized at some point. Large cities would have cameras almost everywhere, not to mention almost every Midgardian would have a smartphone and social media, and the chance was greater that they’d capture your images.

On the other hand, two strangers appearing in the midst of a remote area might draw attention more quickly. Loki weighed the choices, then decided that mid sized cities may be the best option.

Loki turned back toward the bed when you stirred slightly. When you settled again, he took another look out the window, double checked his spells, then settled beside you, although he didn’t lay down. He sat up against the headboard after pulling out a book.

— —

The next morning when you woke, you felt like you’d gone on a bender. Your headache hadn’t eased even after sleeping, and you were hungry. Plus, you’d really, really needed coffee.

Loki came out of the bathroom at that moment, bearing water for you. He was relieved to see that your eyes were their normal color.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “I wish I’d thought to bring something for a headache.”

“How bad is it?”

“Just a dull throb,” you responded. “I’m sure it will pass as soon as I’m able to get some caffeine.”

He brought out your duffel, once again searching through it for the junk food you had packed. He handed you a pack of chocolate snack cakes and then the last apple.

“You eat that,” you told him, pushing his hand away. “I’m sure you’re hungry, too.”

“Take it,” he replied. “I don't have to eat as often as you, and you’ll be doing most of the work for now. We need to decide where our next stop will be, and then you need to practice.”

“Alright,” you reluctantly agreed. “Do you know how far we are from the nearest town?”

“Not too far,” he replied. “We should be able to find lodging there.”

“I had money on me before Natasha showed up and drugged me. We could use it now. Cash means no paperwork or ID required, in most cases. I should have taken Tony’s money, too.”

Loki went quiet for a moment, then raised his hand. Your eyes opened wide when you recognized your money belt.

“Well, our situation has improved greatly, hasn’t it?” You grinned at him.

— — —

By later that morning, you and Loki had made your way to the nearest city. It was apparently on a tourist route, leaving you relieved when no one paid too much attention to you. Loki had changed his clothes so that he would fit in after you’d freshened up as much as you could in the manor.

He had you purchase sunglasses, to keep your eyes hidden in case your emotions caused them to change color. You also bought a pair for him, just because you thought he looked dashing in the pair he’d tried on then put back.

The second order of business was food. Luckily the cafe that you went to accepted American currency, so you and Loki had a substantial brunch. You could see that he was hungrier than he let on, and you felt bad about it.

I’m a poor planner, you told him. I should have thought about food.

Don’t worry about that, he responded. We’ll see about lodging next.  

You nodded while pouring yourself another cup of coffee. The waiter was kind enough to find some aspirin for your headache, and brought espresso for you. The coffee was strong and you could feel your headache easing.

When you’d been shown to the table, Loki had ordered in flawless Italian, causing you to look at him in surprise. He gave you a mischievous smile while you made a mental note to ask him about that.

After eating, you asked the waiter to point out a hotel where you could find a room. Once Loki had closed and locked the door, you sank down onto the clean bed with a sigh.

“This is nice.” You flopped backwards to stare at the ceiling. “Hey, how do you know Italian?”

“It’s the Allspeak,” he replied, while looking out the window.

“What’s that?” You got up to join him, and moved closer when he put his arm around your shoulders.

“Think of it as a type of translator. It enables me and Thor to understand and speak different languages.”

“Neat,” you smiled up at him.

He smiled back before raising his free hand in order to touch your face gently, and then turned you toward him and hugged you close. You put your head against him and closed your eyes.

“You’ve done very well, better than I expected since you weren’t exactly practicing before now,” he murmured, stroking your hair.

“Thank you, that means a lot to me,” you whispered back.

Loki held you for a few minutes, then released you, causing you to step back reluctantly. He stroked your face again before pressing his forehead against yours. He felt it when you gently reached out to touch him telepathically, just hovering around the edges of his thoughts; he could tell that you were only reassuring yourself that he was pleased with you.

“I’d like to take a bath. Why don’t you lay down for a while?” You told him, after he made no further move, which was disappointing.

“I’ll wait until you finish,” he said, after producing the duffel so that you could get clean clothes.

“Alright.”

After you exited the bathroom, Loki took his turn. When he finished, he found that you were curled up on one side of the bed, already asleep. He finished toweling his hair before laying down beside you, being careful not to jostle the bed.

He cast a quick spell to secure the room before allowing himself to sleep, then reached over to draw you into the curve of his body. You were warm and soft against him, with skin fragrant from your bath, which he found soothing.

Loki caressed your hand before linking his fingers through yours; he was then able to sleep. You woke him later when you began to move restlessly. He tried shaking you awake, but you were so tired and deeply asleep that he couldn’t rouse you right away.

Finally, you woke yourself up with a gasp. You were disoriented for several minutes before you remembered where you were. You then realized that Loki held you tightly against him in order to prevent you from rolling off the bed or running. When your eyes blinked open, he was alarmed to see that the irises were purple.

“I woke you, I’m sorry,” you said, with a soft sniffle.

“Don’t worry,” he replied. “What were you dreaming about?”

“That stupid Power Stone and the idiots who thought they could use it.”

“Do you have this dream often?” He asked, wanting to be prepared. If you hit him with lightning or teleported out of fright, his chance of leaving Midgard would be lost.

“Fairly often.”

“Go back to sleep,” he told you. “There’s no big hurry to move on. Let’s rest, then we can see about staying for a couple more days. How does that sound?”

“Marvelous,” you replied, lightly running your hand along his bare forearm.

So, you laid still, trying to go back to sleep, but unable to with Loki snug against your side, his arm across your waist, and one leg across yours. You weren’t sure if he slept, but you sure as shooting weren’t getting more sleep anytime soon.

“Not working, hmm?” He finally asked.

“No,” you replied softly.

“Let’s see what we can do about that.”

Your heart jumped to your throat when he raised up on an elbow before leaning over to capture your lips in a soft, tentative kiss meant to gauge your response. You pulled him closer, giving him your answer.

His hands made quick work of clothing, then it was skin against skin. He was gentle, and thorough; you were already drifting off before he moved to your side again.

Loki stroked your sweat-soaked hair away from your face while he studied you. You were a pretty little thing and had caught his interest the night at your cabin, when you’d knocked him on his butt.

He did like you, and thought that you’d make a perfect pair once off Midgard and able to move freely throughout the universe.

— —

For the next several months, you and Loki moved from country to country, city to city, where you would stay for a few weeks or until you felt you had to move on. With care, your cash would be enough for at least a year of moving around.

When needed, you stayed at hotels or inns; during these stays, Loki placed a spell around the room so that no one could surprise you. If the internet and a computer were available, he would research the next place to go.

The two of you grew closer day by day, and you knew that you loved him, but was unsure if he would or could return those feelings. There was something that he still kept hidden; you couldn’t find out what it was unless you invaded his mind, which he would not appreciate at all.

As far as either of you knew, Tony nor Thor had even come close to gaining on you. There hadn’t even been a close call from local authorities. You were relieved, but Loki still remained cautious; he knew that he needed you far more than you needed him, at least until you’d gotten him off Midgard.

Loki would have you practice taking a destination from him, so you’d concentrate on the picture he gave you through your telepathy before sending you off. He wanted you to be able to take guidance from him, and also wanted to establish how long it took for you to travel to the target and then back.

He knew that he couldn’t have you try reaching one of the planets in Midgard’s solar system, since they would be immediately fatal. The planet that he wanted to start with was similar enough to Earth that you wouldn’t suffer any adverse effects. It was the distance to the planet that had him concerned.

He didn’t want you to panic mid-jump, especially when you had him along for the ride. Loki wanted you to be able to focus on the destination in order for both of you to arrive in one piece.

— —

“Alright, pet, I think you are ready to get us out of here,” Loki finally told you while you enjoyed a quiet meal on the balcony of the Scottish hotel room where you were staying.

Edinburgh castle was visible from the distance; it was somewhere that you had always wanted to visit, but now was not the time.

“Ok,” you replied, uncertainly.

“Just remember not to panic, the trip itself will likely take longer than you’re used to. Keep the image foremost in your mind and trust me. I’ve been there enough times to guide you to an open space.”

You nodded before pushing your plate away. The food suddenly tasted like sawdust, and you couldn’t choke it down. Loki watched you for a couple of minutes before reaching over to take your hand.

“You’ll do fine, just trust me and don’t panic.”

You sound confident, but I can tell that you’re not entirely convinced, you tell him while trying to keep your hand from shaking.

Trust me.

Later that afternoon, you paced the floor anxiously, keyed up about what was to come. Loki had you rest a while then eat again before teleporting.

He watched you for several minutes before stopping you in order to draw you to him. He could feel your trembling in his arms.

“It’s alright,” he murmured.

“I don’t want to hurt you….” You paused before looking up at him.

They’re here!

Go!

— — —

“Damn it,” Tony scrubbed his face with both hands as he and Thor stood in the empty hotel room. “Those two are as slippery as jello.”

“What’s jello?” Thor asked.

“Never mind. I don’t think we’re ever going to catch them.”

“I’m beginning to believe you’re right.”

This was their closest call yet: they’d actually arrived at the hotel while you and Loki were still there. There had been only two other times where they’d been only an hour or so too late in catching you.

The fact that you could read minds, and would recognize them when they came in proximity to you pretty much guaranteed a successful escape.

— — —

I can’t breathe!

FOCUS!  

Loki’s voice was firm in your mind when you started to panic during the jump to Reumion, the planet he’d been preparing you for.

I’m with you, keep the picture in sight, he said, still firmly but also encouraging.

So, you concentrated hard, focusing as you’d been training to do. When your feet finally touched solid ground, you staggered and would have fallen if not for Loki.

Well done, my pet ….

I did it?

You did it. You could hear the smile in his voice.

His voice faded as you collapsed into his arms. Loki lifted you easily, then pressed a kiss against your temple while he carried you to an inn that he was familiar with. Your paper money was of no use, except as a novelty, so Loki parted with a gold coin in order to obtain the best rooms and to have a meal sent to it.

He then placed you carefully on the bed, and smoothed your hair out of your face. He could tell that you were exhausted; he felt safe enough to let you recover on your own before he started the search for a ship to buy or steal, if necessary.

Three days later, you finally stirred and sat up in bed. You had been out cold during that time, which concerned Loki, who hovered over you, guarding you. You hadn’t even woken up for food or water.

You looked around, disoriented, while trying to get your wits about you. The furniture and covers on the bed seemed familiar, yet not entirely, but you couldn’t put your finger on what the difference was.

A quick glance at the window took in a gray sky, although the light coming in was bright. You thought that perhaps a storm was brewing, but something still seemed off.

Loki?

A moment, he replied.  

You sat still, needing water but unable to get your legs to move. They felt like jelly and you were certain that they wouldn’t hold you up if you tried to stand. After a couple minutes, Loki entered the room, followed by...something you’d never seen before.

Your eyes opened wide in fright and before you could scream, Loki reached your side and shook you warningly. His fingers were painfully tight on your shoulder and drew your attention away from the alien that had carried a tray of food in.

You took a deep breath and forced yourself to relax; Loki eased his grip somewhat, then let go completely once the alien was gone.

Okay, I’m not on Earth anymore, you told yourself. They can’t all look like Loki or Thor.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you murmured. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he replied. “Keep in mind that you may see other creatures even more startling.”

You nodded silently before scooting to the side of the bed. After another deep breath, you stood slowly, then before you could ask, Loki pointed you toward the equivalent of a bathroom.

When you returned, Loki had put the food onto a small table in the main room and waited for you. You sat down and pressed your trembling knees together.

“How do you feel?” He asked, after pouring a glass of water for you.

“Disoriented,” you replied. “Something feels off, but I don’t know how to explain it.”

He nodded while putting food on your plate. “I know that this looks different, but it should taste similar to what you’re used to.”

“Okay,” you replied, apprehensively.

You took small bites of what he’d served, finding that while it didn’t exactly taste like Earth food, it wasn’t bad. Loki watched in silent amusement before he poured a dark purple liquid into a separate glass for you.

“What’s that?”

“Wine,” he replied.

“Oh.”

You brought the glass to your nose for a sniff before taking a sip. That sip burned going down and you choked on it. Loki quickly handed you the water glass, which you drained.

“Strong!” You gasped, eyes watering.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

You had to clear your throat twice before giving up and nodding in response. He did smile when you pushed the wine glass toward him while shaking your head. You watched him drink what was in your glass before pouring more for himself.

“So, what’s next?” You asked, once you were able to speak.

“To buy a ship,” he replied.

“Too bad they won’t take my paper money,” you commented, while eating your breakfast.

“Yes,” he agreed. “But I will steal one if necessary.”

“Do you think you could do it without hurting anyone? I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Don’t let that concern you,” he replied. “I don’t intend to injure anyone, and I won’t steal a ship unless that is our only option.”

“Alright.”

“Now, how are you on clothing?”

The subject change caught you off guard, so you had to take a mental inventory of what you had.

“I could use a couple sets of new ones, and boots.”

“Once we’ve finished eating, we will go see what we can find for you.”

“Alright.”

— —

When Loki led you from the inn toward the merchant district, you were intrigued by the diverse alien beings that walked the street. You stayed close to him, and even took his arm a couple of times when you noticed that you were drawing the attention of some of the creatures.

“No, move along,” Loki told one brave alien, who had brazenly stopped your progress and chittered. “Yes, I’m quite sure.”

“What did he, it, say?” You asked, after Loki had guided you around the creature in order to continue toward the shops.

“He wanted to know if you were for sale.”

“What??” You squeaked, moving so close to his side that you were nearly walking on his feet.

Loki chuckled softly while gently moving you so that he had space to walk. You kept a tight grip on his arm, and he patted your hands.

“Yes, and I dare say that his won’t be the only offer.”

“You wouldn’t, would you?”

“Of course not.”

For some reason, you didn’t quite believe him, but you kept your misgivings to yourself.

He finally led you into a shop where you could get clothes and boots. You listened while he bartered with the shopkeeper; once an agreement was reached, the shopkeeper took you by the hand in order to show you garments that you could choose from.

“Pick out what you like, and try them on,” Loki instructed you. “Then we’ll get boots.”

So, you picked out clothing after trying several articles on. You also needed undergarments, but were reluctant to mention it to him. Loki’s attention was on the street outside, so you took that opportunity to look around.

“Wonder if she has underwear…” you murmured to yourself, while trying not to be obvious about what you wanted.

“Here.” The shopkeeper’s voice startled you just before she motioned you over.

You followed her, relieved to find what you were looking for. When you only picked out a couple things, she handed you several more items, including a couple of gowns.

“Paid for,” she told you.

“Thank you,” you replied.

She nodded with a smile before she moved away to package your items. When you finished, Loki paid her extra to have someone deliver them to the inn. Then he took you for boots, which were also to be delivered for you.

“Now where to?” You asked, wanting to look around.

The planet had a myriad of sights, other than the alien beings, and you wanted to see some of them. It felt like Earth, as far as the atmosphere, plants, etc, but the sky was gray instead of blue, with the vegetation having silver or steel blue coloring.

“Are those humans?” You asked Loki, indicating the humanoids that you saw.

“Only a few of them are,” he replied, while keeping an eye out for anyone who showed too much attention to you.

While you looked around while trying not to stare, you felt a tug on your pant leg. You glanced down to find that you and Loki had been surrounded by children, who looked up at you with wonder.

Some were humanoid, but they all seemed immensely interested in you. Several of them reached for your hands in order to examine them, while others gently felt the skin of your arms.

Loki managed to step out of the way, but watched closely while also giving the other pedestrians his attention; he leaned against the building, arms crossed.

“Hello,” you said, uncertain if they could understand you.

“Hello!” Some of them did understand and greeted you with smiles.

Loki watched your interaction with the little ones. He’d half expected you to take yourself right back to Midgard after the initial fright at the inn. You weren’t as wary of the children, and he expected that you would grow used to seeing other species as time went on.

“Here, see if they want these,” Loki said, handing you the small pieces of chocolate that you’d tossed into the duffel bag before leaving Alaska.

You offered the candy, pleased that there was just enough for each child to have one piece. Even Loki laughed at the expressions on their faces when they tasted it. He was less than thrilled though when small hands tried to find more candy on him; his clothing was tugged on and twisted around, much to his annoyance.

“No, sorry, all gone,” you told them. “No more.”

“More?”

“All gone,” you repeated, showing empty hands.

They made disappointed sounds while Loki reached for your hand. You waved at them as he led you down the street, then he pulled your arm through his.

“While you were resting, I’ve been asking around about a ship suitable to our purpose,” he told you. “I received word today that there is one that may be for sale.”

“Okay,” you replied.

“There may be other creatures there that will get close to you, but you are not to show any fear,” he went on. “Can you do that?”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay behind?”

“No, I want you close to me so that there’s no chance of you being stolen.”

That thought had never crossed your mind and it made you uneasy, but you were sure that you could protect yourself.

“I also don’t want you to reveal what you’re capable of, or neither of us will make it off this planet,” he continued, as if reading your mind.

“Alright.”

Loki moved his arm so that his hand now rested in the small of your back.

“You’re doing very well,” he said. “No one would ever suspect that you’ve never been off planet before.”

“Liar.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his teasing tone. “But thank you.”

@sadwaywardkid​ @whothehellsbucky​ @littlemissunloveable

[hottestthingalive]

Bluebells (2)

Chapter 2: Bulbs

Ao3 Link here.

Chapter 1 here.

Notes: Yay, second chapter is here! Expect the next one... any time between next week and a year. 

Plot: Virgil isn’t okay (I promise), life sucks, and things get gayer. 

Tw: Cursing, disappearances, mental and physical abuse

-

Morning came in the beeping of a shrill alarm.

Scratch that, Virgil decided as he sat up blearily, shutting off the alarm immediately. Doesn’t count as morning if it’s still dark out. 

He grabbed his phone, wincing as the bright light shone into his retinas. 2:31 A.M, the screen said. He was doing pretty well, then -- as long as he got to the coffee place by three, he’d be able to complete a four-hour shift in time to get to school at seven thirty. 

Ugh. He hated the night shift, but his boss liked having the cafe open 24/7, and he ought to be grateful; it was the only time (other than the weekends) that Virgil was able to actually work at, and due to the shitty time the pay was pretty good. It even made up for the lack of tips. 

He got dressed quickly, throwing on his patched sweatshirt over his ripped jeans and torn shirt. Makeup was fast, too, just some cheap foundation and dark eyeshadow under his eyes to hide how crappy he’d been looking lately. No sleep will do that to a guy, he thought, doing his best to hide the dark shadows under his eyes, or at least make them look like eyeshadow. Say what you would, being an emo these days had some perks -- people thought the exhaustion and ragged clothes were for aesthetic, or some bullshit like that. 

Virgil was out the door quickly, locking it behind him and tucking his keys into his pocket. The boards on the porch creaked under his sneakers, and he grimaced at the noise. Creepy as all hell, that. 

As he walked in the darkness towards the better part of town, avoiding the patches of light given by the streetlamps (What if I get mugged?), he reached into his pocket and pulled out his headphones, plugging them into his old phone. Sure, it was dangerous to listen to music while walking alone at two in the morning, but this particular street bordered the woods, and no one wanted to cause a commotion near the home of the fey. There was a reason all the rich homes were in the center of Torbrook, sheltered from their mythical neighbours by human shields.

The ironically-called Sleep was standing at the counter when he arrived, sipping from an obnoxiously large cup and wearing his sunglasses inside. Because of course he was.

“You’re early, Anxiety,” he drawled, tossing a black apron across the counter. “Go sit down. You want a coffee?”

“I’m here to work,” Virgil deadpanned, tying on the apron, “not to buy shitty coffee.”

“Listen, we get a free drink for every shift, and you look like you need it,” Sleep retorted. “Do you ever sleep at all?”

“I need the free drink for later, when I get off,” he said, avoiding the question as he set his bag down in the back room, using his extra time to check his phone. 

Sunnyside had left him a voicemail. 

“Hey, Anxiety,” a voice said into his headphones. “It’s Beck, from the Sunnyside Hospital for Elderly Care. You still have some unpaid bills from last month -- do you want us to email them to you, or mail them? Please get back to us as soon as possible. Thanks!”

Crap. 

“Everything okay?” Sleep asked, giving him a concerned look from the doorway. “Need me to stick around for a bit?”

“I’m good,” he said, mind scrambling for an explanation. “My, uh, my grandma forgot I had a shift today. She got worried.”

“I’m surprised Robin’s even letting you work here. She was always so protective,” Sleep grinned. “I haven’t seen her around town lately. How’s she doing?

Protective? the voice in the back of Virgil’s head screamed. She's in a hospital! How is she supposed to be protective when she thinks I’m living with my aunt and that her shitty insurance is paying all these bills, while as far as anyone else knows she’s just getting a bit reclusive in her old age?

“She’s good,” he said, forcing a smile onto his face as he went to stand behind the counter. “Bossy as ever.”

“Tell her I said hi,” his coworker nodded. “Alright, if you’re good, Anx, I’d better get going. I want to get a short nap in before school starts.”

“Got it,” he agreed, standing. “See you in English.”

“Bye, girl!” Sleep trilled, waving as the door slammed shut behind him. 

He dropped the smile almost instantly, glaring down at his purple nails. Four hours. He just had to get through four hours. 

“Morning, Anx!” chirped Morality, coming through the doors of the cafe. Virgil sighed internally. Morality was always so cheerful. It didn’t make any sense. “Can I just get that nice caramel thing you made for me last time?” He passed his thermos over the counter, still smiling. 

“Sure,” he nodded, taking Morality’s cup and grabbing his own. His coworkers, Oak and Swift, had come in half an hour ago, thankfully early, so he passed the containers to Swift as he untied his apron. “One caramel latte, and for me, as much espresso as you can get into a cup.”

“Anxiety, you’re going to give yourself a heart attack,” Oak deadpanned, but she took his place at the counter. “Have fun at school, kid.”

“When has school ever been fun?” Swift pointed out, before xe turned to face Anxiety. “I’ll give you three shots.”

“Five.”

“Three.”

“Four,” Oak said, “but no more coffee for the rest of the day.”

“Fine, parental figures,” he rolled his eyes, picking up his backpack. “Four.”

“Hey, I thought I was your parental figure friend!” Morality cried, managing to look betrayed even as he giggled. 

“You’re the paternal figure, popstar,” Virgil told him, hopping over the counter to protests from both Swift and Oak. They didn’t have to wait long for their drinks, and soon the two of them were in Morality’s car, sipping on the life-giving substance. 

Morality was unusually quiet, had been since they left the cafe, and finally Virgil broke the silence to ask “Hey, everything okay?”

“Oh, it’s fine, kiddo,” he grinned, but the smile quickly faded. “It… It just sounded like you made a pun with my name.”

“...Your real name?” Virgil said, blood running cold. “I’m so sorry, Mor, I didn’t -- I swear, I don’t know it--”

“No, of course you don’t,” Morality nodded, smiling again, more genuinely this time. “I’ve just been a bit jumpy lately. The forest’s been so… quiet. We’re entering spring -- shouldn’t we be seeing more faeries?”

“Only Seelie,” Virgil shrugged absentmindedly, staring out the passenger-side window at the foreboding trees in the distance. “Unseelie will mostly be returning to their realm for the winter.”

“I don’t know how you remember that stuff,” the other teenager sighed. “I can never keep track.”

He hadn’t meant to say that. Shit. “I always liked those stories,” he said, chuckling weakly. It was enough to fool Morality, or maybe that was just because he had spotted his boyfriend. 

“Sweetheart!” Morality called, rolling down the window. “C’mon, you’re gonna be late for school!”

“Thank you, love,” smiled his boyfriend, sliding into the backseat and kindly ignoring Morality’s blush. “Anxiety, I see you’ve stolen the front seat again, you heathen.”

“Best friend privileges,” drawled Virgil, taking a sip of his coffee. “Morning, Princey.”

Prince rolled his eyes, before leaning forward and stealing Morality’s thermos and drinking from it. “Listen, One American Reject, I’ll have you know that while I respect and honor best friend privileges, I will still attempt to steal the seat closer to my boyfriend at any opportunity.”

“Fair enough,” Virgil nodded. “That was one of your better nicknames, too.”

“Thank you,” he grinned as Morality started the car. 

“Anxiety and I were just mentioning how we haven’t seen much activity from the forest as of late,” Morality said. “Put your seatbelt on, honey! Have you noticed anything?”

“Er… I haven’t seen as many fey recently, no,” Prince answered, biting his lip as he fastened said seatbelt. “It’s dangerous to go near the forest, anyways -- they might be there, and we just haven’t spotted them.”

“But usually I see something,” Morality countered, drumming his fingers on the wheel. “It’s just… concerning.”

“Speaking of fey, did Mariposa make plans for the play again this year?” Virgil asked Prince, turning in his seat to face Morality’s boyfriend. “She always tells the actors about her weird precautions first.”

“What do you mean, plans?” Prince raised an eyebrow. “I’m new, remember?”

“Oh, Ms. Mariposa always gets worried that the fey will try to attend the school play,” Morality laughed. “Apparently they did one year? It was ages ago. But she always goes all out to try and protect the auditorium during rehearsals and performances and stuff, all salt lines and horseshoes, and she paid the school to make sure the doors and windows have iron on them. She even hangs bells everywhere! I get performances, kinda, but rehearsals? Tech’d notice if anyone snuck in, and they can’t exactly be actors!”

“They could, actually,” Virgil said, and then mentally smacked himself. Sleep deprivation was going to kill him.

“Really?” his cheerful friend asked, surprised. “I thought they couldn’t lie!”

Apparently, I’m the one who can’t lie today. “They can’t,” he agreed reluctantly, because he’d dug this grave and now he had to lay in it. “But acting is different from lying. People are aware you aren’t actually that person, that whatever you say on stage isn’t necessarily true, and they’re faeries, so they exploit that loophole.”

“How do you know that?” Prince inquired, staring at Virgil with a strange expression on his face. 

“My gran. She, uh, used to tell me about meeting some Seelie once, when she was young, and was wearing an iron pendant. They… tried to tempt her by telling her about celebrations they had, and mentioned a performance,” he lied through his teeth, thinking fast. “She was confused, like you were, Mor, and they told her that.”

“I didn’t know your grandmother had almost been taken,” remarked Prince. “Could I ask her about it? That necklace sounds… fascinating.”

Virgil felt himself tense, even as Morality chirped “Oh, I love Robin! She’s so nice! Remember those cookies she used to make for us?”

“They were great,” he nodded, plastering a smile across his face. “But, uh, she’s been kind of sick lately. Not really up to visitors. Sorry.”

“Oh, alright,” Prince nodded, suddenly all bright cheer again. “What were you saying about those cookies, love?”

He tuned out, head pressed against the soothingly cool glass of the window. Those bills were going to suck to pay -- mortgage payments were due soon, too, along with the money needed for everything else. His aunt wasn’t going to be any help at all, the bitch, but his job at the cafe didn’t pay enough for all of the money he owed.

The money just didn’t add up. A sigh escaped him, quiet enough that Morality didn’t notice. He was going to have to dip into his college fund again, huh?

Virgil liked to sit near the windows in classes. Sure, it could be a bit distracting, but even with the coffee, he was too exhausted to pay attention anyways. He liked being able to sit and watch the trees in the distance, observe the squirrels in the large elm that grew beside the school. 

An acorn dropped onto the open windowsill, rolling towards Virgil slightly.

And, of course, there was another reason he liked this placement. 

Elm trees didn’t have acorns. He knew this, had known it when the very first of the nuts had appeared, when he had picked it up in curiosity and noticed it was a little too light. Acorns weren’t heavy, of course, but they had some weight to them. He’d popped off the acorn cap with his fingernail, noticing the smell of sap, and his suspicions had been proven correct -- the nut was hollow, with a folded, thin wedge of paper curled inside.

Peeling out the paper had been difficult, but with one hand doing as he pretended to rummage inside his desk and the other feigning note taking for the teacher’s benefit, he had managed to extract a note. 

He did much the same thing with this new acorn, glad that his seat was in the back of the class and that Ms. Vlinder, his math teacher (and Ms. Mariposa’s wife) was writing out a long problem on the board. Stashing the hollow nut in his desk, he unfolded the paper on his notebook, as stealthily as possible. 

Anxiety,

I should be able to meet you later today -- Advice has agreed to cover for my absence. I’ll see you then, unless plans change. The usual spot.

You’re probably reading this in math again, so stop procrastinating on your work, please. Just because you do not like the subject does not mean you should neglect it. Besides, it would probably take up less of your time (like you keep complaining it does) if you actually took the time to do it in class. 

Logic

He grinned to himself. Well, that was something to look forward to, at least. 

“Anxiety,” said Ms. Vlinder, raising an eyebrow at him from the front of the classroom. “What are you reading?”

His face flushed red. “Um… nothing.”

“Well, whatever it is, it doesn’t look like calculus. Save it for after class, please. Now, can you answer the question on the board?”

He’d gotten lucky, thank god -- the question was one from last night’s homework, and he’d actually done it for once. Virgil muttered his response, slouching in his seat and trying to ignore the heat on his cheeks. Morality cast him a glance, mouthing Are you okay? from his seat closer to the board. 

Virgil nodded briefly at him, stuffing the note into the pocket of his sweatshirt. 

“Stay for a second, Anxiety,” Ms. Vlinder told him as the bell rang for lunch. He did so, fidgeting nervously where he stood. 

“Do you want me to stay?” Morality asked quietly, coming up to him as the other students left the classroom, casting a glance at their teacher. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he shook his head, mustering up as much false bravado as he could. “Save me a spot, though.”

“Of course, kiddo,” grinned the other teen, before also leaving the room. 

“Are you doing okay, Anxiety?” Ms. Vlinder asked once the room was empty, eyes on Virgil. “I normally wouldn’t ask, but you’ve been extra distracted lately, and your grades have dropped. Even in English, and you’ve always been praised by Mx. Cee for your work in that class. Do you want me to talk to your grandmother?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets and curling his fingers around the note in an attempt at comfort.

“My wife mentioned seeing you when she went to pick up our coffee this morning,” the teacher told him, frowning. “That would have had to be a very early shift, Anxiety. Are you sleeping alright? Do you want me to talk to the counselor-”

“I need money for university,” he interrupted, the practiced falsehood he’d told everyone about his job falling easily between his lips. “I’m fine, really. Can I please leave?”

“...Okay,” she finally nodded. “Have a good lunch.”

“Thanks,” he said quickly, grabbing his backpack and practically running out the door before she could change her mind. 

His friends liked to eat lunch out in the courtyard. It was easier for all of them, the cafeteria being too loud for Sleep and too stressful for Virgil. For March it was relatively warm, and it was an unspoken tradition for every member of their small group to find themselves near the same elm tree that bordered the math classroom for lunch break now that the cold had finally broken. So that was where Virgil went, slipping out the doors with his hood up, ignoring the brief chill of the wind. Morality waved to him, patting the ground besides him, Prince arguing with Sleep about something. 

“Why are you fighting again?” Virgil sighed as he sat besides Morality, setting down his backpack to lean against it. “What did Princey do now?”

“Me?” the dramatic male asked, aghast. “Why me?!”

“We were debating who your mysterious boyfriend might be,” grinned Morality, elbowing Virgil. “That’s who gave you that note, right?”

“Spill, girl,” Sleep drawled, taking a long sip from his Starbucks cup. Where did he even get that? Torbrook didn’t have a Starbucks! “Is he hot?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” Virgil protested, face red again. “The note -- stop rolling your eyes, Sleeping Beauty, I don’t! -- is none of your business.”

“Aw, you think I’m beautiful!” cooed Sleep, as Morality protested “It is certainly our business! We’re your friends, and as such we have a right to know about your love life! It was in the best friend contract, Anx!”

“No, it wasn’t,” Virgil rolled his eyes. The ‘best friend contract’ had been something he and Morality had made when they were nine, meant to be a joke. Morality’s mom had helped him frame it, and he’d hung it near his desk. It still was on the wall in his room. “I wrote that.”

“Well, I deedn’t expect that to work, anyways,” Morality grinned, and Sleep and Virgil groaned, Princey letting out a snort. “Still, though!”

“Yes, Anxiety, tell us about your mysterious lover’s note!” Prince exclaimed, pretending to swoon. “Every last detail of your courtship! Tell us about your Romeo; did you make the first move, or did he? Have you kissed yet? Do we know him?!”

“I’m certainly hoping I’m not Juliet, because she was thirteen and he was a grown adult, and also they died,” Virgil deadpanned, though internally his mind was racing, scrambling for an excuse. He seemed to be doing that a lot, lately. “Also, no, no, and no! I’m not dating anyone! The note was from a friend of mine who lives outside Torbrook. We, uh, met up over the weekend, he left it for me because when I got there he was out to buy groceries, and I just realized I accidentally grabbed it from his house.”

“You never leave town,” Morality shook his head. “Try again.”

“Actually,” Sleep interjected, actually looking interested now, “last Sunday he wasn’t at work for once. Asked me to cover for him. Are you telling me you actually went to visit this friend?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “Now they get it. We all know I’m doomed to be alone, anyways.”

“If you keep talking bad about yourself I will physically fight you!” Morality screeched, tackling Virgil into a hug as Sleep rolled his eyes in fond exasperation and Prince snickered at them both. 

After school, he found himself walking home. He never accepted Morality’s rides on the way back from school, always coming up with some excuse or another to walk. Virgil suspected the cheerful teen believed he was sneaking off to see someone, which would explain how that idea had started, but the truth was that he simply couldn’t let his best friend figure out that his grandmother wasn’t in the house. As far as Morality or anyone else knew, he was living with his grandmother in their nice house near the edge of town. As far as his grandmother knew, he was living with his aunt in her apartment a few towns away, and their shitty insurance was being supported by said woman. Only he knew the truth: that when his aunt had come to visit his grandmother in the hospital when she’d first been admitted a few months ago, she’d sat down with him at the dining table and told him that he wouldn’t be staying with her. 

“I have nowhere else to go--” he’d tried to tell her, but Caroline (she had no other title, having grown up outside Torbrook) had stood up from her seat, eyes shards of ice. 

“I’m not having Lydia’s child in my home,” she’d spat, and Virgil had recoiled at the mention of his mother. “My sister poisoned everything she touched -- she was driving, that night when she died, wasn’t she? Killed your father and your sister, and finally took herself down too. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did it on purpose. She was like that.”

“She -- it was an accident!” he cried. “Don’t talk about Mom like that!”

“I will talk about her any way I damn well please, Anxiety,” his aunt snapped. “You’re just like her, you know. You even call yourself after her! You could have chosen anything, and you decided on a goddamn disorder!”

“Gram told me-”

“I don’t give a fuck what she told you. That woman’s batshit crazy. She tore apart our family to come back to this town, and when I thought the cycle would finally end with her, my idiot sister forgave her, and granted her custody of her child when she died.” Caroline had paused there, picking up her bag. “You’ve been poisoned by both of them, Virgil, and I’m not risking my own life or happiness to deal with helping you just to let you go back after the old bitch dies. The old woman will be gone within a month without money for her treatment, you know that, and I’ll take you in then, finally get around to fixing you.”

She glanced at the rainbow flag magnet sitting on the fridge, holding up a picture of Virgil and his grandmother smiling together at the camera, her expression twisting from simple hatred into something ugly. “Maybe we’ll finally be able to get that gay bullshit out of your head, then.”

“Who am I supposed to stay with?” he’d asked, quiet and resigned, because he understood what was happening, had known deep inside the moment that his grandmother had told him to call Caroline that things would go wrong. 

“Just stay here,” she’d rolled her eyes. “You should be able to care for yourself, Virgil, you’re almost an adult. I’ll see you in a month, when she’s gone.”

He’d felt like laughing, even with the dark bags under his eyes and the crippling exhaustion he hadn’t yet learned how to manage, when his aunt had come back a month later, expecting to see her mother on her deathbed. The confusion and anger on her face when she’d seen Robin sitting up in her bed, hooked up to an IV but chatting merrily with a nurse, and had heard the old woman say “Oh, Carol, hon! I know we’ve had our differences, but I’m so glad you’ve been able to put them past you to care for our Anx, and help with the bills. The doctors say I should be out by August, dear, just in time to see him off to college. How will I ever thank you?”

His aunt had looked at him, standing on the other side of the bed, where his grandmother wasn’t looking, and he’d grinned, twirling his finger near his temple in gentle circles, the sign for crazy, and pointed at first his grandmother, and then himself. There had been a brief flash of fiery anger in her eyes, before Caroline had returned her gaze to her mother. “No need,” she’d smiled benevolently, and Virgil had to give it to her; she was a brilliant actress. “We’re family, after all. It’s what Lydia would want.” 

(He’d regretted taunting her later, when she’d thrown his grandmother’s favorite vase against his head as he tried to leave the house, trying to escape her wrath. She’d been screaming that he was poison, as toxic as his mother and grandmother before him, when the world fuzzed to black, and had left Virgil to wake up a few hours later with his bright purple hair dark with water and blood. He’d only seen her a few times since, when they’d met outside the hospital to visit his grandmother. They’d never mentioned it, and if she noticed how he was constantly on edge around her, she didn’t tell him.)

Virgil snapped himself out of his thoughts, unconsciously rubbing the back of his head. The injury had healed, now, but sometimes he found himself touching the spot anyways, especially after certain nightmares. 

He glanced around as he ducked into a gap between the trees, shifting to the right through a bush to find himself on the rough path he’d carved out over years of walking through these trees. 

It had been too long since he’d visited, he saw -- the grass had begun to regrow, and he muttered silent apologies to the forest as it was crushed under his torn sneakers. A faint breeze swirled around him, lifting the branches, and he grinned to himself. Virgil wasn’t much for gods, capital G and singular or otherwise, but he’d always believed these woods held a magic all their own, even beyond the faeries that used it as a portal between his realm and theirs. The place seemed to hum with it, a quiet force all its own, and he half-believed he’d only ever survived his adventures into it because it let him, had perhaps even guided him to the field of flowers when he was young. 

It was only a matter of minutes before he reached the clearing, and he shivered as the sunlight hit his skin fully, the afternoon sun’s warmth combatting the cool breeze. 

“There you are,” he heard from behind him, and he whirled around at the familiar voice.

“You’re starting to look like Slenderman,” he grinned at Logic, who had grown taller again.

“Those legends were inspired by my people,” the faerie said, rolling his eyes. “And I will have you know I am of perfectly average height for an Unseelie. At least I am not the size of the average mushroom, like those flowery nitwits.”

“Don’t be rude,” Virgil scolded, but he was still smiling, and pulled Logic into a hug even as he said it. “I missed you,” he muttered into his shoulder.

“...I missed you as well,” Logic told him, warm against the crisp March breeze. “It has been a long winter.”

“You look exhausted,” he pointed out, frowning as he pulled away to examine the shadows under the faerie’s mismatched eyes. “When did you last sleep?”

“I’m not the only one,” retorted the other, taking his hand and pulling him further into the sunny space between the trees. The grass was soft as the two sat, Virgil taking off his backpack to put it besides him. “I told you you would need adequate rest to ensure your head healed properly.”

“It’s fine,” he grumbled. Logic still moved behind him to check, examining the skin on the back of his head. “It really is, L. The magic did the trick -- no pain, no dizziness, nothing.”

“It looks alright,” the faerie conceded, although he still seemed perturbed. “Be careful, though, Anxiety. It may have been a while ago, but head wounds can have lasting effects.”

“I know,” he nodded, turning to face Logic again. “Now, why do you look like you haven’t slept since August?”

“I could say the same to you.”

“Logic.”

“It has been an… eventful winter,” sighed the dark-haired faerie, lying back in the grass. “There has been strife in both courts for years, but everything has gotten worse now. The heir to the rule of the Seelie Court has gone missing.”

“What? How is that even possible?” Virgil asked, staring down at him. 

“He disappeared in late summer, at the very end of August. Both courts have assumed they are being framed for what happened.” Logic closed his eyes, frustration seeping into his words. “I’m… friends with him, I suppose. I’m a bit worried about him -- Prince was never known for his intelligence.”

“Prince?” he blinked, a cold wave of suspicion washing over him. “Short, dramatic, acts like he stepped out of a Disney movie? Acts like the universe personally affronted him and will only accept an apology if it brings cookies?”

“You know him?” asked the faerie, eyes flashing open as he sat up. “When did you meet him? How? Did he hurt you?!”

“He sounds like Morality’s boyfriend,” Virgil told him, a mix of confusion and anger and fear rising in his chest. “Princey moved to town just in time for school to start -- they started dating in January. Apparently they had Christmas together, some cute fairy tale kiss under the mistletoe.” He’s vaguely aware his breath is quickening, but the blood pounding in his ears is far too loud to concentrate. “Oh god, L, what if he hurts Mor?”

“We cannot be sure your Prince is the same as mine. It could just be a coincidence,” Logic told him, moving closer to hold Virgil’s shoulders. “Breathe, Anxiety. It is alright. Do you remember the pattern you taught me?”

They did a breathing exercise, a four-seven-eight method Virgil had once led Logic through when they were fourteen and the faerie had been having a panic attack. He’d had no idea Logic remembered. 

“We’re going to have to figure out a way to definitively identify whether they are the same person,” he heard a while later, once he had calmed. His head was on Logic’s lap. He didn’t remember lying down, but long fingers were running through his hair and Virgil was far calmer than before, so he shrugged it off. “There’s no way he’d be willing to accompany you near the forest, right?”

“I doubt it,” he shook his head. “Everyone’s scared about this place. How’ve you been getting the messages to me? Could we use that?”

The faerie sighed. “Unfortunately, no. I’ve been making use of the birds in the area to do that -- a little magic, a promise of food, and they do whatever I wish.”

They sat in silence for a time, each with thoughts running rampant through their minds. Something tugged at Virgil’s attention, and he focused, trying to remember what he’d forgotten…

“His eyes!” he exclaimed, startling them both. 

“What?” Logic asked, a trace of amusement in his voice. “What about them?”

“Shouldn’t they be like yours, if he’s a Seelie?” said Virgil, sitting up. “All… fey-ish?”

“That isn’t a word.”

“Shush, you. Point is, shouldn’t I have been able to tell he was a faerie because of that? Or because of his ears? Do Seelie also have the pointed ears, or is that just your lot?”

His eyes widened. “An illusion, of course! Anxiety, you absolute genius!”

“I try,” he grinned. 

“The solution would be to pose as a human, accompany you to your place of schooling, and speak to him myself!” Logic exclaimed. “Do you have any human clothing I can borrow?” He hesitated. “Only if it is alright with you, that is. We can come up with another solution.”

“Actually, that works out,” Virgil told him. “I lied to my friends about visiting someone out of town over the weekend -- they’re going to ask for photos or something for proof, knowing them, so you can stand in as my imaginary friend.”

“What were you actually doing?” Logic asked, frowning, and Virgil mentally cursed. Why was he so goddamn perceptive? “We haven’t seen each other in a few months, so it was not on my behalf, and I have never known you to lie without reason.”

“...I was visiting my gran,” he confessed, staring at the blades of grass under his hands. “She hasn’t been doing too well lately, and my aunt still isn’t helping with money. I’m probably going to have to take more shifts at my job, and I wanted to see her without my aunt there for once before I started having no time to.”

“You told me once that it was strange that my people made me work even as a child,” Logic said, voice quiet. “You are clearly not doing well, Anxiety, and your health is precarious enough as it is. You should have gone to human doctors for that head wound, and you appear exhausted.”

“I’m fine, L,” he snapped. 

“No, you aren’t!” 

They both were startled by his shout, and Logic pinched his nose in faint exasperation. “I apologize. That was unnecessary. But I think you really should inform your grandmother of the situation. At this rate, even if you save her, you may kill yourself in the process.”

“She’ll make Caroline take me in, or ask a friend of hers from out of town. I can’t leave Torbrook now,” he shook his head. “I can’t. I’d be leaving you, and Mor, and… and God, L, there’s some sort of curse on this place, and I want to go to college, I want to see the world before I’m dragged back here!”

Everyone, even the fey, knew of the strange power of the town, and its effect on its residents. Virgil had watched people try to leave for years, to go to college or to just finally escape, and yet somehow, every single person, even the ones who hated the place most bitterly, were dragged back, unable to stay away permanently. It had happened to his gran, he knew -- she’d left, married a man she’d met in college, had his mom and Caroline, and then when both of the girls were ten, had found herself divorcing her husband and returning to Torbrook. Robin had hated herself for it, said so to Virgil after she’d had a bit too much wine, but she hadn’t seen another way -- the place had seemed to pull on her soul, and she couldn’t drag her new, innocent family along with her. 

The only people who had ever seemed to permanently escape were the ones who had accidentally revealed their names, and Virgil suspected that was only out of pure necessity. They could only survive on the outside -- returning to Torbrook was a death sentence, or worse, with any faerie or opportunistic human ready to use their true names against them. It was what had happened to Taylor, formerly called Yellow. They had accidentally told their true name at a party, gotten a bit too vulnerable, and one of their friends had told the whole school. They’d left town the next day, and hadn’t been back since. Their parents had occasionally visited them, but never seemed able to permanently stay with their child, much as they wanted to. Eventually, the visits stopped, and then so did all communication.

Taylor could have been dead, for all anyone knew, the pull of Torbrook doing to them what it had done to all the others who had resisted -- first sickness, like the flu, a shivering weakness, and eventually… 

Well, after a girl called Fortune had died in the hospital near her college, the doctors unable to help her, no one had wanted to risk it. 

So Virgil couldn’t leave Torbrook, even if he wanted to. He was saving every second for college, and maybe for a trip after that if he got lucky. 

He wouldn’t.

Abruptly, he stood. 

“Anxiety, I-” Logic began, and Virgil knew him well enough to know the other was about to apologize, and he couldn’t take that, not then. 

“Meet me here again in a few days, okay? I’ll bring clothes and stuff, and I’ll let the school know you’re a visiting student. They let that kind of thing happen, usually assume it’s a cousin who was born here who got the sickness. Super lax about it, weirdly.” He was aware he was babbling now, as he grabbed his bag, but he couldn’t stop himself from speaking. “Sunday should work, yeah? You can come with me on Monday, I can say we drove down from your home together.”

“Anxiety, what if it is him?” Logic asked, interrupting him mid-tangent. “Not only will we face the wrath of the next ruler of the Seelie Court, but will also expose the fact that we have been… consorting.”

“I’m not letting Mor get hurt,” said Virgil shortly, stepping back to leave. “I don’t need my best friend getting kidnapped by a faerie on my plate, too. I’ll see you Thursday.” He turned, and, without giving Logic a chance to respond, left the clearing. 

It was Sunday before he knew it, and Virgil was exhausted. All of his friends had noticed that he was more tense, more tired, more snappish -- he remembered muttering something about college admissions, which made sense since the letters were supposed to be coming in the next couple weeks, and they passed the mood change off as heightened anxiety. If Sleep noticed him picking up more shifts than ever, mowing lawns and doing whatever he could for money around town, he didn't say anything, and Virgil was grateful. Besides, Sleep himself was an insomniac -- he would just be a hypocrite.

Not to say Virgil had insomnia. More than anything, he wanted to fall onto his bed and sleep for a week. But he couldn’t, not yet.

He asked for the day off for both Sunday and Monday. His boss didn’t protest, telling him to go get some rest in a quiet tone. Sleep didn't make fun of him like usual, either, and there was no teasing him about going to see a boyfriend, only a quiet thumbs up.

The forest was quiet when he entered, a bag over his shoulder, and he shivered. It was disconcerting. Virgil had gotten used to noise, blasting music over his headphones as he worked, and then in lectures or with his loud friends every other moment. Faint birdsong, wind in the trees, dirt under the combat boots his gran had bought him two Christmases ago -- he wasn’t accustomed to them anymore. 

Perhaps that’s why Logic could sneak up on him so easily. 

“You look awful,” the faerie said bluntly from beside him, startling him enough that he almost tripped. He got lucky -- Logic reached out to steady him, concern shining in his strange, mismatched eyes. “Anxiety, you… you look worse than when I last saw you. Are you doing alright?”

“I’m fine,” he said, trying for a smile. Judging from the look on Logic’s face, it wasn’t convincing. He patted the bag. “Look, I brought you clothes. Got a couple of outfits. And, bonus-” he reached into his coat, pulling out a hairbrush and the scissors his grandmother had used to use to cut Virgil’s own hair when he was young. “We’re finally going to make you presentable, Tarzan.”

“How dare you?” Logic exclaimed, but there was no heat behind his words, just a quiet underlying concern that Virgil almost hated more. “My hair is perfectly fine!”

“Listen, you look like a member of Aerosmith,” Virgil rolled his eyes. “I’m thinking we can put it in a bun. Or maybe cut it even shorter! I’m just saying, you’re cosplaying a rocker from the 80s.”

“My hair isn’t that messy, or that long!” the faerie protested, but he let Virgil lead him to an old tree stump and sat down, albeit reluctantly. “Not too drastic of a change, Anx, or I swear, I’ll turn yours pink.”

“Eh, I needed a new dye job, anyways,” Virgil shrugged, and narrowly dodged Logic’s attempt to swat at him. 

Half an hour and much swearing later, the disheveled hair was brushed through and tied into a bun. Logic looked unbelievably cute. It was not fair in the slightest -- Virgil’s dark gay heart wasn’t built for this kind of shit!

Alright Virge, stop checking out your friend. he snapped at himself mentally, handing Logic his phone to see his new look as he reached into the bag. He’s a faerie, firstly, and also, you’re doing this to save Mor. Haven’t got time for this, you disaster gay. 

“I will confess, this does suit me,” the faerie smiled, looking up at him. “You’re quite good at this.”

“My gran taught me,” he shrugged, before dumping the bag of clothes onto Logic’s lap. “Pick an outfit.”

“This is not the same kind of clothing you wear,” blinked the faerie, looking through it. 

“You’d hate wearing my clothes, and they wouldn’t even fit you,” he pointed out. “I brought you… I dunno, nerd stuff. Should make you look respectable and smart, or whatever -- we’re going to play into all the stereotypes, today. Besides, people ought to think of you like you are, not like some emo.”

“You think I’m smart?” Logic asked, staring up at him. 

“You’re the smartest person I know, dumbass,” Virgil told him. “If you don’t want to wear any of that, it’s fine, I packed a T-shirt and jeans, and you could borrow my hoodie, I just thought it was kind of more your style-”

“No,” the other smiled, and wow, Virgil was really gay. “You… yes. I would prefer to be thought of as smart or respectable, I just didn’t realize that was something that could be done.”

“Anything’s possible when you harness preconceived prejudices,” he grinned in response.

Virgil couldn’t mask his amazement when Logic whispered to the forest, convincing the plants to grow together to make him a screen to change behind (he’d always been fascinated by magic, even when they were kids), but forced himself to stare at his phone when the faerie went behind it. He’d read through the same Tumblr post four times without understanding a word of it when Logic said “Anxiety?”

He’d chosen a black polo and a dark indigo tie, a shade that perfectly offset both colors of his eyes, paired with dark pants and his rabbit-fur boots. He looked hot.

“You… you’re going to need different shoes,” Virgil choked out.

“Oh, yes, I suppose I will,” Logic nodded. “Here, I am going to attempt an illusion.” He ran his fingers over his ears, and the points vanished, rounding. The rest of his features softened, less harshly fey and more human. He paused at his eyes, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” the human asked, as they had yet to change. 

“Eyes are… harder to hide,” the faerie confessed. “For fey they are quite literally the windows to the soul. I believe I will require an external object near my face to mask my eyes to cast the spell on.” He bit his lip. “If we restyled my hair to have bangs a bit like yours, I could use that, but I do not wish to ruin your hard work.” 

Virgil frowned, thinking back, before snapping his fingers. “Princey carries around contact solution in his bag! I bet that’s how he’s doing it -- casts the illusions on the contacts, pops them into his eyes, good to go.” He grinned. “You, Logic, are lucky I am so blind.”

“Excuse me?” he frowned. “I think your vision is alright. I wouldn’t have let those scissors near me, otherwise.”

“I wear contacts too, most of the time; good excuse for my weird eyes, people who don’t know me assume they’re colored. Plus, glasses don’t match my aesthetic.”

“What aesthetic?” Virgil glared at him, and Logic snorted in laughter.

“Don’t be rude, nerd. Anyways, I carry around my spare pair of glasses just in case, because if I lose a contact I can’t see without them. I was going to have to switch over to them soon -- don’t have enough money to buy another box -- but I can lend them to you for now, and we can cast the spell on them. Will the prescription affect you?”

“Let me see them,” Logic frowned, and Virgil pulled his glasses case out of his coat, handing the frames over.

The faerie tried them on, frowning briefly before running his hand over them. The glass shimmered for a moment, and suddenly his eyes only had color in the iris, one a paler green than Virgil’s own, the other a dark blue. “There. And I can see through them fine -- just have to change my own ability to see to do so. Easy shapeshifting spell.”

Virgil smiled despite himself, looking at the different colors. “We’re still eye buddies, huh?”

“I wasn’t about to give that up,” Logic grinned as he rolled his new eyes. It was so much more obvious when he did that, now that he actually had evident whites and pupils. “How do I look?”

Virgil stepped back, passing an appraising glance over his friend. “Very human,” he decided. “Also, very nerdy, so welcome to the weird kid club, L.”

“Excellent,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, before his features adjusted into something more serious. “Are you sure you want to do this, Anxiety? For all we know, your Prince isn’t mine at all. I can think of no reason for him to disappear for so long into human society.”

“I can’t risk Morality getting hurt,” Virgil shook his head. “We’re doing this.”

“Alright,” Logic nodded, before his face split into a sly smile. “Now that I look human, though… There are some things you’ve mentioned in Torbrook I’ve always wanted to see.”

Virgil laughed despite himself. “Well, you should probably stay with me tonight, for appearances’ sake anyways… Okay, sure. Let’s go see the library, and then we can stop by my house.”

“How did you know?” the faerie asked, startled, as they started collecting the supplies Virgil had brought.

“Magic,” he grinned, and Logic punched him in the arm without any real force. 

“Ass.”

“Dork.”

Even as they laughed, fear’s cold claws sunk into Virgil’s heart. He swallowed. What if Prince was who they thought he was?

What would one of the most powerful fey in the Seelie Court do to the human and the Unseelie that exposed him? 

He glanced over at Logic. The faerie was beautiful when he smiled, even with his teeth disguised to look duller and more human. The sun streamed through the trees, lighting up his dark hair and contrasting the shadows painting fragile pictures across his skin. 

What if Prince hurts him? the little voice in the back of his mind whispered. 

No. He wouldn’t let that happen, Virgil decided, pushing the fear deep, deep down. Not to Logic, or Morality, or Sleep, or anyone he cared about. 

The world was so shitty, as it was. He wasn’t about to let the few people that made living in it bearable suffer.

“Anxiety?”

Logic’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned to see the faerie looking at him. “Yeah, L?”

“It’s going to be alright,” he promised, reaching out to hold Virgil’s hand. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

“Okay,” he nodded. And it helped, really, because he knew faeries could only tell the truth, or at least what they believed was the truth. Logic was the smartest person he’d ever met, and if he really believed that… 

Everything would be alright.

[settle-down-frohike]

Late to the game as always!! My submission for @xfpornbattle . I was given an unsexy prompt by @contrivedcoincidences6​, my episode being Excelsis Dei, and I’ll be honest, it was *extremely* hard to feel anything resembling smutty after watching it, but I think that was the point. ;) But! I was able to pull prompts 195(dominant Scully) and 38 (Mulder watched Scully have one-night stands for years before making his move) and try to make something work. I do strongly advise re-watching it before you read if, like me, you haven’t in a while. 

My eternal gratitude to @lepus-arcticus​ for going easy on me and making my first beta experience lovely and pain free! <3 If you see any spelling or grammar mistakes at this point it’s from my latest hurried edit and no reflection on her skills at all.  And thank you to Idris Elba, for being, well, Idris Elba. ;) Tagging @today-in-fic​

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Shrinking Violet

R: NC-17 

“I don’t know how to explain it, but it has something to do with those pills.”

An unsubstantiated solution to the substantiated crime. That was her report in a nutshell.

Thanks, Mulder.

She’s spent the last 5 hours turning that crude statement into an official report, and to say she is tired is an understatement. To make matters worse, Mulder seems to be finding any excuse to stay in the office with her. She understands the fact that he was technically her superior, but she doesn’t literally need supervision, for Christ’s sake. He just keeps hovering around her, just outside of her periphery, like a dog circling a dinner table. Rummaging through cabinets, flipping through files, making much ado about absolutely nothing. It’s incredibly annoying, but at this point she doesn’t have the energy to analyze or address it.

She’s been in the same clothes for close to 18 hours now, and just wants her shower and her bed, in that order. She packs her briefcase and watches from the corner of her eye to see if he does the same. He doesn’t even look up. It isn’t until she is halfway out of the door that he even bothers to speak.

“Hey Scully?”

She turns, her escape thwarted,  and regards him with a blank expression, save one raised brow.

“S’good work. This case I mean....I’m glad you pushed it.”

An unexpected wave of rage paralyzes her senses, and for a moment, a rehearsed tirade about his premature dismissal of their victim’s case and its similarities to her own experience plays out in her mind. How it could have so easily been her pleading for someone to validate what her body knows, but what no one can prove-all of the physical evidence that would hold up in a court of law having been erased, her chance at justice stolen, along with a good bit of faith in the system she works for. It lodges in her throat that she’s disappointed in him, maybe for the first time.

She can still hear herself pleading with him to continue to pursue this case, and the memory makes her cringe. Her abduction has her unwillingly humbled, punished for the company she’s chosen to keep, and she hates it. If she’s being punished, she’d might as well commit a crime befitting.  Ahab once grounded her for a month after she came in smelling of cigarettes she hadn’t smoked. It’d felt righteous then, on the roof at 3am, choking on an entire pack of her mother’s Virginia Slims. Bad decisions might as damned well be her own.

She doesn’t know herself anymore. The body in the mirror at home is softer than it used to be, it slouches with memories of invasion and abuse. This body betrays her. It keeps secrets now. It’s frustrating to feel patronized by one’s own mind. She appreciates the work keeping her busy,  and she hoped coming back as quickly as possible would be the first step in feeling whole again. But she’s not anywhere close to restored. Her edges feel tattered and stitched poorly together, and though her reflection may not show it, she’s a Raggedy-Ann version of her former self. She wants her body back, her memories back, and her autonomy back.

To let him know these things would show weakness. So instead, she smiles tightly at the floor and mumbles some platitude about teamwork or partnership and slips out. If she makes it to the garage fast enough, he won’t have time to wrap up this charade, gather his own things, and follow her home. Again. She’d rather him pull the big brother act when he thinks she’s not looking.

----------------------------------------------------

At the third stop light before the freeway, a Holiday Inn sign reads, “$1 MRGRTAS” and the rebel in her smiles. He won’t follow her in here, and if he does, she’ll hopefully be drunk enough to say what’s on her mind.  She’s not ready to be at home alone with those thoughts just yet.

Two hours later, she’s four deep and enjoying her umpteenth cigarette with relish, her nose is pleasantly numb, and her thoughts about her partner are turning maudlin. He’s trying, she reckons. She knows he cares deeply for her. He likes to keep her close, like a lucky rabbit’s foot or some other talisman, rattling around in his pocket with the loose change, carelessly cherished. She remembers a time, not so long ago when she’d been starry-eyed and school-girl smitten with her new partner, with his unexpected good looks and unreachable genius. And for a time, they’d sparked against each other like flint meeting a match. For a time, it’d felt like maybe he’d felt something too. Her disappearance has exposed weakness in them both, she supposes. Her need to push against support instead of leaning into it, and his inability to offer any outright, for fear of not deserving the trust. This thought feels like something resembling forgiveness, and, her anger having dissipated, she’s thinking seriously about paying her tab and calling a taxi. At that moment, an impossibly rich baritone asks if the seat next to her is taken.

The accent is British, and his suit is expensive. He fits in here about as well as she does. He orders Glenlivet, neat. The tequila has her feeling loose limbed and mischievous, so after a few moments of quiet companionship, she slips off her jacket to reveal the pale blue silk shell underneath, just to see what might happen. Her newer, larger breasts stretch against the fine fabric, and if the sensation is unfamiliar and discomfiting, his side glance is not. She swallows any lingering traces of self doubt down with a swish of salt and cheap mix. The game is afoot, and the rush of adrenaline to her brain at her prowess is euphoric. She wants more of this kind of puissance, achieved cheaply, but effective nonetheless.  

“You’re not singing tonight?” He nods towards the empty stage, floating lights and karaoke machine at the corner of the bar, unused, thankfully.  

“Not tonight,” she smiles into her plastic tumbler, “too much competition.” His resulting chuckle is deep and dizzying.

Afoot, indeed.

She turns her head and is met with a very handsome smile with a face to match, basset-hound eyes and skin the color of strong espresso. His beard is well kept, and only serves to highlight his strong jawline, and sumptuous mouth.  The closely tailored suit is doing nothing to hide the brutish build underneath. But he carries it with such elegance.  He is fist-bitingly sexy. His handshake is gentle and warm, his name is Miles. There’s a bewitching hint of grey at his temples, and she is suddenly swooning, and damning everything all to hell.

She can’t honestly believe she hears herself ask if he is here alone, but the words come from someone that sounds a lot like her.  He nods, and says he’s there ‘on conference’, the way that well-to-do Brits must put it, and the rest of his associates are at the Four Seasons.

“I’m set to give a lecture come morning, and tonight... I  just needed a bit of breathing room.”

“Pressures at work?” She asks. He nods and releases a puff of smoke from one of her borrowed cigarettes.

“Comes with the terri’try, I suppose. I’m the head of my department at university. I’m expected to have allll the answers,” he cracks, with a wide sweep of his arm.

She chuffs. “That’s interesting. Lately I feel like I have no answers, only questions. But I think I understand.”

Their eyes meet again, and the air around them is suddenly charged. Not sexual, really, but a kind of understanding, a kinship being formed, and she’s now more drawn to him than ever. She feels brazenly without filter.

“Do men like you, with answers, I mean, does that power ever become a burden?”

“It absolutely does. Yes.”

She surveys the room, nodding. “Well I can assure you, Miles. Being without them can weigh on you just as well.”

He’s watching her still, even as she refuses to return his gaze.

“Can I help?”

That catches her attention. His eyes are crinkled with scrutiny, but  something else, something familiar radiates behind the humor. Ah, yes. She recognizes it now. Need. Naked and thinly veiled behind his offer.

“Yes,” she answers, with a Mona Lisa smile, “yes, I think maybe you can.”    He gracefully signals the barkeep, and she stands to gather her jacket and purse.  

-------------------------------------------------

She shivers visibly as he closes the door to his room, and she chalks it up to the ancient overactive air conditioner by the window and not her nerves. Like the gentlemen she expects him to be, though, he adjusts the setting before relieving himself of his own jacket, and walks to stand before her. But God he is striking, and mysterious and reserved in a way that intimidates and in turn, arouses her. And something about the scent of the cheap furnishings and the last traces of his expensive cologne is intoxicating in an illicit, tawdry sort of way. This feels like an affair. This stranger’s body she’s been inhabiting for the last few months now is behaving like the old Dana would, unmercifully enraptured by an older, powerful man.  

“Tell me what I can do,” he says gently, and she’s swept up on a wave of supremecy.  

“Take off your clothes,” she orders, softly but firmly, as she begins to relieve herself of her own, “and get on your knees.” His eyes flash brightly and he obeys, an eager supplicant. The slightest sway of her pelvis toward his mouth is all the command he needs, and his tongue snakes between her thighs, smoothly traces her outer folds, seeking entrance. She presses her hand to the back of his head and he growls into her in response. She can see him growing long and thick and hard between his legs, purely on the taste of her. Her voice is husky with want, and the air is saturated with pheromones.

“Make me come.” 

And he does. Using long, deft fingers and a dexterous tongue he suckles and strokes with perfect pressure, an even rhythm, until the one leg she has thrown over his broad back becomes two, and she’s lying back on the bed, watching herself thrash and moan from far, far above her body, this dark god of a man at her mercy.

He laps at her gently, bringing her down from orgasm with incredible tenderness. His beard is soaked and glistening when he looks up, and she decides she’s not done with him yet. 

“Lie on the bed, now.”

He rises wordlessly, licks his lips, and nods. When he settles, fully prostrate, she rises and stands next to the bed, admiring his form. Every inch of him is perfection. She wants to bite at his pebbled nipples, suckle at his mouth, capture the straining tendons at his neck between her teeth. He’s visibly, if willfully, tortured, and true power is not without mercy.

If she were to straddle and face him, it would feel too intimate. Neither want connection, they want distraction. She wants to use him and he wants to be used. So she turns back and watches herself sink down, slowly, onto his dusky length in the dresser mirror. The woman before her is dominant, formidable, and she’s aching to come again. Her fingers slide down between her breasts, over her mons and past her clitoris, fully engorged, stiff and eager.  She finds their bodies’ joining, finds where he enters and his slick girth spreads her open, impaling her as she rises and falls. Her slick, shining fingers reach her mouth and taste their sex, rich and biting. He’s watching her reflection with wide, worshipful eyes. Dipping lower, her fingernails graze the tender underside of his sack, and the muscles in his legs rippling in anticipation, like a thoroughbred at the gate. He thrusts unconsciously and groans helplessly, “God!” and the succubus in her takes over. She growls, “Don’t you dare fucking move,” and starts to work herself ruthlessly, grinding him down and deep against her cervix, the sensation acute and exquisitely painful, over and over again. Her eyes never leave her reflection, even as she is open-mouthed and howling, her second orgasm consuming her like a brushfire.  His own climax registers somewhere in the distance.  

-------------------------------------------------------------

Her legs are trembling with exertion, an unnamed emotion bubbling it’s way to the surface. She collapses forward, sobbing, as a pair of warm, strong arms envelope her from behind.

“You are incredible,” he whispers, breathless, “a goddess. Now come here.” His commanding tone is softened by English r’s. The fight in her has gone, but he takes no advantage. He tucks her next to him under the thin comforter and tells her sternly, “Give yourself time to heal, girl. You have all the power you seek. Wield it as you wish. You have nothing to prove to anyone but yourself.” The last thing she thinks is how, in this moment, she does feel very much like a girl, newborn and guiltless and so very, very afraid again of what she does not know. What her mind won’t let her remember. For now though, she lets his warmth and his brawn shield her against the demons that beckon.

Come morning, on the pillow next to her, a vibrant, freshly picked violet is all that remains of him.

---------------------------------------------------------------

A disheveled man sits in a parked car across the street from the Holiday Inn, two days worth of stubble coating his cheeks, eyes red-rimmed and shifty. His body shakes, the indignant fury he felt previously now exhausted into fumes of guilt as he watches her come through the sliding doors, out to her car, and follows it as it drives away. She’s safe at least. She’s alive. He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up.

[whatscallion]

reply i.

COFFEE/COLLEGE AU: POV - Natasha Romanoff - a reply to THIS starter from @cptsteven because we live for AUs that aren’t serious at all. this is probably one of our first ones? i think we’re on #984375 au right now. enjoy! 

Sugar Ray was playing overhead, talking about the halo on his girlfriend’s four post bed, setting that of a casual air. The music of the nineties generally reigned supreme when Natasha Romanoff was working behind the counter at The Grind, the main hangout for any and all students of the college nearby. There were usually bouts of busy times around lunch, and especially around midterm season. It was damn near unbearable when it was finals season, though she had never worked during that time. Natasha had her own classes to prepare for, but fortunately enough, they were in a pleasant lull between massive tests. It left a pleasant air about the town, just in time for the leaves to start turning colors in their Autumn display.

Crisp and cool, the air beyond the warmth of the coffee shop held its own kind of comfort in its own way, beckoning forth warm knit sweaters and wool socks. Loose beanies and wind-bitten cheeks. Scarves and mittens. It was a change in weather that made people feel cozy without them really even noticing, and the constant heat from the espresso machines not only made the place inviting, it gave life to the already decadent scent of brewing coffee. It was a time of year that had one thankful for their position in life, no matter the impending doom of midterms or tests or quizzes.

There had been a shift in the air as of late, within the small cafe, and it didn’t go unnoticed - not by Natasha and certainly not by her coworkers. The presence of a college student every morning had become more and more noticeable, to the point of casual ribbing from her cohorts, which only begged the question: why did he come to the shop just for black coffee? On occasion, he’d order something that required more elaboration, but more often than not, it was just plain black coffee, something he could’ve easily gotten at the cafeteria on campus.

Steve. That’s what Scott had told her his name was. Tall, blonde, artistic - he was an easy kind of person to grow soft for, and it was even easier to see the way heads turned when he was around. Yet it didn’t seem like he noticed - not when she happened to see him from afar at the college. Oblivious to his own prowess, and it made him humble, almost like he were some kind of fairytale prince. The sudden comparison had Natasha scoffing at her own thoughts, very thankful the sound of steamed milk drowned it out, for Scott was far too nosey to let things like that slide. Not so much a Prince Eric or Prince Phillip - more unconventional, like Hercules. Needless to say, Disney’s Hercules was swiftly watched upon the realization. The biased nature towards the new regular at the shop was slow burning, yet it was becoming painfully obvious. He needn’t even order for Natasha to even start on his coffee the moment he walked in. She even went through the trouble of actually making herself look more presentable that early in the morning, a task that wasn’t that much of a rigor. A swipe of mascara. A quick blow-dry of her hair. Small things that she didn’t think made that much of a difference.

“What can I do for you, Sam?” It was important to know names in the business of coffee, since that’s generally what customers wanted: to be in a place where their name was known, like they were special.

“Just a mocha. Don’t care about the size. Hey, you’re in my accounting class, right? Wednesdays with Isaiah, right?” The redhead was looking away from her sudden customer, writing down an order on the cup with a Sharpie marker. The small talk gifted him a glance of bright emerald before moving to the register.

“I thought that was you,” she responded with an amicable smile. “It’s an alright class but...definitely just a prerequisite for my actual major.” The total flashed before them and Sam dug out the appropriate change.

“Yeah, Gen Ed can be a bitch, huh?” Nat’s reply came by way of a small snicker and a nod before she turned to work on his drink.

Stolen glances at Sam and Steve were taken, yet she didn’t do anything more than what was necessary. She was being paid to make coffee, not make eyes at customers. It genuinely sucked how much of a distraction they became, just by being there. Natasha was more thankful that Scott had the day off, knowing full well he wouldn’t let her live down anything. If he didn’t hit on her constantly, Scott would’ve been more like an annoying little brother to her.

Two days, three ballet classes and a multitude of nonsensical general education classes later, and Natasha was being bored to death in the infamous accounting class. Something about how happiness was translated into something called “utility” and that there was an actual measurement called “utils”. How could one even measure the happiness gained from an action or object, then comparing it to the cost to see if it was even worth it? This was making something so much more complicated, to a point where it was beyond that of a microscope. While Isaiah was passionate about accounting, it didn’t matter to his students. This was, without a doubt, incredibly boring to someone who wasn’t even going to school for numbers. It was torture in the form of two classes, each about two hours along.

This was it. This was Natasha’s Hell in the form of needless academia.

“....And that about sums up the general usage of utility and the subsequent utils. Don’t forget to read chapter 14 and complete the required questions at the end of the chapter. I’m still waiting on some analyses from some of you. Each day is another percentage point taken off, so please turn them in. This is my job, after all.”

After finishing up a page of mundane doodling, centering around a game of MASH gone awry, the class was finally over and the rest of her afternoon was free. Wednesdays were generally meant for mid-week assignments to get caught up on, as well as casual social interactions. There’d been rumblings of the fraternities throwing parties the following weekend, sparking the beginning of a very long, very exhausting homecoming season. Though Natasha specialized in the graceful art of ballet, it was safe to assume she was also on the dance squad. It was an easy way to maintain rhythm and flexibility.

“Are you going to Delta’s thing this weekend?” Hope, a somewhat close-ish friend, had made a point to be in the same class as her, mostly so they could rely on one another to stay focused. They decided being friends could make up for the fact that they made out once at a party. Whoops. “They’re doing it a week early so they don’t get popped again this year.”

“Delta, huh?” Parties weren’t really Natasha’s scene, generally opting to working the late shift at the coffee shop in order to have a good excuse not to go. “Delta’s the worst frat on campus, I thought.”

“You mean, the best because their parties are always balls to the walls? Yeah, Saturday. You should go. Who knows? You might actually have fun.”

“Maybe, but I’ll have to look at the schedule.”

“I swear to god, if you change your schedule again to not go, I’m going to call in a bomb threat on The Grind so you can’t have that excuse.” The girl was quick to know things and use them against whoever she could in order to gain a semblance of an advantage. Unfortunately, Nat wasn’t on her game as of late.

They were getting ready to go when--

Shit. She could pick out that combination of towering height and blonde hair anywhere. Suddenly, Hope wasn’t really there, and it all felt like a Disney movie again.

Stop it. You’re working yourself up. He just comes in for coffee. Probably doesn’t even know your name without your nametag on.

Quit acting like such a girl. .

[alfredtangphoto]

An inspiration that is Barcelona.

I woke up the day after getting back from a week in Barcelona and with the trip fresh on my mind, I felt rejuvenated, inspired, motivated and not jet-lagged (yay!). I was there with Marcela (www.mgpulido.co) and Katy (www.katyweaver.com) for Marcela’s 30th birthday and I couldn’t of been with better people to be there with. Traveling and exploring with people you don’t quite yet know on a deep level helps you learn a bit about yourself. Especially with them being photographers, it was like a therapy/discovery session. I’ve come to realize a few things about myself and what I need to do to bring my photography business to the next level.

Being that it was my first time in Barcelona, let alone in Europe, I knew it was going to be an eye-opening experience. I mean, I didn’t have a chance to do any research and was just gonna wing it as I was certain the birthday girl had a list of things to see and do while we were there; in addition, Katy had already roped me into bird watching with her on our last day there. So I didn’t have any expectations other than the thrill of being in a new country.

I woke up on our first full day jet-lagged AF (as fudge - you know, like cold fudge - slowly catching up to the rest). But luckily our first scheduled activity was at 13:30 at the Sagrada Familia. After an espresso or two, we got a wonderful tour of the never-ending constructing church. It’s a behemoth of an awesome structure, let alone it being a church. I’m not religious, but basic understanding of The Bible helps understand the concepts and story behind why Gaudi and the architects after him did what they did. It was pretty intricate and controversially done; it’s one of those “you had to be there to get it.”

I do wished we had time to go back through the church after the hour long tour and view it at a more leisure pace. But I know I’ll be back in 2026, in hopes of viewing a completed church. Any questions about my images or experience? Let me know in the comment section below.

Then it happened.

After leaving Sagrada Familia, we were full on information and visual stimulation but starving for food. If I hadn’t told you by now, I’ll tell you now, the food and the culture of meals out there is delectable and fun. Eat small amounts, but more frequently throughout the day. That in combination of walking an average of 5 1/2 miles a day caused me to lose some weight *fist pump. We got a bite to eat before heading to the metro to catch our next train to somewhere. A train arrived and it’s doors to it’s belly opened up. My first thought was “Wow, it’s packed. Time to be aware and careful of your belongings.” The three of us step in and find our little pockets of space to fill. The train jolts forward and goes on another stop or two. We were only going 3 stops, I believe. The second to last stop, the train doors open and for some strange reason, I didn’t have a good feeling and went to feel for my phone in my front pocket. …GONE!!! I quickly looked up and a gentleman next to me pointed outwards. Like he already knew what had happened and motioned that the perpetrator was on their way out the metro station. I jumped out and yelled into the sea of back of people’s head “WHO HAS MY PHONE?!?!” A blurred vision of faces turned to look towards me and I realized no one was gonna to answer my desperate cry for help. “Oh fick! The train doors are closing and my two friends are still inside!” Quickly, I placed my hands into the closing doors and pried them open. I jumped in to join my two friends feeling defeated.

There are so many things I could have done in hindsight to prevent my essential equipment for being pick pocketed. The only thing I was devastated about was the loss of images and footage of my 10-month old dog. But this unfortunate event was also a blessing in disguise. For the remainder of the trip, I was forced to be mentally AND visually present. It was beautiful! After two days of beating myself over it, I felt a sense of detachment and freedom. After this trip, I made it a goal to turn off social media notifications and just be off my phone more. On the 12-hour plane ride home, I even had the opportunity to read a book: The 4 Disciplines of Execution. It was fitting as this book helped me realize my own weaknesses in my business and to stop trying to multitask so often. Anyways, I’m going off tangent now and that’s the lesson about me and my cellphone. I do recommend the book and a Kindle for traveling (thank you Katy for letting me borrow it on the plane. It’s on my Christmas wish list now).

We spent a few hours looking for a Catalan (not Spanish) police station to fill out a report, in the case I needed it in order to file with my phone insurance. Spent a few hours wondering the streets and bouncing around like ping pong balls. Because we were on a mission, it was tough to absorb the sights, sounds and smell of the early 19th century built streets as we filtered them out, in search for that police station.

By 19:00, we came up empty and went to fill our empty stomachs with something delicious because we were about to see a flamenco show that evening.

By 21:30, we were seating in the front row to enjoy an amazing performance at Palau Dalmases. A stunning open-court building built in the 17th century, it was the perfect setting for the acoustics of live music. Watching the artists playfully interact with each other while pouring their hearts and souls into their part was pretty inspiring to watch - each depending on each other, but the trust and support was undoubtably there.

When in a foreign country, take the long way home, no matter how long of a day it was.

The day after a long day, which included being pick pocketed, we set out again to look for this mysterious police station but with points of interests along the way. Had a great brunch, had more espresso, walked down the main shopping street in Barcelona, bought myself a jacket, stopped by the night market, huddled close as we walked through “the most dangerous spot of thieves” and finally found that ever so elusive police station and fill out that report.

Here are a few photos I managed to snap.

We ended the night at a bar then and a club with Marcela’s hostel buddies, got really drunk and eventually made it home by 4:30. Who said I was old?!?!

One can safely assume that no one woke up until noon and basically did nothing for the entire day. I had a bit of cabin fever and went for a walk out on the boardwalk to take in the quaint city we were staying in.

It’s Monday and Marcela was scheduled to fly out of Barcelona. While we’ve only spent 3 full days with her, it felt like we had spent a week together due to the insane amount of activities and events that happened. Katy and I went off to the Barcelona Museum of Contemporary Art where we found Jaume Plensa’s work. It was a nice change in pace and scene, while exercising our minds. As we were just about to finish up at the museum, we find out Marcela’s flight got postponed to the next day - so we meet up with her at our favorite restaurant (Teresa Carle) and go back to hang out in front of the museum.

The museum’s front entrance was located facing towards a square where all walks of life (many of whom are skateboarders) crossed over in passing.

The next day, Katy and I had a 5:30 wake up call. We were gonna go bird watching!!! But really, it’s Katy thing and I came along for a change in scenery. I’ve done birding once and was uninterested, but this time was different. Katy had booked a birding guide and Daniel (owner and operator) was an excellent and knowledgable person to be with in such trying times (for me). I learned to appreciate birds and their habitats a little more, while also learning to appreciate the recreational activity of bird watching. It’s a wonder what binoculars, a powerful scope and two passionate bird watchers will do to ya.

I didn’t have a telephoto lense with me to capture the essence of birding, but below are some of the sights from the day. Mostly of a few centuries old buildings we came across on top a hillside.

And that’s how my week in Barcelona ended.

I wouldn’t change any of the events that happened. Even with my phone being stolen. I got to really engage with my travel mates. I got to fully engage with my surroundings and my thoughts. It’s also why I brought my camera with only a vintage manual focus lense. To slow down, be present, and just exist in your current physical being. Your mind will be a lot more free and the world’s weight will be lifted off your shoulders.

In summary, Barcelona is beautiful. Built and rebuilt upon itself, it has given growth to a variety of civilizations. It’s streets and walls are lined with history, architecture and culture. Graffiti is abundant and political messages are obvious. The pockets of light bouncing off buildings and through the alleyways are awe-inspiring, the architecture itself is romantic, and the way people interact with one another (besides that one asshole in the metro station) is a beautiful sight to witness.

Surrounded by my peers, this Barcelona trip not only fueled my creative juices, it also breathed new life into the way I approach my business and craft. I must be more mindful and present. Shoot with intention. Service and communicate with genuine intention. Focus on the craft and the passion will not leave as easily. Continue to challenge myself and be connected to nature.

Thank you Marcela for inviting me on this eye opening birthday trip and thank you Barcelona for teaching me a few good lessons.

[thassalia]

Agent and Reagent

@kernezelda asked for: Avengers/MCU / pipette, wrench, tea / cyclone  :D

Post- AOU, pre-CW. Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers. On hobbies and science and rain.  

The facility felt particularly frigid in the rain despite the preprogrammed temperature.  Natasha pulled the heavy sweater on over her head as wind lashed the trees against her windows and rain beat hard on the glass. It was worse than snow, which somehow transformed the gleaming modern monstrosity into something cozy and a little timeless. This kind of driving, torrential storm just upped the sense of isolation out here, although Natasha had never been bothered by solitude. A branch flew across the field, smacking into a telecom pole loud enough that she could hear the crack. So, more than a little rain. A shiver ran through her and she rubbed her arms, put her hand to the back of her cheek, but her skin was warm even a little dry. Maybe the cold was psychological. She grimaced, dismissing the thought.  More likely, she was just getting the damned death flu that Wanda had brought back with her from Indiana.  

She’d showered after morning maneuvers, held out in the elements because Steve was often an asshole who used the term “field conditions” to justify his sadistic streak. Eventually, the zero visibility and escalating gales had been too much for even Rogers and he’d called it, leaving them to their own devices.  Of course, it being Saturday, this only meant an hour shaved off an already shortened schedule, but it was a concession nonetheless. Now, despite an extra ten minutes under the hot water, cold crept into her bones. Natasha dug out thick socks and tall boots, hoping to stave off the chill. 

She’d passed on a group lunch in the canteen but she was due to meet with Steve in half an hour and wanted a sandwich. Beyond that, she didn’t have any plans for the day and she felt unexpectedly aimless. Downtime was in short supply with training drills, tactical planning, and the seminars she ran for the others on infiltration, disguise, intel gathering, skills she was better suited to impart than Steve. But there was nothing on the agenda today. Saturday afternoons were always free. It wasn’t like she had a rash of hobbies. String arts had been a bust, she didn’t enjoy playing an instrument although she was relatively accomplished at several, and while she’d taken dance classes in the city, out here it would just be herself and the music and decades of hazy memories, most of which she could live without.  The thought was unappealing.

She didn’t want for entertainment, exactly. Sometimes she went to the movies with Sam and Wanda on Saturdays, into the city for dinner with Pepper, hiking with Steve. Once a month the facility held a potluck and bingo night.  Natasha wasn’t bored, per se. It was simply that being trapped in this building reminded her of what she could have been doing out there in the world.  What she should be doing.  Running missions. Paying penance. That for most of her life, she hadn’t had hobbies because any free time she’d been granted had been filled with keeping her skillset fresh -- practicing languages, martial arts, programming and hacking, brushing up on deadly variations of chemistry and comportment.

There’d been exceptions to the rule of course -- weeks and weekends spent with the jostling, jovial Bartons, time spent cooking and cleaning and carousing with rambunctious kids, or drinking beer and bullshitting with Laura, silent shoulder-brushing companionship with Clint. Time in the tower, slowly building trust with Tony over anthropomorphized robots and delicate programming. Stolen moments with Bruce in coffee shops and boutiques, the art house theater in Greenwich and the galleries in Dumbo. Or in bed, his skilled, beautiful hands tracing along her spine, counting her ribs with his mouth following as she leaned her cheek against the pillow and rainwater trailed along the glass.

Things that she’d given up with her decision to live as an Avenger, to mentor a new team. (Given up, given away, been abandoned by...) Things she’d promised Steve that she’d refrain from pursuing unless absolutely necessary because this had to come first. Steve wanted to be the first line of defense, not the back up called in during desperate times.  Christ, he and Tony really were two peas in a pod, despite their inability to look at an apple and see the same color red. 

She really must be getting sick. This was maudlin and foolish, sentimental in a way she was loath to admit herself capable of.  Natasha shook her head and grabbed her phone, headed to the cafeteria.

***

Steve’s room was keyed to allow her access during certain hours, but she still called out to him as the door slid open.

“In here,” he answered and she made her way to the little studio he’d set up in the second bedroom of his quarters.  The light was excellent for drawing and drafting, but more often than not the pneumatic table was used as a hold all for the tacticals plans Steve still preferred to work out on paper.

Today, however, he was bent over a textured palette, brush in hand.  It warmed her, somehow, seeing him paint.  A sign that normalcy was possible, even if rarely exhibited. If Steve could occasionally remember how to paint, maybe she had it in herself to develop some outside interests.

Unfortunately, emotional warmth aside, it was fucking freezing. Steve kept his quarters on the ball-crawling side of uncomfortable since he ran hot. Natasha put down the roast beef sandwich she’d brought him and picked up a soft, camel-colored throw he kept for guests and wrapped it around her shoulders.  It helped a little.

He nodded at the sandwich, mouth tilting up and said, “I’m almost done, sorry.”

She shook her head, and went behind him to get a look at what he was working on.

Banded greens and yellows separated by slim open spaces occupied squares outlined in terra cotta.  They looked strangely familiar and at first it seemed like they were simple repetitions, gradation exercises, and then Natasha noticed subtle variations. 

The memory hit her all at once as she took a bite of her sandwich and her hand dropped slowly, placing the sandwich on the chair as her stomach clenched against more food.  Fuck that, she thought, more useless, rebellious sentiment.

Steve washed the brush through the rinse water, and glanced over his shoulder.

“Nat,” he said softly, and she shook her head.

The striations looked like little garden plots, strange ombred root vegetables growing in a row, but they weren’t.

It had been raining that day too. Less gale force hurricane than spring showers, but the water running down the side of tower had kept them inside all the same. She’d been curled on Bruce’s lab couch because she liked the light and the company, and because they all had a tendency to drift into his space like dinner guests into a kitchen.  The state of the art coffee maker and obscenely good sound system had helped, but some of it was also Bruce’s solid, stoic presence. 

Steve’s big hands had dwarfed the pipette as he dropped the mixture into the test tube, then inserted the little filter papers.  Bruce had been doing a basic chemistry course with Steve over the past weeks when he’d expressed an interest in filling up the gaps in his secondary education.  Today was chromatography, with a little history lesson on the development of the Pasteur pipette.  

“Now we wait,” Bruce had said.

While the pigments separated from the solution to travel up the little papers, Bruce had brewed espresso in tiny cups and Natasha’d roused herself to excavate a box of Danish butter cookies that she’d seen in one of the cupboards.

“I never thought much about science in school,” Steve had said, “but so much happened during the war, so many new things...”

“Yourself included,” Natasha had to add, but he’d ignored her with a raised eyebrow as Bruce covered a smirk.   

“This seems so benign. It’s beautiful.”

Bruce had brushed over the little papers and shrugged, shoulders hunching.  “It’s a tool, but yeah. It’s pretty. My mom loved this kind of stuff,” he’d added, hesitant and then growing more certain. “We lived in this little apartment with a wonky radiator. It was always too hot, and you’d have to bang on the valve with a wrench to get it to budge at all so we’d go outside, even in the winter. Collect leaves and sticks and stones, bring ‘em home for experiments. Classifications. She had a little garden out there that we’d weed, make potions to discourage the bugs.”  Bruce had looked a little embarrassed at the reminiscence, and she’d sidled just a little bit closer at the way his voice deepened with memory. 

Bruce never shared childhood anecdotes, and the anomaly had been too much for her to resist. The insight a precious thing she could add to her understanding of him.  She’d relished it. 

“It’s a kids game really,” he’d said, gesturing to the beakers. “Grinding up leaves, dissolving them in alcohol, watching the pigment travel up the coffee filter.”

“Sounds nice,” Steve had said, “Reminds me of my mom.  She was a nurse, always busy. Our radiator was always busted, too. Although we did fewer experiments and more rolling bandages. Or yarn.”

Everyone knew about Steve’s family, Steve’s home, Steve’s transformation but Bruce smiled at him like he’d shared a secret. Natasha had basked in that smile, bittersweet as ever, in Steve’s answering grimace as he made a winding motion with his hands.  “So much yarn.”

She’d leaned gently into Bruce’s space until her hip pressed against his, hidden behind the lab bench, keeping the physical closeness just between them. She’d felt the shift in Bruce’s body as he first stiffened, then relaxed, just a fraction, as his shoulders unhitched when he’d brushed his arm against hers, adjusting his glasses.  She ignored the way Steve glanced between them, eyes soft.  Anyone else and she’d have ruined the moment, stepped away from Bruce, derailed the conversation, but at the moment, she just wanted the heat of his body, Steve’s steady regard.

There’d been no need to say that she hadn’t performed experiments as a child, that she’d been the experiment. That the punishment for failing to perform her required chores had been corporal.  Not here amongst these other miracles of science and tragedy.  It was funny, she’d thought at the time, that while Clint had given her a place to go home to, she’d found an unexpected sort of solidarity here with these two men, with their warped reflections: monster, and killer, and savior, all variations on a theme.  Transformative beings, with the serum drawing up through each of them, breaking down into their own colored striations.

“It looks like water color,” Steve had said, drawing one of the little papers out of the solution, tracing over the separated pigment.  “Making art of out science.”

Now, Steve was making that statement literal.

“The rain,” he said, hunched into himself a little, and maybe she didn’t give him enough credit for continuing to absorb loss, pulling it into himself, thinning it out so that it barely touched those around him. He missed Bruce too. Tony...Steve kept losing people.  “It reminded me of that day with the leaves, and of turnips. I don’t know, maybe I was thinking about the war.”

“Turnips?” she asked.  

Steve nodded. “And radishes. Bucky’s mom used to talk about weeding them when she was a girl. And we ate them in France, with butter.”

She too had spread thick pale butter on slim radishes speckled with salt. Memories of a crisp, sweet bite followed by a bright wine bloomed on her tongue. 

“Banner talked about growing things, pruning and thinning and...well, It’s hard to believe it’s almost spring.” He trailed off, cheeks pink from the ramble. 

Natasha swallowed hard, and picked up her sandwich.  “A garden,” she said, and her voice sounded completely normal, nothing odd there, no sentimental rasp, no wash of memory.  “We’ve got the space.  When the rain stops, we can plant things. Watch them grow.”

She put her hand on Steve’s shoulder, and he covered her fingers with his for just a moment.  Comfort that she idly wondered if he could afford to offer. He dropped her hand and she came around to the other side of the desk.

“Carrots,” he agreed, “And arugula. For Sam to get his hipster on.”

“Potatoes for Wanda. Herbs for Rhodes. He’s apparently quite the chef.”

“Flowers for Vision.”

“We can compost.”

Steve barked out a laugh, and Natasha shrugged the throw from her shoulders, warmed through finally.

She touched the edge of the watercolor, cleared her throat.  “When you’re done,” she said, “Could I have it?”

[hoyoungy]

Decaf - Woozi/Jihoon (V) FINAL

genre: fluff, coffee shop au summary: you wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see you word count: 1209 a/n: thank you for all the support! first completed series i’ve ever done, i hope you enjoy this last chapter. it’s 2:30 am here and my eye is twitching, good night

americano (part i), cappuccino (part ii), masala chai (part iii), espresso shot (part iv)

Jihoon was having a great day.

He finished writing a song, set up the chords for it, and even set the line distribution for all the members all before dinner. All he could think about for the rest of the day was visiting you later. As he lounged around the dorm enjoying his rest, he couldn’t wait to enjoy a cup of coffee made by you.

He couldn’t wait to see your smile as he walked through the door.

He couldn’t wait to see you.

Today was truly a great day.

“Hey, did you see my text in the group chat this morning?” Soonyoung asked as he entered the living room. “Why are you smiling like that…?”

Jihoon wiped away his daydream-like gaze and cleared his throat. “No. What text?”

“Of course you didn’t, you were probably sleeping. We have practice in an hour.”

“Practice?” he asked, hoping he heard wrong. “What for? It’s our day off.”

“Our video shooting is in a week and our formations are a mess! I thought you, of all people, would understand me the most.”

“I do,” he defended. “Will it take long? I want to finish composing my song tonight.”

“As long as the Hyungs don’t mess up…” Soonyoung muttered.

Oh, but they did. And nearly everyone else did, too. But truthfully, Jihoon was the worst. No matter how hard he tried, he was either off by half of a count or he forgot the choreography completely, frustrating not only the other members, but himself, especially.

Clearly, his mind was elsewhere.

By 9:30 PM, he just about had it. Slumping on the floor during their break, he pulled his hat down lower. He wondered if you were waiting for him. If he couldn’t make it tonight, he hoped you would forgive him tomorrow.

“Hyung, are you ok?” Minghao asked him. “I’ve never seen you so… distracted.”

“Yeah, I’m just tired,” he lied.

“Me too ~” Vernon whined. “Hyung, can we practice tomorrow ~?”

“I agree, I need beauty sleep,” Seungkwan pouted.

“Fine, you babies,” Soonyoung said as he rolled his eyes. “We’ll continue tomorrow, but if you guys will be anything like today, we’re staying as long as we need to.”

“I need coffee,” Jihoon said, jumping up from his spot.

“Isn’t it kind of late…?” Minghao asked.

“Don’t forget my Americano!” Mingyu called.

No one had ever seen Jihoon run out of the studio so fast before.

You were having a terrible day.

You broke one of the pour-over ceramics, got yelled at by a customer who got vanilla soy instead of original soy milk in their latte, and even got your tip jar stolen by some kids all before dinner. Even after eating your sorrows away on your break, your day just got worse, and you needed a moment in the bathroom to cry out your frustrations.

All of your worries would go away as soon as you saw your favorite customer, but as the clock ticked towards closing time and you were left alone for the last five minutes, you felt your heart sink a little deeper.

You groaned as you heard the door chime.

“Hello,” you called monotonously, busying yourself by cleaning the ‘broken’ espresso machine.

“Is that how you greet customers you’re annoyed with when they come in right before you close?”

You perked up at the very familiar voice and swung your head towards the counter to see an equally-exhausted, but still smiling Jihoon. His smile softened when he noticed how drained you looked, cheeks and nose red from all the crying.

“Jihoon,” you greeted. Even to you, your voice sounded so tired and done with today. “Always making me believe you won’t come. Two Americanos again?”

“Are you ok?” he asked you, ignoring your question. He didn’t like the sadness in your smile. It just didn’t suit you like the one that he fell for - the one that lit up the entire coffee shop.

“I had a rough night,” you sighed. “But suddenly I feel a lot better.”

He couldn’t look you in the eyes after you said that, embarrassed that you’d see the growing blush on his face. How funny that this friendship started off with him flustering you with his words, and now the tables have turned.

“Do you and your friend really need something as strong as an Americano this late at night?” you frowned.

“No, we don’t. I’ll take two decaf coffees. We’ll pretend it’s an Americano.”

“Good, because I already cleaned the espresso machine.”

Jihoon watched you pump out the last of the decaf into two cups. A soft ‘ow’ escaped your lips when hot droplets hit your skin. He rolled his eyes at how even something as simple as pumping out coffee, you still manage to be clumsy.

“Order for Jihoon,” you smiled.

“Hi Joon,” he scoffed, pointing to the mispelling on his cup. “Didn’t I tell you the first day to spell my name correctly!?”

“No, you said that you’d come back only if I spelled it correctly.”

“And you still didn’t! Did you not want me to come back?” he pouted.

“Of course I did!”

“Well, what if I never did?”

“But you did,” you teased. “That’s all that matters.”

“Do you always hope I come back?”

You were stunned by his words. Embarrassed, even. The tone in his voice was no longer teasing and was the most serious you’ve ever heard it. He asked you sincerely and whole-heartedly, hoping you felt the same way he did every time he walked through that door.

“I do,” you admitted softly. “Even when there’s five minutes left before I clock out, I hope to see you before then. You like to keep me waiting, Jihoon.” He cleared his throat as he saw the teasing glint in your eyes. He couldn’t believe his ears when you confessed that you wanted him to be there as much as he wanted to. “I guess I’ll forgive you, though. Oh, and don’t worry about paying for the coffee, I shut down the register like, five minutes ago. Also, I hate to cut our conversation short, but The Coffee Studio has officially closed for this evening. Will I see you again tomorrow? I work the mid-shift if you’re free to visit -”

“Do you want to go out sometime?” Jihoon blurted out.

Your mouth hung open mid-sentence, unable to process anything he just interrupted you with. You were so shocked that he would just blurt out his confession that you swore you heard wrong, but the blush on his face made everything clear. He couldn’t look you in the eyes as he waited for your answer.

“Like, on a date…?” you asked.

“Uh, yes?”

“With me? Really!?”

“Yes, you…”

“Y-Yeah - I mean yes! I’d love to! Wow, what a crazy night. First my tip jar gets stolen and now you’re asking me out?”

“You’re cute,” he chuckles. “Really cute.”

“Ah, stop, you really know how to make a barista blush.”

“Would you mind if I stay with you while you close?”

You couldn’t hold back your grin anymore. “I’d love that.”

“Hyung, what’s in this Americano!? It tastes terrible! I’m not even feeling the caffeine!”

“Shut up, Mingyu, go to bed.”