#but yeah. the one perimeter I actually did vaguely enjoy working on (by which I mean it doesn’t make me want to stab a pen through my eye)

[taardisblue]

.

[danakin-skywalker]

Upgrades (Danny Wagner Imagine)

Taglist:  @flowervanfleet @weightofdreams-gvf @sierraahhhh @stardustschords @amourleger @ageofsewingmachine@theweightofstardust @samkiszkabreakmyback @prettyintopeerpressure @greta-flanveet  @fosterkidwiththebrokenjaw​ @the-chaotic-cow​ @ghostly-luck​ @mywaysooon​ @tlexx​​ @screechesincoherently​ and potentially you, just lmk!

Request: Are you taking requests? If you are can you write a hurt-comfort fluffy fic with literally any of the boys it’s up to you lmao

(A/N): Hey squad I’m home for thanksgiving and I have actual paid work I should be doing in this moment but what am I doing instead? Writing Danny Wagner fluff? Yup. I can’t help it, it’s Wagner Wednesday...

Okay, so this request was a bit vague (which honestly I’m rockin with) so I decided to mix it with another idea I had based off this meme I saw on Instagram.

This won’t be a super angsty hurt/comfort, since the anon specified fluffy it’s gonna remain a bit more lighthearted than some of my other fics of this sort. I feel like this idea could’ve worked for anyone in the band but I have such a soft spot for Danny I couldn’t resist writing him again. I also could just see him getting caught doing something this wholesome at a rager. So enjoy!

And if you celebrate Thanksgiving, have a happy Thanksgiving tomorrow!

**********************************

Upgrades

You were doing everything you could to keep your cool, but your panic was becoming apparent to everyone around you.

You were attending an old college friend’s birthday party, and had brought along your boyfriend Danny. He had met your college friends once before in a bar but when the birthday invitation came around it included a scribbled in “+1” so Danny tagged along. 

He didn’t mind at all, it was actually refreshing to party with a completely new crowd than the one him and the Kiszkas usually ran with. Even better, one that had no idea who the fuck he was. It was like a breath of fresh air. But within a few hours, you were experiencing anything but that.

While you had gotten wrapped up on the dance floor with your friends, you had lost track of Danny. It’s not that he doesn’t dance, or that he can’t dance, he just doesn’t love dancing in public. When he has you at home he’ll twirl you around the room in a giggly waltz. But that’s not the scene here, so he let you have your fun and wandered a bit to mingle.

A situation that has historically not bode well for you. See, the last serious long-term boyfriend you had was in college and, as your friends around you could attest to, it hadn’t ended well. In fact, it had ended at a party much like this one, where you had similarly lost track of your man’s whereabouts. Unfortunately, you eventually found him with his head buried between a sorority girl’s legs in a spare bedroom. And that was that. Relationship over, trauma endured. You really didn’t even think about it anymore, until all the details fell into place before your eyes and you noticed the deja vu.

“Guys, where’s Danny?” You stopped suddenly, reaching out to place an arm onto two different friends’ shoulders. “Has anyone seen Danny recently?”

Most of the heads in the group start turning to scan the room frantically, while the birthday girl looked on with sad eyes. “Y/N, he’s probably-“

“I just want to find him, okay? I want to know where he is and what he’s doing right now, is that okay?” You snapped, making your friend frown. You frowned back, “I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that.”

She sighed and rubbed your shoulder, “I know, and you didn’t deserve what happened to you. Danny doesn’t seem like that kind of guy though.”

Just as she finished talking, another girl poked her head into the conversation and said, “Yeah he’s definitely not in this room. He didn’t go home did he?” Your friend swatted her arm in warning before turning back to you, eyes glossy with unshed anxious tears.

She took your hand, “Okay, let’s go find him.”

With your friend by your side, you walked the outside perimeter of the property checking each smoke circle closely, and searched the basement, where you were able to find a few couples hooking up but thankfully none with the curly raven locks you were looking for.

Finally, you and your friend stood at the base of the stairs, and your hands were shaking. “I can’t go up there. Even if it’s true I can’t see it again. I just can’t.” She nodded in understanding, eyes in a confusing cross between concerned and reassuring as she ascended up the stairs.

“I’ll go look. Go in the kitchen and take a shot, alright hon? Everything’s gonna be okay.” She called over. You nodded and turned in the direction of the kitchen.

Where you were shocked to find your boyfriend alone. Towering over a crock pot.

You felt a huge weight lift off your shoulders as you leaned against the counter and cleared your throat. Danny jumped a bit and turned around, face absolutely lighting up when he saw you.

“BABE! Look, they have a whole crock pot full of just Buffalo wing dip! C’mere!” As you got closer you could see the familiar red tinge in his eyes and the familiar smell on his flannel and suddenly you knew exactly what your boyfriend had been up to while you were dancing.

You couldn’t help but wrap your arms tightly around his waist and bury your face into his chest for a deep breath as relief washed over you. Danny looked down at you with knit brows, genuinely confused.

“Babe, chicken wing dip, open up!” You pulled back to see Danny holding a chip loaded up with the dip in front of your face. You chuckled at him and took the bite, trying as best you could to get the whole chip in your mouth. Danny took whatever you couldn’t fit and shoved it in his own mouth, licking his thumb clean of whatever spilled off. He smiled like a little kid looking down at the crock pot and you couldn’t help but beam up at him.

His eyes catch yours and he pressed a kiss onto your forehead. “What’s on your mind, babe? Enjoying the party?”

“I love you.” You blurted out.

You felt Danny stiffen a bit in surprise around your arms, leaning in a bit as if he might have misheard you. “You what?”

You leaned your head back and laughed. “I love you, you absolute buffoon.”

He wrapped his arms around you too and craned his neck down to press his forehead against yours, “Well I love you too. More than any crock pot full of dip.” You smiled up at him and pressed a kiss onto his lips that soon got shortened by Danny’s train of thought.

“This stuff really is like crack though, do you think we could find the person who made it and ask for a recipe?” He continued, looking down at you hopefully.

You giggled against him, closing your eyes. “Danny I think it’s a pretty simple recipe, I’ll learn how to make it for you I promise.”

Danny grinned even wider, which you didn’t believe to be possible. “I love you so much.” And he started pressing kisses all over your face while holding you tightly in his arms, making you giggle and squirm against him.

In the doorway, the birthday girl stood watching on with a smile. She had obviously come to report that none of the people hooking up upstairs were your boyfriend, but clearly you already knew that, so she left to return to the dance floor.

The next morning, you woke up in Danny’s arms and your heart fluttered as you thought about how the night before, at least briefly, you weren’t sure you’d feel this feeling ever again. You rolled over in his arms and pressed a soft kiss onto the top of his nose. He wrinkled it slightly at the sensation, making you giggle.

Eyes still closed, the corners of his lips curled up slightly at the sound. His favorite alarm in the world. “Good morning.” You breathed over to him. He whispered the sentiment back to you as he rolled onto his back and reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Hey guess what?” You egged on.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Danny’s hands stilled against his eyes and a fully-fledged grin spread across his face. He immediately rolled back over to wrap his arms tightly around you and shove his face against your neck. “Mmmmmm I love you too, baby.”

He simply held you like that for a few minutes before piping up again, “So was it the Buffalo dip that got you feeling sentimental last night or…?” You shook with laughter against Danny and he couldn’t help but let out a few shakes himself. “No, really. You’d never said that before and while I obviously feel the same, I’m just curious.”

Your heart rate picked up a bit when you realized where this conversation was going. You pulled back a bit to face Danny, running a hand down his face into his hair where you fiddled with the ends. “There’s something I never told you… about how my last relationship ended…” You looked down from his gaze to your fingers twirling his curls into ringlets. He could tell you were nervous but he let you continue.

“The last guy I really dated was back in college, right? And we, um… we were at a party not unlike the one last night. And… I lost track of him. Couldn’t find him for like almost an hour and then when I did…”

Your brows knit as you looked down at your hands, desperate to avoid Danny’s eyes that you just knew were flooding with compassion. “He was with another girl. Well he was… he was inside of another girl. And I know it’s stupid but when I couldn’t find you last night…”

“You thought I had done the same.” He finished, in a slightly defeated tone that made your eyes flash up to his and your hands fly up to his face.

“Listen, Danny, I didn’t get scared because I actually thought you would do that to me, I got scared because the last time I was in that situation it happened and it hurt me badly. Of course I trust you and I know you respect me, but walking into that kitchen after looking around for you and finding you fawning over some fucking chicken, cream cheese, and hot sauce in a pot…” Danny chuckled and you couldn’t help the smile that came to your face mid sentence, “It became so clear to me that I’m stupid in love with you.”

Danny pressed his nose to yours, “Your ex sounds like a jackass.” He said, making you giggle again. “And I am madly in love with you too, pretty girl. You and you alone.” He pressed a sweet peck onto your lips and pulled you in tighter.

“Is that really all it is? Chicken, cream cheese, and hot sauce? I swear it tasted like fucking heaven last night.”

You shoved Danny away playfully, getting up from bed in a dramatic huff with a joking smile on your face. “Go ahead. Run off and be with your true love, chicken wing dip.”

Danny leaned up and snatched you right back down into the bed, arms racing across your body to tickle around your torso, making you thrash around and scream with laughter. “No, no, no, no, no. You are definitely my true love. Nothing tops you, baby. Not even dip.”

You smiled up at him as his fingers finally stilled, huffing in a breath. “Good. Nothing tops you either.”

[fangirlovestuff]

More Than Meets The Eye - Steve Rogers x reader

a/n - hey lovely people!! this one is for @s1utforfictionalcharacters​, who asked for a Steve x reader enemies to lovers a while ago. thank you so much for bearing with me and being patient, and i hope you enjoy!!<3

Summary: Between figuring out what was the Tesseract doing at a Hydra base and if it even is the Tesseract, you need to navigate your relationaship with one annoying, broody Captain. Honestly, you might prefer the Hydra thing. 

this isn’t set in the mcu timeline, but takes inspiration from a few mcu movies. it’s not canon compliant and everyone’s alive:)

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: lowkey angst and some tension, maybe a curse word or two? tell me if i missed anything!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

"Rogers!" you heard Tony's voice over the comms, "Where the hell are you?"

"Babysitting," you heard Steve's irritated voice, not only over the comms but also behind you, right before you saw him dashing past you to punch the Hydra agent you were fighting square in the jaw.

"Well, get America's ass over here, now," Tony grunted, clearly mid-fight himself, "we need backup."

"Go!" you yelled at him, spinning to take out another agent that was coming up behind Steve, "I got this!"

"You sure?" he asked, his tone sarcastically degrading, jumping while kicking two agents simultaneously. Showoff.

"Yes," you resisted the urge to roll your eyes, "I can handle them, go help the others!"

"Alright," he grunted as he pushed off another agent before running back in the direction he came from, towards the rest of the team.

"Cap, you coming or what?" Natasha spoke on the comms, calmer than Tony, but it was obvious she's just as in need of backup as he was.

"Coming!" Steve replied, before it went relatively quiet.

You finished up disarming the rest of the agents in your wing of the building. No one was calling for you on the comms yet, so you decided to make another round in the perimeter, make sure you didn't miss anything.

God knows captain know-it-all is gonna be on your ass about it if that's the case. And honestly, you have more than enough of that as is.

As you were walking down the hallway, you noticed a strange, glowing light coming from under the doors. Upon finding it was unlocked, you opened it to reveal a room that was entirely filled with the same blueish light you had seen, and it was all coming from a desk in the middle of it.

Approaching slowly and letting your eyes time to adjust, you got closer and closer, realizing the shiny object was a peculiar blue cube. A cube you knew well, perhaps even too well.

"Guys, if you're done over there, you might wanna come to my wing. There's something you're gonna want to see."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Okay, we have to keep looking, maybe they left some blueprints or anything that can indicate how they were planning on using it," Steve commanded, "or already have."

"Wait," you said before everyone split up to follow his orders, "as important as the why they got it is, I think the first question we should be asking is how the hell they got it. I thought it was locked away in the Asgard safe?" you looked at Bruce, who out of all of you had the most contact with Thor.

"It was, the last time I checked," he frowned. "I'll see if I can contact Thor, see if he knows anything."

"You do that," Tony interjected, "the rest of you, follow Cap's order while he and I have a little chat. Shall we Rogers?" he pulled a frowning Steve aside, while you all split up to try and find any information you could salvage.

In your search, you ran into Natasha. As you were both scouring the same desk for clues, working together like a well-oiled machine, you asked, "what did Tony want from Cap?"

"Probably to ask him where the hell was he when we needed his backup," she said matter-of-factly. "Or, you know, where the heck he was. We all know Steve's proper like that," she smiled, and you let out a chuckle at her words.

"Well, that’s good," you remarked, "since he really should've been there for you guys. I don't know what was that all about," you scrunched up your nose. "Nothing here," you added, closing the drawer you were looking through.

"Yeah, here too," Natasha closed her own drawer, "let's go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that day, you were all having dinner together as you went over some papers the others found at the Hydra base. Since you were already in the same place, you split the takeout, taking caution not to spill any of it.

"Cap," you asked, seeing the saltshaker was too far for you to reach, "Can you pass me th-" your words were abruptly cut by him planting it in your hand, going back to whatever it is he was reading.

"Thanks," you muttered, going back to your paperwork as well.

This might be the place to mention that pretty much ever since you joined the team, Steve exhibited a certain… coldness to you. Arrogance, indifference, call it what you want – from day one, Steve Rogers made sure you knew he was better than you.

And considering he was literally Captain America, it's not like you thought you were ever better than him in the first place.

You blended in with the rest of the team seamlessly, fighting and training among them. I mean sure, there were jokes about you being "the new kid", but it was just that – jokes. No one, or at least no one but Steve, seemed to view you as inferior.

You still fought well together, it was your job. Hell, he just passed you the salt before you even finished asking for it. Being attuned to each other's actions and attitude in that way made it all the more obvious how much he seemed to covet his leadership position, his place of dominance.

It got on your nerves. So. Much.

You see, if he were like that to everyone else on the team, so be it. But the absolute majority of it was directed towards you – the new girl. And it was clear that's all he ever saw you as. A girl.

Even that salt thing – he handed it over so impatiently, so suddenly, like one would handle an irritating child.

You had hoped he'd get over it at some point, but so far, that didn't seem to be the case. Well, you're not planning on going anywhere, so you'll both have to get over yourselves at some point.

"Hey!" Steve snapped his fingers in front of your eyes, shaking you from your reverie. "C'mon, listen up. Tony found something."

Oh well, that "some point" is probably not today.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So, Hydra wanted to use this," Natasha gestured at the Tesseract, "To power up a weapon they've designed?"

"That's the gist of it," Tony confirmed. "But from the looks of it, this thing is a lot more powerful than it seems. They planned on powering up a whole armored aircraft, plus all of their rifles using this cube. If that's possible, and by the looks of it, it very well might be, it's a lot stronger than you'd think."

"Wait, what do you mean their rifles as well?" you asked, your brows furrowing, "like, split this thing into pieces?"

"No, it looks like they were planning to project its power somehow, like…" Tony trailed off, struggling to explain.

"Like… Bluetooth?" you suggested.

"Yeah," tony snickered, "pretty much."

"Okay, but they didn't do that yet, right? We stopped them?" you looked around to the rest of your teammates before looking back at Tony.

"Seems like we did," Steve answered instead. "Bruce, any update on how they managed to get it?"

"Didn't hear anything back yet," the man in question shook his head, "I'll try again."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Bruce ended up getting an answer from Thor, telling him to come to Asgard, you immediately volunteered to go with him. It was partially because you've never actually been there, and you were very curious as to why Thor would ask Bruce to come.

But also, you could use a break from a certain Captain.

You tried to ask Bucky and Sam what his deal with you was, several times, but they just shrugged and gave you vague, unhelpful answers. You even considered trying to convince Wanda to just tell you what he thinks about you, but you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of bothering you so much that you'd stoop that low.

So lately, you've been just trying to avoid him, which usually worked just fine, since it's not like he was that adamant about being around you either. That is, until you said you'd go with Bruce.

"No way," he immediately objected.

"Why?" you asked, "Bruce might need some backup, and I'd like to visit Asgard. Win-win."

"We need you here, going over the papers."

"C'mon Cap, I think we both know I do better out there in the field than I do with all the blueprints. Tony's way better with that, he's the only one who does it anyway."

"So what, you're just gonna go on a field trip?" he sneered.

"No, I'm going to look out for my friend and teammate." It took everything in you to keep your voice level.

"That's nice. Cause it would be a shame if Banner had to watch your back while you went on vacation."

You scoffed. "Where did you even get that idea? I said I was gonna give Banner backup. That's the first thing I said, cause that's the most important thing. End of story."

"Fine." Steve shrugged.

"Fine?"

"Yeah, if Banner's willing to take you with him, go."

"Good," you nodded.

"Great."

Somewhat awkwardly, you shuffled out of the room to tell Bruce to count you in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Natasha was the one to send both you and Bruce off to Asgard, the rest being otherwise occupied.

"Be safe," she told the both of you, holding each of your shoulders with one of her hands, before stepping away.

"We will," Bruce promised and you nodded, and just in time the Bifrost came down, taking the both of you where you needed to get.

Thor was the one to greet you, taking you both in for a warm hug before his face became serious.

"I didn't call you all the way here for nothing," he said, "come with me to the palace."

As you were on your way, he explained. "When you told me you encountered the Tesseract in Midgard, I immediately checked in our vault. Sure enough, there's still a Tesseract there."

"A Tesseract? I thought there was just the one," you frowned.

"We did too," Thor replied, "which is why I wanted you both to come see it for yourselves. Maybe you'd be able to point out some differences."

Getting to the palace, you wasted no time going down to the vault. And there it was – the Tesseract.

"How…" you trailed off. It looked completely identical to the one you had found on earth, the same blue tinted glint lighting up its surroundings.

"That's what I was hoping you might have an answer for," Thor sighed, his brows furrowing. "You said the one you encountered was previously in the possession of a group called… Chimera?"

"Hydra," Bruce corrected him. "And yes, we found it in one of their bases."

"Is it possible that the one we found was a fake?" you asked, lifting your eyes from the Tesseract. "Or maybe this one is the fake? Is there a way to know?"

"The only way to know is to try and use them," Bruce sighed, "but trying to wield the power of an infinity stone can be dangerous and destructive to the one who tries. It's something we should try and avoid."

"Okay," you thought, "can't we try and take this one to earth? See if maybe Tony could run some tests on them both, find us a lead as to which one's the real one?"

"That sounds like a good idea," Bruce agreed, "or at least the best one we've got. Can we take it?"

"Of course. I trust you to guard it," he looked at Bruce fondly.

"Thank you," Bruce's eyes and smile are sincere as he shakes Thor's hand.

You pick up the Tesseract tentatively, putting it in your bag and looking back up at Bruce, whose handshake with Thor was still lingering. You hated to interrupt, but you two needed to go back to earth to fill your friends in if you wanted to solve this mystery.

"Shall we?" you asked, somewhat softly.

"Yeah," Bruce shook his head slightly, "Let's go."

You trailed behind Bruce and Thor as you made your way back to the Bifrost, thinking it over.

If the Tesseract you found on earth was the fake, then why would Hydra have a fake? And if the one that was currently in your bag was the fake, then why would they just leave the real one lying around while the Avengers stormed their base? And at any case, how did they manage to make such an accurate replica?

"Thank you, Thor," you said sincerely once you reached the end of the Bifrost. "We're going to figure this out."

"I know you will," he said, and touched your shoulder affectionately.

You said your goodbyes, and then, you and Bruce started to make the journey home, until suddenly you felt a force push you out of the Bifrost, and before you knew it you landed on dirt, rolling a few times, Bruce landing a few feet away from you.

Hurriedly getting up, you helped Bruce to his feet as well, before the two of you looked around to find yourself in the middle of what seemed to be a desert, but it was like nothing you've seen before.

The sand was orange, red, much darker than it was in deserts you've been to. You and Bruce landed in some sort of valley, surrounded by large dunes of the dark sand, creating a perfect circle around you.

"Have any idea where we are?" you asked, trying to keep your cool, "Or how we got here?"

"I-"

His words were cut off by the sound of a gun cocking behind you. Instinctively, you crouched down and spun around, sending your leg out, taking the man down with a kick to his ankles.

But it wasn't enough. Before you could fully get back up, you and Bruce were already surrounded by agents, and the fight quickly escalated into a hand-to-hand one, having to take on multiple agents at a time. At some point, Bruce hulked out, but even then, you were still fighting them all simultaneously.

You barely managed to take in the glint of a knife from the corner of your eye before the felt the sharp sting of it on your ribs, your hand automatically going to hold the wound. The man started running in the other direction, which was when you realized you weren't the objective of this attack.

Your bag was.

"Bruce!" you yelled, trying to get his attention, as you started trying to run after the agent.

But before Bruce could even notice you, a deep rumble sounded through the air, the prominent crackling of thunder. You turned around just in time to see Thor coming down from the sky, Mjolnir clad tightly in his fist, sending bolts of lightning at your enemies.

You turned back and tried to keep running, but you couldn't do it fast enough, the wound in your ribcage still bleeding, and soon, the agent disappeared from sight.

You were panting when the battle died down, a mere few minutes after Thor's arrival. You didn't turn around, even as you sensed Bruce and Thor approaching you from behind.

"I lost it," you said, still unable to meet their eyes.

"They took it," Bruce said gently. "Now, let me take a look at that wound."

Well, you thought, that's not how Steve's going to see it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You lost it?" Steve asked, his disbelief clear. His eyes were trained on you, a frown on his face.

"She got hurt trying to protect it, Steve," Bruce answered before you could. "We'll get it back."

Steve's eyes didn't waver from yours, even as Bruce spoke.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice coming out smaller than you wanted to. You cleared your throat, continuing stronger, "I did everything I could."

"I told you, you shouldn't have gone out there," he sighed, frustrated.

"Really, Cap?" you asked, "is this the time for 'I told you so's? for a hundred-year-old that's really fucking childish," you said through your teeth.

"Watch it," he snapped, "next time, maybe if you listen to me you won't get hurt."

"If I'm that bad of a soldier, Captain," you spat out, "am I not dispensable to you? Why do you even care if I get hurt? I bet it would've been just the same to you if I died but you still had the Tesseract."

Your words rendered him speechless, and you turned to walk towards the med bay. Bruce offered you his arm, but the look you sent him made it very obvious you weren't interested in company.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wound healed well. You and Steve were… civil, to say the best.

You'd admit your words that day you were back from Asgard were harsh. You'd even admit that to his face, if he'd change his attitude towards you. Which he didn't, so really, maybe he deserved to hear them.

Anyways, a few days after the Asgard thing, the wound was fine, and you had an idea.

"Hey," you asked Tony, who happened to be next to you at the moment, "what if we go ask Strange?"

"What?" he looked up from the robot he was currently tinkering with.

"What if we went to Strange to ask him about the Tesseract?" you repeated, "he'd probably know more than us about this stuff."

Tony wasted no time in calling a team meeting, in which you told the others your idea about reaching out to Strange.

"That's a really good idea," Steve said.

Taken aback, you opened your mouth to speak, but before you could, he continued, "I'm coming with you."

Yep, it was way too good to be true.

"Why?" you asked, frowning. "I thought Tony would come, since he's already had a run-in with him before."

"Yes, but I think we can agree he's not the most diplomatic person out there," Steve smirked.

"I'm right here," Tony remarked dryly.

Steve paid him no mind and continued, "And besides, he's pretty much the only one except Bruce that knows enough to figure out Hydra's blueprints, and we still need all hands on deck in that front.  So, I'm coming with you," he finished in a tone that left no room for argument.

You considered objecting anyways, but knew whatever you'd say would sound childish and tactless, so you simply nodded at him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since the Sanctum Dr. Strange usually resided in was in New York, there was no need for Steve and you to take the Quinjet, but you did take a car from Tony's collection, which Steve drove. The car ride was filled with quite the uncomfortable silence, but at least it was better than arguing, right?

Small victories.

When Steve parked the car about a block away from the Sanctum, you both got out swiftly, blending right in with your civilian clothes, and making your way to the doorstep.

There, Steve knocked on the door hesitantly. You both listened, but there was no answer. You held onto the handle and managed to open the unlocked door easily. You exchanged a look with Steve, both of you on high alert, and entered through the door, Steve closing it behind you.

You both silently stood in the threshold, contemplating your next move. Eventually, you took a tentative step forward, and just then a red object whipped right in front of your eyes, making you stumble backwards, right into Steve. You quickly turned around to apologize, but before you noticed it the red fabric was wrapped tightly around your arms, holding them tight against your torso. Steve was in a similar predicament, and since the cape wasn’t that long, you two were left tied face to face and extremely close to each other.

You tried to wiggle out of the fabric's hold, but it was almost like it tightened with your every move, adjusting itself accordingly. You struggled against it, trying to move even the slightest bit, but it wouldn't budge. You sighed, looking up at Steve.

Oh my god, he was way closer than you'd realized. His wide frame towering over you, you swallowed dryly before you whispered, "What now?"

Before he could answer, the sound of footsteps carried through the halls, and soon enough, Dr. Stephen Strange was descending down the stairs of the New York Sanctum to greet you.

"Hello," he said, his face indifferent, "I wasn't expecting you."

"Well, we weren't expected to get so… tied up, so that makes three of us," Steve remarked, prompting you to chuckle.

"Hello, Dr. Strange," you introduced yourself to him, "the Captain and I were wondering if you could help us with some… Tesseract trouble."

"Sounds awful," he smirked slightly. "Follow me," he started going up the stairs again and you exchanged a look with Steve. "Oh right," he gestured with his hand, and the red fabric detangled itself from the two of you, and turned out to be a cloak as it wrapped around Strange's shoulders. "I almost forgot," the man chuckled, "Now come on."

You and Steve exchanged another look as you rubbed your arm where the cloak dug into it a little, before following Strange up the stairs and into the library, where he offered you two chairs to sit in before sitting down in front of you. In the air. He was sitting down while floating.

Still less weird than the cloak, in your opinion.

"So," he started, "what, uh, Tesseract trouble are you having, exactly?"

Steve and you took turns explaining the situation to him, from finding a Tesseract in a Hydra base to losing the one that was previously in Asgard. Steve, to your relief and wonder, said nothing about it being your fault, but just said it wasn't in your possession anymore.

"So," you summed up, "we were wondering if you knew how anyone could manage to replicate the Tesseract this well, and how can we tell which one's the fake one. Without using them, of course."

"Well, those are great questions. I don't know of another way to determine if an infinity stone is indeed real besides taking the risk and trying to use it, so I can't help you with that. But as for the fake, I believe opening the Tesseracts will provide a good enough answer. You see, the Tesseract isn't that hard to fake. Might be a little expensive, sure, but some lights and plastic and you're set, and from what I understand Hydra isn't exactly struggling financially. But," he sighed, "you can’t fake an infinity stone. For most people, once you'll come in direct contact with it, you'll feel its power, and also its destructive properties."

"So the only way to know if an infinity stone is real is to risk touching it?" Steve asked.

"As far as I know of, yes," Strange nodded.

"Thank you," you said, "for your help. We sure get back to the compound, but we'll let you know if there are any big developments."

When Steve and you got back to the compound, everyone was already waiting for you, and you told them what Strange told you. Together, you all went to open the tesseract you had found in the Hydra base.

"Be careful not to touch what's inside," you warned, and Tony put of his Iron Man arm before breaking the side of the glowing cube, opening it to find…

A bunch of wires and lightbulbs. They didn't even try to make it look like an infinity stone.

"Well, the one in Asgard could've also been a fake," Natasha shrugged. "This doesn't really tell us anything. C'mon guys, we'll continue the search tomorrow," she touched your shoulder comfortingly before slipping away.

You were about to do the same when you saw Steve fidgeting with his sleeve, around where the cloak was wrapped around him. You walked up to him.

"You okay?" you asked, expecting him to brush you off.

"Yeah, I just think this cape held on a little too strong," he chuckled, removing his hand to reveal a stain on the fabric of his right suit sleeve, on you knew all too well was blood.

"Oh my god," you frowned. "C'mon, I'll help you clean it up," you gestured towards the med bay.

The walk there was brief and silent, and when you got there, you told Steve to sit down before ripping his sleeve enough to see the shallow wound.

"You don't have to do this," Steve said, as you looked for some gauze pad and wet it with water.

"I know," you said, "but since I'm the reason we needed to go there in the first place, I am doing this."

"You know it's not your fault, right? You couldn’t have known he'd have a magical cape that ties up people."

"That's not what I was talking about," you mumbled, before cleaning the wound gently.

Steve sighed. "I guess I do owe you an apology for the Asgard thing. I acted like a jerk. I'm sorry."

"No, you were right," you chuckled bitterly, "it's my fault we lost what might've been the real space stone to Hydra. You were just the only one willing to admit that."

"Well, I hope you know what you said about me then wasn't true. I care. You know, if you get hurt. And I wouldn't want anyone to die so I can have anything."

"I know," you said dryly, "you're too perfect for that."

You finished cleaning the wound and started bandaging it.

"That's not- god, I really do have a way with words, don't I? you probably hate me by now."

"I don't hate you, Steve," you looked up from his arm to his eyes, and he smiled at you. "Relax, it doesn't mean I like you all that much either," you smirked, prompting him to laugh.

"Yeah, that's fair, I guess. Thank you," he gestured to his now bandaged arm.

"Sure," you sent a small smile his way before walking away.

Maybe Steve Rogers wasn't that bad after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, scratch that, Steve Rogers was the worst.

The conversation actually started out civil. Nice, even.

"Hey, Cap," you started, "do you know if Bruce found anything on the wiring in the fake Tesseract yet?"

"Nope," he turned to face you.

"Oh. Well, thanks," you smiled, "I'll just…" you gestured at the exit, but he stopped you.

"Wait. Actually, I wanted to talk to you. Can you…" he gestured at the empty chair in front of him, and you sat down.

"About the whole Tesseract thing," he started, "I think you should consider sitting this one out."

"What?" you frowned.

"I just…" he sighed, "I think it might be better if you sat this one out."

"Steve, I found the Tesseract in the first place," you said, getting angrier by the second, "I'm not backing down from this."

"You found the fake Tesseract," he corrected, "and lost what might have been the real one."

"I thought you said it wasn't on me."

"It's not, but still."

"I don't get it, a few days ago you were telling me it wasn't my fault and now you're benching me because of it?"

"I just… you're clearly very invested in this-"

"Which is why I deserve to stay on this mission," you cut him off, fighting to keep your voice level.

"Which is why I think you should sit it out," he ignored you, "because you don't need to get yourself hurt for this."

"I'm an Avenger just like you," you snapped, "you might get hurt as well. So might everyone else. I don't get why I'm any different."

"I told you, because you're too emotionally invested," he insisted, his tone rising.

"Oh, you're benching me cause I'm 'emotional'? really? That's your excuse?"

"That's not an excuse, I-"

"No, tell me, Steve, what's your problem with me? Just spit it out, clearly you have one. What have I done to you to make you hate me?" you were yelling now, exasperated at his flawed logic.

"I don't hate you."

"That's all you have to say?" you scoffed. "You know what? If you're letting whatever your problem is with me to get in the way of the mission, maybe you're the emotional one."

The charged atmosphere was interrupted by Natasha's frame showing up in the doorway.

"Hey guys," she started, before looking between the two of you. "Is this a bad time?" she waited a second before shrugging, "Doesn't matter. There are sightings of suspicious activity midtown, we think it can be Hydra. We gotta move, be down in five," she stated, before walking down the hallway, leaving Steve and you alone once more.

"I-" he started.

"Let's go," you said at the same time, before simply turning away to go and suit up. You had a battle to win, no matter what he thought.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

"So," Tony started once you were all on the Quinjet, "Here's what we know – Hydra is probably in the possession of the real Tesseract, since we just got word of people seeing a big aircraft over midtown. My guess, they wanted to test the new weapons out before using them on a larger scale," he said, "which is why it would be the best thing to stop them now."

You split up into groups, Tony, Wanda and Sam going after the aircraft, Bucky and Steve go one way on the ground, you and Natasha the other. Thanking every god you knew you weren't paired up with Steve, you and Natasha ran and turned into a large square, starting to point people away from the steady stream of Hydra agents that was coming your way.

You and Natasha were both fighting off the agents together, most of the civilians already cleared from the area, when suddenly, they just… stopped, all in unison.

"Avengers," a voice with a heavy accent boomed through the air, presumably from the aircraft, magnified by speakers, "I know what you're here for," the voice chuckled. "Come and get it."

All at once, the Hydra agents in front of you pulled out something from their bags, or the pockets of their jackets, and it took you a second to realize what it is – exact replicas of the Tesseract. Dozens of them, maybe even hundreds.

You looked over at Natasha, who was just as exasperated as you were. "We gotta break these things," she said, and you nodded in understanding, charging at the men and women with renewed energy.

Because this was your chance to fix what you broke, to make things right. To show Steve you're better than your mistakes.

That was the mantra that was going in your head, as you smashed Tesseract after Tesseract, even as you found nothing but wires, you kept repeating it – fix what you broke.

Slowly but surely, you and Natasha tackled and defeated more and more agents, moving closer towards where they were coming from – the aircraft, that was lowering more and more, sending out more agents, in a wave that seemed never ending.

Expect when you got closer, you noticed that there was a staircase going down from it. A staircase that at the top of stood a small an in old fashioned army clothes, holding, how not, a small, glowing cube in his hand.

Your vision zeroed in on him. You had a target.

Barely stopping to disarm the other agents, you quickly made your way through the crowd of agents surrounding you, until you were right at the bottom of the staircase. You looked up to see the man still standing on top, smiling at the chaos unraveling at his feet.

You decided to take advantage of the fact he hasn't seen you yet, and climbed the staircase from the bottom side, hanging on to creases and bumps, to keep the advantage. When you got to the top, you tried to swing yourself over the rails. You would've fallen down if a hand wouldn't have reached out, catching your arm and throwing you back on the staircase, right side up.

"Ah, the new kid," the man snickered above you, "I've heard about you. Were you really the one they sent here?"

"No one sent me," you hissed as you got up. "Now hand over the stone and it'll be much more pleasant for you."

"So much spite," he laughed, "but alas, I don't think I will, sweetheart."

"Whatever you say," you delivered a poignant kick to his knee, "sweetheart."

You tried to punch him, but this time he was quicker, avoiding your blow and landing one of his own on your shoulder. You shrugged it off and continued to try and pry the stone from his hands. The struggle was drawing attention, and Natasha yelled at you to watch out just in time before a Hydra agent from down there shot at you, only missing narrowly.

You continued to fight the man, who was stronger than he let on, considering he was fending you off with only one hand, but you also had getting shot to worry about, which was in his favor.

At last, you managed to knock the Tesseract out of his hand, and it fell to the ground in a shattering sound. Out of the broken pieces, there were no wires to be seen, only a stone.

Bingo.

You heard Steve shout something at you from far down, but you weren't paying attention, instead diving for the stone, grasping it in your hand, along with some shards of glass that cut you, but you couldn't care less, because this was it.

Fix what you broke.

You concentrated with all your might of the stone, its power almost physically throbbing in your hand, along with the excruciating pain, but you didn't care.

Fix what you broke.

Your breathing became labored, the pain near insufferable when you finally did it – opened a portal. You didn't know where it led, but the important thing is, it wasn't here. You threw the stone away with all the power you had left in you, praying it would reach so far you'd never see it again.

Fix. What. You. Broke.

Just in time, the portal closed, and you sighed gratefully. The pain was starting to take over now, your mind dancing on the edge of consciousness when you heard voices coming towards you. You wanted to tell them you were fine, but you found yourself falling to the ground, registering the pain of the fall before everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you woke up, your first thought was that the light's too bright. It felt almost like a hangover, but way worse, and

"I didn't even drink anything," you said, before breaking into a dry cough.

In a second, Steve was there by your side with a glass of water, holding it to your mouth. You took some small sips until you calmed down enough to remember that while no, you didn't drink anything, you did wield the power of an infinity stone, which means it's a miracle you're even alive.

So really, you should be thankful all you ended up with is an awful hangover. Of sorts. A magical hangover.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked, breaking you from your reverie, and making you meet his gaze with yours.

"As much as I can be," you replied, your gaze falling to the blanket that was laid on you. "how long was I out?"

"About 18 hours," he said solemnly, "we didn't… we weren't sure if you'd wake up," he admitted, his voice dropping below a whisper by the end.

"Can't get rid of me that easily," you joked. Despite everything Steve put you through, for some reason you couldn't stand to see him this devastated.

"No, don't-" he sighed, "no one wants to get rid of you. Least of all me. Hell, thinking I'd lost you and it was my fault… hurt more than I could imagine."

"It wouldn't have been your fault, if I, you know," you shrugged, "that was my choice. I had to fix what I broke."

"No, you didn't," he insisted, his eyes snapping up to meet yours once more, "because you didn't break anything. None of this was your fault, and yet you fixed it, alone. You risked wielding the power of an infinity stone to keep earth safe, alone. You shouldn't have been alone."

"It worked out just fine. Besides, what difference would it have made, one more injured person?"

"If I was quick enough… I don't believe the stone could've taken both of us down."

"Us?" you smirked, "I didn't know we were an 'us'. But it's fine, I can deal with that, I guess," you shrugged, and Steve chuckled. You couldn't tell if you were imagining it, but it looked like the slightest of blushes was sprinkled on his cheeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

As a part of getting you back to normal, you started training again, moderately at first. But as you regained your strength, your training was almost as intense as it was before. Or maybe, even more intense.

You see, before that, you weren't training with Steve.

Since you didn't really get off to a good start, you'd always train with the others – Nat, Wanda, Sam… other non-super-soldier humans with a very human self-discipline, meaning that you could take breaks and chat in between reps.

Alas, those days were far behind you. I mean, not that far, that's just kind of dramatic, but you get it; you trained with Steve way more often and it was a nightmare.

You didn't know what standards Steve held for his other friends, but if he's like that with everyone then maybe it was better off not being his friend.

"What was that?" Steve asked, his eyes not moving from the timer, which looked comically small in his large hands.

"I said," you repeated between labored breaths and fast push-ups, "if you're like this with all your friends maybe I was better off not being one."

"Who said you are?" he shot back with a smirk, "and… time!"

You collapsed on the training room mattress, letting out a deep breath. "how much was that?"

"98 pushups in one minute," he stated, "not bad."

"Okay, Mr. captain super soldier," you breathed. "You know, maybe I should go back to doing these with Sam. A human being with normal people achievements," you sighed, faux-dreamily.

"I thought you wanted to get better?" Steve chuckled, extending his hand out to help you off the mattress.

"I'll tell him you said that," you smirked and took his hand, letting him help you up. Your touch lingered for the briefest of moments before you let go of his hand.

"Be my guest," Steve shot back, before taking a couple of sparring staffs off the wall, handing you one. An unusual technique in battle, but you found that practicing them with Steve provided a decent challenge to you both, since you were better with it than he was.

With both of you getting into a fighting stance, you started the match by dashing forward, trying to land one on his shoulder, but he quickly spun to the side, accompanied by a move of his staff that, fortunately for you, was a bit poorly aimed, thus only hit you in the arm.

You continued this back and forth for the next few minutes, one graceful move answered by a steady block from the other side, almost like a delicate dance. After a while, you felt yourself getting a little tired, and knew if you didn't end it now, he'd win.

And well, you just can't give him that kind of satisfaction.

You quickly planted your staff on the ground, using the momentum to jump up and wrap your legs around his neck, using your weight to push him down onto the mattress. You'll have to thank Natasha for that move.

His staff fell from his hand as he hit the floor, and you used your advantage to pin his arms above his head, making sure to lean enough of your weight on his torso so he couldn't move. You were both panting from the exertion of the fight, and you could feel a bead of sweat traveling down your back.  

He smirked up at you. "Did Nat teach you that one?"

"Maybe," you raised your eyebrow in amusement. "But I executed it to perfection."

"You sure?" he asked, and before you could answer he broke free from your grasp, flipping the both of you so your torso was pinned below him, catching your arms the same way you did to him moments ago.

Breathing heavily, your tongue darted out to wet your lips. "Well, maybe not perfection," you murmured, "but I'd say I did pretty well. You're in nice shape for a hundred-year-old," you slowly grinned up at him.

"Just nice?" he mock pouted, not moving from his position above you.

"Yeah," you smirked, "from what I've seen."

"Well, maybe you've seen nothing yet," he suggested with a quirk of his eyebrow, his head lowering even closer to yours.

"Maybe," you said softly, standing your ground. His eyes were boring into yours, you could hear the shallow sound of his breath, feel it even.

Closing the distance between you was almost more impulse than an actual aware decision. Your lips met his soft ones, his momentum pushing you back against the mattress, your head hitting it with a soft thud you paid no mind to. One of his hands left yours, coming to cup your cheek as his tongue hesitantly entered your mouth, continuing eagerly when you let out a hum of approval, one of your hand sneaking around his neck and tangling in the hair on the nape of his neck, pulling slightly.

When you finally parted, your breaths were once again labored, but for an entirely different reason now.

"Okay, maybe you are in good shape," you rasped, shrugging as well as you could.

He chuckled before his eyes met yours. "You don't hate me," he stated incredulously.

"I already told you I didn't. I take it back, maybe old age is getting to you," you giggled.

He groaned lightly, making your laughter grow stronger.

Okay, so Steve Rogers wasn't the worst. Final verdict.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

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[carewyncromwell]

Next Cinderella AU part ahoy!

Conical hats were actually considered very fashionable during the Middle Ages and the early Renaissance. What’s fascinating, however, is how they evolved into two very distinct and oddly opposing styles of hat: the stereotypical “Pilgrim” hat and the pointed hat that witches are generally depicted wearing! Around the turn of the 17th century, the most stylish variation of black conical hat was called the capotain, which is a cone, but with a rounded top -- the hat McGonagall wears in that top sketch is one of these types of hats (her dress is based on this design, which also features a shorter version of the capotain). The hats were originally fashionable among both men and women, but over time, one group of women that was most associated with wearing them were Quakers, a branch of Christianity that broke away from the Church of England and advocated quite liberated views for the era, such as the abolition of slavery, women’s rights, and a refusal to involve themselves in war. They also passionately believed that one didn’t have to attend church in order to be close to God and that one could practice one’s faith out in the world by living and dressing modestly and being active in charity work. (To learn more about the history of how the conical hat evolved into our modern image of “the witch hat,” check out this awesome fashion history video on the subject.) As one can expect, Quakers and Quaker women in particular were not well-taken-to by a lot of European society, especially by the religious movement on the opposite site of the political scale in Britain, the uber-conservative, Bible-purist Puritans. Many of these same Puritan-types got very involved in hunting witches both in Europe and in the Americas (the Salem Witch Trials are a perfect example). But yes...if one looks up pictures of historical clothing for Puritan men and/or “the Pilgrims” (A.K.A. the group of Americans that colonized Plymouth, who were Puritans), they very often wore a variation of the capotain! Although it’s been theorized by historians that the capotains worn by Quaker women ended up being associated with sin and therefore witchcraft, similar hats were also worn by the men who persecuted them. The hats were worn by both sides -- victim and accuser -- and yet most of us today look at the capotain and immediately think “witch” exclusively. Talk about irony.

Greensleeves is often ascribed as being commissioned by King Henry VIII for his second wife, Anne Boleyn (even Six the Musical references this)...but it actually was written in the later half of the 16th century, when Anne’s daughter Elizabeth I was Queen. So yeah, that’s sadly just an old wives tale. But it is a lovely song! The melody for Greensleeves has been remarkably long-lasting, even being rewritten as multiple Christmas songs over the centuries, including the still popular What Child is This?, which was written in 1865.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you all enjoy!

x~x~x~x

Carewyn very quickly threw on her mother’s green-sleeved yellow dress and as many warm wool petticoats as she could before fetching her white horse from the palace stable. She rode up through the gate in exactly twenty-five minutes, to find Orion on his black mare waiting for her. Carewyn was ready to ask Orion if everything was all right, but almost as soon as they’d left the perimeter of the gate, Orion urged his horse into a fast gallop.

“Come, my lady,” he cried over his shoulder, “let us chase that horizon!”

Carewyn had to send her horse charging forward in its own gallop to catch up with him. They rode right through the market and then out of the capitol altogether -- they avoided the road that led toward the Cromwell estate, dashing eastward. They weaved in and out of the rolling snow-capped hills, riding beside and around each other. The freedom of riding alone was enough to bring some life back into Orion’s cheeks, and Carewyn despite herself soon found herself smiling.

When they came to a stop at the top of a hill close to the northern border, Orion looked out over the edge with a handsome, endless gleam in his eye, like that of a sailor looking out to sea. Carewyn once again prepared to ask Orion if he was all right...but once again, Orion dodged the question.

“Do you see that eagle, overhead?” asked Orion.

Carewyn looked up. She did -- it was a truly handsome golden eagle, gliding in a circle through the air over their heads.

“I’ve seen eagles just like that nearly every day, up and down the border,” said Orion. “Shall we see if we can ride fast enough to overtake it in flight? Could we take flight as birds do, without ever spreading wings?”

“Orion...”

Carewyn brought a hand gently down on his arm.

“I know there’s something wrong,” she whispered.

Orion looked at her, his expression losing most of its levity and becoming much blanker and more inscrutable again.

“I understand if you can’t tell me,” she insisted softly. Her blue eyes rested on her own hand on his arm rather than his face -- with the intense concern she felt, she didn’t dare expose them further by looking straight into his eyes. “And I truly don’t want you to feel like you have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Your secrets are your own, and I know you have a reason for them.”

Just as I have mine.

“I only...I can tell you’re running from something...maybe even the thing you’ve being running from, every time you’ve come to see me, all these weeks...and I don’t know what to do, to protect you from what you’re so afraid of. Please...tell me what I can do.”

Orion’s black eyes trailed over Carewyn’s face, rippling with many tiny flickers of emotion that were hard to properly identify -- pain? Affection? Anxiety? Evasiveness? Shame? Longing? Who knew?

At last the Prince of Florence brought a hand out to gingerly rest on top of Carewyn’s on his arm.

“Chase that eagle with me,” he said softly.

Carewyn looked up at Orion and then at the eagle overhead as it soared off toward the nearby woods. Then she gave him a small, sad smile and nodded.

“...All right.”

Dislodging herself from Orion, Carewyn steadied her grip on her horse’s reins and flicked them to make it gallop toward the woods.

“Well, come on, then!” she called over her shoulder with the strongest smile she could. “T’would be a shame if I out-rode you in a challenge you set yourself!”

Orion’s face broke out into a brighter, fond smile and he pursued her.

The two rode their horses down the hill and into the trees. Racing side by side, overtaking each other in their strides and then catching up again -- all while Orion smiled so fully and handsomely, and looked at her with such blazing midnight-black eyes -- was a joy that Carewyn had trouble putting into proper words. His expression was full of such silent, and yet unbridled joy -- free, in every sense of the word.

“You should be allowed to feel like that more often,” Orion’s words returned to her. “Free.”

You should be allowed to feel like that too, Orion, thought Carewyn. You deserve to feel this free all the time.

The two rode with speed until they’d finally lost sight of the beautiful golden eagle. Slowing their horses into a calmer trot, they then journeyed through the trees, enjoying the peaceful serenity of the chirping birds and the pools of sunlight scattered across the muddy, snow-dusted ground.

“I’ve never been out this far before,” Carewyn confessed, her almond-shaped blue eyes trailing over the interlaced branches overhead.

Orion looked at her out the side of his eye. “...This close to the border, you mean?”

“Yes.”

Carewyn caught a strange scent in the distance -- something vaguely like the fires she’d tend to back at the castle and the Cromwell estate.

“...Something’s burning...”

Orion nodded solemnly. “Bonfires. The Royaumanian and Florentine camps aren’t far from here.”

Carewyn looked at Orion, slightly startled. His gaze had wandered northward, but it was clear his mind was far from the trees his eyes were idly resting on.

“We’re near the war front?” asked Carewyn softly.

“Yes...” Orion glanced her out the side of his eye. “...Are you frightened?”

“No,” said Carewyn.

She looked through the trees in the direction Orion had been facing.

Jacob could be over there right now, she thought to herself. The idea of seeing her brother for the first time in nine years -- of hugging him again and seeing his relieved smile -- it made her feel like her heart was being squeezed.

Orion’s black eyes scanned her longing, but fearless face, before shifting back in the direction of the trees that obscured the path toward the war front.

“The scales are going to shift again, soon,” he whispered. He could feel Carewyn’s eyes on him again. “The two sides have constantly fought for dominance...lashing out ruthlessly and then retaliating, back and forth, until they’re forced to come to a stalemate, just to catch their breath. Then one lashes out again, and the precarious balance is thrown to the winds once more...”

Carewyn’s blue eyes rippled with concern. “Orion...is something bad about to happen, out there?”

Orion closed his eyes. His father claimed he needed him, in order to lead the Florentine army in the two-pronged attack on Royaume...but it wasn’t unlikely that the King might make do and find someone else to fill that role...

“Hopefully not,” he said softly.

Carewyn reached out a hand and took hold of Orion’s wrist. Orion looked down at her hand and then up at her face -- she had trouble looking at him, but he could tell her eyes were rippling with concern. His heart felt like it was suddenly being harshly compressed, just to fit inside of his chest.

You wish to protect me from what I fear...but what I fear, I should wish to protect you from.

The King’s words returned to his mind.

“When you make mistakes, the people you cherish, that you want most desperately to protect, pay the price!”

But how could he hope to protect Carewyn from the War and the cost it would demand? How could he hope to stop it, when his own father unknowingly would be sabotaging his efforts for peace? How could he live with himself, if he had to chain himself to the War the way the King had -- to fight against the Royaumanians he’d met and broken bread with as equals?

Orion took several deep breaths before speaking again.

“...My father wishes me to join him, at the front,” he admitted lowly.

Carewyn looked up, startled. “...Your father’s in the army?”

“Yes,” said Orion. “He’s...a high-ranking officer. He expects that I will follow his example and lead our ranks into battle.”

Carewyn considered Orion for a moment. “...You don’t want to.”

Orion’s eyes darkened significantly. “...I don’t want to.”

When Carewyn didn’t respond, he pressed on.

“My father believes that the War can only be ended through force -- that justice can be only brought about by utterly destroying our enemy. But...I cannot believe that. I grew up on the border between Florence and Royaume. The town I’m from is so close that one could hop easily from one to the other. It caused some tensions, yes...but it also made it so that at first meeting, or even third or fourth, you never knew what side of the divide a person was on. And so I found myself constantly thinking...what is it that truly separates us? Is it morality? Is it values? Humanity? And yet I don’t think either side can boast having any of those things exclusively. It instead all comes back to a mistake made fifty years ago -- a land dispute that ended more violently than it should have. So many people have died, all because of that...and because neither King has decided to be the better man and choose forgiveness over vengeance.”

Orion bowed his head, his eyes closing solemnly.

“...My father asked me to help him lead the army, in an upcoming attack on the enemy forces -- one that he believes could end the War once and for all. But...”

He exhaled quietly through his nose.

“...I couldn’t accept that burden...so I left.”

Carewyn didn’t respond. Orion scanned her face, trying to read her reaction, but it was proving difficult when she wouldn’t look at him.

Does she...disapprove? he couldn’t help but think. She did think he was Royaumanian -- she didn’t understand that he wanted to protect her brother, not prevent him from returning home...but how could he explain that to her, without...?

“I know that the War could end, if my father’s strategy succeeds,” Orion explained, trying to keep his voice level despite the anxiety he felt, “but this is only one strategy of hundreds, all of which have failed. And even if our side was victorious...however many lives I could potentially save by fighting, I would be snuffing out far more. I realize that this is my responsibility alone, and sometimes one must be willing to do what others will not, to reach their goal...but flowers bloom under sunlight and water, not blood. If we could avoid burning a forest to the ground, wouldn’t it then be easier to bring it back to life?”

“Yes...but if someone wants to set a forest ablaze, you have to act if you want to stop them.”

Carewyn’s response was very soft and solemn, but there was no anger or disapproval -- instead, to Orion’s immense relief, it sounded almost encouraging.

“If you believe that Royaume could make peace with Florence, then you need to speak out for it,” she said firmly. “If you see it and believe in it, that’s great...but you need to make others see and believe in it too, if it’s going to really come about. Talk to your father, make him see things as you do -- and if he isn’t able to, then...well, I’ll talk to Andre, and you and he can discuss it together.”

Her lips spread into a gentle smile and she gave his wrist a light squeeze.

“My own family may have profited because of the War, but the people of Royaume, the common man, would celebrate, if peace could come about without further loss. If Florence would also, then that’s a step in the right direction. There’s more than one way to fight for something...all it requires is enough courage to place one’s goal over whatever risks stand in their way.”

Orion stared at Carewyn for a long moment. As he did, the black of his eyes seemed to melt, gaining a warmer, softer light that resembled candlelight rippling in endless, dark water.

“...Carewyn...”

Before he could say anything more, however, there was a loud explosion in the distance. Carewyn’s horse reared back in terror, which in turn spooked Orion’s, and both Carewyn and Orion had to quickly calm their steeds.

“Whoa, whoa,” Carewyn whispered in her horse’s ear, “easy, boy...it’s all right...”

Orion stroked his horse’s mane with a slightly trembling hand, breathing in and out as he tried to steady his heart rate. He then looked at Carewyn with a more serious eye.

“...Perhaps we should make our way back to the valley. It’s not safe here.”

Carewyn looked northward through the trees again. “Do you think your father’s started the attack?”

“No. Coordinated attacks require both strategy and assignments, as well as the element of surprise. I’d say this is a skirmish between younger, less experienced soldiers -- and if so, it’s likely to run farther afield and cause damage outside the designated battlefield.”

Orion could see Carewyn still hesitating. Although there was no fear in her face, she seemed reluctant to leave -- likely thinking of her brother, more than the risk to her own safety...

After a brief flicker of uncertainty, Orion reached out a hand and took hold of Carewyn’s arm not unlike how she’d taken his earlier.

“From everything I’ve heard from you about your brother, I truly cannot see him not doing everything he possibly can, to look out for your well-being...including looking after himself.”

A second smaller explosion in the distance made Orion stiffen slightly, his fingers tightening that bit around Carewyn’s arm.

“...We should move out of harm’s way,” he said as levelly as he could.

Seeing the paleness of Orion’s face, Carewyn relented at once.

“Yes.”

Bringing a hand up onto Orion’s horse’s reins, she directed both of them around so they could start riding back out the way they came.

As they came around a cluster of trees, however, their attention was caught by the sound of the cry of an eagle and many snapping branches. Carewyn’s horse reared back again, just barely dodging a large clump of golden-brown feathers that collided sharply with the ground.

Carewyn once again rushed to soothe her horse. Orion quickly climbed off his horse and bent down to get a better look at what had fallen.

It was a golden eagle, just as brilliant as the one they’d chased into the wood -- perhaps even the same one. It was conscious, but clearly in pain when it tried to return to the air -- its left wing crumpled up against its side and covered in blood and what looked like grayish ash.

Orion’s black eyes narrowed.

“Gunpowder,” he said. “The poor creature’s wing must have been struck by a stray bullet.”

Once she’d successfully soothed her white horse, Carewyn likewise jumped off its back. She dashed over to Orion, hitching up the skirt of her mother’s gown as she went.

“Can you hold him?” she asked.

The eagle gave an angry-sounding cry, baring its sharp talons at both of them, and it tried to hobble away back into the air with its one good wing.

“I don’t think he wants our help,” said Orion.

Undaunted, Carewyn ripped off some fabric from her outer-most petticoat. “Well, he needs it, whether he wants it or not. Can you hold him, please?”

Orion looked at the eagle. Rather than try to grab it, he met the eagle’s eyes and tried not to blink. The eagle looked back at him with a piercing gaze. When Orion extended a hand, the eagle lashed out its talons again -- Orion withdrew, but didn’t flinch.

“Steady,” he said gently.

He waited a moment, keeping eye contact with the bird, and then tried again. This time he was able to move close enough to touch before the eagle lashed out with its claws again.

“Peace,” said Orion patiently. “We mean you no harm, feathered friend.”

Another loud explosion in the distance made both the eagle and Orion flinch.

“That one sounded closer,” said Carewyn, her voice faintly tense but as gentle as she could. “We need to be quick.”

The flames of his childhood home were returning to Orion’s mind despite his best efforts, and he shut them out as best he could, closing his eyes and breathing in and out several times. Once he’d reestablished his focus, Orion opened his eyes again.

The eagle looked from Orion to Carewyn almost critically. Finally, after Orion reached in for a third time, it let the Prince run a gentle hand over its back. Once the bird was calm, Orion then carefully extended its wing so that Carewyn could reach it.

“This will likely hurt him a little,” Carewyn told Orion. “Please hold him still, so he won’t fly away.”

Orion brought a hand around the eagle, which fidgeted and cried out indignantly, but did not claw or snap at them. With Orion holding out its wing, Carewyn was able to reach into its blood-soaked feathers and dislodge the bullet. The eagle gave an angry, pained cry, and Carewyn very quickly set about wrapping up the wound with the white fabric she’d ripped out of her petticoat.

“There,” breathed Carewyn, her red lips spreading into a smile. “That should help...”

The bird looked down at its wing, gingerly folding up against its side as it surveyed her with a very beady eye. With a soft click of her tongue against her teeth, she slowly extended an arm out, holding it very still like a branch.

“Climb on,” she cooed. “That’s it...”

The eagle peered Carewyn over, but after a long moment, it gradually scooted over and leapt up onto her arm. Its talons dug into the sleeve of her dress with strength, and it was heavier than Carewyn expected, but she with some difficulty just barely managed to hoist it up.

“Your talent with animals shines through again,” said Orion with a wry smile, clasping his hands lightly in front of him.

“You weren’t half bad yourself,” Carewyn said amusedly. She brought a hand gently along the eagle’s comb. “You��re a very handsome bird, aren’t you? You poor thing...”

“You there!”

Both Orion and Carewyn looked up in great surprise.

Striding through the woods toward them was a very tall middle-aged woman. She wore a black capotain hat and an old-fashioned black dress with a white ruff around the collar, and her graying brown hair was tied up in an austere looking bun under her hat. Despite her apparent age, her step was strong and her posture as straight as a general’s. 

“What are you doing here?” said the woman very sternly.

Carewyn stood a bit uneasily, thanks to the weight of the eagle on her arm, but she nonetheless straightened up, resting a hand on the eagle’s back almost protectively.

“We’re merely out riding, madam,” she said, not impolitely, but still confidently.

The woman peered down at both Orion and Carewyn with an eye almost as critical as the eagle’s had been as she crossed her arms. Her height made it so she towered over both of them with relative ease.

“Well, through your riding, you have trespassed on my land,” she said stiffly. “And it seems you’ve claimed something of mine.”

Her eyes flickered over to the eagle on Carewyn’s arm, taking in the makeshift bandage on its wing. The golden eagle gave a loud shriek -- the woman extended her arm, and it leapt the distance, landing on her arm instead. The older woman did not struggle to hold it up the way Carewyn had.

Carewyn blinked in surprise. “Then...he’s yours?”

“Do you have others, like him?” Orion asked curiously.

The woman peered down at the bird on her arm with a look that was rather like a scolding, but still affectionate mother’s. “No -- he’s one of a kind. All the more reason why I’m pleased to see him safe, after coming so close to the enemy camp.”

The eagle bowed its head, its gaze flickering back over toward Carewyn and Orion. When another cluster of explosions rang out through the air, however, both the bird and Orion straightened up abruptly.

The woman looked northward, and then beckoned Carewyn and Orion after her with her hand.

“Come with me -- with the armies positioned just north of us and a band of Florentine bandits just south, the safest place at present to wait out this skirmish is my home.”

The woman introduced herself as the Baroness Minerva McGonagall. Carewyn felt like the surname was familiar somehow, but she couldn’t quite place it in her memory. Regardless, McGonagall led Carewyn and Orion out through the trees. Only once they crossed the perimeter of the trees and McGonagall gestured toward the valley below did Carewyn and Orion see her country estate. It was odd that they didn’t spot it sooner, for although the valley seemed to cradle the small chateau, it was a rather beautiful and open estate framed by a wrought iron gate. The property itself was made of aged brick and stone with stained glass windows and overgrown with ice-trimmed ivy.

After holding out her arm so that the eagle perched there could jump down on the railing beside the stone stairs that led up to the front door, the Baroness invited Orion and Carewyn inside. As stern as she’d first appeared, she actually was a very kind host -- after Orion and Carewyn’s horses were settled in her stable, she escorted the two into the dining hall, where she served them some rose water and ginger biscuits. Once inside the house, none of them could hear the explosions from the battlefield -- it was as though the walls cancelled out all sounds from outside even though they must’ve been so close.

Seeing that the Baroness had no servants to help her, Carewyn insisted on taking the dishes to the kitchen and washing them, so as to thank the older woman for her hospitality. Despite being reluctant to accept the help at first, McGonagall eventually accepted it, her lips upturned in a rather dewy smile as Carewyn left the dining hall.

“Your riding companion has a very kind heart, Your Highness,” she said, once Carewyn was out of earshot.

Orion’s black eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly.

“...You know me.”

"Naturally,” said McGonagall. “You do very much resemble your grandfather -- and your father as well, I expect.”

“You knew my grandfather?”

“We met once, a very long time ago,” said McGonagall rather curtly. “Your name would also be Cosimo, correct?”

“I am called Orion,” said the Prince, his level voice dusted with the slightest edge. “By both my lady, and otherwise.”

McGonagall’s eyes grew a little smaller. “She comes from the Cromwell family, doesn’t she?”

Orion’s eyes narrowed that little bit more, but he did not reply.

“I suspected it due to her eyes,” said McGonagall, “but with how gentle they were, I wasn’t sure.”

Her eyebrows rose over her narrowed eyes as she leaned forward slightly and rested her elbows on the table.

“You have quite a predicament before you, Orion,” she said dryly, interlacing her fingers beside her chin.

Orion clasped his hands on the table in front of him, considering the Baroness carefully.

“Yet you decided not to approach me about it until Carewyn left the room,” he said levelly. “Is it because you suspected I knew your true identity, and why your house has been so miraculously shielded from the War raging on your doorstep?”

McGonagall peered at Orion over her hands with something like wry amusement. “Florentines are generally more favorable toward magic than Royaumanians. And considering your grandfather shielded my family after my mother accidentally killed the King and we fled across the border...well, it would be in-character for you, especially.”

“And yet you returned to the land that the King of Royaume had died trying to claim?” asked Orion. “Why?”

McGonagall gave a dismissive shrug. “It was our home. Even if we had to cast and recast illusions every day to prevent anyone else from finding it again, that was a cost we were willing to pay. And one I’m still willing to pay today, to protect those who live here.”

McGonagall’s eyes were drawn to the hallway -- a young man with tanned skin and a sharp nose had just paused in the door frame of the dining hall. His arm was in a makeshift sling and wrapped with what looked like bandages made out of petticoat fabric. When Orion turned around, the young man stared him down with just as beady of a look as the golden eagle from before had.

“The skirmish has ended, Baroness,” the man said brusquely.

“I hope you haven’t determined that by casting any more transfiguration spells, my young apprentice,” said McGonagall with a slightly reproachful look.

The apprentice’s nose wrinkled sourly. “No. The explosions have just stopped -- they probably decided it wasn’t worth trying to fire their cannons blindly in the dark.”

“Very well,” said McGonagall. “Orion, you and Carewyn may leave when you wish. Though I would recommend you steer clear of the border. The bandits in these woods are Florentines, so I doubt they will harm you...but I cannot be sure how they would respond to a Royaumanian, especially one related to one of their wealthiest noblemen.”

Orion nodded. “I understand.”

“Make sure you bring her back to the palace safely,” said the apprentice, his eagle-like eyes still rather critical upon Orion. “It’s the least you can do, considering she doesn’t know the extent of the risk she’s taking, interacting with you.”

He swept down the hallway and out of sight, still holding his arm. Orion was a bit surprised that the Baroness’s apprentice knew where Carewyn worked -- but then, he recalled, he’d seen an eagle flying over his and Carewyn’s heads once, while they were walking through the market together, hadn’t he? Might it have been this man then, as well -- as it likely had, every time he’d seen an eagle while crossing the border?

McGonagall looked back at Orion, her expression a bit more solemn. “I understand your rationale behind not telling her of your identity, Orion...but remember -- deception is just like any magical spell. Even the most powerful ones in the world don’t last long.”

Orion bowed his head. “...I know.”

He knew none of this could last. He knew that once Carewyn knew who he was, everything between them would change, whether he wanted it to or not. He did think that Carewyn would understand -- he desperately hoped so -- but even so, it was sad to him, knowing that his happy times with Carewyn were doomed to be so fleeting...

“I just...want to enjoy my time with her as long as I can,” said Orion softly. “However fleeting it might be...even when it is over...at least then I can cherish the memory of those moments forever.”

McGonagall’s face grew a bit gentler, almost sympathetic. "I see...”

Carewyn returned at that moment, wiping her bangs out of her eyes with her arm.

“Orion,” she said, “it looks like the stars have come out.”

Orion looked out the window. The sky was dark with night and shining with stars.

“So they have,” he said with a soft smile. He turned to McGonagall. “Forgive me, Baroness...but might we sit in the valley outside your home for a short while, before we leave?”

McGonagall smiled. “Of course.”

Orion and Carewyn found a grassy spot in the crest of the valley where they could sit and look up at the stars. Upon learning that Carewyn hadn’t ever gone stargazing before, Orion lay back against the grass and pointed out each constellation above them to Carewyn in turn -- the hero Perseus, his enemy the Cetus, and his future wife Andromeda -- -- the divine twins, Castor and Pollux, otherwise known as a pair as Gemini -- and the queen Cassiopeia, which made Carewyn laugh, thinking of her friend, KC. Carewyn loved listening to Orion’s stories: the way he would vividly embellish every detail and go off on philosophical tangents in the middle was oddly endearing. After he told his first tale about Perseus, Carewyn was reminded of the Song of Roland, an epic about a similarly grand hero, and soon Orion would ask her to sing something in response to every story he told, however weak the connection was. When they reached Cassiopeia’s tale, Carewyn sang one of her favorite songs, Greensleeves.

“I have been ready at your hand To grant whatever thou would’st crave; I have waged both life and land, Your love and goodwill for to have.

Greensleeves was all my joy; Greensleeves was my delight; Greensleeves was my heart of gold, And who but my lady Greensleeves...”

As before, Orion found himself closing his eyes and relishing the feeling of Carewyn’s voice washing over him. At the end of this song in particular, however, when he opened his eyes, he found himself chuckling softly.

Carewyn raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Orion’s black eyes were sparkling like two miniature night skies as they ran over Carewyn sitting just below him. “It’s a lovely song, as always...but I have not ever seen my ‘star twin,’ so to speak, wearing green -- only ever black and blue. You, however...”

He took her hand so that he could extend her arm out like they were dancing, showing off the olive green sleeves of her dress.

“So it seems you are ‘my lady Greensleeves,’” said Orion with a wry smile.

“Oh, stop it,” Carewyn huffed, her cheeks burning as she withdrew her hand.

Orion laughed fully. It was the first time Carewyn had ever heard him laugh so openly before -- it was a soft sound in the back of his throat, like a chuckle, and yet so much brighter and warmer. Despite herself, Carewyn couldn’t fight back a full smile of her own. Her shoulder brushed up against Orion’s as she reclined back onto the grass, her body tilting slightly toward him as she looked up at the sky.

“...There’s a constellation called Orion, isn’t there?”

Orion smiled and traced the stars of the constellation with his finger. “Just there. Do you see his chest? And there’s his bow.”

“I see it!” said Carewyn excitedly. “His arm is arched back, right?”

“Yes -- he’s holding a club in his other hand. He was a great hunter, you see -- the greatest hunter, they say, aside from Artemis, Goddess of the Moon and the Hunt. Some say that he hunted alongside her. Others say she was his one and only love...and that she, likewise, never loved any other man, in all her days.”

When Carewyn didn’t respond, Orion looked down at her. She was considering the constellation very carefully, looking oddly deep in thought.

Orion tilted his head to look better at her face. “Your eyes resemble a dark pool.”

Carewyn looked up, startled.

“They’re so deep and mysterious, I hardly know what is within them,” said Orion. “Yet I would dearly like to know, if you were willing to share their contents.”

Carewyn’s eyes drifted back up to the sky uncomfortably.

“It’s just...I’m realizing that I don’t even know if Orion is your real name,” she murmured. “You said I could call you it...you did not say it was your name.”

Orion’s face became grimmer. His hands clasped over his chest and he too looked back up at the sky.

“...It’s not the name I was born with,” he admitted. “I chose the name myself, when I was young.”

The memory of the older boys at the workhouse shoving him, piling extra work on him, and mockingly bowing whenever he walked by rippled over his mind.

“Clear the floor for the Prince!”

“Why thank you, Prince Cosimo -- you’re too kind!”

“Does the mud add flavor, your Royal Highness?”

“When I was at the workhouse, my name...antagonized the other boys. So, to try to preempt the reactions, I started avoiding telling anyone my name. I would dread anyone ever asking.”

“Like when I asked you?” whispered Carewyn. Even though her eyes were averted, she was clearly very ashamed and upset.

Orion leaned against her slightly, offering her a gentle, reassuring expression. “No, Carewyn. I dreaded it when I had no answer I could give at all. It made me anxious...made me feel like I didn’t know who I was supposed to be...made it difficult for me to interact with much of anyone at all.”

He closed his eyes.

“But...after hearing the tale of the great hunter whose skill put him on the same level as a goddess...I decided that was who I’d be. I’d chase my dreams with just as much single-minded focus -- be just as free and strong of a man, by fighting the monster inside of myself.”

Carewyn looked up at Orion, her eyes rippling with sadness. “The monster inside of yourself?”

“Mm,” said Orion. “Mine is a frenetic beast. It makes it hard for me to think, act, or even breathe, when it’s particularly intense. It makes me question absolutely everything, including myself. It shouts so many things in my ears so loudly that I can’t move or react properly, and I have to break away from everything and everyone, just to silence it. Sometimes it even brings back bad memories that make the experience even worse.”

Carewyn was once again avoiding his eye, but it was largely because she was having trouble keeping her face stoic.

“...It’s terrible, when you feel like you can’t do anything,” she said lowly.

Orion didn’t speak. He wanted her to feel comfortable enough to continue -- after a silence, she finally pressed on.

“When Jacob first went off to War...I felt so helpless. So...alone. And worse...I felt like that’s how I should be. Like I should be alone, and empty, and cold, and in pain, when Jacob was off at War suffering, while I’m stuck here.”

Her eyes darkened.

“There are times when...I think I still should be. Sometimes...well, it’s all the time.”

She closed her eyes, exhaled heavily through her nose, and then looked up at Orion with a firmer expression.

“...But I know I can’t afford to sit around and feel sorry for myself -- not when I need to be strong, for Jacob’s sake. So I don’t.”

Orion’s black eyes softened visibly, rippling with empathy. “No...you certainly don’t.”

He paused. His eyes ran over Carewyn’s face, trailing through her hair hesitantly.

“Carewyn...” he said at last, very softly, “may I...?”

He swallowed.

“...May I rest my head, on top of yours?”

Carewyn’s face broke into a very sweet, tender smile.

“Of course,” she murmured.

Orion shifted over and, very tentatively, leaned back against the grass so that Carewyn’s head rested in the crook of his neck and his cheek rested against the top of her head. He closed his eyes -- she felt so warm...

“I...realize that the beasts inside of us are ours alone to face,” said Orion softly, “but...should you need a hunter to help you beat yours back...I will be here.”

Carewyn’s blue eyes rippled with emotion as she stared up at Orion’s face. Her red lips slowly turned up in a smile that was full of pain, and yet also fuller still of love.

“And I will always help you fight yours,” she whispered. “If you need me...I will fight for you.”

Orion’s expression cleared, losing all tension as a smile pricked at the corners of his lips. He breathed deeply, his heart slowing to a wonderful peaceful beat as he took in the smell of her hair. Carewyn watched his serene, handsome face, and she found herself moving into him that bit more, just to get a better view. For that moment, it felt like the whole world outside wasn’t there -- that the War and the palace and the Cromwell clan and everything she was and wasn’t didn’t even exist...and in that moment, Carewyn realized...

If she was ever truly free, she would want to love the man called Orion with all of her heart.

[letsbenditlikebennett]

Short Girl Summer || Ariana & Nell

TIMING: During Midsommer Nightmare POTW PARTIES: @nelllraiser & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Freaking out over her newly found shoplifting hobby, Ariana runs to Nell to see if she can help get Otto out of her head. 

With yet another backpack full of shoplifted items, Ariana was beginning to freak out a little bit. Between all the overwhelming things going on and now having someone in her head, she was about to have a full on meltdown. Whoever was in her head needed to get the fuck out. It dawned on her that Nell seemed to know a lot about different kinds of magic and would be her best bet for help. She shot her a quick text that she was coming by before running over. She was a bit winded as she greeted, “Nell, hey! Sorry to like come over out of the blue, but I’m freaking out a little bit here and I think if anyone would know what the fuck is going on with me, it’d be you.” 

It was one of the rare moments Nell was actually inside the Vural house, not spending all that much time inside its walls even though Bea was back. The perimeter spell pinged on her wrist as someone crossed the property line, and thanks to Ariana’s message, she was able to meet the interloper on the porch of the house, raising a hand to wave to the other girl. “Hey!” she called out with a smile. But it quickly turned to vague confusion as she took in the girl’s appearance and state. “Have you been...running? Are you alright? There’s not anyone chasing you, right?” Had the last of Celeste’s parents come? Or perhaps Layla’s? Already, she was reaching for one of her hidden knives, hypervigilance making her be safe rather than sorry. “What’s going on with you?”

It didn’t dawn on Ariana just how alarming her appearance was until she saw the confused look on Nell’s face. She looked bad. She’d been running with a backpack filled with stolen goods and she was growing more antsy with the other person inside her head. “No, no,” she explained as her voice still sounded winded, “No one’s chasing me. I just--- I may have a lot of stolen shit in my backpack due to the current thief living inside my head.” She gasped in a few deep breaths. Why she sprinted instead of running a comfortable pace, she didn’t know, but everything seemed to be piling on in a way that made her doubt her own sanity. “I should back up with that. I’ve had someone else’s thoughts in my head and I guess they’re like a klepto or something. I thought maybe you’d know what kind of magic could cause that… and maybe make them get the fuck out of my head.” 

The tension in Nell’s shoulders faded away as Ariana confirmed that she wasn’t being pursued, though it would take a moment longer for all the nerves that had gathered in her stomach to melt away entirely. It always took longer to rid herself of the alarm than it took for it to come on these days. Still...Nell’s confusion was palpable for a moment as Ariana explained. “Thief living in your head…” the witch echoed, trying to figure out why that sounded familiar. “Wait, have you been having dreams and stuff, too? Like weird ones? And sometimes you wake up from them with injuries?” Could this be what Morgan and Harsh had been talking about? Nell herself had experienced bits of it. Then as an afterthought- “...what did you steal?” she asked curiously, looking around at the backpack.

It became obvious that the stress was beginning to catch up to Ariana. She hadn’t meant to have such a freaked out reaction to stealing every shade of liquid lipstick she could get her paws on, but here she was, opening her backpack and showing Nell the assorted makeup and snacks currently residing in her backpack. She remembered from the one time she came over with Celeste and Ulfric that Nell loved Takis, so she handed her a bag. “Yep, definitely been having weird dreams. Apparently I’m not the only one. Are you having them, too,” she asked with a concerned look on her face. Her own panic quickly turned into worry for someone else. Though she did need to chill with the stealing. Werewolves and prison did not mix. Waking up bleeding was also not a good time either. “Yeah, thankfully startling awake before injuries can get too bad, but it’s freaky and I hate it.” She looked back up to Nell and asked, “Do you know what could cause something like this?” 

Nell’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly at Ariana’s haul, not exactly being a do-gooder herself, but this seemed like quite the steal. “Oh wow that’s...a lot.” Her gut reaction was to ask whether or not Ariana was alright, but the answer to that question was obviously ‘not quite.’ But she cooed a please “Ohhhh,” as Ariana offered the Takis, not hesitating for a moment to rip them open and dig in. There was no quicker way to Nell’s heart than Takis, and it seemed like the witch’s familiar refused to be left out as the Ovinikk, also named Taki, appeared, immediately beginning to meow insistently for the food. “Thanks! Do you want some, Ari?” Nell nodded in response to Ariana’s questions, trying to be the calm in the situation. At this point, there was little that surprised Nell when it came to White Crest and its fuckery. “But yeah, I’ve been having some. And I’ve heard of a few other people having them. The fact that it’s affecting so many people would mean that it’d have to be a lot of witches casting the spell if it was that sort of magic. And even then, it would be tricky. I’m not sure exactly what’s causing it but...I don’t expect it to be anything good.” She led the werewolf towards the couch, not liking the way she’d seemed distressed only a few moments ago. “Here, come on- sit down. You’re probably tired after coming all the way here. Are you thirsty?”

Ariana knew this looked bad. Given it was bad, but she didn’t want to totally freak Nell out. She still felt like she was buzzing, but she tried to visibly calm herself at least. It wasn’t as if Nell hadn’t had a lot going on lately, too. It seemed like everyone did these days, but she held out some hope that maybe Nell would know how to at least get Otto out of her head. It would hardly fix all of her problems, but at least he wouldn’t be able to find out any more about her or even worse, about the mess she’d gotten herself into with Lydia and Ace. She smiled weakly as Nell took the Takis and Taki came to join. “Yeah, I’ll take a few,” she said as she grabbed a handful from the bag. They were pretty solid as far as snack food went. She followed Nell in and took a seat on the couch. Her head was still spinning though she let herself relax a little bit. “Right, I hate that. I think I preferred the murder mimes,” she huffed as she leaned back into the couch, “I doubt it’s good and having someone in my head on top of everything else going on is driving me a little crazy.” Then there was the fact she had to keep her thoughts on Lydia guarded. “A drink would be good,” she answered. Once Nell returned with a drink for her, she asked, “So, do you at least know who is in your head?” 

Nell handed the drink to Ariana before settling on the couch next to her. Taki immediately jumped into her lap, rubbing his face against her hand in demand for some of the chips. He didn’t have to beg as Nell offered him one of the spicy tubes, and Taki chomped it down in a flash. Then she set the bag between her and Ariana, so that they might share. “You know...I never thought I’d say this, but I think I prefer murder mimes too. At least you can stab them and they die.” And they don’t know all your deepest, darkest secrets. “Is it ever good having someone else in your head?” But what else was driving Ariana crazy? Was it Celeste related things? “Are you...doing alright?” she tried her best to ask, realizing that maybe she should have checked in with Ariana more often. “But yeah, it’s some girl named Norma. She’s really weird, and tried to throw me under the bus in a dream witch trial. What about you? Do you know who you have? What do you know about them? Maybe if you need to, you can just leverage knowledge over them in return if it’s complicated.”

It was hard to not find the large cat enjoying Takis. Like witch, like cat? Was that a thing? While Ariana knew quite a few spellcasters, the whole world of magic was still a bit of a mystery to her. “It’s pretty cute that your kitty likes Takis, too,” she noted with a laugh. She sank further into the couch and longed for the days of murder mimes. At least Celeste had still been alive then, too. “Stab ‘em or eat ‘em-- both work. They taste like croissants and disappointment though. Mine turned into a freaking striped werewolf which-- rude.” Her head tilted a bit and she realized Nell made a good point. “True, it’s not ever good having someone else in there. Guess I just have things going on that require some degree of discretion.” She faltered a bit when Nell asked if she was alright. She’d never been a good liar and she supposed there was no need to lie to Nell. “Honestly, not really, but like I’m not in immediate danger or anything.” Ace was though. Her fight with Rio also still left her a bit reeling. “I think I have a way to make most things better, at least.” She vaguely remembered a Norma from Layla’s birthday party. “That is weird. A dream witch trial? That’s not fun. At this point, I don’t know, but they’re sketchy as fuck. Guess I can count on the fact we both probably have dirt on each other to not cause too much trouble.” She went over the thoughts that weren’t hers in her head. “Well-- definitely some sort of thief. They think about some chick named Nadia a lot. Apparently she looks hot on a motorbike. They’re a bit judgy-- apparently bell bottoms aren’t cool.” She looked to Nell still concerned. “Norma’s not giving you problems, right? I’d totally bite and fight someone a little for you.” 

Nell looked fondly towards Taki as Ariana mentioned him, feeding him another little chip. “I taught him well,” she joked lightly. The bond between her and the familiar was as strong as ever, and Nell found herself grateful for the millionth time in her life that the black Ovinikk had chosen to come through for her during the summoning ritual on her fifteenth birthday. “He’s also an Ovinikk so- he tends to like spicy things, too.” As if affirming the words, a small burp tickled the front to Taki’s mouth, a lick of flame spouting forth via the bodily function along with a small puff of soot. “You ate your’s?” Nell confirmed with a smidgen of amusement. Maybe some would say it was a strange form of auto-cannibalism, but there was something strangely funny about the concept to the witch. Then she sobered once more, looking over Ariana carefully. “You’d let me know if you needed help...right?” She didn’t want to be overbearing when it came to Ariana’s problems, but she also didn’t want to find the young wolf impaled on a silver sword one day. The mention of her nightmare only caused her stomach to turn over once again as she remembered the pile of bodies she’d killed, the ones wearing the faces of her friends. “Yeah, not really fun. But I’m glad you have something to hold over his head if he decides to fuck off with some of your dirt.” As for Nadia. “Oh, I know her. Luce hangs out with her a decent amount. And no she hasn’t really given me problems she’s just sort of...strange. Thank you for your fierce offerings in these trying times, though,” Nell finished on a lighter note.

The little huff of a flame that came out of Taki’s mouth when he burped was too adorable and Ariana cooed over him. “Oh my god, I’ve never heard of an Ovinikk before, but I’m convinced he’s the cutest one.” It was easier to focus on an adorable versus pondering her own problems which seemed to be an endlessly growing list at the point. All of it just made her miss Celeste that much more. Somehow, she always knew what to do. Or at least, she had always made it seem that way. Even when they were both still kids, she always had this composure about her that made everything feel like it was going to be okay. Without that guiding force, she felt all the more lost. At least she could laugh a bit at how she handled her mime. “Well, like not totally. It tasted like stale croissants, but it tried to kill me so fight or flight kicked in and I turned into a wolf. It also turned into a striped, silent wolf. Kinda had to go for the throat to not get killed and all. Dipped when my friend’s mime turned into a fucking bear though because no thank you.” Part of her felt guilty when Nell asked if she would tell her if she needed help. She knew handling the Lydia thing on her own wasn’t the smart idea, but she did have it handled. At least, she thought she did. “I would, yeah. I think I have most things to the point where I can work them out, but if it gets to be too much or I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, I’ll let you know. Winston kind of made me assure the same thing, too.” She hoped Nell would have an answer for the whole shared brain thing, but it seemed White Crest was just being… well, White Crest. “Well, glad yours isn’t too much trouble. I don’t think mine will be seeing as we’ve worked together a bit in the past. Didn’t realize he was in the business of relieving people of things they don’t need, but you know, whatever.” She shrugged even though it still stressed her out. He was asking about Lydia aka the last thing she needed anyone knowing about. 

Nell was pleased to see that Ariana seemed to have the same opinions as her when it came to Taki and his cuteness factor. Taki, meanwhile, had been uncertain about the werewolf before— but fickle and prideful beast that he was, he promptly rolled over and splayed his legs into the air in his cutest position, quite happy to be receiving the adoration he was certain he deserved. “You’re absolutely right,” Nell confirmed with her strong bias. “You should have downed some butter along with it,” she commented with a hint of humor. “Could have made it a whole snack. But fair enough to draw the line at wolf mimes.” But her light tone only went so far while she listened to Ariana’s insistence that she could handle it. Where had she heard something like that before? She thought hard for a long while before coming to the embarrassing conclusion that it had been from her own mouth, countless times throughout her life. “RIght- I’m not surprised Winston made you promise, too. They’re probably dealt with me enough to recognize another spicy salsa girl when they see one.” Then she carried on a little more seriously. “But seriously don’t hesitate to ask either of us if you need anything. And keep those glamours charged in case you need them.” As for the linked thoughts situation...Nell wished she could have provided something more helpful than a place to hide with stolen goods. “I’m sure it’ll all blow over. Everything always does in White Crest.” One way or another. “But obviously feel free to hang around until you think you can safely leave with a bag of stolen goods,” she teased lightly.

As Taki rolled over, Ariana found herself cooing and smiling over him. She loved when Luna would do the same pose, but she wasn’t sure how the not so little creature would feel about belly rubs. So she watched in adoration instead. She couldn’t help but laugh at the butter comment. “You know,” she said through giggles, “That actually would have made it better. Guess I’ll have to leave the mimes a Yelp review.” The mimes imitating her and wolves was still insulting. “Oh yeah, clear the hard line there. Werewolves aren’t supposed to be striped or silent.” It meant a lot that she found a community of her own. Maybe it wasn’t all wolves, but it was nice that Nell felt inclined to look out for her. The same went for Winston. She had plenty of support to get her through some of these crazy times, it was just hard to not feel entirely overwhelmed in this thick of things. “I appreciate the standing offer for help. With you, Winston, and the other wolves by my side, it’d take a really stupid person to mess with me.” She laughed slightly, “I guess just knows how us spicy short girls work. They’ve been very… I think great about covers it.” She glanced down at what used to be Celeste’s glamour on her right hand. It’d been a bit since she’d charged her own. “I’ll have to do that when I get home. I haven’t tried it in a while, but not looking like me could always come in handy.” The thought to use it to spy on Lydia again popped into her head, but she knew that was a terrible idea. She was sure this support system she built up wouldn’t want her being needlessly reckless. She relaxed a bit into the couch taking a handful of Takis. “Thanks, Nell,” she responded, “I feel a lot better, but if you’re down for a movie or something, we could do something actually fun.” As Nell went through the channels picking something to watch, she felt at ease for the first time since her thoughts had been hacked.

[mymoodwriting]

Perfect Love

Bang Chan/Jisung, Bang Chan/Felix, Felix/Jisung

Genre: Yandere AU

Warning: Collar, Electrocution, Medication, Pills, Needles, Sedatives

Words: 2.2K

Chapters:

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Epilogue

Prompt: When Jisung started dating Chan it was a lot of fun, but that’s all it was and he wanted more. It was a mutual break up, or at least he thought it was. He had no idea what Chan was capable of, that is until he finally went to his house, carried into it actually. A second chance at love is entirely out of his control, and he might not have been the first of Chan’s lovers to be in this position.

       Jisung sat at the kitchen table, trying to make himself as small as possible. He was still shaking a bit from what had happened but he was focused enough to understand his surroundings. His hand reached up and he tugged at the collar around his neck, biting his lip when his actions caused the collar to shock him. He heard laughter, someone vaguely amused by his attempt to free himself.

       After he had calmed down from his nightmare Chan had placed that collar on him. It had been decided that the only way he’d be allowed upstairs for the time being was with that collar. It would only shock him if he tried to remove it or if he stepped outside the house perimeter, which included the backyard but not the front. The collar would give him a small warning shock, but if he pushed it the voltage would increase gradually until he passed out.

       He looked up at the person setting the table, Felix, who seemed much better. He felt bad for having scared him earlier, although the fact that he had been frightened was unsettling. Jisung then looked over at Chan who was finishing up preparations for their rather late breakfast. He felt pathetic crying in his arms earlier. His whole situation was really starting to stress him out and crying to him probably boosted his ego.

     Despite his questions he didn’t say what had scared him, he didn’t wanna divulge that kinda information, he didn’t need his captor knowing what made him vulnerable. Once breakfast was set, Felix took his seat but Chan went over to a cabinet, rummaging around and walking over to them with a pill bottle in hand.

 “Time to take your medicine.”

       Chan first approached Felix playing with his hair then gently tilting his head back, the boy eagerly opening his mouth and took the pill. His good behavior was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek. His eyes then locked with Jisung.

 “Are we going to be a good boy like Felix here or are we gonna have a problem?”

       Jisung didn’t answer, instead doing his best to keep his mouth shut. Chan was clearly disappointed, coming over to him and forcing his lips to part. The boy tried to struggle but he was easily overpowered. He was given the medicine, forced to swallow before he was let go. Despite his misbehavior he was also given a kiss.

 “Good boy.”

       Whatever he had taken didn’t kick in for a while, but it wasn’t noticed. He pretended that everything was fine. Felix was very happy, so he acted that way too, figuring that’s what the medicine was for. He really hated that Chan was a pretty good cook, that is until he realized there was a chance the food was laced with something. He quickly lost his appetite after that, saying he was full, he was believed.

 “Felix, can you water the plants, and take Jisung with you.”

 “Oh yay! I can show you the garden.”

       Felix eagerly took his hand and took him out to the backyard. He had been nervous about going out because of the collar, but when nothing happened he remembered he was safe in the backyard, it was the front yard he wasn’t allowed in. Felix kept a hold of his hand as he pointed out all the different plants around the garden.

       Chan had stayed inside, opting to clean up the kitchen. He had his plants that he used for work, and he also grew some vegetables and flowers. Felix grabbed the hose, watering the plants and splashing Jisung with some water after a while to cool him down. By then the medicine had kicked in, Jisung a giggling mess like before. He laid down in the grass, eyes closed, enjoying the sunlight. He used to be so busy during the day he could never really enjoy the sun.

 “So pretty.”

       Jisung opened his eyes to see Chan standing above him, taking pictures. The boy removed his collar to take a few more pictures. He didn’t even register the fact that Chan was holding his phone. The other laid down next to him, pulling him close for a picture, then telling Felix to join in so they could have a group photo he could frame for later.

 “Maybe we should post your picture Sungie, let your friends see how pretty you look.”

 “What about the other pictures?”

 “Those are just for us.”

 “Okay. Oh, what about Felix?”

 “I don’t have any social media.” Felix said, snuggling against Chan’s other side. “Got rid of it a long time ago, don’t need it. I just use Chan’s phone and accounts if I ever wanna browse.”

 “Oh… should I still keep mine?”

 “For now, yes.” Chan said. “What should the caption be?”

 “Um… how does ‘soaking up the morning sun’ sound?”

 “Lovely.” He added hashtags and posted it. “Now, got some news for you boys.”

 “What is it?” Felix asked.

 “I’m gonna be out tonight.”

 “Another party.”

 “Yup, which means early bedtimes for both of you.”

 “Awe, can Jisung sleep with me?”

 “I don’t think so, he’s still in trouble for earlier.”

 “Right… next time.”

 “Yeah, maybe next time. I gotta get ready for tonight, so keep yourselves busy for a while okay.”

 “Jisung and I can watch a movie.”

 “Alright but nothing scary, I don’t want either of you having nightmares cause of it.”

 “We won’t, come on Jisung.”

       He waited until Chan put the collar back on, then took the others hand and took him upstairs. Felix always preferred to watch movies in the bedroom, he let Jisung pick, running back down to get some popcorn and drinks. He loved watching movies in the bedroom, so much more space to cuddle.

 ♥♥♥♥♥

       Chan stayed in the basement for most of the day, preparing his product. Felix came down to check on him and brought him something to eat, he was still watching movies with Jisung upstairs. He was glad the two were having fun. When it was around time for him to head out he went up to get them ready for bed.

       Since he had left them alone practically all day, he wasn’t surprised to walk in and see that neither of them was actually watching the movie that was playing. Instead Felix had Jisung pinned under him, the two kissing, hair and clothes a mess.

 “And what might this be?”

       Felix jumped up and rolled off Jisung very quickly. The two boys looked away from Chan, blushing. He laughed.

 “I’m not mad, you two are quite cute together. Did you do anything else?”

 “No…” Jisung shyly admitted. “We just… started.”

 “You wanna join?”

 “Oh, I’d love to but I have to cut this short, it’s time for bed.”

 “Awe, bedtime already?” Felix whined.

 “Yes, yes it is. We can all play some other time. Go shower, I’ll take Jisung.”

 “Okay, good night Jisung.”

       Felix kissed Jisung’s cheek, the boy blushing a new shade of red, and went to shower. Chan took Jisung down to his room, having him take a shower too and drying him off. He dressed the boy for bed, grabbing the syringe he had on the table, Jisung holding his arm out.

 “Oh no, you’re bedtime medicine goes elsewhere.”

 “Oh…”

       Jisung tilted his head to the side. He still wasn’t comfortable with needles, especially when he was mellowed out and he was very open with his emotions. He grabbed Chan’s arm for comfort, getting a kiss for his good behavior.

 “Sweet dreams.”

       He tucked the boy in and headed out, making sure the door was locked. After he put his things away and grabbed what he needed from the lab he lingered outside of Jisung’s room. He texted Changbin, saying he would be over in a bit, just needed to get his boys to sleep. A while after he heard Jisung screaming. He checked the time then went upstairs, locking the basement door too. Felix was already sitting in bed when he got to the room.

 “How’s Jisung?”

 “Good. I want you sleeping with your headphones tonight okay.”

 “Okay.”

       Felix presented his neck, giggling when he felt the needle, then grabbing his headphones from the nightstand drawer. Chan laid him down and tucked him in, giving him a goodnight kiss. He heard Jisung scream again, detouring to the kitchen and putting out some medicine for a sore throat before heading out.

 ♥♥♥♥♥

 “And there’s the man of the hour, what’s new?”

 “I told you it’s not ready yet.”

 “Couldn’t even bring a sample.”

 “Maybe if you had asked nicely.”

       Chan was greeted with a beer by Changbin, the host of tonight’s festivities. The place was already pretty lively with the music blasting through the speakers.

 “You’re late you know.”

 “I had to get the boys in bed first.”

 “Boys? When did you get another?”

 “Jisung and I got back together.”

 “For real, that’s awesome. How’s Felix dealing with it.”

 “Caught the two making out before I left.”

 “Very happy then.”

 “Yup.” Chan took a sip of his beer. “You should come over, Felix’s been wanting to see you.”

 “Why don’t you throw a party then? Make it fun for everyone.”

 “Not yet, if I did I’d have to keep Jisung in his room.”

 “Oh, you’re doing that with him too then, is he okay?”

 “He will be.”

 “Then I’ll stop by sometime this week, I’ll tell the others too, we need to talk about business.”

 “Good point, I do need to ask Jeongin for a favor. Didn’t he recently move in with a friend?”

 “Yeah, some guy named Seungmin.”

 “That guy better not get Jeongin in any trouble.”

 “Don’t you mean Jeongin should keep him out of trouble?”

 “I said what I said, the little rascal is trouble.”

 “And he’s our responsibility.”

       The rest of the night went on without any issue. He was cleaned out pretty quick, money staying with Changbin for the time being. He enjoyed himself, missing the fun he used to have with Jisung at parties, but he was quick to remember he had the boy at home, safe and sound and happy, which brought a smile to his face. When morning hit he started paying more attention to the time.

 “I gotta get going, Chang.”

 “Already? Come on, stick around for a bit more.”

 “I need to get going man, text Jeongin for me. My house this week.”

 “Got it, tell Felix and your other boy toy hello for me.”

 “His name is Jisung!”

 “I know, now get out of here.”

       When Chan got home the house was pretty quiet. He went upstairs to check on Felix first, the boy still fast asleep, then went down to see Jisung. He walked into the room to see Jisung curled in bed, shaking. He kneeld down and caressed the boys cheek for a bit, he had worked up a sweat, then gently shook him to wake him.

 “Sungie…”

       Jisung’s eyes shot open, taking a deep breathe. His eyes were hazy, still shaking. Chan helped him sit up but the boy leaned against him, hugging him like before, his shaking getting a little worse. He smiled and cradled the little one’s head, rocking him again and patting his back softly.

 “It’s okay, I’m here for you, I got you.”

 ♥♥♥♥♥

 “Cute.”

       Minho commented on Jisung’s latest post as he stepped out of the elevator. He had some takeout in hand, walking over to his friend’s apartment, knocking on the door.

 “Jisung, open up!” He knocked again. “Come on, I didn’t see you at work, guessing it’s your day off.”

       There was no response even after the fifth attempt. If he got any louder he’d disturb the neighbors.

 “You’re really gonna make me do this.”

       He put down the takeout and reached for his keys. Jisung had given him a spare key to the apartment in case he ever lost his or Minho needed a place to crash and didn’t wanna go home.  Minho threw the door open once it was unlocked.

 “Jisung, I got your favorite.” Minho stopped when he noticed how empty the place was. “Jisung?”

       He put the food down on the table and started looking around the apartment. The bedroom was empty, not even a bed frame. There was little furniture around, the fridge was empty, all personal decorations gone. He grabbed his phone, calling Jisung, but the call didn’t go through, the number apparently unavailable.

 ♥♥♥♥♥

 “So… you think something is wrong?”

       Minho was at a cafe with his friend Hyunjin, staring at Jisung’s most recent photo. The sound of the other slurping down his drink frustrating him.

 “This is serious!”

 “Dude calm down, so he moved out of his apartment and forgot to tell you, no big deal. Just call him.”

 “You think I haven’t already tried? His phone is disconnected or something. Don’t you think that’s weird?”

 “Unless he got a new phone and forgot to tell you too. You guys aren’t attached at the hip you know.”

 “He would have messaged me.”

 “Moving takes time, maybe he was gonna tell you when he was settled in and not dead tired.”

 “Maybe…”

 “He’s fine, don’t worry too much or you’ll start getting ideas.”

 “Oh yeah? Like what?”

 “Like he doesn’t want to be your friend anymore, or he’s been kidnapped.” Hyunjin laughed. “Just don’t do anything stupid that’s gonna end up embarrassing him.”

 “Yeah…” Minho stared down at the picture again. “Yeah he’s probably fine.”

[i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend]

Queer Eye for the Cap Guy ~ Part 7

A/N: Hi my lovelies! This story is back too!!! I’m really excited So just as an FYI there will be one more main part of this story. and then I have 2-3 “off screen scenes “ that will come out after the story is completed. I hope you enjoy! 

Summary:  Steve gets to see his new place and the Fab Five get to see the new Steve 

Rating: T 

Warnings; Language, Manly tears, feels, 

Word Count: 3042 

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The Fab Five Reveal (Retired, Refreshed, and Ready to Live)

“Are you ready to see the new space?” Karamo asked as they pulled up to the building.

“Yes, I can’t wait to see what Bobby did with the place.”

“Well, we’re here.”

Karamo honked before hopping out of the truck and leading Steve to the side door.

“Boys, we’re here,” Karamo called as he cracked open the door.

“Come on in!”

Steve stopped dead in his tracks as he crossed the threshold.

“Oh my god. Holy – wow.”

He was vaguely aware of the fab five gushing over his new look, but he honestly tuned out as his eyes darted around the room, first, tactically and then in awe.

The first floor was now sectioned off into two areas, separated by a clear fiberglass wall. The side closest to the front of the building was set up as a garage. His bike had already been parked inside and there was a very professional tool chest on wheels set next to a plush couch. He spied a tag from Tony on the tool chest and smiled.

“Holy shit.”

“You said that you loved working on your bike, and I wanted to leave you enough space if you wanted to work on something larger like a car, but I also wanted to do something really fun,” Bobby explained as they walked past the divider.

The other half of the floor had a ton of workout equipment and even a basketball hoop.

“This is great. I had no idea what to do with this space. Just wow. I’ll never get Bucky and Sam out of here,” he chuckled.

“Well that I can’t help you with. Let’s go see some more.”  

Bobby led the way up the stairs to the partial second floor. The room had floor to ceiling bookshelves on one wall and a large mahogany desk, with a leather chair.

“So I decided to make this room your office because it gives you a space where you can work, but when you’re done the papers can stay here and it won’t bleed into the rest of your life.”

Steve nodded absently as he admired the art on the wall. Two large charcoal sketches – one of Brooklyn from his youth and one of Brooklyn when he came out of the ice - flanked the paned window.

“This is awesome. And I like that it’s separate. I’m not the best at balance.”

“I totally get that. It’s really hard, but this will help.”

“Agreed.”

“Now, let’s go see the rest of your space.”

They took the elevator up to the third floor and this time Steve’s knees fully buckled.

“Are you sure this is the same building?” he asked sounding breathless.

“I’m sure.”

“You’re amazing. This is amazing. Thank you so much. I’m not sure how but, you figured out exactly what I wanted.”

“That’s what I’m here for. I wanted this whole floor to be open concept. That way people can be watching TV or cooking or eating and still all be together.”

“Perfect,” Steve mumbled, unable to say much more than the simple words of praise.  

Bobby gently guided him to the right towards the kitchen.

“So, here we’ve got tons of prep space, and you can eat at the counter if it’s just you or it’s something casual. But I also wanted you to have a full dining table and I figured between all of the combinations of Avengers dinner parties could get pretty large so this expands to fit twenty.”

“I guess I’m hosting Thanksgiving this year.”

“You certainly could.”

Moving further into the room, Steve ran his fingers along the smooth mahogany of the billiards table.

“I know we didn’t talk about it, but Bucky and Sam mentioned that you’re a fan of pool so we got you this.”

“It’s beautiful. And I love pool.”

His attention was drawn to the artwork on the wall.

“I love that you got Bucky’s photos properly framed.”

“As we were packing up your old place, I noticed that you didn’t have a ton of things that were you, but you lots of things from your friends and I really wanted to honor that.”

“It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bobby replied warmly.

After a moment, Steve turned his focus to the living room.

“I love this sectional. It’s exactly what I envisioned.”

“Good, and we also have –“

“The wingback chair,” Steve breathed. “This is just like the one my ma had.” He sniffed and swiped at his eyes. “How did you know exactly what to get?”

“Well you gave a pretty good description, but I also asked Bucky to weigh in on the final decision.”

“It’s perfect.”

“Have a seat.”

Steve sank down into the soft leather, wriggling slightly to get comfortable; his fingers knotted in the heavy knit afghan that adorned it. Even that felt familiar.

“It’s just like I remembered it.”

He savored the moment, shutting his eyes and letting himself feel like a little kid again. If he shed a tear or two Bobby didn’t comment. When his eyes snapped open the focused on the wall opposite him which was littered in pictures.

“Are those…”

He was on his feet in moments, striding over to inspect them. All of the pictures were black and white. About three quarters of them were modern pictures taken at parties and hangouts. Bucky, Sam, Nat, and Y/n were featured heavily. But a few photos were of the Howlies and Peggy which was lovely but not completely surprising. What Steve was flabbergasted by were the photos of him and Bucky as children and of him with his mother.

“How could you possibly have found these?” His voice shook and he was crying hard enough that he could not see Bobby let alone the pictures clearly anymore.

“When you went in the ice, the government appropriated all of your belongings. Most of it got sent to the archives of the Smithsonian. Y/n and I worked with a really lovely historian there and got them released.”

“Y/n?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. She wanted to do this and actually she’d already started the ball rolling, I just helped integrate into the place. She flew to D.C. a couple days ago to get the photographs.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” Steve sniffled, and reaching out to hug Bobby, who despite being smaller was clearly supporting the super soldier. “I haven’t seen a photo of my mom since I went in the ice. I thought they were all lost. This is everything.”

Bobby held tight as Steve’s body shuddered as he cried before finally gathering his composure and taking a deep but shaky breath.  

“Sorry,” he mumbled, but Bobby was already shaking his head.  

“Don’t ever apologize for crying. It’s completely natural. Now are you ready to see more?”

“I’m not sure my heart can take much more, but let’s do it,” he agreed blowing out a long breath.

The master bedroom took up half of the top floor and was decorated in blues and grays. It was perfectly calm and Steve was already looking forward to spending some time just relaxing.

“Any guesses on what’s through that door?” Bobby teased.

“Not a clue,” Steve admitted.

His normal battlefield evaluation skills were lacking today.

“Go and see.”

“NO WAY!” he practically shouted as he opened the door stepped into his new art studio.

He understood now why you exited the elevator into the bedroom. The studio had windows on three sides, guaranteeing him not only the best light but the best views.

“I was planning to set an easel up in the garage.”

“Well, I think this is a lot better.”

“Oh tons.”

“And if you want to enjoy this view from your bed, you can. The walls are partition walls and you can push them off to the side whenever you want.”

“That’s brilliant. I honestly, I know I keep saying the same things over and over again, but I’m completely speechless. I had no idea what to do with any of these spaces, let alone the whole building top to bottom. If I had it my way, I probably would have been living out of boxes with wooden crate furniture. But this is… home. I haven’t felt at home maybe ever. And to walk into this space and have it feel like me here and now is just so unbelievable. Thank you,” Steve gushed, hugging him again, although without sagging into him this time.

“I’m so glad that you feel this way and that I was able to do this for you. Everyone deserves to feel that their space is theirs. And that it suits them. You deserve a place where you want to come back to and that you want to share with others.”

“And I do.”

“Good. Now, I have one last surprise for you.”

“How can there possibly be more,” Steve laughed in an exhale.

“Well, like you said, I redesigned the whole building from the bottom up. And there’s more level above us.”

“You didn’t.”

Bobby merely pointed and gestured for Steve to lead the way. The super soldier took the steps in three bounds and burst onto the roof.

“Oh my god.”

The roof had been transformed. The lone folding chair was gone, replaced with black wicker patio set with a loveseat, chairs, and a coffee table. There was also greenery along the whole perimeter, and lanterns.

“I know you love it up here. So I wanted to make sure it was –“

“A sanctuary,” he completed.

“Exactly.”

Steve was reluctant to leave his little slice of heaven, but Jonathan brooked no room for arguing.

“So, welcome to your beautiful master bathroom which we have set for all of your grooming needs.”

“Great. Because I’d have no idea what to buy.”

“I gotchu, henny,” he opened the drawer next to the sink to reveal several styling tools. “So we’ve got your razor with guards for keeping your beard nice and neat as well as a hair dryer. You probably won’t use that day to day but if you want to you can. I showed you how to work with that.”

“Yes, the twist and pull technique.”

“Exactly. And we’ve got a beard oil just to keep it soft. So two drops after your shower.”

“Got it.”

And I got you a great pomade. So, take a little in your hands and you’re going to work it in. Once you can feel it grab onto your hair, you can take a little bit of a lighter touch and once your hair is basically where you want leave it.”

Steve fiddled with his hair for a few moments before he was satisfied.

“Perfect,” Jonathan announced. “You are such a dreamboat.”

The super soldier’s cheeks turned pink.

“Seriously. You are so radiant from the inside out. So gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”

“And I have one last thing to remind you about. Sunscreen. I don’t care if you’re a super soldier. Sunscreen. Every day. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve chuckled.

“Good.”

“Can I steal him?” Tan asked as he popped into the bathroom?

“Absolutely. He’s all yours.”

“Come on, handsome. Let’s get you into some outfits.”

“Let’s do it.”

Tan led him over to the large closet.

“So we’ve organized your closet in a way that makes sense for you, which means casual to formal. So we’ve got your pants, jeans, khakis, dress pants. And then your shirts, t-shirts, short sleeve shirts, long sleeve shirts, sweaters, jackets. And suits.”

“Makes sense. I’ll just have to move some stuff to make room for my sweatpants,” Steve commented with a grin.

“I know that you’re a super soldier but if you go around wearing sweatpants after all this I will throw down with you.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Tan glared slightly before reaching past him for a garment bag.

“Now, tomorrow is a formal event, so I got you a tux.”

“Wow. This is awesome. And definitely the nicest thing I’ve ever owned,” he admitted when Tan opened the bag. “I love the color.”

“I thought you would. It’s gonna look killer.”

The fab five were sitting on the couch talking when the elevators opened. They’d been strictly instructed not to peek.

“Are you ready for the first look, boys.”

“Yes!”

“Well see for yourself.”

Steve stood with his hand in the pocket of a dark blue suit which fit him perfectly. He looked like a movie star.

“OH MY GOSH. YOU LOOK AMAZING,” Karamo bellowed.

Jonathan let out a high pitched squeal.  

“Tan, that suit is the perfect fit.”

As he walked closer, they couldn’t help but notice the confidence in his stride.

“How do you feel?” Antoni asked.

“I feel great. I think this is the first time I’ve worn a suit and not felt like a monkey in a tie.”

“You look fantastic.”

“I love the color.”

“So we also got him a gray and a black suit so he has them for important events. Press conferences, meetings.”

“Announcing a campaign for presidency,” Jonathan suggested.

“I’d vote for you,” Karamo agreed.

“I don’t see that in the cards,” Steve laughed.

“You never know.”

When the elevator opened the second time, Steve didn’t hesitate before striding over to the couch in dark jeans, a white Henley, and a bluish gray cardigan.

“Yassssssss.”

“I love this entire look.”

“Do you love it?”

One look at the broad grin on his face gave the answer.

“Oh completely. It’s so comfortable, but I feel really good about how I look as well.”

“I wasn’t expecting the cardigan,” Bobby commented.

“Tan had to make sure I looked my age,” Steve joked.

“I told you I’d get you a cardigan that makes sense for you.”

“And you did. It’s nice, I don’t feel restricted at all.”

“Good. And if you do want a going out look, just slide off the cardigan and slip on this jacket.”

“Yas. Sign me up.”

“You look so cool.”

“I kept your classic brown leather jacket. This is just a more modern option.”

“I love a collarless leather jacket.”

“And the black is so sleek. You look great.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, are you ready to cook?” Antoni asked clapping his hands together.

“Yes.”

He followed the food and wine expert towards the kitchen after slipping off the leather jacket.

“So Bobby and I designed the space with a lot of function and a little bit of fun. So we got you a pasta maker, I already have the lasagna attachment on. And this slab of the counter is for chocolate work so you can temper it and make those chocolate curls or anything else that you want. Today we’re going to use it to chop up some chocolate to make, any guesses?”

He looked at the bowl of ice on the counter and the chocolate and shrugged.

“Not a clue.”

“Chocolate mousse.”

Steve blanched.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I’d hate to ruin my nice new kitchen.”

“You’re not going to ruin anything. This recipe only has two ingredients and requires no appliances.”

“Alright. I’m trusting you.”

“Good choice. So what you need is chocolate, and you want really high quality chocolate because that’s the only ingredient you’re going to taste. Because the other ingredient is water?”

“Really?” He quirked an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

“Yep. So what we’re going to do is chop up our chocolate – which Martin was kind enough to provide for us - into nice quarter sized chunks and add it to hot water and whisk until it’s melted. Once it is, we move it into the ice and whisk until it sets.”

After showing him how to whisk properly, Antoni had him take over.

“One of the other reasons I like this recipe is because if you over whip it, all you do is warm it up again and whisk again. Whereas with a cream based recipe, there’s no coming back. Alright, that looks just about perfect.”

Antoni spooned some mousse into ramekins and handed one to Steve.

“Bon appetite.”

Steve groaned when he tasted it.

“Oh my god.”

“It’s good right?”

“So good.”

“And it’s super easy to make.”

“This is dangerous,” he chuckled after another large bite. “Y/n’s gonna have me making this every other day.”

Antoni simply grinned in response.

“Come sit with us,” Karamo called from where he was sitting.

“Yes, come snuggle yourself right in here.”

Steve settled in the center of the sectional between Karamo and Jonathan.

“So, when we started the week, you told me that you wanted to find a future. Do you feel like you’ve done that?”

He was already nodding.

“Yeah, I do. Since I came out of the ice, I’ve been stuck between two worlds. I was either living in the past or trying to just throw myself into the future. I never felt like I could move on because I was mourning that part of my life. But now, you’ve helped me see that I have a lot to live for now. Not just the fight. And you’ve also given me connections to the past I thought were long gone, so now I feel like I can still love it and remember it without living it. I’m really excited to discover more about what I love.”

“I’m so excited for you to get to know you, because we have all fallen in love with you.”

“You are such a kind, genuine, good man, and you are beautiful inside and out,” Jonathan reached out holding his hand.

“I hope you see the man the rest of us see.”  

“I’m starting to. And I just want to say thank you. At the beginning of the week I never expected to be able to be so open with strangers and really explore who I am. Thank you for coming here to help me.”

“You are so welcome. Now unfortunately, it is time for us to go.”

“I’m going to miss you all,” Steve admitted.

“We’ll miss you too. Enjoy everything. You deserve it.”

“Come on. Group hug.”

They crowded in around him before giving him each individual hugs and leaving Steve in his new home to get ready for his dinner party. He smiled to himself as he looked around.

“Home,” he whispered.

~~~~~~~ 

A/N: Reference pic for Steve’s casual look here (top left) I hope that you enjoyed this part. I really loved writing it, and I won’t lie I cried a couple times. Thanks so much for reading! 

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[angryteapot]

Last Laugh

Characters: Reader, Steve Rogers

Word Count: 1485

Warnings: None, I think? Let me know if I need to add anything.

Summary:  You and Steve are workout buddies. But really, you're no match for Captain America, so you're just there for the laughs and his muscles.

A/N: Just something I wrote forever ago, back when I didn’t care about unrealistic workout regimens lol. I re-read it and nearly died from the awfulness of it. So yeah... read at your own peril, I guess. 

Want to be tagged in more garbage? Send me an ask! <3

You stand outside in the morning chill in your thin workout clothes, with your phone and headphones in hand. You shiver, but know you'll be sweating in no time once Cap comes down to join you. You play a game on your phone, enjoying standing still while you can. 

Steve walks through the compound entrance, calling out to you, "Hey Y/N, shouldn't you be doing warm up stretches?" You grin at him saying, "I'm hoping a cramp will incapacitate me so I won't have to run."

He smiles and shakes his head, and you both stretch a little before your run. The compound training area is huge, and you're seriously not looking forward to attempting to keep up with the super soldier. You aren't a fan of running unless it's a life or death situation, in which case you're nearly as fast as Steve and Bucky, to everyone's intense surprise. 

You start out at a light jog, music blaring through your headphones and motivating you to match your pace with the pounding rhythm. You speed up a little, Steve matching your pace. You're finally finishing your second lap around the perimeter when Steve signals to you that he's going to go full speed. 

You're surprised that he stuck with you for so long, considering that your running pace wasn't even enough for him to break a sweat. You, on the other hand, were already overheating and peeled off your thin sweater, leaving you in a tank top. You took a minute to get some water, deciding that one more lap should be sufficient before you collapse.

You're going at a good pace, enough to make your lungs burn and legs ache, but not so much that it's overwhelming. You're not even a third of the way through your lap when Steve breezes past you, shouting, "On your left!" with a shit-eating grin. Ugh, that asshole. Now you know how Sam feels whenever he trains with Steve. 

By the time you finish your lap (about 5 normal-people-sized laps), Steve has passed you up and shouted "On your left!" three more times, each time accompanied by a bigger grin at your glare. 

You collapse on the lawn, chugging water and trying desperately to catch your breath. Steve finishes another lap before jogging up to you with a smile, motioning for the water in your hand. You throw it at his head with a mock glare, chuckling at his affronted expression when he catches it.

You flop down on your back, pulling the headphones out of your ears and putting them in your pocket. Steve smirks down at you, taunting, "Given up already, Y/L/N? We're barely getting started." 

You glare up at him, staring at his stupid muscles and that stupid smirk. "You can workout to your heart's content, Captain. But I'm remaining right where I am. Maybe I'll practice my Dead Man's yoga pose." 

He laughs at your antics, dropping into position for push ups a few feet from you. You lazily turn to look at him, giving him a look that said 'you're crazy'. He only arched an eyebrow and laughed at you before starting his push ups.

You stared up at the sky, catching your breath, when an idea hit you. For Steve, working out hardly ever had him out of breath. Laughter, though, always had him gasping for air like a fish out of water. You formulated a plan and rolled over towards him until your head was right next to his whenever he did a push up. 

When he went down, he held himself effortlessly and looked confusedly at your upside down face next to his. 

"Hi," you said cheekily with a smile. 

"... Hey?" was his confused reply before he pushed up again for another push up. 

When he went back down again, you were humming some song and looking up at the clouds. Steve smiled fondly because of how close you were and how comforting it was just to have you near while he worked out. He continued his push ups, your splayed-out hair brushing his nose whenever he was in the down position. 

You suddenly spoke, so softly that his super soldier hearing was the only reason he heard it. Between your humming, you had whispered, "My ass on the grass," with a slight giggle. He huffed out a laugh, amused at your weird comment.

You continued your plan to hear his adorable laughter until he was paralyzed with it and gasping for air. Still looking at the clouds, you saw a vague rabbit-looking shape and sing-songed, "Bunny with the money, looking for the honeys." 

Steve let out a snort at this, and you were disappointed that it wasn't a full laugh. Time for Phase Two, then. Few knew that Steve "Captain America" Rogers was ticklish, and those that did know were threatened with death should they try anything. You, however, were always the exception from his wrath; only earning the Eyebrows of Disappointment ™ while he playfully threw you onto the nearest soft surface and tickled you until you begged for mercy.

The next time he was in the down position, you whisper, "Abs for the grabs," as you reach under him and lightly tickle his clenched stomach. 

He laughs in surprise, twitching hard as he holds himself up with one hand and swats you away with the other. 

Yes, success! Thinking it was a one time thing, he continues with his push ups while you formulate more rhymes. 

You rhyme his various body parts while poking and tickling said part until he's gasping for breath, his eyes and nose adorable scrunched with laughter. 

You poke his forehead next, saying," Frontal lobe gets the probe!" His face scrunches while he laughs, though still not giving up on his workout. Time to bring out the big guns then...

You suddenly shout, "Pecs that flex!" and place your hands on his pectorals, squeezing the firm muscles and laughing hysterically to yourself. 

Steve's eyes widen in shock as he bursts out laughing, almost falling from his position as he gasps for breath between each laugh. 

HELL YEAH, you are triumphant! When he finally catches his breath, there's a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and you know that you're in for some payback. 

You try to scramble away, but (still in push-up position) he pushes up hard, his hands leaving the ground as he come back down, landing in the down position again; this time with his hands on either side of your upside-down head. You lay there gaping like a fish, half impressed at his dexterity, a quarter aroused, and a quarter mock-fearful about whatever his payback is going to be.

*Image is only used to show the position, no implied appearance of Y/N*

But he doesn't move, only holds himself up as he gazes intensely at you. You swallow, gazing fondly into his ocean eyes. Said deep blue eyes roam your face before looking into your own bright eyes again. He notices your breathing, blush-tinged cheeks, and your slightly-parted lips. 

You swallow and try to joke, "Elbow to elbow!" while hooking your arms around his bent elbows. 

He smiles beautifully and, unable to stand his longing anymore, whispers, "Mouth to mouth." 

The words barely register in your brain before he lowers himself further, his soft lips meeting yours in an upside down kiss. When he pulls back, your eyes flutter open and you roll over, pushing yourself up and looking him in the eye. 

You give him a small smile (because he looks adorably anxious) and move back in to kiss him again. He sighs and sinks into the kiss, dazedly pulling back after a moment and resting his forehead against yours. 

You share a smile, and while he thinks you're moving in for another kiss, you stop with your lips barely brushing his. He glances at you, waiting for another kiss, when you suddenly whisper, "Tongue to cheek," licking a broad stripe up his cheek.

Before he can process what just happened, you laugh joyously and spring up before sprinting away towards the compound. He stares after you in shock before grinning devilishly, jumping up to sprint after you. He has a difficult time catching up to your unnatural speed, but he eventually does, and slings an arm around your waist, lifting you up and swinging you around in circles. 

Peals of laughter escape your lips as he spins you, with you clutching onto his arms for dear life. When he stops spinning, he holds your body tight to his, your feet not even brushing the ground. 

He grins at you adoringly before kissing you softly and putting you back down on your feet. You hug him and grab his hand as you walk into the compound together for your customary post-workout breakfast. 

Glancing up at his satisfied smile, you think you could get used to actually keeping up with him on a run if it ended with playful chasing and victory kisses.

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday, sunflowerslyf!

Apologies for the delay on your gift, @sunflowerslyf! We hope you had a wonderful back on the 16th, and got all the presents you wished for! To bring your party back around, @ally147writes has written a story just for you!

AN: Sorry for the delay, @sunflowerslyf! I’ve been pretty sick the past week or so, but I’m kind of on the mend! Full disclosure, I don’t know if this qualifies as a ‘meet-ugly’, but you wanted some smut as well, so I had to make a few modifications. There’s no actual smut in this story (sorry...), and there’s a lot I’d love to go back in and add or flesh out since I did rush it finished a little, but I hope you’ll enjoy this anyway ;)

This story was inspired somewhat by the police station scene between Jennifer Grey and Charlie Sheen in ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’.

Rated M for mostly for language and a little touchy-feely business. Unbeta’d. All errors are my own.

At least, Katniss notes, the whole place smells like bleach and latex.

 More than she could say for the parlour Jo dragged her to. She doesn’t remember a whole lot about that night other than the stench of cheap beer, vomit, and unwashed hair.

 The only other thing that doesn’t separate this place from the tattoo parlour is the clientele.

Katniss tugs her cardigan tight and crosses her arms and darts her gaze back and forth between the others occupying the seats around her. Between the young girl with the spiked, blood-red mohawk and the two guys who look like they’re members of violent biker gang, she’s the most demure one here, that’s for sure.

“So…” A low, sensuous says from the chair two down from her. “Where’s yours?”

 She freezes. The guy’s been watching her since she came in, and she’s been doing all she can not to stare right back, because he’s somehow the encapsulation of all the things your mother warned you to be careful of in a boy. Blond hair styled in an undercut, with the curls on top left untouched; blood-shot blue eyes, lined with something dark that might be smudged eyeliner or the evidence of a good, hard punch, that somehow still hold hers with an alertness she never would have expected; a small hoop glints from his eyebrow, and another two in the ear she can see. His white shirt, maybe a size too small, is a tight fit around his ornately tattooed arms, and it hugs his tapered torso almost obscenely. A leather jacket is slung over the arm of the chair, smooth and old and worn. She wonders if he got it second-hand or stole it, or maybe both.

 She lets out a breath and faces him front on. “My what?”

 He grins lazily. She crosses her legs. “You’re in a tattoo removal clinic, remember? So, where’s your shitty ink?”

 “Oh.” Her cheeks flush. “It’s, uh… not visible.”

 He snorts. “No shit, sweetheart, you’re covered from head to toe. So, unless it’s on your tits or something, mind at least giving me a hint?”

 Her jaw drops, but she recovers quickly and flashes her most menacing scowl. And pulls her cardigan a little tighter over her chest. “Go fuck yourself.”

 He grins wider. She swallows. “You’re kinda pure, aren’t you?”

 She swivels forward. “I don’t need to defend myself to you.”

 “That’s exactly what you’re doing, though, aren’t you?” He stands, and he’s not much taller than her, maybe a couple of inches, but he’s broad, built like a wrestler. He shuffles a little and settles in the seat beside hers and leans in close. She steals a breath and nearly shivers. Cinnamon and dill, fire smoke and something like warm, fresh bread.

 And something else a little like whiskey. God, is he drunk?

 Did someone turn up the heaters? She was freezing just a moment ago.

 “What are you doing?”

 He holds up his hands, both large enough to span her waist and then some.

 “Nothing at all. Just getting to know you. Can’t do that from all the way over there.” He grins again, and his teeth are perfectly white, though not perfectly straight, which is kind of a relief. “So,” he leans in close, “is it on your tits?”

 “What the fu — no! It’s not!”

 “Bummer. Thigh? Wrist? Ass?”

 “Jesus, why do you care so much?”

 “Just making conversation. I’ve been waiting in here over an hour now.” He smiles again, a little more subdued this time. “You’re by far the most interesting thing in the room.”

 She watches him stretch his legs out. Those black jeans will be the death of her. “Those lines ever work?”

 “I don’t know.” He bats his lashes. “You tell me.”

 She rubs at her eyes. “Why don’t you just leave me alone, dude?”

 “You’re really not going to tell me where it is, are you?”

 “Just not sure why you’re so curious.”

 “And I’m not sure why you’re so scared.”

 “Well,” she says, swallowing again. “Where’s yours?”

 “On my stomach. Wanna have a look?” Without waiting, he stands and whips his shirt up, revealing a set of abs that have no place on a seedy-looking dude at a tattoo removal clinic.

 She blinks at the expanse of colour decorating his body; abstract swirls like fireworks, flowers and faces, a bird in flight and wall of flames, every single one so sharp and intricate they look like they belong on a canvas in a gallery, though she concedes this man’s body is a more than acceptable substitute.

 “I… which one?”

 “This one.” He gestures to a trident slung low on his hip, disappearing into his jeans. Please, Jesus, don’t take those off, too. Or do, maybe, fucked if I know…

 “It’s… uh…”

 He snorts. “You can say it. Looks like shit. Not my best work, that’s for sure.”

 “You did it yourself?”

 “Most of them,” he says with a shrug, like it’s no big deal. I frequently stab myself with a needle for kicks. “Just not usually hammered when I do it.”

 She breaks her gaze away from the tapered V of his hips and meets his eyes again. “Why were you doing it, then?”

 He shrugs again. “Lost a bet to a friend. Tridents are kinda his thing. I might redo it again another time when I’m not pissed as a maggot.” He tugs his shirt back down and sits. “So. Where’s yours?”

 She sighs. “Lower back.”

 “Ah.” He nods, and God damn, did she just spy a tongue piercing? “Classic. What’s it of?”

 “A katniss flower.”

 He blinks. “I don’t get it.”

 She lets out a tired laugh. “My name’s Katniss. Seems a little conceited, don’t you think?”

 “I don’t know. Depends, I guess. Not like you’d be showing a ton of people anyway, what with it back there and all.” He grins again, and for a moment, he looks so much younger. “Can I see it?”

 “What? No!”

 He pouts. “Why not?”

 “Because,” she mutters at the ground. “It’s dumb.”

 “So why’d you get it in the first place?”

 She shoots him a wry smile. “Also hammered. My friend got one that night, too. Somehow, drunk me thought it’d be a great idea.”

 He laughs. “You make it sound like you’re the only one to do anything dumb when they’re drunk. You should probably loosen up a little. Relax, you know? Not like you’re the first person to make a bad decision before.” He smiles and wiggles his eyebrows at her. “Wanna make another one?”

 “You’re not going to let up, are you?”

 “Hey, I showed you mine.”

 She shakes her head and lets out a long, low sigh, ending on a chuckle. “I really don’t know why I’m doing this.” She leans forward, reaches back to untuck her tank top from her jeans. The chilly air hits the skin of her lower back as she inches it up to expose the ink she first thought was a mutant spider when she caught sight of it in the mirror the day after it happened.

 The guy’s hands ghost over her back, radiating a heat that makes her shudder with anticipation of his real touch. “Lean forward a little more, please?”

 She does as told, and when his fingers make contact, it takes everything in her not to melt at the gentle, ginger touch she did not expect from such an oddball presence.

 “It’s exquisite work,” he murmurs. His blunt nails tracing the design ignite a flood of goose-bumps along her spine. Heat courses through her, enough to fill her cheeks and every part of her. She clenches her thighs together and prays he doesn’t notice. “Gorgeous, really. Whoever did it did a really good job. You sure you wanna go through with getting it removed?”

 “Yeah. I mean, I never really wanted one anyway.”

 “It suits you. Sexy as hell, too, if you ask me.” She didn’t, but there’s a little thrill coursing through her regardless. “And a namesake tattoo isn’t a bad thing. I’d have a piece of pita bread on me if that wasn’t a totally batshit insane idea.” He removes his hand, and some stupid part of her brain misses it like crazy.

 She tugs her tank back down and sits up. Weird guy seems much closer now, or was he always this close?

 “Your name’s Pita?” Her voice sounds almost choked.

 He smiles again, and she can’t help but stare at his lips now that he’s this close. “Peeta, actually.”

 “I probably should have asked that before I let you put your hands on me.”

 “If you had any sort of hindsight you wouldn’t be here at all.” He reaches out and tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear. Why the fuck is she letting him do that again? “Right now, I’m kinda glad you’re an idiot. I probably wouldn’t have met you otherwise.”

 She swallows and tilts her head closer, letting him curl his hand around the back of her neck. The scent of him and the sound of his voice is kinda hypnotic… “I kind of don’t hate it right now, either.”

 She kind of falls into him then, and she’s got no real good reason why. Because he’s hot? That’s as good a reason as any. All she knows, his hands are mangling her braid and lips are warm and soft on hers, gentle and commanding at the same time, like he knows exactly what he wants and how to get it. But there’s something that she wants, too. She wrests control away, and he lets her, like he’d been waiting for her to seize it the whole time. She licks the perimeter around his lips until he opens for her, and yeah, he does taste vaguely like whiskey and smoke that isn’t cigarette smoke, and it’s weird but it’s so flipping good and God, what is with this guy and —

 “Katniss Everdeen?”

 She rips herself away from Peeta and pushes him hard enough that he falls astride the chairs making up their row. He watches with a quirked brow — the one with the piercing — as she bolts up from her seat and steals her bag from the floor. A bespectacled man in a white coat stands in the doorway leading to the treatment rooms, flashing her a knowing smirk that she kinda wants to slap off. “Would you like to come through?”

 “I, uh… sure.”. She looks back at Peeta, who’s still watching her with the most ridiculously amused grin. She can’t help another lazy perusal up… and down. “It was… uh, nice to meet you, Peeta.”

 Peeta grins and waves, just a subtle flick of his fingers. “See ya later, Katniss.”

 Oh, God, yes I hope so...

[fae-fucker]

Review: The Murder Complex

by Lindsay Cummings

An action-packed, blood-soaked, futuristic debut thriller set in a world where the murder rate is higher than the birthrate. For fans of Moira Young’s Dust Lands series, La Femme Nikita, and the movie Hanna.

Meadow Woodson, a fifteen-year-old girl who has been trained by her father to fight, to kill, and to survive in any situation, lives with her family on a houseboat in Florida. The state is controlled by The Murder Complex, an organization that tracks the population with precision.

The plot starts to thicken when Meadow meets Zephyr James, who is—although he doesn’t know it—one of the MC’s programmed assassins. Is their meeting a coincidence? Destiny? Or part of a terrifying strategy? And will Zephyr keep Meadow from discovering the haunting truth about her family?

Action-packed, blood-soaked, and chilling, this is a dark and compelling debut novel by Lindsay Cummings.

There’s a video on YouTube where Sasha Alsberg and Lindsay Cummings try to promote Zenith and their favorite books by speculating about what sort of books Andi would enjoy reading.

Lindsay, being the humble creature that she is, says that Andi would enjoy this book. Why? Because Andi would recognize Meadow’s methods as similar to her own? Because Andi would enjoy reading an edgy “thriller” because she too is edgy? Or even because both Andi and Meadow are beautiful waifish white girls with silver hair who don’t particularly mind killing people?

Actually, no, you absolute fool. Sasha speculates on why Andi would enjoy this book (because of the title and how both Meadow and Andi have … uh … something … in common) and tries and fails to give Lindsay a way out. Lindsay admits to not listening, occupied with her book, which she lovingly strokes while staring into the camera.

I think this says a lot about Lindsay herself, Andi’s personality (or rather, lack thereof), and most importantly, the content of this here book.

This review contains spoilers and discussions of potentially triggering topics.

The Writing

I don’t have much to say here. Zenith was far, far worse when you just compare the prose. It’s simple, bare-bones, and straight to the point. Perfectly mediocre and not memorable at all. It flows well enough, and if it weren’t for uuuh everything else in this book, I’d say it’s a quick and easy read.

It does get very melodramatic and edgy at times, but that is to be expected, and since the melodrama mostly avoids getting too purple or lasting too long, I will officially give Cummings the “I could read your book mostly without cringing at the words” award.

The story is told from Meadow and Zephyr’s POVs, and I’d have to disagree with other reviewers who said that their narration was too similar. I mean, it wasn’t spectacular and they definitely had some overlap in expressions, but I could tell that Cummings was making a conscious effort to make them distinct and for me, it worked (mostly past the first half of the book where both of them just mope around and sound very similar), so I commend that.

The Characters

Now, while Andi OH SHIT FUCK I DIDN’T MEAN TO DO THAT THAT WASN’T A BIT I LITERALLY JUST TYPED ANDI INSTEAD OF MEADOW

Now, while Meadow and Zephyr are distinct, that doesn’t really mean they’re good characters, yea? Honestly, they’re pretty much the only ones who get any type of development and the only ones who can, paradoxically, turn off their edge and just be normal people every now and then.

Meadow is supposedly this Strong Femail Charactor who does Bad Things for Good Reasons. And … I mean, yeah? Like, I don’t remember ever feeling like she obsessed over a man, and her motivations were always either keeping her little sister safe or surviving or figuring out the mystery around their society and how it ties into her own family. As far as YA heroines go, Meadow isn’t terrible. But she’s not exactly interesting, either. She’s always collected and rarely loses her cool, she displays few emotions outside of anger, and is generally cold and downplayed to the point of having barely any personality traits. I guess it’s sort of on purpose? But there are ways of making a character subtle and still interesting, and Meadow just feels like somebody packaged a Strong Femail Charactor right out of the factory without slapping some paint on her first. Idk, I guess if this is what Lindsay was going for then she did a good job, but personally I prefer my protags to be a bit more … more.

I will apologize to Meadow for calling her Andi, though. Andi is a lot more smug and obnoxious and has fewer reasons to be.

Zephyr is a harder to define because I’m pretty sure he’s intended to be more colorful than Meadow, but he comes off as even more generic than her. He’s a convincing enough teenage boy at times, because he lusts after Meadow like a puppy and thinks in super dramatic and poetic prose about how perfect and beautiful she is. But outside of that, he just sort of exists and the plot happens to him? He has no consistent personality traits and no flaws that he has control over. He’s partially brainwashed to murder on command and he’s like, sad about it, for a second, but accepts it pretty quickly and swears to help Meadow out for … reasons? Idk I guess he’s in love with her or whatever. The blurb implies he wants to keep her from discovering the truth but he pretty much helps her from the start.

He’s perfectly non-threatening — a boy next door type if next door was a war zone. Most of the time I wonder how many hands he needs to count all his braincells. One? Or mayhaps two? Whatever happens he just sort of rolls with after a chapter or two of angst and he ends up feeling like he’s a crutch for Meadow, a non-character there to fill the role of the snarky sidekick whose personal conflict is a minor subplot, which is admittedly fairly unusual in YA, but for a co-protagonist isn’t ideal, as one might imagine.

Koi is Meadow’s overprotective older brother who wants to beat up Zephyr for reasons and refuses to chill. And yes, that’s his name.

Periwinkle/Peri is Meadow’s younger sister and Meadow’s Moality Pet. And yes, that’s her name.

Meadow’s dad is an abusive asshole dad who is Too Hard On His Children but whose lessons Turn Out To Be Helpful in the end. No, it’s not his name but I can’t remember what it is and can’t be assed to look it up because he’s just Meadow’s dad. Oh and he likes torture? While Meadow acknowledges her dad is fucked up he’s still treated as this wise authority figure who gives good advice and is only a result of his environment. Society is evil, so that’s why he treats his children like shit and teaches them how to murder good. It’s to protect them, see?

Talan is Zephyr’s best friend and teenage sex worker who lost her child and now is vaguely suicidal but it’s supposed to be charming and quirky??? Talan is the only major character to die brutally for shock value and she seems to welcome it. Tbh she was the only interesting character in the whole book so I actually felt bad when she was killed off like that.

And then there’s a bunch of other characters but what’s the point of me telling you about them since they’re all generic as hell and only exist to spout exposition at Meadow and her boy toy.

There was another character I liked well enough, but only because she was the only PoC and her name was Sketch, which is a pretty neat name, but she didn’t have much of a personality except “snarky hardass” and was basically a Deluxe Edition of an existing “snarky hardass” character. She appears only in the late chapters of the book and is there to get brutalized for the sake of our two white protags. She didn’t die though, so there’s that?

The Plot

Alright, alright, I guess I have to write something.

I honestly have no fucking idea what the plot was. The blurb pretty much tells it all: Meadow meets Zephyr, they fall in love (?), Zephyr goes all Terminator on her ass and she’s like ??? and then uh … turns out Meadow’s family/dead mom are involved in the Murder Complex, which is the thing that’s making Zephyr and other random people kill others when remotely “activated” and so now they gotta find out what the heckity heck is going on, I guess?

It’s a clear enough plot but the motivations are a little weak, especially on Zephyr’s side. One would think he’d like to get rid of the whole “murder on command” thing in his brain but he seems to be able to fight it off easily once he meets Meadow and he’s more focused on helping her for reasons.

Yeah, I’m … I’ve already forgotten large chunks of the story so that should tell you something.

The “Worldbuilding”

O SHIT HERE COMES THE JUICY PART OF THE REVIEW.

*clears throat* Here we go:

The Shallows, Night Siren, the Initiative, Catalogue Number, Commandments of the Shallows, Creds, the Perimeter, the Silent Hour, Before, Rations Department, Pirates, the Dark Time, the Pulse, the Pin, the Red train, the Blue train, Wards, the Leeches, the Graveyard, the Survivors, Rations Hall, Initiative Headquarters, Wards of the State, the Gravers, NoteScreen, Evaluator, the Catalogue Dome, the Pit, Cred Orb, the Furnace Room, the Library, Sellout, the Hospital, the Believers …

Holy shit I don’t think I’ve gotten all of the Important Names yet and I’m already tired.

Y’all. This is the worst case of worldbuilding laziness I’ve seen in a while, and I’m someone who absolutely hates worldbuilding and will let authors get away with minimal effort. This? This is awful. And the thing is? I get it. I might’ve forgiven this because coming up with names is HARD and we humans usually go for the obvious anyway so this makes some amount of sense.

The problem is the fact that there are some words and concepts that are PERFECTLY REGULAR (i.e. the Hospital is literally just a fucking hospital) but still capitalized for no goddamn reason other than it being an attempt at sounding all sci-fi and dystopian without any actual effort. Everything blends together and the concepts are so generic and so MANY that it just becomes noise and you’re forced to simply roll with it and stop trying to actually imagine what anything looks like or where it’s located or how it works.

*takes deeep breath*

Speaking of how it works, let me tell you about the main premise. Basically, there was a war, a big war that tore the US apart like Lisa tears apart Johnny. Those who survived the war were infected with a plague, creatively named the Plague, that threatened to wipe out the population. One 20-year-old scientist cured the Plague, along with literally everything else, including death. Thanks to “nanites”, humans can no longer die of natural causes. This leads to overpopulation, and to stop this, the person who invented this all-cure comes up with another absolutely brilliant idea: let’s make MORE humans, but these humans have brains that are programmed to kill on command. Who gets murdered is chosen at random each and every night in a lottery, and survivors have to clean up dozens of new corpses every morning. (Meadow mentions the death rate is now 300 people per month.)

Yeah. I know. The same brilliant scientist who CURED DEATH not only fails to reverse the effects of their own invention, but decides that factory printing brainwashed humans who are then released into the world to also consume resources along with their victims is the best course of action?

Also, there are old people in this book. How are they still aging? How do you cure death but keep the aging? Why do you kill random people for shits and giggles instead of offing the semi-sentient sacks of flesh that the old people are bound to become as their bodies grow and decline but refuse to die? Surely you need young people to work in your factories? If resources are scarce, why keep old people alive past the point where they can contribute to society? If you have the technology to make remote controlled brains, why can’t you yank those bad boys out and just put them into robot bodies?

Why did nobody consider sterilization? I know this is a dangerous and sensitive topic that a white author probably shouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole, but if you’re ok with writing indiscriminate murder and pretend that shit wouldn’t become very racist very fast, then you could do the same with sterilization. You can’t tell me that the nanites are so good they could grow you a new uterus. Evidently they’re not good enough to heal bullet wounds or stab wounds or else your little “murder complex” wouldn’t fucking work, would it?

I’m not saying these are “better” options than murder lottery, because these are all terrible things, but I am saying that they’re definitely more logical and profitable if you’re an evil government. Compared to making new people from scratch to kill your already existing people, anyway.

There are also implications of this all being a lie to control the population so that the “Initiative” can remain in control, along with the usual shitty YA dystopia thing where it’s implied that Earth is fucked and we’re out of resources.

This whole thing is a mess of half-assed concepts that are never explored but just sort of jammed together into an incoherent mess. There’s a big war, there’s a big plague, there’s senseless murder, there’s an evil government, there’s child soldiers, there’s brainwashing, there’s a rebel Resistance, there’s climate change … There’s even an Aptitude Test or whatever that never comes back despite being very angsted and exposited about in the opening chapters. It’s like Lindsay read all the YA dystopias that came before and couldn’t pick a gimmick and just went for all of them.

Oh I haven’t even mentioned the funniest part of all this: the swearing. As with Zenith, Lindsay has no problem describing gory murder and calling female characters “sluts”, but actual human curse words like shit and fuck? Don’t be silly. This is CHILD AND PUBLISHER FRIENDLY. Shit is now “skitz”, “fuck” is now “flux”. Can you imagine reading this fluxing bullskitz? WE NEVER EVEN FIND OUT WHAT THESE WORDS MEAN OR WHY THEY WERE REPLACED, SINCE THIS TAKES PLACE RECENT ENOUGH THAT MEADOW REMEMBERS GOING TO BASEBALL GAMES.

Oh and there’s also ChumHead, which, you guessed it, is never explained.

I guess now we know who to blame for “fike” and “starshined”. Oh and there are swears related to the stars in this book as well. I think Lindsay needs to get off that SJM juice.

The Edgy

Allow me to feed quotes into your gaping brain mouths. Not a lot of them because most of my notes are just me going WHAT at the concepts and the names more than the phrasing.

Every night, I stay awake for as long as I can to keep my nightmares at bay.

Scars are trophies in the Shallows. They show we know how to cheat death.

In a paragraph before this one, Meadow mentions that nanites heal everything but leave scars behind for reasons, and it happens to everyone. So why would they be a status symbol?

It’s the moon. The moon that reminds me of the moonlit girl.

My moonlit girl. She’s the cure to my nightmares, the one thing that helps me feel safe when I can’t even trust my own dreams to harbor me.

Spoken like a real teenage boy, Zeph. Would you like some tissues with that spunk?

I hold the door open for [Talan], but she shrugs past me and opens the other one. Always independent. Never taking help from anyone.

Hi is this a Feminism?

I find two leather thigh sheathes and strap them to my legs. I slide two knives into them and stand, slinging the bow over my shoulder. […] Feeling angry. But feeling strong.

Convenient sexy makeover includes leather knife pockets and a cool but completely-impractical-due-to-the-existence-of-enemy-guns crossbow. I also want to mention that the book calls crossbow ammo “arrows”, when they’re usually referred to as bolts, but go off.

The Conclusion

The Murder Complex is a book that straddles the line between mediocre and bad. Its biggest flaw is how boring and shallow its ideas and characters are. Which basically means its biggest flaw is everything about it. I can’t say it was so bad it’s good, but I can’t exactly call it terrible because I’ve read far, far worse. It’s mediocre writing about bland characters angsting and murdering their way through a convoluted plot that’s based on worldbuilding as solid as half-eaten ham standwich found in a rainy alleyway. It’s not fun or entertaining to read and there’s nothing to get outrageously mad about.

In the end, I don’t think you should pick this up unless you’ve somehow read every other book in the world and this is the only one left. Don’t waste your time on this, not even as a joke. Don’t make my sacrifice be in vain.

[real-fakedoors]

You must have gotten this question a lot but... how did you get the idea for star-crossed? And how’d you develop the world? I was really inspired by how you detailed your story to create such an amazing image for us readers of the world; especially when it got down to politics, the watches, characterizations and the planets-turned-countries. I’m currently writing (or trying to write) a book of my own, and I’ve been struggling with how to incorporate those kind of details. Do you have any advice?

hello & thank you for the ask! what a wonderful question, and an even more glowing compliment!! my heart is so full :,)

it’s a mixture of a few things, and I’m happy to break it down further if you’d like, but allow me to lay out my basic approach to writing in general & this fic specifically. I’ll try to address each question the best I can!

1. Ideas born from ideas

Music - I’m one of those people who draw on other sources of inspiration – especially music. All three of my most popular stories were at least first thought of by songs. (star-crossed was inspired by Constellations by The Oh Hellos).

Reference material/research - I’ve tried to be as explicit as possible in star-crossed when I describe/utilize the design of another creator for the basis of my work (like all of Lance’s pretty outfits), but in general, having reference material is the MOST IMPORTANT thing. I’ve done a ton of research on medieval culture, cuisine, buildings, and courts. A good example of this is from Chapter 16: The Prisoner’s Dilemma, I had no freakin’ idea how to describe a battlement, or what that even was – hence me googling “what is the top of a castle wall called” > they’re called battlements, got it! > google image, battelments 

There, I found this:

and from that, I wrote this:

Quietly, they climbed until the highest reaches opened around them, a large plane of dark stone, stained by ombre rust to near-black on opposing ends of the terrace. A very small amount of snow had gathered, but most of it had blown away in the wind –  some small catches had gathered in pockets of shade, where the perimeter wall was buttressed by columns of scaffolding that each came to a point. They were massive structures, like stone arrows pointing towards the heavens; vaguely, Lance remembered one of his mother’s stories about a fletcher’s workshop for the gods; the sweep magnificence of the architecture, certainly lent itself to a sense of the divine and otherworldly greatness.

Linear plot - In terms of figuring out what I want to accomplish in the story, and in the chapters, I quite literally depend on my notes. I tend to get over-eager and want to do a lot in one chapter, so I force myself to map things out in accordance to time rather than events, and that helps me maintain something of a regular pace.

There are a few things I knew I had to have happen in the story, and some of it filled in naturally as I began writing. Here’s a picture of my office from the week I began writing star-crossed.

(the text on the sticky notes doesn’t really matter; but pink are plot points and yellow are narrative themes)

If you squint – an example – Tuesday was supposed to be the day of the bombing, originally. All of the tension and build up and worries about the murder plot were never actually going to happen, as it was going to be wrong-place/wrong-time as a bomb went off in the city. Lance was always intended to get caught up in it instead of Keith as the target, but that obviously didn’t end up happening.

Why? As I wrote the beginning chapters, I had to remind myself that Keith is the Prince of Marmora, of which their expertise is spy networks and information. It didn’t seem feasible to me that such a large scale attack could occur in Marmora without the Blade knowing about it, which is why the attention ended up shifting towards the ball specifically.

Prompts - I am also of the belief that there is no reason to reinvent the wheel. There are wonderful, wonderful authors and writers out there who generate material specifically designed to help writers kickstart ideas; I collected a huge Google Doc of these when I first started star-crossed just to keep my head in accordance with the right themes. Rarely do I use a prompt word-for-word because they never really fit exactly what I’m writing, but the tone of the language often helps me in moments when I’m stuck. Here’s a sampling (and I am sorry, I didn’t think to mark the original blogs I took these from:

“The world was in flames. People were in need of laughter.”

“The world was in flames” helped me to derive some of the terrible disaster that came on the third night of the ball. I just really like that visual, so much orange and red light, and the unbearable heat.

“You can feel the world blooming and withering around you while you’re in prison.”

This sort of… live-and-die, questioning mortality thing, while in “prison” helped me to build Lance’s internal monologue while he was in the cellar.

“If I ignored destiny, so can you.”

Because Klance.

“I was waiting for a chance to ask you to dance with me, but you were gone.”

A knife-twist of how, though this was loosely inspired by the premise of Cinderella, Keith only got to ask Lance to dance twice over the course of three days – in part because Lance was always gone or with someone else, but also because Keith was equally tied up in the expectation that he was to dance with anyone who asked him.

The watches - That was my hope of tying in the paladin’s bayard. It was theoretically impossible to have a magical weapon appear in the hands of four teenagers and an adult without it raising many conspicuous questions, so I needed something a little more subtle. There’s still some… [redacted] about time that has to [redacted] before [redacted] can [redacted], so I can’t say much more than that. :,)

Pomp, Circumstance & Politics (oh my!) - okay, sorry, I couldn’t resist. heh. but, yeah, I don’t know if I can point to one specific thing in particular that gave rise to the political quagmire of this story. It’s definitely been inspired by an array of existing media – Downton Abbey certainly helped shape the “upper class” vs. “lower class” treatment. I also really enjoy historical readings. fiction or nonfiction, pertaining to wars: Ken Burn’s Vietnam War, for instance, helped remind me of the massive impact the decisions of few can have on the many. Whether or not you support a war, or a policy in Marmora’s case, can have devastating after-effects for the people beneath you. Keith and Krolia happen to be very conscious of this. But even so, there will always be a level of detachment from their view of the “many” (in which Lance, Hunk and Pidge fall), and this is never so apparent as when things are told from Lance’s POV. He’s just another person. He’s just one person. One of the hundred of thousands that would be effected by the daily decisions of Keith or Krolia, and it is that constant tension between “big picture” and “small picture” that I try to draw out in the on-going struggles had by the characters.

2. For me, the character’s are the world. 

That’s not me being poetic or anything – let me explain.

Imagine this: Suppose there is a person who has been devoid of all of their senses, all of their life – no touch, no smell, no hearing – nothing. Then suppose, one day, they are shaken from this catatonic state for the first time. Their senses now free, how would they experience this scene I am writing? What is so prevailing to the senses that it demands to be included in the narrative?

That is how I write my my worlds, at least descriptively. I try to pick out a few key things someone wouldn’t be able to help but notice.

This is great for characterization, too, because I can tweak the premise of the “feelingless individual” to suit how I imagine my characters. 

Keith, for example, from star-crossed – a few things I keep in mind when writing him: he is constantly frustrated by his inability to act on his impulses, so when he does it is extra satisfying. He’s keenly aware of the mannerism of others because of his upbringing in the court – if they have a weapon on their hip, for instance, is something he would notice in a heartbeat.

There were certain ticks to look for in a person trying to get too close: the ways their eyes moved, where their hands sat, what sort of clothing they wore. Was it something trim and fitted to make for an easy escape, or something bulky with a dozen pockets to hide any manner of weapon? Were those chemical burns on their hands from working with unstable materials? Did they look restless, liked they’d been up all night debating with themselves to go through with such a monumental act?

Maybe it was just learned paranoia, but these were the small enough traits that most people wouldn’t notice.

Keith, however, was trained to notice.

Lance, on the other hand, is a little more indulgent but easily overwhelmed; he has been restricted his whole life, so he indulges often and easily, but that puts him in a vulnerable position that can (and has) left him open to being hurt by the world around him. He’s one who is going to notice the weather, the quality of the air, because those were things that held meaning to him when he lived in the mountains – he’s one to fixate on his own mistakes, because he’s used to them being pointed out to him.

Lotor wanted to take off his mask so it was one less thing getting in the way, an obstruction to peeling back Lance’s sense of self, his ideas and interests and beliefs balled up in and thrown in a bin, along with his name and his past, so that he could be some fucked up little prize for the guy’s own enjoyment.

The fucking betrayal of his own body, too. The flushed cheeks, the friction of his hips over Lotor’s… ugh. It wasn’t —  he didn’t want it, it didn’t feel good, but the physical sensation was demanding and his body literally could not do anything but respond, and the memory of that alone was enough to have him clutching his head between his knees, legs drawn up to his chest.

Why was this so confusing? It shouldn’t be, and that only made Lance more frustrated. Lotor was a selfish asshole who tried to use his title to his advantage and force Lance to do things he didn’t want to do. Lance had even succeeded in pushing him away and standing up for himself, but the triumph was bittersweet.

This mindset was especially critical when writing Chapter 14: Twenty-Six Hours, because it was the first time we delved into the consciousnesses of the other characters! (I’m just really happy with the way that one turned out *sob*)

Also, a note on villany: I really dislike one dimensional villains. I prefer when my evil comes with a healthy dose of “fuck I sort of agree with that… to an extent?”

Which is why writing Lotor’s big monologue in Chapter 16: The Prisoner’s Dileema was such a challenge. I had to make his treatment of Lance seem, in some fucked up version of reality, justifiable. Because really, Lotor is a product of circumstance; he was raised with his beliefs of the poor and especially of someone of Lance’s “status,” and was acting in such a way that reflected that up-bringing. Now, Keith was raised in similar circumstances and isn’t a huge piece of shit, so there’s no excuse for Lotor’s behavior – but it’s at least logical. You can imagine buying an ox that’s for sale at the market, and then using said ox to plow your fields; we don’t see that as cruel or as mistreatment. Lotor sees Lance as little more than that, and so, in giving him lots of attention and “validation” (something that we know canon-Lotor was unfortunately lacking), it stands to reason that he was in fact trying to be kind to Lance, to treat him with a warped sense of respect.

…okay, that’s all for now! I really hope this helps and wasn’t too long-winded, like everything I do. you’ve effectively made my morning, anon, and I hope you have a wonderful day. my best wishes and luck to you while writing you story! 

[nominalbutler]

Thank you for the request! @azuresins

This is our first prompt request, and we hope you guys like it! This one was a lot of fun to do. Remember you can find all of our one-shots for these prompts with the tag “nominalhoplite prompts.” The next one will be posted to @chromehoplite ‘s account, so be on the lookout for that! We will post AO3 links as they become available. Enjoy!

Judging from the sky, it was about two in the afternoon, the low-hanging sun intensifying the smell of death and putrefaction that had hung in the air ever since the outbreak. Thankfully, the band of misfit survivors went unaccosted during their foraging mission. Though they returned to their base empty-handed, each breathed a sigh of relief that none of those things had crossed their path -- gray flesh peeling from their faces and limbs, muscles decaying, eyes cloudy white like spoiled milk as they shuffled towards Ciel Phantomhive and his party.

They had set up their temporary base in an abandoned office building that offered them elevated, unobstructed views of the surrounding terrain. Ciel, who was in the lead, halted the party just inside the perimeter of the parking lot when he noticed movement, a shadow in one of the upper windows.

“Don't,” he instructed, seeing Mey-Rin raise her rifle in anticipation. “Save your ammo,” he told her. “We can approach from all sides and take it down without wasting a valuable bullet.”

The crew moved into position with practiced synchronicity, everyone counting in their heads and waiting for the right moment to storm the upper floor. Ciel, born leader he was, took the first step into the room where the shadow had been seen, his shotgun with the sawed-off barrel held up in defense. Immediately, he realized their intruder was alive and well, a human just like him, and they were currently rifling through the file cabinets where Ciel had stored some of the team’s provisions, siphoning boxes of crackers and canned fruit into a knapsack of their own.

“Well,” Ciel whistled, cocking the shotgun for show, “lucky for you, you're no zombie, but I don't take too kindly to thieves now either. So I'd stop right there if I were you.”

Sebastian dropped the saltines next to his makeshift weapon, eying the baseball bat littered with nails at its far end with a certain amount of disdain. A melee with a mindless mini-horde, no problem, he was quick and lethal with the kind of brute strength that came with years of fighting fires; but he was no match for a human hiding behind a gun.

He’d studied the trio for a week now, holed up in and around the water tower less than half a mile away, keeping track of their schedule, planning to ransack their refuge. They shouldn’t have come back so soon, his watch told him so -- in fact they were two hours early. It didn’t matter now. Slowly, and still not facing the one who’d caught him red handed, he moved the bandana that sat over the bridge of his nose to hang loosely around his neck and brought his hands up shoulder height as he rose to his feet.  

“Don’t shoot,” Sebastian said, finally turning around, a smug little smile plastered to his face. He cleared his throat -- his voice had grown gruff from disuse, and his speech sounded more like a bear's growl than his normal baritone. “I’m not a thief. I’m just very good at acquiring things that aren’t mine.”

“Don't worry. Thief or not, you're not worth the bullet,” Ciel sneered, uncocking his weapon and dropping it to his side. It was mostly true. Ciel didn't really want to shoot him; it would pain him too much watch the life drain from such a pretty face. This man was the most beautiful thing he had seen in months, but if he tried anything, like rushing at Ciel with that gnarly baseball bat, he wouldn't think twice about putting him down.

Hesitantly, Sebastian lowered his hands and his eyes darted to the box of saltines by his weapon and back up the handsome face before him. This man, whom he had taken to be the leader, was by far more attractive in person than when viewed with a pair of binoculars. And while he’d broken into the office out of hunger for sustenance, he we struck with an insatiable craving for flesh that differed from that of the undead that roamed outside. The taste of salt was in his mouth as he considered the crackers again, but it was taking in the sight of the other man’s body that had saliva pooling along his tongue. He swallowed twice, then licked his lips, and hoping to kill two birds with one stone, offered: “What do I have to do to walk out of here with those crackers?”  

Taking note of the way the stranger ran his tongue nervously over his lips, Ciel cracked a little smile and answered, “Depends. Lemme see how wide you can open your mouth.”

A toothy grin spread across Sebastian’s sensual full mouth and his eyes lit up. With Ciel playing along coyly, he felt like finally something was going right in the world. He conceded to the leader’s request, opening his mouth and stretching his jaw, jamming his tongue just behind his front teeth. After five seconds, he closed it again and gave Ciel and his followers a knowing look. “So… Are we going to do this in front of them? Not that I mind or anything… but I’m giving you fair warning, I’m a little out of practice.”

“Oh, don't worry about that,” Ciel laughed, observing the mischievous gleam in Sebastian’s eye. “They don't mind. You see, we’re hard-pressed for entertainment these days,” he explained vaguely. Trusting Mey-Rin to cover him, Ciel stooped down right before the intruder and retrieved the sleeve of crackers he had dropped. “You can take the saltines,” he said, “if you can eat six of them in a minute.”

“I'll tell you what, short stack,” Sebastian said pointedly after the other male clearly misunderstood what he’d meant, “if I eat more than you can in a minute, I get to leave with my knapsack and everything that’s inside.” He held his hand out, in what he thought was the universal sign for let’s make a deal, but with the way this kid was so slow on the uptake, he couldn't be sure Ciel would actually catch on. In case he didn't, Sebastian turned towards the sword-wielding blonde and smiled at her roguishly, “What do you say miss? Wouldn't it be more entertaining if your little leader got in on some action?”

The young woman rolled her eyes and gave Sebastian a bemused smile, like he didn't know what he was getting himself into. And maybe he didn't. Ciel rested a hand on his cocked hip and spoke in an almost dangerous tone. “Don't test me. You're in no place to be making deals.” The smug look on the man’s face was beyond irritating, and Ciel couldn’t stand to back down from his challenge. “But fine, I could use a distraction.” He popped open the white plastic package and tore it to expose the neat line of bland crackers. “If I win, you leave the crackers and your bag, and everything that's inside it.”

Sebastian gave Ciel a curt nod and pushed the hair out of his face, only for it to fall into place again. He gratefully accepted the nine or so crackers that were placed in his outstretched hand and smiled inwardly; already, his mouth was watering, both from the sight of the salt grains adorning the crackers and from not having eaten in over eighteen hours. This, he thought, was going to be a cakewalk. “Ladies, do I have your assurance that you won't be interfering?”

“Of course,” Mey-Rin said, adjusting her splintered spectacles for show. “We’re here to keep things fair -- make sure neither one of you cheats and stuffs ‘em down your pants or something.”

“Yeah, there’s much better stuff you could be putting down there,” Lizzy chuckled, giving Ciel a shove and causing him to shatter one of the crackers in his hand. He turned and funneled the crumbs into her mouth, a furious blush climbing his neck and cheeks.

“Shut up and keep count,” he growled.

Sebastian took notice of how the colour enhanced Ciel’s appearance by softening his countenance and making him seem more youthful. He winked at his adversary, deciding then and there to use his bashfulness to his advantage, then leaned back against the filing cabinet, setting the stack of crackers on the desk to his left and waited for one of the girls to give them their signal.

Once go had been uttered (by whom he couldn't tell, right now he had eyes only for the lovely flushed face before him), he stuck two crackers onto his tongue and began to languidly chew and suck the stale squares. His fingers found the topmost button on his shirt and unfastened it with ease, then went onto the next and the next, each time revealing more of the hard planes of his well-defined torso. By the time he reached just below his belly button, he added another cracker and continued, eyes boring into Ciel’s with a wicked glint.

More than once, Ciel nearly choked on his crackers while watching the stranger undress. Chewing on the tacky mass in his mouth gave him something else to focus on besides the warm ache in his cargo pants, but that did not make it any easier to swallow down. A lump formed in his throat as a neat trail of dark hair appeared just below the man's navel, and Ciel sputtered on his sixth cracker. How long could a minute be?

Shirt shrugged off and left in a crumpled heap on the dirty linoleum, Sebastian added another two crackers in his mouth. He knew he was trailing behind Ciel, but he could hardly care at this point; the blue-eyed leader’s ogling was reward enough. He wiped the crumbs at his fingertips on his taut belly then fingered the waist of low-riding jeans. He made work of the persistent button and zipper and shook out of his jeans, letting them pool around his boots.  

A distinct ridge in his underwear gave evidence of his growing interest, which was slowly winning out over his common sense. Entertainment versus sustenance; but with the blandness of the crackers and how his mouth felt like he was churning plaster and water, did he really want to win more of this stuff? He crammed another three crackers just to try to keep up, and his right eye twitched as his mouth went bone dry.

“Time! No more gentlemen,” the blonde cheered. “Mey, how many did our handsome visitor get?”

“I don't know how many to count,” Mey-Rin replied, “‘cause he shoved a few in there at the last second but I know he didn't eat them. Without those, he'd be at six.”

“Well shit. Ciel’s at six, too,” Lizzy announced over Ciel’s triumphant hacking and spewing. “How do we handle that?”

No hunger or thirst was worth the continued effort of masticating the mushy, half-viscous, half-gluey lump that stuck to the roof of his mouth as much as it coated his tongue.  Sebastian leaned over as discreetly as possible towards the small garbage bin and spit out what was left, trying to summon the will to swallow the remnants. “Fuck. Those are no prize, you can keep them. I guess I’ll be taking my leave then,” he said, smirking at the leader as he bent to pull up his jeans. “You know, Ciel, as far as first dates go, this wasn't the worst one I've had.”

Ciel had to chew a few more times before he was even able to consider swallowing the sticky sludge that plastered the interior of his mouth. With a cough, a hack, a heaving breath, he got it down, and then cleared his throat and looked at the stranger, whose name he was now desperate to know. “No, definitely not the worst,” he agreed. “But after all that, you’re just gonna spit it out?” Ciel feigned shock, hand to his heart. “That's a shame. I pegged you as a swallower. I would offer you something to wash it down with, but you'd probably waste that too...”

Ciel stopped the man as he made his way past the leader and his cohorts, hand wrapped tightly around his bicep. Ciel was immediately impressed with the toned muscle he pressed his fingers into, and considered how advantageous it would be to have such a nice pair of arms in their party. Instead of extending an invitation, Ciel snatched the backpack and looked inside.

Canned fruit, peanut butter crackers, squares of baking chocolate, a box of bandages, and the single warm cream soda that had been pilfered from their supplies were all shoved down into the bottom of the bag, haphazardly hidden under a gray long sleeve shirt that didn’t look like it could fit around the man’s muscular arms. Ciel shook his head in admonition as he removed one item after another and stacked it on the desk beside him. After a moment, he picked the package of softened milk chocolate up and dropped it back into the bag before handing it over to its owner.

“Here,” he said smugly, “something sweet to remember me by. Next time we meet, you’ll owe me one.”

[thejokersenigma]

Joker x Reader x Bruce Wayne - Plan B(ruce) Part 2

Ok, so this has a sudden Christmas theme (not that much - it just happens to be Christmas) because I wrote this as part of my Christmas advent calendar - that is also why its so short because I've only had a few hours to work on it! Hope you enjoy it anyway!

MASTERLIST

J had been right. This was the best room in the house. This was probably the best room in the whole city. It was situated at the very top of the Wayne Enterprise Tower and the room took up the whole floor, the walls on my left and right made completely of glass that showed the breath-taking view over the city on either side. Not only was the view gorgeous, but the room itself had been lavishly decorated with expensive festive decorations – a large, extravagant tree next to the small stage which had been decked in tinsel and lights where a live Jazz band played upbeat Christmas songs, wreaths on each window, golden embroidered table cloths, mistletoe on the pillars, candles in brackets that gave off a distinctly Christmassy smell.

It was beautiful and made me feel like I’d just won the lottery.

I’d made J buy my dress for me – knowing he could afford it - and I hadn’t held back on the price label.

That would teach him to use me like this.

But then, I couldn’t help thinking as I looked around, this night didn’t look like it was going to be complete torture. Everyone looked just as stunning, all making the most of the free open bar and the dainty canapes handed out by servers whilst they gossiped away, or swayed to the tunes performed on the stage.

But who was it I was supposed to be talking to again?

I helped myself to one of the glasses of champagne that were being handed out at the entrance, then stepped my way delicately to the side of the room, trying to look like I belonged there. I sipped at the alcohol as I wandered the perimeter of the room, surveying the room and the company that milled noisily in the centre, occasionally unable to help my glancing out the tall windows at the city that way laid out before me.

Most people in the room seemed to have paired up – whether because they arrived that way, or that was the way these socialites just gathered, I wasn’t sure – and I couldn’t help but wish that J was with me, so I didn’t appear so lost on my own.

Despite this, I made sure to enjoy myself amongst the riches none the less – after all how often was it that I would be able to pretend to be an aristocrat and all the perks that came with it? I made sure though, to keep an eye out for my target – the infamous Bruce Wayne. I had seen him in enough news reports and newspaper articles to know vaguely what he looked like, but I wasn’t sure how easy it would be to pick him out amongst all these other men business men in their identical suits.

Ok, enough of being on the outskirts of this part, it was time to dive into it now that I’d had a bit of liquid courage. I placed my empty glass on a cloth covered table in one of the corners of the room, then confidently sashayed my way into the middle of the room. I could feel the eyes on me, the stranger amongst them all, but I didn’t falter in my strides, walking like I outranked them all, like I had important matter to attend to - though I actually had no idea where I was going or what I was doing.

Despite my upturned nose and important air, I kept my eyes on the people I passed, scanning for a face that matched the picture in my head. When I finally neared the other side of the room my eyes fell on the large balcony lit with fairy lights. I headed for this.

A group of 4 people entered back into the room as I left it, none of them bothering to hold the door open for me and I scowled out into the darkness at this - clearly manners did cost something, and these people weren’t willing to pay it.

I was the only one out here now, and I understood why, the balcony had been built slightly into the building to lessen the strength of the wind at this height, but it was still freezing out here. I wrapped my arms around my chest against the cold and walked up to the railing, leaning my arms on it and looking out at the lights of the city. I could see the windows of office buildings where late night workers were still at their desks, the bright advertisement bill boards that stood tall and garish against the dark sky and the streets below were lined with tacky lit names of casinos and clubs.

“Quite a view isn’t it?” Came a voice from behind me, the tone of the voice deep and soft.

I played it cool, not bothering to turn, my eyes on the landscape before me. “Yes it is.” I agreed.

The man came up next to me then, but I still didn’t bother to turn. He copied my position, leaning over and resting his elbows on the balcony railing. “Bit cold though isn’t? Especially in a dress like that.” He said, and I saw him glance me up and down.

I turned to look at him now, crossing my arms and leaning my hip into the barrier, shooting him an unimpressed raised eyebrow at his last statement. The light behind the man threw his face into shadow, but the more I listened to his voice, the more familiar it was. “And just what is that supposed to mean, Mr Wayne?”

“Oh nothing.” Bruce Wayne defended quickly, realising his mistake and turning to face me as well, “Only that your dress doesn’t really protect your arms against this wind.” He said gesturing to the sky.

I laughed at how nervous I had made him – clearly, he wasn’t a man that was often poked fun at. “Don’t worry.” I brushed it off, “I’m only teasing.” I smirked, and he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “I’m [Y/N].” I said, holding out a hand in a sign of peace.

Bruce took it gratefully, “I guess you already know who I am.”

His hand was strong, and surprisingly rough for a business man. “Of course, Mr Wayne.” I smiled at him warmly. He had a nice feel to him.

“Call me Bruce.” He insisted.

“Ok, Bruce.” I nodded, releasing his hand. “I do have to ask though, why are you out here, when the party is in there?” I asked, gesturing back towards the door.

“Honestly I’m not one for parties…” He admitted rather sheepishly, “But it kind of comes with the job.”

“Of being the owner of a multi-million-dollar company, or of being a billionaire bachelor?” I teased.

“Both.” He laughed, and I laughed with him.

“What about you?” He asked, “Parties your scene?”

I considered this for a moment. “Not really.” I said truthfully. “I’m more of an all work, no play kinda gal.”

“Might explain why I’ve never seen you around.” He said.

I knew my lines well and didn’t even hesitated before I said, “Well I’m new to Gotham, first event I’ve been invited to.” I explained. “So, I appear to be the stranger that everyone gawks at.”

“I’m sure that’s not the only reason they’re gawking.” Said Bruce and I couldn’t help but blush at his smooth flirtation.

We chatted a bit longer about this and that. I stuck as close to the truth as possible, so I didn’t get too lost in a web of lies – I told him I ran a highly successful line of restaurants and was hoping to start one up on Gotham. He seemed genuinely interested and it almost made me feel bad. He seemed a nice bloke, but also quite simple. Getting information from him shouldn’t be too hard.

It wasn’t long before he was offering his jacket for my shoulders – which I gratefully accepted – and then eventually he led me back to dance for a while – under the promise that it was to ‘warm up’.

Bruce was such good company, in fact, that I almost forgot the reason I was there in the first place – happily chatting away about anything and everything – the things I didn’t need to lie about like my dream holiday, favourite colour and other silly details that we somehow got onto.

Yes, I had almost forgot why I was at the party, that was until Bruce asked about my love-life. I was sure he was wondering if he could put the moves on me, but I was promptly reminded of J and the original plan for the evening. Shit. I muttered something about it being complicated – because it honestly was. I didn’t know what I was to J – a stress release? An easy fuck? Or something more? And I didn’t know what I was to J – did I love him? I felt like I could do, maybe, but did I right now? It was complicated.

Bruce didn’t push the question any further, but now I had been reminded I changed my head back to business and knew I needed to start asking the man a few more specific questions I had runover with J earlier that day.

“So, what –“

Bruce glanced down at his watch that flashed something – maybe an alarm? Then snapped his gaze back to mine. “I’m really sorry, [Y/N], I hate to suddenly run, but I’ve got an important meeting in the morning that I need to be slightly coherent for.” Bruce said with a small apologetic smile.

I smiled back in understanding at this, though inwardly I cursed at the shit timing and my lack of concentration on my job all evening. J wasn’t going to be impressed if I went back to him empty handed, especially when I made him fork out so much for this night. I had to pull this back somehow.

“Bruce, I –“ I started.

“Would it –“ Bruce said at the same time.

“Sorry.” We both apologised, like a cheesy chick flick couple.

I gestured at him, “Go for it.”

“I just wanted to know if I’ll see you again soon?” Bruce asked, with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh –“ That took me by surprise, “Yeah, sure. That would be nice.” That hadn’t even been a lie just to see him again to gain some information - it would actually be nice to see him again.

He smiled at me, then glanced at his watch again. “Ok, now I really have to leave.” He said, though he seemed reluctant.

“Go.” I said.

He wavered.

“Go!” I laughed, shoving at him playfully, and he exaggerated the movement, leaning further away from me than I could ever hope to have pushed him. I smirked at his good humour until he then swung back and planted a surprising kiss on my cheek.

My eyes widened momentarily, but then I quickly gathered myself back together again. “Smooth.” I mocked with a smug smile. “Now go!” I cried with a laugh, shoving him again, making sure this time that I pushed him solidly in the back toward the exit.

“Ok…” He sighed dramatically and headed off with a last wave in my direction.

I gave him a small wave back, unable to help myself smiling after him. It was nice to talk to a guy that I wasn’t always trying to second guess the meaning behind his words or actions like I was with J. J never did anything without a reason. But Bruce was more of an open book - I doubted there was anything hidden behind what he did.

Tags: @gemma60

[crispinos]

pairing: keith/lance rating: T word count: 1.7k summary: lance is a fortune-teller. keith really needs to study.

this @voltron-ss gift is for @trash4bechloe. i had actually planned a proper fic incorporating more of the tropes you gave me, but i am an awful, awful procrastinator and ended up writing something short but hopefully sweet because i wanted you to receive something on time. stay tuned for your real gift in the future, but i hope you enjoy this in the meantime!

There is a bounce house in the middle of the green. It’s red, yellow, blue, and inflatable, straight out of the fair that used to come to town every year and draw suburban upper-middle class kids like moths to a flame with their SUV-driving soccer moms in tow. In fact, now that Keith tears his eyes away from the primary-color beast dominating his view, it appears that the whole quad has been decked out like the fair just came to this school; there’s a line for fried dough that wraps around what has to be at least half the perimeter.

Well, Keith doesn’t know what’s going on and he doesn’t particularly care to find out, so he just puts his head down and tries to push through the crowd. For all that it’s a sunny Sunday afternoon, he has the test of his life coming up tomorrow, and he needs to shut himself into the top floor of the library for at least the next twelve hours if he wants to stand a chance at passing.

It’s slow going. No one gives a fuck about Keith’s issues and no one has any clue how badly screwed he is for this test, which is totally understandable but still infuriating when he tries to cut through the line for cotton candy, accidentally elbows a girl in the nose, and receives a death glare for his efforts.

“Sorry,” he says, or tries to say, “I’m just trying to get through—need to study for a big test—” but another group of people closes around the girl before he can finish explaining himself, and everything is just so loud that his voice is drowned out by the noise, leaving him mouthing at the air like an idiot. Which, granted, he supposes he must be, if he’s trying to cram all the review he should’ve been doing for the past two weeks into the last sixteen or so hours before the exam.

Farther away from the food, the crowd thins out slightly. The other end of the quad is blessedly calm compared to the clusterfuck that Keith’s just managed to survive. Scattered around the perimeter are game booths offering raffle tickets for prizes—apple-bobbing here, a ring toss there—and Keith is just about to make his escape when a heavy hand lands on his arm. It catches him off guard, and he flinches away.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” says the boy on the other end of the hand, hastily letting his arm fall back down to his side. Puffing himself up, he clears his throat and continues, in a reluctant attempt at a theatrically deep voice, “Um. How would you like to have your fortune told by the one, the only… Lance the Clairvoyant?”

Keith blinks. “Uh, no thanks.”

The boy—Hunk, his name tag reads—deflates. “I told you it wouldn’t work,” he calls over his shoulder, and Keith follows his gaze to the purple tent behind him. Its curtains are drawn too close for him to make out anything inside, but propped up against it is a sign that proclaims in Sharpied letters, LANCE THE CLAIRVOYANT: HE SEES ALL… HE KNOWS ALL.

“That’s ‘cause you don’t do a convincing voice,” someone yells back from inside the tent. The voice is vaguely familiar, but Keith can’t place his finger on where he knows it from. “Just do what you gotta do to get them in here.”

Hunk turns back to Keith with big, pleading eyes. “Please let him tell your fortune,” he says.

“I have a test,” Keith begins weakly. Hunk’s eyes are so, so round.

“We’ve only had three clients,” he says.

“Big test,” Keith tries.

“We’ve been out here for five hours,” Hunk says. “He was really excited about doing this booth.”

“Twenty percent of my grade,” Keith elaborates, a little desperately.

“Three minutes,” Hunk promises. “Just tell him to make it quick. Three minutes is all it takes.”

“Three minutes, and three minutes only,” Keith says. “Wait, what?”

Hunk’s face lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree, and Keith is suddenly inside the tent.

“Have a seat,” someone says. It’s the same voice from before, only now it’s gone all spooky, like they’re trying their hardest to sound mysterious. As Keith’s eyes adjust to the dimness, he sees the outline of a folding chair a few paces away from where he’s standing, and he complies.

The boy behind the table is wearing a hooded cloak, but there’s a crystal ball on the table, the only source of light inside the tent. It scatters eerie shadows across his face, but it’s glowing brightly enough for Keith to discern his features. It’s also glowing brightly enough for Keith to catch the way Lance the Clairvoyant’s eyes widen ever so slightly when their gazes meet.

“What would you like to know, O Curious One?” Lance asks, expression falling neutral. “My crystal ball will show me all.”

“The answers to Iverson’s test would be nice,” Keith says. “Aerodynamics?”

“No, I mean about yourself,” Lance says in his normal voice, before realizing his slip-up. “My crystal ball will only show me what lies in the futures of my clients.”

“Okay,” says Keith. “How will I do on my test tomorrow?”

Lance closes his eyes and waves his hands over the ball, brow furrowed in concentration. Keith briefly considers leaving while he can get away with it. Then he feels like a jackass and decides not to do that.

“I see,” Lance says dramatically, “a… fall. A fail?” Keith’s heart plummets into his stomach, and he swears he feels his digestive juices splash. “No, not a fail. Just a fall. A fall… from grace.”

“What does that mean?”

“The top of the class,” Lance says. More vague hand-waving. “Someone will take your place. Someone… a rival. Your biggest rival.”

“What?”

“Does no one come to mind?”

“No,” Keith says. “I don’t have any ‘rivals.’” He really doesn’t have any idea what Lance is talking about. He minds his own business, works hard in class, gets good grades. He doesn’t go out of his way to step on other people’s toes. There’s no room for competition because he barely knows who his classmates are.

“Ah-ah,” Lance tuts. “Arrogance is never a good trait to have.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Your hubris will be your downfall,” Lance proclaims. His eyes are still closed, what the fuck, that’s not how crystal balls are supposed to work. There is definitely the ghost of a smug smile playing on his lips.

“You’re full of shit,” Keith decides.

“I assure you that I am not.”

“No person in their right mind would actually believe a prediction from a college kid who just got dressed up in a hood for some fair. You’re bullshitting.”

Lance ignores him. “You may be more gratified to hear that love is coming your way,” he says, moving his hands around some more. “Sometime within the next week. Perhaps… perhaps even tomorrow.”

Keith scoffs. “Now you’re just messing with me.”

“All will become clear in time.” Lance opens his eyes. “Is there anything else you would like me to reveal?”

“No,” Keith says. Belatedly, he adds, “But thanks, I guess.”

Hunk smiles at him on the way out. Keith can’t bring himself to smile back in good conscience.

-

The test is shit. It’s a steaming pile of horseshit, and Keith handles it as such as he passes it in, dropping it on top of the pile with the biggest shudder that his soulless husk of a sleep-deprived body can muster.

When he turns to go back to his seat, it’s to collide nearly head-on with the person behind him.

Not just a person. A boy.

Not just a boy. Lance the Clairvoyant.

What the fuck, Keith tries to say with his eyes.

Fuck you too, Lance says back. Or, well, he wiggles his eyebrows and kind of smirks a bit, and Keith has no idea how to interpret it but figures that fuck you too is a safe bet.

He’d done a pretty good job of pushing the fortune-telling incident to the back of his mind yesterday in order to effectively cram, but it’s all coming back now. The fall from grace, the love coming his way, whatever the fuck those things are supposed to mean. Keith frowns on the way back to his seat but resolves to forget about it again by the time he’s on his way out of the lecture hall.

He’s maybe five steps away from the door when someone taps him on the shoulder.

“Hi,” says Lance. “Keith, right?” He looks slightly nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and only Keith’s curiosity keeps him from walking away. That, and the fact that Lance’s face is actually not half-bad without the fake psychic outfit and weird psychic voice.

Keith crosses his arms. “Is this the part where you tell me you totally predicted that I would fail?”

“I didn’t necessarily say you’d fail,” Lance says indignantly. “I bet you did better than everyone else, just like you always do. And this was actually supposed to be about the other part of your fortune.”

“Ah. The part where you told me that love was coming my way.”

“Yeah. Do you want to get dinner sometime?”

“Excuse me?”

Lance may possibly be blushing. “I said, do you want to get dinner sometime? Maybe? If you don’t completely hate my guts?”

“I don’t hate you,” Keith says, bewildered. “I’m just confused. You insulted me yesterday and now you want dinner.”

“I didn’t insult you,” Lance insists. “I’m a legitimate clairvoyant. I only tell the truth about people’s futures.”

“You were planning to ask me out all along,” Keith realizes.

Lance is definitely blushing. “Look, is it a yes or a no? ’Cause if Mr. Prodigy thinks he’s above me, I won’t waste my time—”

“Sure.”

Now it’s Lance’s turn to be taken aback. “Excuse me?”

Keith does his best to hide his amusement, but it sneaks through his smile anyway. “I said, sure.”

“Holy shit,” Lance says. He looks genuinely flabbergasted, and it’s cute. “Really?”

Keith shrugs. “Yeah. But only because you saw it in my future.”

“I guess it was inevitable,” Lance concedes.

“You free tonight? We can celebrate the fact that we survived another Iverson test.”

Lance’s grin is slow and blinding. “Oh, you bet I am.”

[xylianna]

Discretion, Chapter 2: Ignis! Instructions!

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13085040/chapters/30030330

NSFW

I know I'm not the only one to take Ignis giving instructions in a dirty manner.  I have faith in my FFXV fam.  <3

Also, chapter count changed, because I'm apparently too rebellious to follow the 5+1 format properly.  

I originally had the "Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot" tag on this but guys, I just can't write a story that doesn't have at least a little plot. Generally an angsty one.  I'm sorry!   It won't be terribly angst-filled.  My goal here is fluffy Gladnis goodness!

Hand in hand, Gladio and Ignis walked through the streets of Lestallum. Ignis had prudently suggested they actually stop at the market and grab a few things, since he had much such a big deal out of it before they parted ways with their friends at the car. Gladio was feeling guilty at adding more time on to what was already a longer absence than prudent - hard to shield someone when you’re not at they’re side, yeah? - but he couldn’t argue with the sense behind the idea. 

The sun had fully set now, and Lestallum’s nightlife was buzzing. During the day, people moved languidly, leisurely moving from place to place in an effort not to become any more overheated than necessary. But at night, the temperature dropped and the peoples’ energy rose in counterpoint. The streets were packed, the market was thriving, and the mood was electric.

Gladio rubbed his thumb absently along Ignis’s wrist while they walked, enjoying the contrast as his digit swept between the leather of the other man’s glove, and the satin of his bare skin. “So, what’re we lookin’ for?” The Shield tried to think back to the monologue Ignis had given poor Prompto. “Curatives and cooking ingredients?”

“Primarily,” Ignis agreed, free hand raising to nudge his glasses fractionally higher on the bridge of his nose. “This shouldn’t take terribly long, if the market stalls are still laid out in the same pattern as the last time we were here.”

And indeed, the shopping was concluded in short order, then men hastening towards the Leville with their purchases. When Gladio saw Noct and Prompto sitting on a bench near the hotel entrance, he let go of Ignis’s hand, albeit reluctantly. While he kept his face smooth, his stomach churned a bit at the necessity.

He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Gladio could pinpoint the exact moment the younger men saw them by the way they surged to their feet, rushing towards them wearing nearly identical expressions of concern.

“Where the hell have you two been?” Noctis snapped, azure eyes flashing in a manner very reminiscent of Regis at his most regally commanding.

“And, uh… why’re there leaves in your hair, Iggy?” Prompto asked, reaching out and plucking one from Ignis’s decidedly mussed tresses.

“I’m afraid the delay was my fault,” Ignis spoke in that calm, vaguely-apologetic tone he took when explaining something he perceived as a minor shortcoming. “I recalled wild onions grew not far from here, and I wanted to see if I could find some to add to our provisions.”

“And I wasn’t lettin’ anyone go outside on their own, that close to sunset,” Gladio added, crossing thick arms over his wide chest.

Prompto nodded, seeming to accept their explanation.

Noctis was not so easily appeased.

“Is that why there’s… claw marks on your arms?” Noct leaned forward to inspect Gladio’s forearms more closely, Prompto parroting the motion with interest.

“Looks like you got bit, too!” The blonde exclaimed, running a careful fingertip around the perimeter of a bite mark that was certainly not left by a monster. “Dude, daemons before the sun fully set?”

“Nothing so perilous as that,” Ignis said dryly, his cheekbones dusted with a slight flush. He adjusted his glasses again, and Gladio hoped he’d knock it off - hell, they all knew Iggy fiddling with his glasses was the closest the strategist came to having a nervous tic.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Gladio said with great bravado, their sentences blurring as he spoke over the latter half of Ignis’s explanation.

Noct sighed. “Whatever.” He rolled his eyes. “You have all the money, Ignis. Can we get the rooms now?”

“Yeah!” Prompto agreed. “It’s tourney time!”

“Nap time,” Noct argued petulantly.

“Certainly,” Ignis said agreeably, turning to walk into the lobby, knowing the other three would follow him indoors. He spoke briefly with the desk attendant, then moved to where his friends waited, clustered together near the foyer.

In short order, rooms were arranged, food was ordered to be delivered via room service, and they were settled into their respective rooms. Noctis and Prompto wasted no time in firing up their phones, diving into electronic battle.

Gladio wasted no time getting Ignis into that soft, plush bed, sharing soft kisses as they cuddled back against the pillows. They took things no further, fatigue pulling them both into slumber with alacrity.

All too soon the morning came, and surprisingly, the younger men did not sleep half the day away. The group took in brunch at a local cafe, and the proprietor wasted no time in telling them about a swarm of oversized bees that had been spotted to the southwest of Lestallum, near Coernix Bypass.

“It’s dangerous,” the tipster warned them. “But, lucrative if you succeed.”

Ignis assented on behalf of the group. The bounty from his hunt alone would more than make up for the money spent on their stay at the Lestallum.

They finished their meal and headed out on the hunt. Prompto and Noctis chattered about all the sweet loot they’d acquired in their gaming the night before, but Gladio didn’t pay it much mind. He was very determinedly not staring at the back of Ignis’s perfectly coiffed head. Nope. He was reading his book, gods damn it, who cared if he hadn’t turned a page in an hour because he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Ignis’s voice has sounded as he’d come undone?

Several more hours passed in a similar, unremarkable fashion as they drove towards Coernix Bypass. Finally, the Regalia slowed, and Gladio didn’t have to ask why. He could see the swarm from where he sat in the car, the bees were that large.

“I don’t like this,” Prompto fretted.

“Watch yourself,” Ignis counseled as he climbed out of the car, summoning his paired daggers.

Gladio eyed the bees, and shrugged, calling his greatsword from the Armiger. Speedy and flying, might be a challenge. Definitely a distraction from his turbulent thoughts. He let his face stretch in a fierce grin as he shifted his full attention to the upcoming fight. “Let’s do this!” Gladio shouted as he charged into battle.

Noct warped to the other side of the swarm, and he and Gladio momentarily had some of the bees surrounded in a pincer attack. Prompto held back, sniping the insects from long range. Ignis spun through the monsters with a deadly grace, daggers flashing in his fists as he carved away at their opponents.

But they just kept coming. Astrals, there were so many. Gladio cracked a potion after one especially pernicious bee managed to get in some good hits.

Prompto seemed to be doing well enough, out of range as he was, but Noctis was starting to breathe hard as the battle raged on. He was running out of tricks, and wanted to end this fast.

“Ignis! Instructions!” the Prince shouted desperately as he parried away another attack.

“Kill them before they kill us,” Ignis suggested helpfully.

“Ignis!” Noctis didn’t sound terribly amused.

Gladio couldn’t help but chuckle at the Advisor’s poorly timed joke, though.

“Try a blizzard spell!” Ignis called out, nimbly back-flipping out of range.

Gladio made haste to move away as well, not wishing to get caught in the magic.

Noctis channeled a powerful blizzard spell which incapacitated most of the bees, while Prompto continued to shoot at them from his position. After the blizzard dissipated, Noctis began feverishly warp-striking from one target to the next.

Gladio yelled a wordless battle cry and charged back into the fray, pleased to note that the tide seemed to be turning in their favor.

And then, after frenetic minutes that felt like hours, the battle was done, the party had won, and the tired hunters piled into the car to head back to Lestallum and collect their bounty.

“So tired,” Noct muttered, leaning his head back against the seat. Magic was always a drain on his energy.

“What else is new?” Gladio teased, elbowing him lightly.

“Shut up.”

Prompto laughed at the exchange. “Big guy’s gotcha there, Noct.” The gunslinger’s eyes turned crafty as he swiveled to face Ignis. “Although…. hey Igs, since Noct is soooo tired, maybe we can crash at the Leville again?”

Gladio could see Ignis frown in profile as he mulled over Prompto’s words. “That is a splendid idea, however… I do not think we can make it back into town before dark. We’d best find a haven.”

The Shield felt his face burn, and he wondered how Ignis could even say the word ‘haven’ in such a calm, collected tone. Hell, he was half-hard just from hearing it.

How the mighty have fallen, turned on so abruptly and so intensely just from hearing the word ‘haven’.

Oh well. He did love camping.

“Sounds good to me!” Gladio said with perhaps too much enthusiasm.

After they arrived at the haven, Gladio got to work setting up camp. He uselessly wished they had an extra tent - as if thin canvas walls would give any true privacy - but was determined to make the best of a frustrating situation.

Astrals, it had almost been better just going cold turkey. Now that his body remembered how fucking fantastic it felt to be buried balls deep inside of Iggy, he didn’t want to go back to abstaining.

As Gladio finished setting up the tent, he wondered if there was some way he could get the younger men out of camp for a few hours. Hell, he’d take fifteen minutes. But he couldn’t come up with anything that wasn’t incredibly foolhardy, and he wasn’t going to risk the Prince - or Prompto - just to get his dick wet.

Gladio’s mood turned introspective and foul as he started into the crackling campfire. Even the Cup Noodles Ignis surprised him with, layered with shrimp and chickatrice meat, couldn’t pull him out of this sudden funk.

He had understood the necessity of continuing to hide their relationship from the general public, back in Insomnia, when there was a general public. But he was starting to have trouble comprehending the reason to continue the facade with their closest friends in the wake of the ciy’s fall. Fuck, Noct wouldn’t care, as long as they didn’t start making out in front of him or anything. Prompto would probably be over the moon for them and insist on taking too many photos.

Nodding to himself with resolve, Gladio decided to bring it up with Ignis the next chance he got.

Which could, admittedly, be a while, he concluded with a sigh, going back to stirring his noodles, occasionally taking a small bite. He knew he should eat, hell, Ignis had made his favorite, but he just couldn’t muster up an appetite.

Well. Not for noodles.

After setting the still mostly-full cup on the ground, Gladio pushed to his feet, looking anywhere but at Ignis. “Goin’ for a run,” he mumbled, before loping off away from camp.

Gladio wasn’t stupid. He didn’t go very far, just in a simple loop around the outer edges of the haven. Far enough away to feel like he had some space to think, but not so far that he’d be cut off from assistance if there was a daemon attack.

Gladio wondered if Ignis’s continued insistence on secrecy was a misguided attempt by the strategist to continue believing they had a home to go back to. Hell, they were on the run, taking on hunts and quests to try and make enough money to eat and fuel up the Regalia while they searched for the Royal Arms. Who the fuck cared if it was inappropriate or gauche or whatever for two of the Prince’s retainers to be involved?

They way Gladio saw it, they should find their happiness where they could.

And he had already found his with Ignis.

“Fuck this,” he muttered as he finished another lap. “No more hiding.” Decisively, Gladio turned to run back towards the camp.

When he crested the apex of the haven, he found only Ignis sitting around the embers left by the cook-fire. Muted talking from the direction of the tent confirmed that Noctis and Prompto had turned in, but not quite settled down.

“Gladio,” the tactician said in quiet invitation, gesturing towards the camp chair beside his.

Gladio lowered himself into the seat with a sigh, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees, staring into the flickering flames. He appreciated that Ignis didn’t push for him to talk right away, but gave him the moment to organize his thoughts.

Not that it helped him find the eloquence he was hoping for.

“Why can’t we tell ‘em, Iggy?” he asked bluntly. “Insomia’s fallen. There’s no royal court to judge us.” He raised eyes his eyes from the fire to bore into Ignis’s. “Six, they’re our friends. They’d be happy for us.”

Ignis appeared pensive, which wasn’t exactly unusual, but definitely was not the expression Gladio was hoping to see on his partner’s face in response to his impassioned inquiries.

“Gladiolus,” Ignis said carefully, almost over-enunciating the words. “I love you more than I imagined possible.”

Gladio sighed heavily. “But?”

“I just don’t think it’s appropriate for us to interact in such a manner around His Highness.”

“Why?” Gladio surged to his feet, his chair falling backwards. “Fucking why, Iggy? What the hell is inappropriate about being in love?”

As Gladio stood there, fists clenched at his sides, breathing as hard as if he was in the midst of intense combat, he realized that he had been shouting, and may have just rendered this entire conversation moot.

When neither of the younger men emerged from the tent, and Gladio realized he could hear what seemed to be authentic, discordant snores rising in a duet from behind him, he was momentarily relieved to realize his friends had slept through his outburst.

But then he looked at Iggy again, and felt his heart stutter uncomfortably in his chest.

Ignis’s stoic facade had cracked. There were tears welling up in his verdant eyes, and his posture had slumped in an uncharacteristic fashion. Fuck, it looked like he was trembling, Gladio noticed, as he watched Ignis just sort of… fold in on himself, arms wrapping around his midsection, fingers digging into his sides, his shoulders shaking with nearly inaudible sobs.

“Iggy…”

“You’re right.”

Gladio’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn’t expected Ignis to say that. Six, he just wanted to lean down and gather the other man into his arms and hold him until he stopped shaking.

But they needed to have this conversation. So Gladio waited patiently where he stood in front of the other man, keeping his posture relaxed and his facial expression open as he regarded Ignis, watching the gradual process of the Advisor pulling himself back together.

“You’re right,” Ignis said again, and this time his voice was steadier. “And I’m sorry.” When he lifted his eyes to meet Gladio’s again, they’re dry, but the trails drawn through the dust on his cheeks stand out starkly in the warm light shed by the campfire. “I should have never insisted on this charade.” He laughs softly, bitterly. “It seems such a silly thing to have worried over, now, after… everything.”

Gladio knelt in front of Ignis’s chair and gently cupped his hands on Ignis’s knees, since his arms are folded too tightly for Gladio to be able to hold his hands. “I love you, Iggy.” He reaches up to smooth back an errant lock of Ignis’s hair tenderly. “We tell ‘em tomorrow?”

“Indeed.” Ignis finally smiled, and he relaxed, unfolding his arms only to lean forward and wind them around Gladio’s shoulders, pressing his lips against the other man’s in a lingering kiss.

Gladio’s heart was soaring. On some level, he feels guilty at being so damn happy. His city has fallen. The King is dead. His father is dead. The world’s gone completely to shit.

But he had Ignis. He had Noctis, and Prompto.

He had hope.

As Ignis’s lips continued to move against his, Gladio pushed such maudlin thoughts aside. It wasn’t good to dwell in the dark. He needed to keep his mind sharp.

He needed the light.

Ignis was his light.

Gladio didn’t even care how cheesy that thought was. It was the fucking truth.

He stood, half lifting Ignis out of his chair just from the motion of standing, the other man’s arms were wrapped around him so tightly. It was a no-brainer for Gladio to cup Ignis’s tight ass in his strong hands, lifting him the rest of the way. When Ignis’s legs cinched around Gladio’s waist, they both moaned, their eyes meeting, smiles lighting up both their faces as they reached a silent accord.

Gladio carried Ignis to the far edge of the haven, to a spot that wouldn’t be in direct line of sight of anyone leaving the tent. He knew they’d have to be relatively quick, and they’d have to be quiet.

But he’d make the most of it.

They sat there on the grassy ground, unexpectedly still, as each seemed to be waiting for the other to take control, to move things forward.

Gladio leaned in close to Ignis with a wolfish grin as inspiration struck, and he whispered so closely to his partner’s ear that his lips tickled the delicate skin of Ignis’s earlobe with each syllable. His words were simple, teasing, and under the circumstances, ridiculously hot.

“Ignis… instructions?”

He heard the sharp way Ignis’s breath hissed out in surprise. Clearly his lover hadn’t expected to be unexpectedly thrust in control of the situation.

Gladio knew Iggy’d rise to the occasion, though.

And he wasn’t disappointed.

“Touch me,” Ignis’s tone faltered a bit at first, but grew in confidence as he continued to speak. “Unmake me, Gladiolus. Help me find peace.”

Gladio didn’t answer verbally. He didn’t need to. He did what Ignis had asked of him and began to touch him, taking his time, running his hands over his partner’s still-clothed body, outlining the musculature with his fingertips, smoothing back his hair. Piece by piece, he stripped the strategist of his layers of clothing, starting with his arm garters and ending with his stockings. Every inch of revealed skin, Gladio kissed, his tongue laving long stripes over Ignis’s arms, his chest.

The Shield reveled in the way Ignis was quivering beneath him, bowing up into every tender touch.

Last night at the haven, the two of them had been men possessed, driven by lust and lost to reason.

Tonight at this haven, they were guided by love, deliberate and gentle.

Gladio pecked Ignis’s cheek sweetly before retaking his lips in an ardent kiss. “Love you, Iggy.”

“Gladio,” Ignis said his name on a sigh. “Love just simply isn’t a strong enough word to encompass what I feel for you.” Ignis smiled at him after breaking their kiss, and began to carefully pull off Gladio’s clothing. In a near-perfect mirror of Gladio’s actions, Ignis lavished attention on every bit of newly-exposed flesh with his lips, painting the story of his devotion across the Shield’s body with each sensual stroke of his tongue.

They embraced, legs entwining, and just held each other a long moment, foreheads pressed together, breath mingling.

When Gladio wrapped his calloused hand around Ignis’s shaft, it wrenched a gasp from the tactician that descended into a throaty moan.

Ignis’s dexterous fingers found Gladio’s hard length and began to stroke him in the way he knew his lover enjoyed best, rubbing his thumb across the weeping tip of his cock on each upstroke, dragging a finger along the vein on the underside with each downstroke.

While their arousal was intensifying, neither felt inclined to rush, and they spent considerable time kissing and caressing each other, hands slick with pre-come, breaths growing louder and more rapid, almost staccato.

“I want you inside me,” Ignis murmured against Gladio’s lips. “Make love to me slowly, Gladiolus. Please.”

Gladio’s mouth went dry. He hadn’t thought he could get any harder, but Astrals take him, his cock was positively aching in the wake of his lover’s vehement pleas. Unwinding himself from around Ignis, he moved down his body with a trail of kisses, pausing to nibble at the skin stretched over his hip-bone before engulfing his cock with the wet heat of his mouth. Gladio slid one hand underneath Ignis’s ass, lifting him slightly for a better angle as he slowly drew his mouth off the other man’s shaft. He nuzzled at Ignis’s inner thighs, peppering them with light kisses, one hand taking up where his mouth left off, sliding over the hard length of him. Dipping his head lower, Gladio flicked his tongue out to delicately trace Ignis’s asshole, and he felt his partner momentarily tense.

“I’ve got you, Iggy.” Gladio raised his head to smile, before lowering back down to lick at the puckered skin of Ignis’s entrance in earnest until he heard the other man begin to whimper softly. Gladio knew Ignis only made that particular sound when he was overwhelmed by sensation. To Gladio, it meant he was doing something right.

Gladio carefully began working a finger inside of Ignis, tongue still flickering against his skin, other hand still pumping. He added another finger, then another, slowly and carefully stretching him, preparing him, wanting this time to be gentle and pain free, with no need for hastily consumed potions the next morning.

“G-Gladio,” he heard Ignis’s voice, breathy but earnest. “Gladio, please.”

Gladio liked how Ignis forgot most words when they were making love, except for his name.

After one final, slow lick across Ignis’s hole, Gladio rose up, climbing over the lithe man. “Say it.”

Ignis wasn’t too far gone, and knew what his lover meant. “Gladiolus,” he sighed, the polysyllabic name sounding almost musical, shaped with his cultured accent.

Gladio needed no further encouragement. He slid inside easier than the night before, since they’d taken more time to prep, and the feel of Ignis’s body so tightly clenched around his cock nearly did him in right then and there. He paused a moment once fully within, giving them each a chance to adjust to the heady feeling of being connected in such an intimate manner.

Then he began to move.

Last night, he’d been fast. They bit and they scratched. They teased and they screamed.

Tonight, he was slow. He brushed delicate kisses over Ignis’s forehead, his cheeks, supporting his weight on one hand, using the other to pet Ignis’s hair, to cup his cheek, to stroke his cock.

Ignis didn’t last terribly long, the commingled sensations of Gladio moving within him and touching him with such love in his hands and lips more than enough to render him completely undone. When he came, his lips soundlessly formed the shape of Gladio’s name, and he clutched at Gladio tightly.

Feeling the way Ignis pressed so closely against him as he orgasmed pushed Gladio over the edge a moment later, breathing words of love against the side of Ignis’s neck as they clung to each other, catching their breath.

The moment felt almost sacred. It felt so wonderful, so right.

Gladio wished it could last forever, even as he knew it could not. They needed sleep. He knew Iggy would insist on rising early, on fixing breakfast, on doing the hundred little things he did every day to take care of everybody except himself.

That was okay, though. Gladio would take care of Iggy.

“We should get some sleep, babe,” Gladio said softly, not entirely sure if Ignis was still awake.

A sleepy voice answered him, the words half yawned and half spoken, “Indeed, love.”

After a final languorous kiss, they unwound themselves from each other, partially re-dressing and gathering up the rest of their clothing, before making their way back to the campsite proper. Too responsible to just head straight to bed, Gladio took care of banking the fire for the night while Ignis tidied up the debris of the evening meal.

They managed to slip into the tent without waking either of the younger men, and settled down to catch a few hours of sleep before the new day began.

Gladio knew he’d sleep better than he had since before they left on this ill-fated road trip.

Tomorrow they would tell their friends, and the sneaking around could stop.

With that thought, the Shield drifted off into dreams.

Well, this chapter did not go as expected. At all.  Hopefully it still turned out okay, even if it took our boys a while to get there. <3

So, to be honest with you all, the main reason I'm writing this fic is to get better at writing smut, because as much as I love to read it, I feel like I am dreadful at writing it!   Your comments and kudos on chapter one made me smile so freakin' hard because I realized I must not be nearly as bad as I thought. So, yay!  And thanks!  <3

Please continue to drop kudos and comments if you're enjoying!  It encourages me to keep writing, and just generally makes my day!  I'm also totally open to constructive criticism, because my goal is to get better at this.

[k-renne]

Summary: The Nightshade Witch of Ren, a name that brings fear. Harbinger of revenge and corrupt justice, he’s the number one target of The Church. You are an average young woman of the village, trying to escape your strict parents and The Church. Fate has it that your paths are intrinsically linked, to the disdain of well…everyone.

Kylo Ren was working on requests, when Armitage Hux entered his shop. He sold unspeakable things, magic that was widely used but left unacknowledged. He observed the man with narrowed eyes; watching as a sinister spirit seemed to swirl around him.

“Hux, what do you want?” This wasn’t his first time as a customer, Hux wasn’t afraid to abuse his wealth to attain power. He was quite well versed in the occult, to the misfortune of his enemies.

“I have a sea serpent’s scale and many moonberries, along with 50 golden coins. It’s more than necessary, but I have a feeling you won’t like what I‘m about to ask.” Hux lays his pay on the table for Kylo to examine.

“I need to know what you’re asking before I consider this.”

Hux pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, “There’s this maiden,” He starts. Kylo raises his brows; he could tell already he wasn’t going to like this. “She is to be my betrothed, well supposed to be. Y/N L/N, I’ve been courting her for years.”

“Get to the point,” Kylo rolls his eyes.

“I want you to hex her, that little witch…”

“I’m amused that you use witch as an insult,” Kylo chuckles.

“Right, my apologies. But I’d like you to hex her, the woman has tricked me, making me think that she would marry me, taking my gifts and money, only to refuse my proposal!” Hux complains angrily.

“So you want me to hex a woman because she rejected you? Sounds like a personal problem.”

“If you don’t do it I’ll just go to someone else, it doesn’t matter who,” Hux threatens. The problem was that it did matter, people would call Kylo cruel but there were others that would torture people just for their own amusement and that mean that you would end up truly hurt.

“Give me some time to think about it.”

“Fine, but tomorrow you better have an answer.” Hux points. He leaves with his money and treasures, leaving Kylo to make a decision.

Kylo decided to consult his well of wills, to get some insight on who you were to help in making his decision. He places his palms flat atop of the black water and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

He sees a basket, full with various berries. Not far away is you, sitting near a bush and picking berries, piling them into your apron. Your hair is down, and you smile briefly as you’re imagining something happy. You look to see if anyone is watching, before taking some a strawberry and popping it into your mouth. Kylo takes a gulp of air as he breaks away from the trance.

There was absolutely no way that he could fill Hux’s request. You were a vision of beauty and kindness; you would never harm another soul. Kylo wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if he hurt you, sure he could be a monster but only to those who he felt deserved it. Especially with this feeling in his chest he had at the sight of you, which made him feel warm and all tingly over, he had to make sure that you wouldn’t get hurt.

The first place he looked was the field, that he saw in his vision. Luckily you were still there, laying in the grass and enjoying the sun on your face. Kylo doesn’t know how to approach you, he might seem terrifying to you, dressed in black, his under eyes where even lined with khol. He didn’t belong in such bright light, he belonged to the shadows. He reminded himself that thsi was for a worthy cause and began to walk towards you.

You didn’t hear him, but when it seemed like a dark cloud blocked out the sun you looked up, only to see a man. He looked regal...perhaps he was a prince, a dark prince that is. He wore a long black cape that blew with the breeze, big black feathers covering his shoulders. His nose was particularly striking, standing proud against his face. His lips, pink against the contrast of his pale skin, probably from very little sun. They looked so pouty, kissable almost. Oh christ you were staring.

“Excuse me, sorry to bother you Lady L/N, but there’s something I must tell you,” Kylo addresses you. You sit up and get ready to stand, but he quickly kneels to your level. “No need to get uncomfortable,” He explains.

“I’m sorry but I don’t even know who you are?” You ask.

“You may call me Kylo, and that’s all,” He gestures with a wave of the hand.

“Okay Kylo, what have you got to tell me?” You asked. It was quite strange for a man to come up to you like this, normally you were always alone here. If your parents knew that you were alone, with a man, you certainly wouldn’t be allowed to return by yourself. Even if you felt yourself to be a perfectly capable young woman. They would find some way to interfere in your business. Enough of them, you needed to give this ethereal man your attention.

“It’s not pleasant, but someone has come to me with the intention to hex you, I’m sure you know him. Hux?” You roll your eyes at that name.

“Unfortunately, and did you say hex?”

“Yes, I am a witch if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Wow, how lovely! I’ve never met a witch before.” You had always been curious about witches, wanted to know if they were like what your parents said or the same as the books you read. Kylo observes this little sparkle in your eye when you say that, funnily you completely ignore the part where he said he was going to almost hex you. How cute.

“More importantly you have a man who wishes to do you ill intent, and since I plan on refusing him tomorrow it will mean that he will go to someone far worse than myself.”

“What do I even do about that, I don’t know anyone who could help me.” Normally most people would have a witch they could go for stuff like this, but growing up under The Church meant you were forbidden from even talking with one. Of course, at this point in your independence you could care less about such a silly rule that you didn’t believe.

“I can help you, that’s why I came here.” Kylo tells you.

“How kind of you, what do you need me to do?”

“We need to go to your home,” He explains. You must not know who he is, to trust him so blindly. He could tell that you were somewhat naïve, of course that only made him feel more strongly about you. He followed you to your house, helping to carry some of the berries you just picked. Seeing you in person was much different than his vision, in real life he could smell you and sense your energy. Both of which made you all the more enticing to him, he took a deep breath and got a whiff of your scent, which almost made him moan.

Everything about you was arousing...from your seeming innocence to the way your blouse hugged your breasts, Kylo was enraptured. He’d seduce you, but your safety was much more important for now. However in the future...it could certainly happen, and Kylo’s mind quickly wandered to what that might be like.

He’d imagine that you’d be incredibly soft in comparison to him, how lovely it would feel to press you against the mattress and spread you wide….Stop being a deviant! Damn he made himself hard, luckily it was easily to conceal under his thick robes. It was already serving difficult not to think such things around you, true though it had been a while for him, it was no excuse. But he couldn’t help it when your smile called to him like a siren, he was already lost to you.

“Kylo, you can walk besides me you know,” You look back at him.

“Yes, I’m just trying to look out for you.” Not just stare at your backside, a woman wearing pants was a lovely sight. You shake your head.

“Perhaps, but I’d like to converse with you and it’s annoying to keep craning my neck,” You quip.

“Alright, I suppose I can look out from here.” He strides to meet you in two steps.

“That’s better now I feel much safer.” You tease, making Kylo laugh.

It had been a while since he had interacted with anyone besides a customer, and you reminded him that not everyone was horrible. Some people were actually enjoyable to talk to, especially you. Kylo hoped that this wouldn’t be the last time that he’d see you, though he would probably find some excuse to visit you at some point. “So, what kind of things do you do as a witch?” You interrupt his thoughts.

“There’s no easy answer for that, I do many things,” He answers vaguely.

“Yeah but like what?” You want to hear more about the world that had always been hidden from you.

“You really don’t know much about magic do you?”

“No, but I’d like to learn.” You shrug.

“Someday I’ll tell you, but not now okay?” Kylo promises. You nod to him.

“This is it,” You point to your cottage. Kylo smiles, there are flowers all around, vines growing on the walls, it’s small but charming like he’d imagine it. He wondered how you ended up living here by yourself.

Kylo places charms and protectants around the perimeter of your home, and also gives you a charm to wear. “Here, this is my most powerful charm, it should keep you safe,” He hands you the charm. It’s a family heirloom, passed down from his grandmother, a simple white stone with pattern carved into it.

“Thank you Kylo, would you like to stay for tea?” You offer. Kylo considers it, he’d like nothing more than to stay but he knows that if he does he’d do something foolish like try to kiss you. He already felt like he had overstayed his welcome and he wasn’t ready to answer more of your questions, “I’m sorry I must go, I have some work to do.” He says.

“That’s perfectly alright, it was nice meeting you Kylo,” You smile warmly at him.

Kylo takes your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips to leave a soft kiss. “Enchanté my dear, may we meet again.”

The next morning you go out to fetch some water from the stream nearby, there and old woman gives you a gift that you cannot refuse. It’s a single rose and it reads as an omen. You’re hand moves before you can control it, taking it from the old woman’s hand. The thorns prick your fingers when you pick it up, the tiny prick of pain flooding your senses. The old woman flashes you a smile, and you’re filled with dread.

This girl, she’s pure

Bring lots of pain

A sprinkle of nightmares

And a dash of blood

Take her future away

The curse was set, laughter could be heard in the distance.