#he definitely has a notebook that is at least halfway full with the names will and Steve in hearts

[straight4joekeery]

Y’all say Mike has a crush on Eddie but I fully believe he has a crush on Steve and dresses like Eddie because he’s cool and absolutely nothing like Steve. He acts like he hates him to try to get over it (it absolutely doesn’t work a single bit).

[kimjongdaely]

Eternal [Chapter 10]

Vampire!AU

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Warnings: Language, violence, abuse, sexual situations, abortion, mention of suicide

Summary: You’re not sure how to deal with your current situation. Your owner, Byun Baekhyun, isn’t helping with the stress. But what happens when you find a risky solution that might just solve all your problems?

Prologue [M]│Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3│Chapter 4│Chapter 5│ Chapter 6│Chapter 7│Chapter 8│Chapter 9│Chapter 10│Chapter 11│ Chapter 12│Chapter 13

You feel the world stop around you. You look at Sehun with wide eyes, exhilaration filling you to the brim, electrifying your nerves, the sound of your heartbeat drumming in your ears.

You gesture quickly for him to enter the room, letting him sit down on the bed next to you. “Are you serious? How?”

He nods, then bites his lip, looking around nervously as if he’s afraid of being overheard. His face is serious. “You have to keep it between us though. Don’t let Baekhyun know.”

You frown. “Why? What exactly did you find?”

He takes a deep breath, looking down and fiddling with his fingers. “It’s not exactly…a fool-proof way. And it could potentially go wrong. I’m afraid if Baekhyun finds out, he won’t even attempt it.”

The exhilaration is replaced with worry now. “Tell me how first, and then I’ll think about it.”

“Well, I think I found a way to turn you into a vampire like us.” He says. “If we can somehow merge your blood with a vampire’s, I think it can work, since our blood has special properties. In small doses it could heal wounds, while large doses can be used as poison. If we can just get the amount right…”

Your eyes widen. You’re beginning to understand what he’s insinuating, the question like lead on your tongue. “You can potentially bring me back to life?”

He nods. “Or rather, preserve your life before it ends completely. Of course, there might be aftereffects. You might not be human anymore, but you’d be alive and so will the baby.”

You furrow your brows, thinking about it. It’s plausible. Also risky, but if you were to slowly increase the blood intake in small increments, you can avoid getting poisoned, at least.

You also understand why Sehun doesn’t want you to tell Baekhyun. If there’s a possibility of you becoming a vampire…you’re not sure he would be happy with that. Baekhyun doesn’t like his life as a vampire, he doesn’t want to live for an eternity, and surely he wouldn’t want that for you either.

Or maybe…maybe he would be happy? To spend eternity with you and your baby?

Uneasiness churns in your stomach, and you place a hand over your baby bump to calm yourself.

“You can think about it.” Sehun says. “You don’t have to make a decision right now. I think it would be best to do it when you’re in labor, there’ll be a small window where we can try to do it.”

“I’m worried about Baekhyun.” You admit, chewing your lip. “He’s working tirelessly to find a way to save both of us and I know he probably won’t die from fatigue but…” You frown at the floor.

“I know.” Sehun pats a hand on your knee to comfort you.

“And what if there’s aftereffects?” You continue. “For the baby? Right now it’s half-vampire, half-human. But if I were to turn into a vampire halfway into labor, what does that mean for the baby? Does it become full-vampire?”

You shake your head. “There are so many questions and…I’m scared.”

Sehun has an odd expression on his face, something like sadness—which you can understand—and…disappointment? “I get it. Don’t worry about it, I was just giving a suggestion. Maybe we’ll find another way.”

He stands up to leave, offering you a reassuring smile but it’s tight. Deep down you feel like there isn’t another way. You have to accept the risks or result in death.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as the door clicks shut, leaving you in darkness.

Baekhyun sighs, leaning back against his chair. He closes his eyes, honing in on Thorn, and even through the wall he can hear her gentle breaths, the steady beating of her heart. Faintly, he can even hear the baby’s heartbeat.

It’s still such a strange thought for him. He has a baby coming. He’s going to be a father.

What does that even mean? He doesn’t have the slightest inkling on how to act, what to do. He’s never taken care of anyone before; his brothers certainly don’t need his help with anything.

Will he be a good father? Or will he…

He sighs again, pressing his clasped hands against his forehead.

If the baby looks like him at all, he might want to kill it.

He can’t banish the evil thought. Can’t pretend it never occurred to him. If Thorn were to die during labor…if the baby comes out healthy and grows up to resemble either of them in any way, Baekhyun doesn’t think he could bear it.

It’s just…too much.

Which is why he’s determined not to let Thorn die. He knows how much she loves this baby, even if he can’t understand. He knows she would hate him if he were to hurt the baby in any way. She’d come back to haunt him for eternity.

And he knows that he won’t be able to stop himself from acting rash and violent if anything were to happen to her. So she can’t die. Definitely not.

But he’s been searching high and low for months now for a way to save her. He still comes up empty handed. He has a few potential theories that could work but…he’s skeptical about trying them.

He taps his pen against his notebook, focusing on the name he wrote down a while ago. He had left this idea hanging, his mind going numb when he thought about it too much.

But now that he’s revisiting it, maybe…?

He stands, chair scraping against the wooden floor as he hurries out the room. He walks down the hall, knocking on his brother’s room, quietly since he’s probably with his Pet, who must be asleep at this time.

The door opens slowly, Jongdae’s face poking out. His brother furrows his brows in surprise when he sees Baekhyun. “What’s up?”

“Can we talk?” He tilts his head towards his room and Jongdae nods. He closes the door quietly behind him, following Baekhyun back to his room.

Once Baekhyun closes his door, away from listening ears, he gestures for Jongdae to sit down next to him. “How’s it going with your Pet?”

A smile blooms on Jongdae’s face as he sits. “Pretty good. She seems to be completely over what happened with Victoria. She’s very affectionate.” Jongdae gives Baekhyun a sly wink.

“That’s good to hear.” Baekhyun says, strangely stiff and Jongdae frowns.

“So?” He raises a brow. “I doubt you called me over just to ask me about my Pet.”

“I wanted to ask about Victoria.” Baekhyun says, and Jongdae tenses. “Back then, you watched her die, didn’t you?”

Jongdae’s face darkens as he stares at his hands. “Yes.”

“You were sure she was dead?”

“Absolutely.” His voice trembles and cracks, eyes glazing over when he says, “I held her in my arms and she...was gone.”

“Then when she came back,” Baekhyun says carefully, looking right into Jongdae’s eyes, “she was certainly revived, wasn’t she?”

Jongdae hesitates, then nods. “What are you getting at, Baek?”

“If a vampire can be revived, is it possible to turn a human into a vampire?” Baekhyun asks, his hands clasped tightly together until his knuckles are white. “Since vampires have incredible self-healing capabilities and near-immortality—to be able to even bring a vampire back to life—perhaps if we used a vampire’s blood, we could save a human from the brink of death as well.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Jongdae waves his hands to slow Baekhyun down. “I don’t know how Victoria was able to come back to life…but you’re suggesting someone fed her blood to bring her back?”

“It seems like the only logical answer.”

“Who would’ve done that?” Jongdae frowns. “And why? Why Victoria?”

Baekhyun sighs. “I don’t know. I’m still piecing things together. I just want to know what you think, and whether it’s worth a try.”

Jongdae takes a moment to mull it over, tapping a finger against his chin. “Certainly, it’s a logical idea. It could be possible. But isn’t it too risky?”

“Yeah.” Baekhyun sighs. “There’s no knowing the effects on her body and the baby’s…and it’s hard to calculate just how much blood we’ll need.”

“Well we shouldn’t scrap the idea just yet.” Jongdae says. “Maybe we can expand on it and find a better solution. I think a vampire’s blood could be beneficial to her.”

“Yes, maybe.” Baekhyun falls into deep thought.

“Still.” Jongdae leans back on the chair, brows furrowed. “Who do you think revived Victoria? What are their motives?”

“Someone who has a grudge with you?” Baekhyun suggests. “Someone who knows about her, so it can’t be a human, since it happened so long ago. It must be a vampire as well. Perhaps a rival clan.”

“But what good would bringing Victoria back do?” Jongdae frowns. “She only wanted to be with me again, and tried to kill my Pet. She wouldn’t have done anything to the clan.”

“That’s true…” Baekhyun frowns. “Found anything on your patrols lately? Any new suspicious deaths or activity?”

“None noteworthy.”

“Strange.” Baekhyun looks down as he tries to think. “If it’s really someone who wants to cause trouble for us, there’s no way they would stop there. They should’ve made a move by now.”

“I agree.” Jongdae stands, offering Baekhyun a nod. “Let’s meet up with the others for a meeting soon and talk about this. I think the older hyungs may have a better idea of what to do. Yixing might have more knowledge about the blood transfer idea.” Jongdae hovers by the door, before turning and giving Baekhyun a small smile. “Good luck with the pregnancy.”

Baekhyun feels a sharp pang in his chest. “Thanks.”

You wake up to a body pressed gently against your back. You smile, turning and finding Baekhyun’s sleeping face. He looks so tired, dark circles under his eyes and his skin even paler than usual.

Pressing a hand to his cheek, it’s freezing. You frown. Has he been feeding properly? He’s cut back his feeding frequency, but could it be that he’s stopped altogether in order to spend more time researching?

You lean up to kiss him softly, feeling him stir against you, his eyes snapping open. You feel guilty for waking him up, even though he probably just got into bed. It’s been happening more ever since you became pregnant, but it’s still unusual for him to sleep with you like this. “Sorry, go back to sleep.”

He mumbles something, pulling you as close as your baby bump allows. His breath is cold against your forehead and you shiver. “I’m okay. How are you?”

“Good.” You can’t help the smile that grows on your face. You try your best to warm him up by wrapping your arms around him and pressing even closer to him. “Baby kicks in the middle of the night sometimes and I have to go to the bathroom a lot, but I’m happy.”

“That’s good.” He sighs against your hair, and you feel him relax. “What time is it?”

“It’s ten in the morning.”

He let’s out a soft groan. “Go, get some breakfast. I’ll be sleeping.”

“Alright.” You push yourself up, pecking him on the forehead before heading to the kitchen. You’ll be sure to let him sleep for a few hours at least.

Baekhyun blinks awake, finding a sliver of sunlight creeping in from the small gap between the curtains. That tells him it’s still daylight, he hasn’t slept nearly enough. He can hear some laughter downstairs from the Pets, Thorn’s voice standing out to him the most. He guesses it’s around mid-afternoon.

He pushes himself groggily out of bed, stumbling back to his own room. Though it’s comfortable in Thorn’s room, he finds himself too thirsty when he stays in there too long. She just smells so good.

He eyes the bed and wonders if he should get some more sleep. But he had a strange dream that gave him an unusual idea, something seems to click inside him, so Baekhyun chooses to sit down on his desk.

Baekhyun scribbles into his notebook again, history books and medical books open, scattered about on the desk and on the floor. He hadn’t bothered cleaning anything up. Talking with Jongdae last night cleared up some of his thoughts. Vocalizing them really helped him think, and hazy dream he had making a sliver of anxiety begin to brew. He churns ideas and theories and crazy speculation in his mind, scrawling them down in hopes to find some sort of coherency in all this mess.

And finally, he writes down a name that makes his mouth dry, his hands tremble.

Surely it’s not true. Surely he’s just being paranoid, anxious about the pregnancy and about Thorn’s fate. Surely he’s mistaken somehow, and picked up the wrong hints. Yes, that’s right. There’s nothing to make him speculate. No reason for this person to do such a thing.

But deep down he feels so uneasy.

He writes it right under Victoria’s name. He circles it, draws an arrow upwards, connecting their names and then by the side writes, “blood research?”

Could it be?

Thank you so much for reading Eternal. From this point forward, the remaining chapters can only read by paid members on AFF.

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A/N: I know a lot of you will be disappointed with this. The thing is, I want to receive something in return for my hard work. No matter how much I ask for comments and reblogs, they all go unheard. So I’ve decided this is the best course of action. Please, please, if you like my writing, please consider giving me monetary support so I can keep writing without starving. Thank you sincerely, and I’m sorry.

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©kimjongdaely

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[thiswasinevitableid]

Have you seen the post going around about the zoom class with one guy and his full streamer setup vs the guy whose just in the middle of the woods? I know you have a prompt list rn but I’m just saying there’s a sternclay fic in there somewhere...

It is! Here you go!

Life is better with order. Or, at the very least, with some attempt at patterns, organization, or consistency. 

Which is why Stern has carefully arranged his desk, his chair, and his equipment in the background. Streaming as a hobby and a side hustle means he has some (okay, a lot) of practice making his digital self look just right. He needs to make a good impression on the first day of the semester.

Unlike some people. 

“Holy shit man, are you in the woods?” Duck, the guy in a “Monongahela National Forest” shirt, grins as he asks this of another student whose screen consists of a forest clearing, a log, and the name “Barclay.”

“Yeah. Hang on, lemme finish getting the phone balanced.”

“Dude, that’s like, way better than my background” this comes from Jake, in front of a poorly rendered half-pipe. 

“Can’t really take credit for it, just where I ended up.” Barclay sits down, and Stern gets his first look at a man so tall he barely fits in the frame, with a short, coppery beard and an honest-to-god man-bun.

Damn west coast schools. 

“How is your battery going to last long enough for class?” Stern leans back in his chair, certain Barclay will have “battery trouble” halfway through as an excuse to cut out early.

Barclay smiles, lifting up a small green and black rectangle, “solar battery. Not everyone needs fancy gadgets for school.” He aims a pointed stare at Sterns set-up. 

“It’s important to have the right equipment.”

“Whatever you say, man.” He lifts a cup of iced coffee into the frame, sipping it through a straw. It’s the picture of relaxation, as if nothing is wrong in the world. As if this is all totally normal. 

Stern wants to reach through the  screen and slap some sense into him. Preferably while he’s shirtless.

He chalks that thought up to not having gotten laid since last December and pulls up his note taking software as Professor Chicane enters the room.

------------------------------------

Private Chat 9/20/20

Duck (he/him): I timed it, we’re already at ten minutes of arguing.

Indrid (he/him): I know Ned enjoys their demonstrating the different modes of rhetoric, but this is a bit extreme.

Duck: To be fair, Joe does seem kinda uptight.

Indrid: Yes, but Barclay should know by now that zeroing in on him during our practice debates only results in this.

Duck: Yeah. Oh shit, are they for real wrapping up you think?

Indrid: We can only hope. Skype me tonight?

Duck: Of course, sugar.

--------------------------------------

What is Joseph’s problem? He’s got a set-up that would make a pro-vlogger jealous, what looks to be a well-lit apartment with some houseplants and the kind of coffee-cups that are weirdly lacking in personality. His clothes are immaculate, his hair slicked back as if he;s in a business meeting rather than an online class in the midst of a chaotic world. So why is he acting like everything is terrible? And why is he always arguing with Barclay, when there are plenty of other people in the class to disagree with?

“Now” Mr. Chicane’s voice booms through the tiny speaker on his phone, “if you all had a chance to read over the instructions, we will begin the first mock debate. Do we have any volunteers?”

He and Joe raise their hands at the same time. Mr. Chicane raises an eyebrow.

“While I appreciate your eagerness, gentlemen, I would like two other volunteers this time.”

That’s fine by him. It’s not like he likes listening to Joseph get all wound up and passionate, making everyone on the call sit up and take notice of him. It’s not as if he enjoys being the center of his focus. 

Nope, not at all.

-----------------------------

Private chat 10/11/20

Jake (he/him): Dudes, did you see who got paired up on the final project?

Aubrey (she/her): Chicane must be getting them back for all the times they’ve hijacked discussions. 

Duck (he/him): Man, for their sake I hope it works out.

Indrid (he/him): This is going to be a disaster.

--------------------------------------

“Are you out of your mind!” Stern is talking before Barclay’s video is fully on. 

“Nope. And you don’t have to yell, my speaker works just fine.”

“You’re outside, for all I know there’s a ton of ambient noise.”

Barclay, phone obviously in his hand as he walks through the trees, groans.

“And don’t try to derail this; how can you possibly suggest I come out there so we can do the project in person? We’re supposed to be limiting travel and gatherings.”

“Look, Joseph, we both agree that trying to generate our own cryptid hoax is the best way to demonstrate all the techniques Ned wants us too, right?”

“Yes” he hides his answer behind the rim of his coffee mug. 

“We’ll do a way better job if we work in the same space. And if it makes you feel any better, I haven’t had any human contact in three weeks; all quarantined up, unlike whatever you’ve been doing in the city.”

He sets the mug down with a thunk, “I haven’t been out in a month. And before that was only for one grocery run and a hospital visit.”

“Uhhh-”

“I cut my hand cooking. So. Yeah.”

Literal crickets chirp, courtesy of Barclay’s end of the line, as the silence stretches on.

“If it helps, it’s real easy to stay isolated here, and I’ve still got utilities and everything.”

“And you’re not subsisting only on MREs or granola or something?”

A deep chuckle, the kind that makes his skin prickle, “Nope. That much I can promise.”

Stern glances around the studio apartment, clean and empty. 

“What’s your address?”

------------------------------------

Look, all Stern is going to say is that he’s seen and read plenty of stories that start with a cabin in the woods and none of them end well. Which is why he’s still sitting in his car, parked beside a beat-up Subaru, rather than knocking on the door. 

Breathe in, five counts. Out for four. Repeat four times. 

Waiting for him on the door is a note.

Joseph,

Key under mat, make yourself at home. 

Barclay. 

He brings in his bags (a matching set of three, a gift from his aunt last year), placing them in the tiny guest room. It’s not much more than a bed, a dresser, and a tiny table. But there’s a heating unit below the window looking out into the woods, which is pretty pleasant. He’ll be keeping the blinds closed at night, though; he hates the thought of something being able to look in. 

Stern’s busy evaluating the laundry closet when the front door opens. 

“Hey, glad you found the place okay.”

Barclay stands in the doorway, a basket full of fruit in one hand. He’s remarkably kempt for a man living in the woods and that, combined with the deep voice being even richer in person and the fact Stern has to actually look up to meet his eyes, has him stumbling for words. 

“Your directions were very thorough. Thank you. Um. I put my things in there, should I, um-”

“I can give you the grand tour.” The taller man sets the basket on the dining table, notices Sterns puzzled expression “there’s a piece of property about a mile thataway that has orchards they don’t really use. They let me come and pick whenever i want, less for them to clean up.”

Barclay keeps up a steady monologue as he shows him the cabin. The lower level is the living room and dining area, a kitchen which leads onto the back deck, Sterns room, and a bathroom. As the cabin is A-frame, the upstairs is Barclay’s room, all dark wood and pine colored plaid. It’s as Barclay is telling him about the woodpecker that sometimes nests in the eaves that he realizes why he’s talking so much.

He’s nervous. 

Neither of their nerves improve when he gets to his last point of order. 

“Uh, so, the bathroom downstairs is only a half-bath.”

“So...if I want to shower, which I do, I have to come up here.”

“Yeah.” Barclay scratches the back of his neck, “sorry. I don’t, like, sleep naked or anything so we should be fine.”

“Disappointing.” Stern sighs, only to sail past sarcastic and land face first in sincere. 

Barclay blushes, then shrugs, “Trust me, after the first night, you’ll see why.”

Stern does. He’s warm as long as he’s in bed, but the moment he ventures into the bathroom in the middle of the night he’s cocooned in cold. 

The morning brings cinnamon and coffee on the draft coming under the door. He plods into the kitchen in search of caffeine, finds Barclay in an pron, the counter covered in trays of dough. 

“Morning!”

“Morning. Coffee-”

“Right there, sugar and stuff’s in the cabinet above it, cream and such is in the fridge.”

Blessedly, there’s heavy cream to be found, and soon he’s sipping from an enamel mug emblazoned with a UFO made of veggies. 

“Is this all for your job?” Barclay mentioned he was a cook during an icebreaker. 

“Yep. Way it works is I bust my ass baking once or twice a day, and Thacker, who works with Mama at the Lodge in town, comes and takes them over there. Normally I’d just be there but, well, y’know.”

“Everything is on fire? Figuratively, I mean.”

“Sometimes literally too, but yeah.”

As he’s turning to grab his clothes and head showerward, Barclay adds, “You a scone man, coffecake man, or a cinnamon roll man?”

“Coffeecake?” It comes out hesitant. 

“There’s no right answer, man.” Barclay sounds amused, “what do you want?”

“Cake, definitely.”

“Cool. I’ll save you a slice.”

Once he’s showered and on the wi-fi, his day runs like normal; one lecture, reading, a research paper, his initial half of their project, and working either his copy-editing or transcription job in between, and planning his next stream. Barclay comes and goes, stops now and then to see if he needs anything, leaves a sandwich in front of him around dinner time. Then it’s time to crawl under the covers and dream of a less-stressful world. 

The next day, just before one, Barclay taps him on the shoulder. 

“Ready for class?”

“Yes…” He gestures to his laptop and notebook. 

“C’mon, join me out here, it’s way nicer, and we can share the phone.”

“Barclay, it’s  a nonsensical way to attend class, just stay in here with me! Even this set-up has to be better than the woods.”

“This set up. You mean my house?” All the friendliness leaves hi voice. 

“Yes. Look, I agreed to come out because you’re right, if we want to ace this thing that’s worth sixty percent of our grade, this is the place to do it; I don’t have to go along with the whole self-sufficient woodsman aesthetic while I’m here. “

“Yeah, I’d say you’re pretty far from self-sufficient. See you in class.” 

Stern stews through the entire session, but where he’d usually find something Barclay says to latch onto, he instead gnaws on himself. Why didn’t he just go with him? Why snap at someone who’s been nothing but nice since he got here?

Whatever the answer, how can he fix it?

---------------------------------------

Barclay tromps back through the twilight, done with his second class of the day. If Joseph is in the main house, he plans to ignore him until tomorrow morning. That all goes out the window with the clank of dishes from the kitchen. 

Peering in reveals the other man bent over, pulling a casserole from the oven. He waits to announce his presence until Joseph is out of the danger zone, enjoying the view as he does. 

“Smells good.”

Blue eyes flick over to him as Joseph opens drawers, “it’s mostly cheese and chips, so I’m not surprised.”

“Servers are in that one.”

“Thank you. Nacho pie?” He scoops some into a bowl, holding it out. 

“Sure. Uh, look, Joseph I-”

Joseph holds up the server, “Wait. Before you apologize I, um, I wanted to say I’m sorry for my comments. And for being so...me-ish.” He sighs, staring at the utensil in his grip, “I’ve always been a little bit tense, tried to be polite and effective and friendly in spite of it. The last six months made that harder to do. I don’t love it when I can’t be organized, when normal systems go out of place. But that’s no excuse for being rude to you, even before you invited me here. You’re just so...you’re always so calm and relaxed, like nothing was wrong and I just honed in on that way more than made sense. I’m sorry.”

“If it makes you feel better, I kinda did the same thing. You’re always so put together, it looked like you had this organized life in the midst of this whole shitstorm. I feel lik everything is slipping away, like my world is just this cabin. I mean, I assumed you were seeing friends in the city, while I haven’t seen Mama in person since April. So” he sets the bowl down, rests his hand on Joseph’s shoulder, “I’m sorry too.”

Joseph laughs, softly, “turns out we both had failures of imagination, huh?”

“Yeah” he runs a hand over Joseph's back, “now come on, this dinner’s not gonna eat itself.”

-----------------------------------

“You sure you don’t wanna wear the bigfoot costume?”

“Positive. Besides, it suits you.” Joseph finishes styling the fur on the head of the costume to look more realistic, “I just hope we get this done before that storm comes in; as mush as the rain would add to the mood of the scene, that’ll be hell to dry and you’ll be miserable. So, go lurk over there while I finish up getting the camera settings where they need to be.”

“Yes sir” Barclay pops the head on, leaves crunching as moves to his appointed tree. He smiles as he watches Joseph fiddle with the camera; things have been so much better between them these last two weeks. They trade off cooking dinner, study side by side, and watch movies or play games in the warmth of the heater. They have a similar sense of humor and taste in books, and are tidy to boot.   Joseph’s even come with him to listen to lectures in the woods, the pair sharing a thermos of coffee under the astonished gaze of their classmates. There’s just one problem. 

Barclay’s buried crush is now blooming in every direction. Animated, argumentative Joseph was attractive. Joseph, in all his moods and mannerisms, is devastatingly enchanting. He’s come close to telling him this, but the other man is his guest and also only here for another two and a half weeks, so a confession is setting himself up for heartbreak at worst and awkwardness at best. 

He almost blew it last night when they were washing dishes (Joseph scrubs, Barclay dries and puts away). 

“Last one.”

“Thanks, blue eyes.”

“What was that?”

“Uh, blue eyes? Like a, uh, a nickname?”

Joseph laughs, “Sounds like something from a Raymond Chandler book. I like it.”

On the plus side, if Joseph thinks it’s just a nickname and not a pet name, maybe Barclay can keep using it.

“Are you ready?’

He sticks up a hairy thumb and calls, “you know it, blue eyes.”

That same laugh as Joseph takes up his position. Maybe it’s the weird film over the costume’s eyes, but Barclay swears he sees a blush.

-------------------------

Stern trawls through the search results. Their video is getting some traction, with two cryptid hunter sites claiming it’s credible footage. He’s making note of how the information spread, which threads lead to belief and which to doubt, when Barclay calls from upstairs. 

“Joseph? Little help?”

The other man is in the bathroom, and when Stern knocks he says, “Think the pilot light on the water heater went out again, all I’m getting is cold water. Can you go relight it?”

“Sure.” He gets to the stairs then, stops, “where’s the key to that closet?”

“Huh? Oh, shit, right, hang on” Barclay says at the same time as Stern’s “don’t worry, I can find it.” 

Which is why the instant he turns back into the bedroom is the same instant Barclay steps out of the bathroom, blue towel around his waist. 

Any blood that doesn’t head south goes instantly to Stern’s cheeks. 

“You okay there, blue-eyes?”

“It’s completely unfair how good you look without a shirt.”

He clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Idn’t ean to ay at out oud” The mumbled explanation makes Barclay smirk. 

“You like this, should see what’s under the towel.”

The unusually bold statement from Barclay kindles his own confidence.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, big guy.”

“Who says I won’t.” Barclay sits down on the edge of the bed, nonchalant and leaning back on his hands, “got plenty of time to make good on them.”

“We literally don’t. I go back in a week and two days.”

Barclay toys with the lint on the towel, “you could stay. Through break, through next semester, for however long you wanted.”

“Do you mean that?”

A shy nod, “I like having you around, Joseph. Even beyond the huge fucking crush I have on you I...everything is a little better when you’re around.”

“I, um, I guess it could work. We know next semester is online too, and so is work, so…” there must be variables missing, something he’s not seeing, some reason this is too good to be true.

“You want some space away from shirtless me to think about it?”

“That’d be great.”

Barclay stands, hesitates, then plants a quick kiss on his forehead, “take all the time you need, blue eyes.”

------------------------------

Private Chat log 1/11/2021

Barclay (he/him): Did you see the look on Duck’s face when we turned up in frame together. 

Joseph (he/him): Yes. Pretty sure Aubrey yelled something about him needing to pay up. I wonder what the bet was. 

Barclay (he/him): Whatever it was, pretty sure I came out the biggest winner. 

Stern snorts, trying not to blush on camera, and leans over to kiss his boyfriend on the cheek. 

[hawkeish]

3. You made me a Christmas playlist but it’s just Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas is you”. I can’t tell if you’re hitting on me or if it’s a joke --- for (you know it) Carver/Merrill :D

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS PROMPT IT IS FANTASTIC, here’s 1400 words of modern Carver/Merrill fluff written for @dadrunkwriting because I have no restraint and too much time <3 I hope you like it!

no CWs, but there’s some swearing (I promise my Hawke siblings love each other, in a brutal way!)

also my modern Merrill’s a postgrad studing Art History & Cultural Studies - repairing the eluvian is her research project.

read on AO3 if you want!

It’s the evening before everything shuts down for Satinalia, and it’s started to snow.

Which would be nice, if only Carver wasn’t stuck outside Merrill’s door, trying not to break a magical mirror which possesses far too many poky bits as it pokes right into his side. Fingers numb with cold, he’s too busy fumbling with the ridiculous amount of keys she gave him to appreciate the beauty of the Alienage in Firstfall. Bedecked with wreaths, shining baubles and flickering garlands of lights, the vhenadahl is like something from a fairy-tale, dusted with a gentle sigh of snow.

Snow, lights, whatever. Any other night, Carver might let himself be enchanted. But right now, he has one priority—get the damn mirror into the damn apartment without breaking it even more.

And yet here he is, falling at the first hurdle: locked out, with Merrill’s most precious possession leaning on him at an angle that’s making him nervous. It’s not exactly going well. But it needs to go well. He promised he’d get the eluvian - carefully swaddled in some enchanted cloth to “protect him”, whatever that means - from her studio at the Viscount’s College of Art back to her Lowtown home in one piece. If he doesn’t, he’s not sure what might happen. He doesn’t want to know what might happen. Her degree? Ruined. A vital piece of her people’s history? Lost. And as for Merrill herself?

She’d probably never speak to him again, and shit, he can’t think of much worse—

Click.

The random key he’s shoved in the lock twists, and the door swings open before him.

“Thank the fucking Maker,” he mumbles, then picks up the mirror and barrels into Merrill’s tiny home.

Merrill’s flat is much like Merrill. As in, modest, pretty, and filled with a frankly terrifying amount of knowledge. There are small cairns of books dotted between potted plants and thrifted armchairs, alongside art prints leaned up against walls and notebooks littering her paint-flecked desk. Though she doesn’t celebrate Satinalia, there are a couple of decorations over the tiny fireplace, too. And—is that spice he can smell?

As Carver carefully sets down the eluvian by the window in the corner like she’d instructed, he catches sight of something in his peripheral vision. Two steaming cups of wine-dark liquid set on the coffee table by the fire, and beside them, a neatly-folded note.

Curiosity gets the better of him. Carver wanders over and gingerly picks up the paper, a frown puckering his brow as he unfurls it.

C. Merrill’s handwriting is pin-point neat. I just wanted to say - I do really appreciate you doing this for me. Creators, there’s no chance I could lift that thing on my own! You really are my chevalier in shining armour. I’ll send you a little something to say thanks. M x

That x does something strange to him; a small chill runs up his spine, and Carver puts the note back down in a fluster. Just as he does, the phone in his pocket vibrates. Still frowning, he pulls it out, then squints at the text that’s screaming up at him from the too-bright screen.

alright dickhead! hope you’re having a lovely day of being a burden on society! did you get the message?

Carver doesn’t need to read the sender’s name to know it’s from his sister.

Go back to making shit coffee for people who’ll never sleep with you, he types. And what message?

Surely Ri wouldn’t mean the note. Why would she know about the note? As far as he can tell, Merrill only asked him for help after Aveline and Fenris made some excuse about being far too busy washing their hair, or dancing round their townhouse full of half-decayed corpses, or whatever the fuck it is that they get up to instead of being friendly, helpful people.

Carver wasn’t the first choice. He never is. Which is fine. Totally fine. He’s used to it. Knowing he’s never a first thought definitely doesn’t itch at the back of his mind, or keep him up at night—

“Maker’s breath,” he scolds himself, trying to focus back on his phone.

And then, just as he presses send, another notification pops up. Unknown number; something in him tells him to tap anyway. When he does, a little jolt of static runs through him, warm and fuzzy and disgustingly sweet.

For you, the new message reads. To say thanks. I knew I wouldn’t need to ask anyone else. You’re all I need for Satinalia. Enjoy! <3

Below it, there’s a link to a playlist. A playlist which, he notices, contains about twenty versions of the same song, All I Want For Satinalia Is You. One’s in Elven. One’s a country version with, inexplicably, some late-night TV host caterwauling over the chorus. One’s by some Orlesian crooner called Michel de Bublé. There’s even one that’s just someone playing the recorder extremely badly over a muffled backing track.

It’s an…interesting mix. As he skips through the songs, though, he can’t help but smile. Whoever this truly ridiculous playlist was meant for is a lucky person. It certainly wasn’t for him.

At least, that’s what he thinks, until he taps back onto his messages app.

Then, his heart does a weird twist in his chest, and the phone suddenly feels like a searing hot coal in his hands. Because, in bold, in the small gap above the text where the sender’s name usually lies, there’s a small line that makes his pulse skip every time his eyes trail over it.

Could this be: Merrill Alerion

Carver nearly drops his phone.

This is a joke, right? It has to be a joke. Carver feels slightly seasick. Quicker than he knew his fingers could work, he’s sent a crappy screenshot to Marian.

This???????

A few seconds pass.

Ri replies with a voice message. The voice message is a long, horrible, joyous screech.

Fuck, Carver thinks. “Fuck!” Carver says, and stuffs his phone back into his pocket.

His heart’s going wild, now; his palms are sweatier than they’ve maybe ever been. The mulled wine suddenly seems like a very good idea: he takes one in each hand, trying to convince himself he doesn’t fucking hate star anise. Time to chug—

Halfway through his first glass, there’s two light knocks at the door.

Carver freezes, glass still at his lips. Then, he realises that in his haste to get the mirror in, he’s left the door open. Panic spears through him, until he remembers that he’s a six-foot-stupid ex-farmer and could definitely take on a burglar. And that burglars probably don’t knock.

Still, this is Kirkwall. Better to be safe than sorry. Carver holds his breath as he sets the glasses down as quietly as he can and starts towards the door. He’s not punched anyone in a while. Maybe the anxiety coursing round his body from that text will finally give him a decent right hook. Maybe if he catches someone trying to steal Merrill’s stuff, it’ll add to the whole chevalier-in-shining-armour thing. Maybe—

A gentle gust of wind flutters through the apartment, and the door swings open, just as Carver’s barely steps away.

When he sees who’s behind the door, he makes a tiny squealing noise that instantly makes him want to cease existing. Rosy-cheeked and smiling, Merrill stands before him. Flecks of snow are caught in her dark hair and on the chunky knitted scarf wrapped around her neck, and her eyes are glittering beneath the Satinalia lights strung up on the street outside. It’s as if she’s haloed, glowing, a beacon against the dark winter’s night.

She looks beautiful.

“Merrill,” he breathes. “I thought you were...”

“Studying?” She’s smiling, and he feels a bit dizzy. “I was. But I finished - just in time, I think! Did you get the message?”

“Uh—the playlist?” he offers. “Yeah.”

“But did you get the message?” she asks again, a grin tugging at the edges of her lips.

Carver frowns. There was a message to get? “I—what?”

“Creators,” Merrill says, half-laughing, glancing up at something above him, then back down. When her gaze locks with his, he feels his heart flutter. “Hawke said making you a playlist would be very smooth. I’m not sure I’m ever very smooth. I guess I’ll not trust your sister again.”

“Smooth?” he echoes, like an idiot.

Then, he remembers what’s hanging above her door. A sprig of mistletoe, tied up with a neat red bow.

Merrill answers him with a laugh, and a kiss, and Carver thinks oh.

[im-fairly-whitty]

The Mortifying Ordeal of Caring: A DBH oneshot

Gavin and Nines have been working together for nearly a year now and dating for more than half of it, but the suggestion of moving in together has Gavin anxious about the bad habits he’s only just managed to kick and that he fears could come back at any moment.

To his own great discomfort he realizes that—unlike most things in his past—he cares too much about his relationship with Nines to just run away from it, leading him to hunt down a real life professional (android) therapist to give it to him straight and tell him once and for all if he’s too messed up to really be good enough for Nines in the long run. (Or if he maybe has a chance at actually becoming a better person.)

“Gavin Reed?” 

Gavin stood up fast enough to wack his leg on the low waiting room coffee table, making him wince.

Luckily the sharp new pain in his shin was easily stuffed down underneath the sheer terror that had been rising in his gut since he’d awoken two hours before his morning alarm and been unable to get back to sleep.

“That’s- Um, that’s me.” He coughed, having to clear his dry throat halfway through the first word. 

Was not being able to speak properly enough of a screw up to justify leaving? He could probably bear the shame of running out of the office now, right?

But the android just smiled warmly and held the door open for him. “Come on in Gavin, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you!”

Gavin teetered on the edge on flight for another instant that felt like an eternity before gritting his teeth, ordering himself to man up, and stiffly walking back into the office with the same care he’d take entering an uncleared area with a reported active shooter on the loose.

But once inside the office he realized it didn’t look much like an office at all. He’d been expecting some clean lined minimalist space with the stereotypical red couch that cartoons had taught him to expect, but this room instead seemed...cozy.

There was a couch, but it was worn in and brown, not an ostentatious slick velvet red. A rolling chair was beside it, presumably for the therapist. On one wall was a collection of drawings scattered with stickers, and against the other wall stood a low bookshelf filled with baskets of toys. 

“You, uh, you get a lot of kids in here?” He asked stiffly, gingerly sitting in the exact middle of the couch on the extreme edge of the cushion.

Beside him on the couch was a small novelty pillow covered with blue and purple sequins which he carefully ignored.

“I do.” The android said, closing the door behind them and taking a seat on the rolling chair, relaxing into it and leaning against one of the arms. “Most of my clients are adults, but many of the more complex situations I work with since the revolution are android children with human parents. Having toys for them helps ease things a bit when we talk, and I’ve found my adult clients don’t mind either.”

“Shit. I didn’t even think about kid androids.” Gavin said, eyes wide as he stared at the shelf. “Fuck, how does that even- uh, sorry about the swearing, I, uh...”

“While we’re here together I don’t want you to worry about censoring yourself.” The android said easily. “If you need to swear in order to best get your thoughts and feelings out, then I want you to swear up a storm. I know this is our first time meeting, and sometimes it can take a few tries to find a therapist that best meets your needs specifically, but while we’re here today I want you to feel as comfortable as possible.”

Right. Like feeling comfortable was going to happen.

It suddenly occurred to Gavin that she hadn’t pulled out the large notepad and pen he’d assumed all therapists scribbled away on during meetings.

“Are you recording this?” He blurted out, cheeks turning red as he tried desperately to think if that was an offensive question. “I mean, just, you don’t have a notebook and I know you probably gotta take notes, but if I’m gonna talk I’d rather you didn't record anything, you know? Or like, at least not without me knowing? Sorry if that’s a bad question or whatever, I really don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, I’m sorry.”

“Not a bad question at all, this is a new experience for you, so it would be unfair for either of us to assume you already knew everything.” She said gently. “I don’t record sessions unless I ask the client for permission first. I may make some notes after a session, but I generally prefer to be in the moment so that our conversation can flow more naturally and you feel like you have my full attention.”

“Okay. Yeah, that’s good I guess.” Gavin said, his gaze now trained on the floor.

“So Gavin, what is it you’re hoping to gain from our sessions together?” She asked, watching him. 

At least her gaze somehow didn’t feel intense. That and Gavin had the feeling she would wait as long as he needed to get his words together, which was great since it took nearly two full minutes. 

Usually when he was uncomfortable he could fall back on sharp insults or biting sarcasm to shield him, but he’d promised himself he’d give this an honest try after managing  to drag himself in and that meant not resorting to his usual cop-outs.

“I have a boyfriend.” Gavin finally managed to spit out after a mortifyingly long silence of throat clearing. 

“Congratulations.” The therapist said with a smile. “Can you tell me a little bit about him?”

“His name is Nines, we’ve been dating for, uh, seven months now I think? And he’s an android.” Gavin said, palms up and hands open. He found himself impossibly hoping that alone would miraculously explain all his issues to the therapist without him having to wrangle together more words.

“That does explain why you would seek me out as a therapist.” She said, her smile a little wider than it had been so far. “I haven’t had many new lone human clients since the revolution.” 

“I wanted to make sure I got someone who really understood, you know?” Gavin said. “I didn’t want to waste time on some doc who still thinks androids aren't people or some shit. Plus I figure an android would be a better help for me getting better about...certain stuff than a human would. Better perspective on things, you know?”

“What model is Nines?” The therapist asked, nodding. “That’s always an important bit of context for me.”

“An RK900.” Gavin said, clearing his throat and finding himself watching the therapist’s LED, which indeed flickered yellow before she got it under control.

“I’ve never had the chance to meet someone who’s that model before.” She said, her eyes a bit wide.

“He’s the only one out right now, his series got put on hold after, you know, everything.” Gavin said, waving a hand vaguely. It felt much easier to talk about Nines instead of himself. “They released him to our precinct as a prototype since we were the ones who tested the first RK800 too, Connor. You’ve probably heard of Connor actually, he was all over the news during, you know...” 

Another vague hand wave. 

“Anyway, I got assigned Nines as my partner—I’m a detective by the way—which I’m pretty sure was because my boss hates me, and Nines and I hated each other too for like a month or something, but then we started not hating each other so much, and he’s really amazing actually, and you wouldn’t really think he’s caring since he looks so fucking scary when you first see him, and he can rip the door off a car door like no problem and everything too.”

He could feel himself starting to ramble out of sheer nerves, but found himself unable to stop now that the words had finally started.

“But he’s actually really caring and sweet and looks out for me without making me feel like it’s a problem? And right before we started dating he found this kitten in a rain gutter and took it in and we started teaming up to take care of it and whatever cause I’ve already got two cats. And anyway we’re dating now and I’ve never dated someone I care about this much before, and I feel like I’m always about to fuck it up, and the other day we were talking about maybe moving in together which I know sounds kinda fast but it feels right for us, and it sounded awesome when we were talking about it, but then afterward I started feeling like shit about it, and I’ve never really been good for anyone ever and I’ve got so many issues and I just don’t know how I can possibly be good enough for him long term, you know?”

Gavin rubbed his arm as he forced his ramble to an end, his panic having risen slightly the longer he went, sure the android was going to cut him off any second.

But instead she just nodded, eyebrows raised, but seeming understanding. “Sounds like you’ve really got a lot on your mind, Gavin.”

“Yeah.” He said weakly.

“Well first of all, thank you for sharing this with me.” She said very sincerely. “It sounds like you’re doing a lot of soul searching and feeling vulnerable right now, and I’m glad you trust me enough to share.”

“Well, I mean it’s your job, right?” Gavin shrugged, feeling somehow embarrassed at being thanked for spilling his guts. “If I’m working a case I want all the evidence I can get so I can solve it, I figure it’s the same for you and I’d be an idiot if I tried to keep it back, right? Be a waste of my money not to help you do your job right.”

She chuckled. “That’s definitely one way to look at it, though often most of what I do involves helping people solve the puzzle themself.”

Well that sounded like bullshit to Gavin, she wasn’t even going to fix his problems for him?

“So,” She said. “What I’m hearing is that you are currently in a relationship that you value very much with someone who you feel values you back, and now that you two are coming up on a big relationship milestone you’re starting to have doubts and feel afraid that you aren’t good enough for him? Is that right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Gavin said, not particularly liking hearing it said so plainly, but relieved at least to have communicated it well enough.

“What are some of the reasons that make you doubt yourself?” The therapist asked. “Everyone has strengths and weaknesses, and it sounds like maybe you’ve got some weaknesses you’re noticing more and wanting to improve if you’ve made the step to come in and see me.”

“Anger issues, rudeness, occasional insubordination.” Gavin said, reciting the most popular topics in his disciplinary file. He scratched the back of his neck, his gaze wandering to the bookshelf.

“And in your personal life?” She asked, clearly seeing through his strategy.

“I don’t know.” Gavin said, hedging as he unconsciously reached for the sequin pillow, fiddling with the edge.

He knew this was probably the part where he was supposed to say well doc, it all started with my dead mom and abusive, alcoholic dad... But despite his earlier claim that he wanted to hand over all the evidence, he found himself suddenly balking.

“I, uh, I don’t really date a lot.” He said, feeling like he was prying the words out of himself. “I’m more of a one night stand kind of guy. I don’t like people thinking I owe them anything.”

He scruffed his fingers through the pillow’s sequins, flipping them from blue to purple and back as he was silent for a long minute, letting his thoughts wrestle themselves out.

“I’m angry a lot.” He finally managed. “Sometimes I try working on it, like when I was in college or when I first joined the force. But then I get tired or forget I guess and I get just as bad again. Or, you know, something happens.”

Like when Hank had slipped into alcoholism after his kid died and Gavin had handled his old friend’s trauma in the worst way possible because of his own issues.

“Would you say that’s your biggest concern?” The therapist asked, considering him without an ounce of judgement in her gaze. “That you’ll revert to old negative behaviors as your relationship with Nines progresses?” 

“I guess.” Gavin said, starting to scrape all the sequins on the left side of the pillow blue. “I uh.” He cleared his throat. “I think I’m extra worried because...because he’s an android. I was really...not great about androids before we met. He’s the one that helped me get my head on straight about it all, you know? So I guess I’m extra worried about going back to how I was because of that. He deserves better than that, and if it’s a lost cause I’d-”

He ducked his head, coughing and scrubbing at something in his eye.

“I, uh, I guess that’s why I’m here. I wanted to get a professional opinion on if I’m too screwed up or not. If I gotta...gotta let him go or whatever I need to do it before we’re both in too deep. I can’t move in with the guy and realize a week later that it was a mistake, I won’t do that to him. He deserves the best, and if I can be that I want to be, but if not I don’t want to hurt him. You know?”

The therapist watched him quietly with a softly understanding expression, her LED flickering blue.

“Have you talked to Nines about this yet?” She asked. “It seems like you two must have a strong relationship if you’ve already overcome so much together and work together professionally.” 

“God, no, I haven’t.” Gavin shook his head, grimacing. “I mean, well, kinda? I mean, he knows about my issues obviously, and he knows all about my parents and everything. I think maybe he probably knows I’m nervous about moving in together, but he doesn’t know I’m here doing this. I mean, maybe he does, he is the world’s most expensive detective.” He said with a chuckle.

“Is there a reason you haven’t talked about it with him yet?” She asked gently.

Gavin felt himself blush a little, picturing Nines’ unimpressed but still caring expression all too well. “Uh, probably because he’d tell me it’ll be fine, that we’ll work through whatever happens together. And that he’s put up with my shit too long already to let me go so easily now.”

The therapist smiled at that. “It sounds like he’s as dedicated to you are you are to him.”

“I guess, yeah.” Gavin said, looking at the pillow.

“It sounds like your main fear is that you’re afraid that you’ll revert to a past version of yourself that you don’t like very much anymore, but it also sounds like you’ve already made some incredible personal steps recently that already put you far apart from the old Gavin, is that right?”

“Well sure, old me never managed to get himself in to see a shrink, no matter how many people told me to.” Gavin said wryly.

“Precisely. And it sounds like you have something and someone you value enough to really put in the effort to make a change. And most importantly,” Her gaze got a little more serious. “It sounds like you’re changing yourself because you are growing and realizing that you want to be better. Putting the responsibility on your partner to make you better is unhealthy, but working to improve yourself because you’re no longer satisfied with the status quo is admirable. Even just the fact that you would be willing to let him go if you wouldn’t make him happy despite how badly you want it to work out says a lot about your motives.”

“Yeah?” Gavin asked, for some reason feeling a little like he might cry. 

“You’re right in knowing that change isn’t easy, breaking old habits and thought processes takes a lot of hard and consistent work, but genuinely wanting to change is the first and hardest step.” She said with a nod. “The fact that you’re here and willing to put in the work to make it stick is a huge deal Gavin, and if you are willing to put in that work then I have no reason to think that you won’t succeed. It’s never easy and there will sometimes be some setbacks of course, but you’ll have all the resources you need to work through it and succeed.”

“O-okay.” Gavin said, voice stupidly fragile. “That’s good I guess. Yeah. Good. That’s good to hear.”

“I think my first homework assignment for you though will be to talk to Nines about your concerns and be honest about your fears about this big potential change.” She said, her smile almost teasing, but not quite. “It’s normal to feel nervous about important relationship milestones, but it can also be an opportunity for both of you to grow closer and learn about each other. Does that sound fair?”

“Yeah, that’s fair. I can do that.” Gavin said, clearing his throat and pulling out his phone to make a reminder that he definitely didn’t need. “I guess talking about my feelings shouldn’t be that much of a surprise for therapy homework, huh?”

“Perhaps not.” She chuckled. “As for the rest of our time together today, I’d like to learn more about you so that we can start getting to know your old Gavin habits better. That way we can tackle them in the best way possible. For the rest of this session and our next visit I’d like to hear everything you feel comfortable telling me that you think is relevant.” She tilted her head a bit. “That is assuming of course that you choose to continue our visits, otherwise I’d be glad to refer you to some other android therapists you might be interested in visiting.”

“Yeah no, I’m coming back, don’t worry.” Gavin said hurriedly, in that moment realizing that he absolutely would be. “I'm not ditching you for another therapist, otherwise I’d have to do the whole almost crying thing again, right? What’s the point in that?”

“Well I'm happy to hear that, Gavin.” The therapist said warmly.

Gavin realized with a silent groan that he didn’t even remember her name, if he’d ever paid attention in the first place after looking up a nearby well rated android therapist online.

“And don’t hate me for this, but I forgot your name already.” Gavin said, trying to sound as not guilty as possible.

“It’s Amelia.” She said with a smile. “You can call me that or Amy if you like.”

“Amy. I can remember that. Amy.” Gavin said with a nod, forcing the name into his long term memory. “So, uh, where should I start?”

“How about you tell me more about Nines?” Amy suggested. “I’d love to hear more about how the two of you managed to end up together.” 

Gavin grinned. “Now that I can talk about for hours.”

[phcking-detective]

FOUND

Find Familiar: ch 1

Rating: E

Summary: Nines cast the spell Find Familiar, but instead of an animal, they accidentally summoned a werewolf. Gavin is just happy to have finally found his mate and start pack bonding with the half-elf wizard. His best idea for a fun bonding activity? Touching his dick of course!

***

Gavin wakes up with a warm, breathing body pressed against his own, and it's all he ever wanted.

Then reality seeps in like cold rain and he realizes it's just the one person, not a dog pile, because he doesn't have a pack. Only a wizard who maybe sort of magically owns him now.

So that's a great start to the morning.

He gets a stew started like he promised, once he finds some potatoes and carrots, one lonely haunch of meat in an icebox, and no spices beyond salt. There aren't many places to look, since the whole room is five, maybe six hundred square feet.

Gods. Gavin's a lone wolf living half-feral without a tent or even a fire half the time, and he still thinks this is pathetic.

He knows better than to touch any of the books scattered around—fucking wizards—so he doesn't try to clean anything while he waits for his new … boss? Alpha?? person, to wake up.

(He does risk moving a stack of papers to sit in front of the black leather collar on the desk. Not hidden. Just. Out of sight.)

"No celery?" the wizard asks.

Gavin bites down on a flinch and a few choice swears. Sweet Selûne shift him. Who the fuck goes from asleep to awake completely silent like that?

"No," he growls.

Nines blinks themself more awake. "Is your negative an agreement to my question or simply a negative?"

"Baby, I have no idea what the fuck you mean, but there's not any celery."

"Oh. Thank you."

The conversation ends there when he dishes out a bowl of stew, that Nines eats at their desk, one agonizingly slow bite at a time, almost as an afterthought as they work on creating papers and papers of writing.

Since the wizard is so absorbed in their scribbles they can barely notice food, Gavin strips down and takes a bath. The water runs hot straight out of the faucet, even without any signs of pipes. Sinking into a whole tub of it feels goddamn luxurious.

He's half-shifted before he even realizes, but Nines probably wouldn't notice he got out and swung his dick around like a propeller, so he doesn't force himself back. His hybrid form always feels better anyway, the best of both animals, with human hands and wolf senses, still able to stand and walk upright but with stronger muscles and thicker protective body hair.

He's still sunk down and amusing himself by blowing bubbles in the water with his near-snout when Nines finally surfaces for air on their own side of the tower.

"Gav—oh."

They turn around and blink at him. Gavin hunkers down lower in the water and prepares to force himself back, but even without actively poking the bond, he can tell there isn't any fear or revulsion from the wizard. He still pulls his snout of out the water and scents the air just to check, but … nothing.

"Good. Yes. Feel free to utilize any of the …" Nines pauses, stuck on the words. "Accommodations. Can you read?"

It's probably a fair question—especially since the answer is barely—but Gavin still hauls himself out of the bathtub and onto the sand pit so Nines will have to look at him. All the scars, the body hair almost thick enough to be a pelt, the way his bone structure is clearly halfway between one form and the other right now.

But instead of making the wizard flinch away and stop asking questions, Nines just grabs a different notebook and begins sketching him.

"Why?" Gavin growls out.

He can still speak, but just like his amount of literacy, the amount is barely. With lots of effort.

"Hmm?"

Nines looks up. Sort of. They lift their head at least, but their eyes stay focused down on their notebook, reluctantly dragged up at the very last second.

"Mm? Oh. Yes, here is your contract," they say.

They place the small stack of papers they'd written onto the dining table in the center of the room, then the two of them meet in the middle, each awkwardly taking a seat across from each other at the table, then staring at each other even more awkwardly.

"That is my brother's seat," Nines says.

Gavin raises an eyebrow but doesn't move his ass out of it. At least he put pants on before sitting down.

"I have never had another visitor," the wizard continues. "So. That has always been …"

They trail off, then grab their notebook and begin reading from it.

"My name is Nines. I am a wizard. I am thirty-two year half-elf. I do not have a gender. I use they-them pronouns. Pause for—"

They stop abruptly and look back up at him.

"… Gavin," he says. "I'm a fighter, thirty-six, werewolf. Born, not turned, so we don't really keep track of any races. You're either a wolf or you're not. Probably human though. Uh, he-him."

If they don't bother with human binary genders, maybe they'd understand just … switching genders? He thinks about it while Nines writes down what he'd said, like anything he says is actually important enough to be recorded.

Maybe he should let them get a little more attached to him before he tells them about the other crazy, evil wizard with a claim on him—and all the transformations they'd done on his body.

"Does your entire pack consist of born lycanthropes?" they ask, drawing him back into the conversation.

"Can just say wolves," Gavin grumbles. "And yeah. Haven't taken in a stray for a while."

No one does. That's why he's still—ugh, stop it. Fucking feeling sorry for himself.

"Is there a significant cultural difference between born and turned … wolves?"

Gavin stares at the wizard. Significant cultural difference, Selûne shift and collar him.

"Turned wolves don't have a pack," he finally says. "No one to share the mental load—most of the poor fuckers don't even know what's happening until they're already shifted and scared and starving. They've got just enough instinct to go back home, and then the screaming and running starts …"

He assumes he doesn't have to finish it from there. A hungry wolf sees something run, and they think prey, not child.

"I apologize if I ask simple questions," Nines states while still writing. "But I have never had the opportunity to meet a wolf in person, and so my knowledge is likely biased and incorrect. Is a coastal environment a suitable habitat for you?"

Gavin shrugs. "Sure. You gonna let me run around outside at some point?"

"Yes, of course. You may come and go as you please," Nines says. "How much land will your pack need? I do own the surrounding—"

His pack? Gavin stares at Nines as they ramble on about this land they own and how it's too rocky to support farming but has access to a cove, and the ensuing treaty with the local pod of merfolk, and—

And his pack. He has no idea what game the wizard is playing, but he never imagined it would include letting him "come and go as you please" and providing land for his—

"I don't have a pack," he blurts out.

Nines stops and blinks at him.

"Got kicked out."

He doesn't explain. It's impossible to explain just one thing, because it's all tangled together, in his mind, the words stuck in his throat. Refusing his pack's Alpha, bargaining to have his body changed and transformed, his womb scooped out so he could never be bred, never ever—

And where exactly that got him. They sit together in silence for a long, horrible moment.

"No one has need of a ninth child," Nines finally says.

"You really call yourself that?" Gavin asks in return, for lack of anything less dick-ish to say.

"Yes." Nines looks at him without any self-pity and factually adds, "It states all that most need to know. They do not need me, and I do not need them."

Gavin nods. "Fuck 'em."

"Yes. Well. I—" Nines stops and abruptly pushes the small pile of paperwork closer to his side of the table. "Here is your contract. It details what I … do need. And, expectations. I suppose the fifth clause is no longer necessary, unless you intend to create your own."

"My own … pack?" Gavin asks slowly.

"Yes."

He snorts. "I'm not going to run around and start turning people."

"Yes, that is included in the clause," Nines says. "Subsection A. Not to offend, but I thought it best to lay out a certain number of precautions first. B notes that you will be beholden to all the same laws as any other citizen, and C states you will make adequate arrangements for the full moon with myself or Knight Commander Anderson."

Gavin pulls a face at the rank. That shit's almost definitely a paladin. No sense of humor, holier than thou, and allergic to critical thinking. Just because you pledged allegiance to a deity society deemed "Good" doesn't actually mean literally everything you do is always going to be right or kind or morally just.

"He is also a lycan—" Nines stops and corrects, "A turned wolf, you called it? If expecting the two of you to … have commonalities … is unreasonable, then the subsection can be adjusted accordingly. The point is merely that you arrange for a safe and secure location each month."

"Yeah, we're not going to sniff each other's butts and be best friends," Gavin tells him. "It's probably how you feel about sorcerers and warlocks. Magic just looks like magic to me, but—yeah."

He stops when he sees Nines's face collapse into itself in the purest form of affronted disgust he's ever seen. This time, he can't stop a chuckle before it slips out.

"I can just stay here though?" he asks.

Nines unfurls their face enough to nod. "Yes. My power may be my own, achieved through my own studies, but I was sent to the same monastery as my twin. I acknowledge you have been sent by my patron deity, and I will fulfill my responsibilities to you thusly."

Gavin's eyebrows shoot up. "You're religious?"

"I worship Selûne," Nines answers.

Gavin stares at the wizard.

"Children born under the full moon often have enhanced magical ability," they explain. "She is also the goddess of navigation, quests, and all who work by night. It was the battle with her own twin that caused the formation of Mystral, the goddess of all magic. Many arcane users still worship her as such."

"And werewolves," Gavin says as how this shit all happened clicks into place.

"Your duties outlined in the contract." Nines stops and clears their throat. "Every power has a price, and mine was enacted at my birth. I have always needed certain accommodations. I realize now a mere animal would not be enough to serve as my familiar, yet a person has never been summoned before. A familiar that is both animal and person, however …"

Gavin nods at the stack of papers. "So am I your familiar or your employee?"

"Well, both," Nines answers. "You are magically bound to me, but you obviously are not a simple animal. I have made adjustments due to these extenuating circumstances, but this is a standard contract for all minions, assistants, and others employed by wizards."

He snorts. "Do I have a union?"

"Yes, subsection E, although you will need to opt-in," Nines replies, very sincerely.

Gavin taps the top paper to make a point when he asks his next question, and the paper suddenly yells the word "HEREFORE" at him.

"Oh, my apologies." Nines takes the stack from him and scribbles a few marks in the top corner. "There, the volume should be properly adjusted."

Gavin cautiously slides the papers back over, being careful to only touch the sides of the stack. He takes the first page off the top and pokes his name, one of the few words he recognizes.

"Gavin," the paper announces.

"I have paperwork I must complete to officially register you as both my familiar and my new minion," Nines tells him. "I trust you can be left to your own devices to review our contract?"

"Yeah," Gavin says.

"Very good."

Nines gets up and returns to their desk. Still no collar, only … this contract. Gavin runs his finger along the first line.

"The entity known as Gavin, herefore referred to as THE FAMILIAR, will enter into a magically binding contract with Nines, herefore referred to as THE WIZARD, to serve in the capacities of both a FAMILIAR and a MINION, as outlined by the Wizard Coalition of …"

***

Gavin nuzzles into his bed and groans. Three days of barely stopping to hunt and sleep to get here, and now it's been another three days of slowly figuring each other out.

Which hasn't been bad or anything. He got to run around outside, do a few laps around the borders of Nines's land. Cold, wet, and rocky, but he has to admit, he's kind of digging the melodramatic sea-side vibe. The air smells like salt and storms all the time, crowding out all the memories of soft earth and dense forest.

And he's got a contract. A "boss." That's the word Nines wants to use, so Gavin says that, but they both know he means Alpha.

It's good to have a job, food, and a bed, blah blah blah, he's really grateful and all, it's just—

Maybe not everyone has them or wants to indulge in them, but Gavin does for both.

And it's been nearly a week.

"Nines," he finally says.

He pokes at their bond too for good measure. The wizard won't pay attention to him unless he does. They'll look up and point their face at his face, but somehow their hand will keep writing in the scroll and they won't hear a goddamn word he says.

Even with the mental prodding, Nines barely turns their head. "Hmm?"

"I need to jack off."

Nines keeps writing for half a second before they blink and actually look at him. "… now?"

Gavin half-shrugs, still laying down. "I mean, tonight, yeah."

He's a werewolf using testosterone cream—kept in a jar in his coin purse, which was much more important to enchant to shift with him than shoes—who just formed a mental pack bond again. Full moon already past or no, his hormones are screaming at him that he needs to fuck.

But that's probably not Nines's idea of a fun bonding activity.

"Do you have adequate lubrication?" Nines asks, then continues with narrowed eyes before he can even reply, "Do not use my spell components."

Gavin barks out a laugh. "What—I'm gonna jack it with oblex ooze? That'd melt my fucking dick off!"

"Yes, it would."

He pauses. "Do … you know that for sure?"

Nines sighs. Deeply. "I attended an academy meant to train paladins, clerics, and perhaps the odd druid."

"All the most repressed spellcasters, huh?"

Nines doesn't deny it. Gavin snorts, imagining all the magically-inclined tithe-children being told to keep themselves pure so they can be properly donated to the gods turning into magically-inclined teenagers hit with guilt and libido in equal measure—and all the idiot fuckery they probably got up to without any actual education about their bodies.

"Do you have adequate lubrication?" Nines asks again. "I do not keep supplies for that on hand."

"You don't keep supplies or you don't uh, keep anything on hand?" Gavin wiggles his eyebrows.

Nines flushes and glares like they're still a prefect at that academy. "I—that is not—"

Gavin raises his own hands to prove they're above the sheets. "If that's not any of my business, sure. Figured that, honestly. Which is why I'm telling you that I've got needs, but I can just go downstairs if you want."

"Downstairs?" Nines frowns less furiously.

"That little entranceway at the door is large enou—"

"I'm not going to send you out into the hall," Nines says, like that's what will make them clutch their pearls in shock. "You can stay in your own bed."

"Yeah?" Gavin gives the wizard a once over. "I'm good with that. So good. But what I'm willing to do with pack and what you think is appropriate for a roommate probably isn't the same thing."

Nines's frown turns more calculating, like they're correcting the runes in a spell. "We are discussing you staying in your bed to masturbate while I continue my studies, correct?"

"… yeah?"

"Are you going to call me names, attempt to touch me, or—"

"No, no," Gavin rushes to reassure them. "I can just …"

He moves his hand down and cups himself, just to demonstrate that he's only going to be touching his own body, before he remembers that's not socially acceptable around humans either. Nines only cocks their head to the side though, a mild curiosity leaking through their mental bond.

And fuck, just his hand feels good right now. It's been nearly a goddamn week.

"Do you have adequate lubrication?" Nines asks.

Gavin shivers under the sound of their voice. "Don't need it. Get wet enough myself."

He feels the bond pulse again with that academic sort of curiosity, like Nines is going to start taking notes on him again while he jacks off. He pushes his trousers down, moving slowly enough to give his boss plenty of time to look away. He isn't wearing smalls of course. They'd just be another piece he'd have to pay to get enchanted.

Nines eyes his cock like they might sketch it in exact anatomical detail.

Gavin doesn't mention how he got it—his bargain and the Collar, the collapsed tower, the vows of vengeance—he'll get around to confessing it all eventually. But in the meantime: a fun bonding activity.

Gavin grips his cock and gives it a few strokes. Nines blinks in a way that's more like shutting their eyes repeatedly. He exhales slowly and makes himself stop, although he does still keep his hand held loosely around the base.

"If you don't want echoes, you'll have to wall off your mind on your own end," he advises Nines. "I'm uh … a little too busy here to concentrate."

"Echoes," Nines repeats.

Shit, right. Human. Doesn't seem to specialize in any divination or enchantment magic—so they probably don't have any experience being inside someone else's head.

"Yeah, that's why I offered to," He jerks his chin at the door. "Distance helps, some."

Nines does that tiny little head tilt again. "May I observe?"

Gavin licks his lips. "Yeah."

"May I ignore you?" they ask next.

"Uh, sure?"

He doesn't have any human hangups about nudity, but he's not going to whip his dick out and waggle it at anyone who doesn't want to see it. Jacking off in the same room is probably already pushing it, but then again, the rules seem to be different in boarding schools and barracks and sometimes bars but sometimes not—humans have so many weird fucking rules.

"Then," Nines says. "You do as you please, and I will do the same."

"Works for me."

Gavin gives his cock another squeeze, and Nines turns back to their scroll. Yeah, he's a little disappointed about that, but it's enough just to have his pack in the same room and know he's not alone.

Since the wizard isn't watching anyway, Gavin rolls over and shoves a blanket down around his crotch. He has a whole nest of them, all piled up on top of a mattress Nines insisted he have. They'd tried to bring in an actual bed, but it's just weird, sleeping so high up and away from the ground for no reason.

He gets a soft little mound built up and grips himself again through the blanket. Even if Nines makes him wash it after, this will make his bed smell like him and home and—

Gavin buries his face into his pillow and inhales. It still has Nines's scent on it. All the blankets do too, so now they'll smell like the both of them, like pack.

He feels a fresh jab of interest spike back through their bond and guesses Nines is watching him again. Maybe jacking off right in front of them like that was a little too much, but with everything mostly out of view now, they're back to curious again.

It only takes him a minute to build up a steady rhythm, rutting into the blankets and his own hand. He groans into the pillow and hears Nines breathe in sharply.

Echoes. He grins and keeps going.

He doesn't know what kind of needs Nines has or wants to fulfill, but he likes the thought of making them feel good. Would like it even better if he could crawl over between the wizard's legs and find out what they're working with by licking it.

"Gavin …"

The wolf whines in response to his name in his Alpha's mouth. He squeezes his hand tighter at the base of his cock against the knot trying to plump up there, just in case Nines wants it.

"Yeah, baby?" Gavin manages to growl.

"Oh."

Nines breathes the word, and Gavin can feel a small simmer of arousal bounce back and forth between them—this time from the wizard's end, not his.

"Does it always feel like this?" they ask.

He groans in answer, the only response he has to the soft wonder in their voice. He knows humans' senses are weak and dull, that they don't get hit with lust and frenzy the same way wolves do.

But hearing the awe in his human's voice the first time they feel it too makes him want to show them how good it can really feel.

"Yeah," he bites out. "Better with … you."

His canines get in the way of the words, the partial shift rippling through his body. He's never had particularly good control of it, so there's no stopping the change now when his blood's up.

"Are you wet?"

The question stabs through him. Gavin loses his rhythm with a whimper, nearly overcome with the instinct to crawl over and show his Alpha, present his cock or his mouth or whatever hole they want to use.

And he is wet. He can feel it dripping down the length of his cock, more pooling at the head, smearing into the palm of his hand.

"Uh huh," he pants.

Gavin bites down into the blankets as he ruts harder, but a sharply clicked tongue brings him back to awareness. He turns his head to the side and blearily stares up at Nines as he continues fucking his own hand.

"I would like to hear you," Nines says.

"Baby," Gavin breathes in reply.

Nines closes their eyes and shivers. Well, if they like his voice …

"Wanna lick you," he says. "Suck on you and make you—ahhh, make you feel good."

"I—" Nines stares at him with wide eyes.

"Shh, shhh." Gavin keeps making the noise in a low mumble as he slows down his pace into a dirty grind. "Gotcha baby, get my mouth on your nipples an' your neck, your mouth, make you wet too."

"I don't usually like to be touched," Nines admits.

Gavin's brain snatches onto the word usually, but he doesn't want to push. There's some shit he knows for sure he won't ever do, but then there's a lot more he just doesn't know if he really doesn't want, or maybe only in the right situation, with the right pronouns and body parts, the right person, but then how is he supposed to know if he wants it enough to try it if he won't know if he actually wants it until he's already tried it?

So that's a whole big nest of wyverns, and neither of them need to try to sort it out right this moment.

"Can give you this though, yeah?" Gavin asks.

He twists his wrist on the upstroke against the head, but then stops and holds completely still. Nines tries to strangle a whine in their throat at the lost sensation.

"… yes."

That confession sounds much better. Gavin grins at the wizard and starts thrusting again, still looking at them. Their long eyelashes and shoulder-length hair almost soften their face into pretty, but then thin lips, a straight nose, and strong jaw sharpen the effect back up again. And the ice-blue eyes set against pale skin and black hair just sends it all careening past beautiful or handsome into big words about being scary-haunting-magical that the wolf can't think of right now.

He can feel his orgasm building up, drowning in those eyes staring right back at him, but he squeezes harshly at the base of his cock. The sensation strangles at the root, like the little moans Nines won't let escape their mouth.

He probably shouldn't tempt it, but he sinks into the feeling of tightening and loosening his grip around his knot and the waves of pleasure that sends rolling through them both.

"You," Nines says but can't seem to find anymore words.

"Mmgff." Gavin huffs into the pillow and tries to make his own words work. "Good, feels good. Sorry. Won't knot if—fffuck."

If that scares you. Disgusts you. Bores you, to be stuck listening to him come and come and come while the exasperated wizard is trying to focus on their studies.

He pries his eyes back open when he hears footsteps and stares up at Nines paused in an awkward-half crouch over him, like they're not sure if they're allowed to touch. His tail makes the decision for both of them by immediately wagging in anticipation of pets and attention.

"May I touch you?" Nines still asks.

Gavin nods past a desperate whine. A hand slides up the back of his neck first, while another soothes over his bare flank. Must've kicked off his trousers at some point. All that matters is the hand on the back of his neck, pinning him down, holding him place, exactly where he should be for his Alpha.

His tail wags harder.

"May I see?"

The hands urge him to roll over, and he does, without hesitation, like a dog showing his belly when his master comes home.

Laying on his back like this, he knows the partial shift is even more apparent. Just about everything humans think they know is bullshit, but his hybrid form really does look like those shitty illustrations of big scary wolf men.

And that's without the thick, hairy cock jutting out between his legs.

He's proud of it, wanted it, needed it, but that was for himself. He wasn't trying to impress anyone, and he's not expecting a human to like it.

"Does your phallus typically have this appearance, or is it increasingly engorged due to your partial transformation?" Nines asks.

Gavin stares up at them and tries to impress through their mental bond just how many fucking words that was.

Nines flushes and tries again. "Does it get bigger when you shift?"

"Yeah," he says. "Touch me?"

He holds his cock slightly out toward the wizard in offering. Nines hums in consideration but doesn't make any move toward it. That's fair.

"Do you knot without …" They struggle with the words again. "Sex?"

Gavin strokes himself, tugging upward and pause at the head. It leaves his knot free below, not quite there yet, but noticeably swollen under the attention.

"Can. Sometimes."

"Will you show me?"

Nines stares down at him and meeting their eyes is like looking at the moon. Humans want so badly to sort everything into Good or Bad, even the deities they worship. But some things aren't good or bad, only intense.

Gavin nods, mouth slack and panting. He wraps his left hand around his knot to work it while his right keeps stroking the rest. Nines's eyes sweep up and down him like a search light scanning for a rogue.

"Feel … good?" he asks between pants.

Maybe he's already asked, but it's hard to think right now. He tugs at the bond, trying to pull Nines's mind closer to him, get them to come down out of the sky and feel it with him. The wizard's hands clench into the robes draped over their kneeling legs.

Then they open their eyes again, and Gavin could swear their irises really have turned a silvery-blue.

"Behave."

The order thunders down their bond and into his chest. Gavin groans, the tightness coiled inside him easing another measure. He's not quite ready to unspool, but maybe—maybe just a little?

"I am asking about you."

Nines's voice changes from questioning and a little stilted to informing him of how it is, like casting a spell. Gavin doesn't have any ability himself, but as far as he knows, that's kind of how they do it. Spell casting is just telling reality what to do with enough conviction that reality up and does it.

"Do you want to be mine?"

Gavin thrusts into his hands in answer. It's sloppy and a little pathetic, because there's nothing for him to rut into. But he starts nodding again, just in case that wasn't enough.

"Like this?" Nines touches him for the second time, one hand gently curling around his throat. "To be mine."

He's coming undone. Falling apart. Food and shelter and an Alpha, their own little pack of two, someone touching him and promising to claim him.

"Suh … 'posed to be … yours."

He knows it's true, it's true, true. The call in his mind, their contract, both of them bound by Selûne.

"Yes," Nines confirms. "Show me."

Gavin comes almost before they finish speaking. He tries to hold eye contact as long as he can, but eventually his own squeeze shut as he curls in on himself with a shudder. The first wave passes deceptively quick, with just a few spurts from his cock.

But he's not done.

"Good boy."

Those hands are back again, just like before, this time encouraging him to roll back onto his belly. They stroke through his hair and scritch behind his ears when he obeys, and he thinks life couldn't possibly get any better until there's a warm body sliding onto the mattress behind him.

Then he's being spooned and everything inside him unravels without any warning.

When he's done coming for the second time, he's aware of a few things: the hand wrapped back around his throat, first. That the gangly half-human, half-elf is tall enough to almost envelope him completely. The soft murmur of praise in his ear, shifted halfway up his head now and nearly wolf-like.

Yours.

It's harder to send the thought out when he's only partially shifted. Even with other wolves, they all share best as animals, some basic concepts as hybrids, and only faint echoes when unshifted.

But being the wizard's familiar must be different, since he'd heard the summons in his head from damn near across the country, in all forms, while Nines can't shift at all.

You are mine. I will take care of you, if you allow me to keep you.

Oh yeah, that's definitely different. Wolves share senses and feelings, not full sentences.

Keep me, Gavin manages to think back.

"Yes," Nines murmurs aloud.

The third wave hits him, and he sobs as he comes for his Alpha. His body is just doing the best it can to please, still managing to pump out another two shots of cum. He can finally feel a tinge of mild revulsion from Nines, but it seems to be aimed more at the mess than himself. Bold feelings from a wizard who left a hunk of bread to mold so long they mistook it for a stoneshroom.

"Perhaps I should invest in a toy," they muse. "A sleeve somewhat akin to a bag of holding, so that it can contain all this mess."

Gavin groans in a not-sexy way. "Don't make me fuck a void."

"No, the pocket dimension would only be applied at the tip of the—"

He can't help but start laughing. Pocket dimension applied at the tip—and said completely straight. Goddamn wizards.

Nines expresses their irritation at being laughed at by nipping his ear, and yep, there's wave number four. To their credit, they do continue to hold him until he gets another brief reprieve.

"How many times does this occur?" they ask when he's done.

"Depends," Gavin scrapes together enough brain matter to say. "More with … partner."

"Hmm," Nines says, like the feral scientist they are.

Gavin flips off his pride and goes straight to begging. "Please."

He's not sure what exactly he's begging for though—not to be forced into multiple orgasms while Nines observes or takes notes, or that the wizard will get started on that right away.

"Please, please, baby."

Nines pulls him back to rest half on top of their body, which lets them switch their right hand for their left hand around his throat without him laying on top of their arm. And that in turn frees up their right hand to drop down to his cock.

"Yours, yours," he mumbles. "Alpha."

"What do you need?"

Their hand brushes his own, the one gripping his knot. He lets go for an agonizing second to press their hand against it instead. Nines lets him wrap his hand back around theirs, using both of their hands to squeeze and lightly tug the knot.

"Ah … ahhh …"

"Ask properly," Nines orders.

"Alphaaa!"

He practically wails the word, shaking apart in Nines's arms and beneath their hand, but he can't now, it's not enough on his own anymore, not without permission.

"Hmmm."

Gavin cries freely, but doesn't make Nines grip him tighter or stroke him off. His Alpha will give him what he needs, and he'll take what he's given, like a good boy.

But that doesn't mean he can't ask for more.

"Baby," he groans. "Need it, need it, I—phck, please!"

"Yes."

The final wave sweeps over him so hard he goes blind, or his eyes shut, or he's back on his belly again, face smushed into the pillow, Nines's hand still around him and the blankets beneath his cock to rut into and it's not the last because Nines tells him Again and Again, until he's coming dry, throat hoarse from crying.

And then once more after that.

When he regains consciousness again, his whole body feels sore in the best possible way. There's drool running down his chin, tacky and drying to the pillow. He has his knees tucked up beneath him, but that's OK, because this is how he's supposed to present anyway.

Except the hand reaching between his legs doesn't breach him. Something soft and wet swipes over him instead, and he can't even muster up the mental energy to be scared, to explain why that's still there, that he managed to bargain for a working cock and all his insides scooped out, but that's still—

"Hush." Nines soothes him with another hand rubbing his back. "You did very well. All you must do now is rest."

Gavin sinks back down into the delicious ache and doesn't move while Nines cleans the slick from between his thighs, then further up to his cock. The blankets he'd rutted into have already been removed at some point. He knows from experience not even the best wizard on the material plane could wash his scent out though and takes a moment to feel a little smug about it.

"Yes, you came a truly impressive amount," Nines says. "Excessive, actually."

Gavin smacks his mouth before he can speak. "Your fault."

"Hmmm."

Nines stands when he's done and moves away. Gavin manages to flop onto his side and curl up. His boss did say he could sleep now. He just needs a little nap.

He gets a flask of water shoved in his face instead. The hand petting him goes back awkward again, pat-pat-pat instead of real pets. Nines doesn't seem to know exactly what to do now that they're done, but clean up and water was still really nice of them.

Gavin finishes gulping down the flask and heaves in air.

"I have work I need to finish," Nines informs him. "Have your needs been sufficiently met?"

Sufficiently met? Fuck, he's had orgies that didn't wear him out this good.

"Yeah," Gavin answers. "Need to sleep now."

Nines smiles at him. "Excellent. Good boy."

Gavin grins lazily back at them. "And when I wake up, I'm gonna crawl over between your legs and make you feel good too."

Nines flushes and half opens their mouth to protest.

"When you need a break from your scroll-thingy, and only if you let me," he adds.

Nines closes their mouth. They don't say anything else, but that means they also don't say no. Their blush doesn't go away either. They simply stand back up and sit down at their desk, spending far too much concentration fussing over the exact alignment of all their inks and quills instead of looking at Gavin.

Who keeps grinning, even as he yawns and snuggles down in his bed. He just needs a little nap, and then after that … he has all sorts of ideas for fun bonding activities.

***

***

This fic was commissioned by one of my followers to continue the first drabble! Subscribers to my Patreon get early access to all my commissioned fics 2 weeks before they’re posted to AO3 and tumblr ^^

[ihatetaxes99]

Death Note: The Glorious Manga Ending (And the anime that failed to deliver)

Well, this is certainly something a tad different from my usual affairs. Yes, I'm delighted to bear the news that I am taking a break from writing sub-par fanfiction and selling weapons to Middle Eastern terrorists in order to follow something a little less creative, but more immediately interesting to me in my current time of writing. I mean, hell, there's probably a 60% chance that no one will ever read this, since I'll likely drop it halfway through and go back to my black market dealings. But, in that small 40% chance that I do get this out the door, or indeed any further than this very sentence before I forget about it for all eternity, then I want to have a little discussion, a fun little analysis. And of course, I'm going to analyse everyone's favourite slice of life fluff comedy, Death Note. Specifically the ending and how I think the manga surpasses the anime in many, many ways.

If you haven't yet read or watched Death Note, then you won't be reading this anyway, so it would be rather pointless at best and an insult to your intelligence at worst to give a recap of how the series works. If you must have a layman's explanation, big murder book gets dropped into the human world, shenanigans ensue. There, now go watch or read it for yourself. Preferably read, as I am about to discuss. The manga is far better, entirely because of the second half. It's no secret that the Death Note anime handled the second half poorly. Content was cut, elements were skipped, scenes were changed entirely and Near, my favourite character from the manga, was done so dirty that he generally ranks as many people's least favourite, for some understandable reasons and others that I consider rather weak. But the main part of the second half aside, I want to talk about the final showdown, the confrontation in the Yellow Box warehouse, and how I feel the anime adaptation butchered a near-perfect ending for the sake of either time, or budget, or maybe to appease Light fangirls (because that definitely has a factor in why I don't like the anime's ending as much.)

So, to recap, most of the confrontation at the warehouse between the SPK and Kira plays out very much the same. Mikami writes the names down, Light reveals himself, the notebook is revealed to be a fake and Yagami has his famous mental breakdown, followed by one of the most powerful lines in the series:

(Note: I condensed the speech to fit neatly into two boxes)

I love this speech. I think it's one of the best in the series, for reasons that very much tie into why the ending in the manga works better. I want you all to think for a moment; I've seen a lot of people say Death Note is a series that doesn't take sides on the conflict. No, that is bullshit. In the early series, maybe, but from the moment Light Yagami killed Naomi Misora, and arguably even earlier than that with Raye Pembre, he was consistently portrayed as being more and more callous, more evil, more of a scumbag. Let's look over what he did, especially in the later stages of the series.

He:

Murdered the FBI agents tailing him.

Only expressed regret over Utika's death because it may negatively affect Kira's reputation.

Watched with no emotion as his father died and indeed, encouraged him to use the Death Note moments before he died.

Mocked Matsuda for mourning his father's death.

Manipulated two seperate women into doing his bidding (albeit, one was unintentional) and killed one himself, with plans to kill the other had he not been killed.

Instigated a riot in New York with the intent of killing Near and the SPK.

Killed FBI agents who were tailing him.

Only cared about Utika's death because it compromised Kira's strong public image and not because he was actually a good man.

Manipulated two seperate women into falling for him (albeit one was accidental) and promptly killed off one with no hesitation, with plans of killing the other had he not met his end first.

Watched emotionless as his own father died and even tried to get him to use the Death Note in his last moments.

Mocked Matsuda for mourning the death of his father and used it in a last ditch effort to distract the detective and escape.

Staged a riot with the intent of killing Near and the rest of the SPK.

And these are just some of them. By the end of Death Note, Light was not a good person. I personally never agreed with him, but he went from a disillusioned kid with a minor saviour complex to A full-blown, sadistic, perverted image of what he used to be, utterly unfeeling and cold-hearted, with a major God complex, a complete lunatic. As Near said, a mass murderer and nothing more. After everything Yagami's done over the course of the series, it was just too satisfying to read this for the first time, and I will concede, the anime did a great job adapting it. I feel a lot of Light fangirls agreed with him because his ideals sounded good on paper, but in reality, they're completely childish and self-serving. I am not one to moral grandstand, I believe those who take any excuse to give lectures about morality are annoying and often hypocritical scum, but my point here is that this is not a man any reasonable person could agree with if he were a real person. So, this teardown of his ego was perfect.

Now, the first big difference is the ultimate fate of Teru Mikami. In the anime, he kills himself in the warehouse, in a scene that makes me laugh every time due to the comically large quantities of blood spewing from him. He dies defending Kira's ideals, believing in his God. Or, if you choose to interpret it another way, he has accepted that Light is not God, and he has nothing else to live for. Either way, the anime lacks a key scene, after Light is shot by Matsuda and begging for help:

This is extremely important, as it continues what Near did with his speech and sets in motion the following trend for what is to come. Light is humiliated, his second most faithful pawn has turned against him, called him scum, seen him for what he truly is, and worse still, he's done it in front of everyone else. Teru Mikami has denounced his God, and this is just the stepping stone for the humiliation Kira is about to suffer. Also, it's worth noting that just before Mikami denounces Kira, there's a scene of Light crawling on the ground, bleeding, calling out for Misa and Takada to help him, seeming to have gone totally delusional, forgetting that Takada was already dead. This may have been excluded from the anime, or it may have been the fault of the subs I was using. It still serves as a vital part of the theme that the final few chapters hammer in, over and over again, that being the complete and total humiliation of Light Yagami. And the worst for our criminal-killing protagonist is still to come.

Finally, we reach the fate of the original Kira, the end of Light Yagami. In the anime, he uses Mikami's suicide as a distraction to escape, wherein he runs off, seeing visions of his past self, and dies out in the middle of a staircase, from a heart attack delivered by Ryuuk, calmly and quietly. This is all very nice and emotional, we see for a moment, Light contemplates what he became and wondering how it could have ended differently, and him dying in the middle of the staircase, as many people have stated before, is oh so very symbolic of how he finds himself unable to reach Heaven or Hell. However, this does not hold a candle to the manga.

This is what Light is like upon his death there:

Yeah, there's no real doubting it, he's going out like a complete bitch. Like the anime was thoughtful and silent, with an underlying sombre soundtrack, in this the once great Kira is reduced to a blubbering mess, throwing a tantrum because he refuses to accept his time is up. It was made very clear to him at the beginning that he was to die at Ryuuk's hand one day and now that it's here, he can't take it. He tries to cheat death, the one thing no human nor Shinigami can do. I mean, just look at the panels. He's a mess. A privileged, pampered brat who isn't getting his way. That is why I consider the Death Note manga ending to be superior to the anime in almost every way. While the anime gives us symbolism and a sense of calm, the manga goes all the way in tearing down this character, who has been a piece of human garbage for years at this point. I find it so satisfying to watch him get what he deserves, not only the death but the shame.

Light's own hubris and mental instability stole from him the honourable death he received in the anime. And that is everything I believe he needed, far more than the mere reality check he was given in the anime.

Phew, damn this was a ride and a half to write. I always appreciate feedback, if anyone wants to share their own thoughts on the ending. Please do feel free to do so, and I'll hopefully be back soon with your regularly scheduled shitty fanfics.

[hanhhoas]

college au! kim seokjin

(loosely inspired by love playlist; check it out on youtube!)

you’re a sophomore in college in new york 

studying biochemistry 

you didn’t know if you fully loved biochemistry but it was interesting at least

plus you knew that you were probably not more passionate about other subjects anyway (or good at them but that’s another matter)

so your freshman year ended up being a LOT of intro classes; intro biology, intro chemistry, etc.

not that you minded, it seemed like other biology or chemistry majors had very similar schedules, so you at least knew a few kids in each class just from that

but it definitely made you more open to taking more artistic style classes

since you knew looking at numbers and graph over and over again did drill into your brain a bit

after asking around, you heard that one class was pretty fun and relatively easy on the workload

love and relationships 1101

so in the midst of four science/math classes, you added love and relationships 1101 onto your schedule 

lectures only once a week? sounded great

plus, you were able to add it on thursday nights, so it was sort of a relaxing end to your week and you could have a three day weekend to catch up on work

that night, you had just come out of a *extremely* long organic chemistry lecture and a biology 1201 recitation

in which you, quote and quote, were NOT ready for the pop quiz

so needless to say, you were a bit out of it

you walked into the classroom for lr1101

about half the class was full, most kids sitting with two or three other students

and as you quickly scanned the room, you felt a bit disappointed that you didn’t recognize any of the students.

and you found yourself sitting in the front

you started to reach into your bag to pull out supplies when someone spoke to you from your right

“is this seat taken?”

you turned and found yourself looking at a boy about your age, hair slightly windswept and judging from his short breaths, probably from running to this class

“no,,, go ahead” you nudged to the empty seat next to you

the professor walked in and started teaching; it didn’t seem to be too much that was new to you about relationships

to your surprise, she ended the lecture by saying “you’ll need to find partners now; for the next few weeks in this semester you’ll be responsible for completing a few of the assignments together”

and you remembered with a jolt that you didn’t know anyone

and as you began to mentally prepare yourself to talk to a random person about being partners, the boy to your right tapped you on the shoulder

“would you like to be partners?.. i don’t know anyone else in this class” he asked sheepishly, his hands clutching his phone with his address book open

you internally cheered and quickly agreed, taking his phone and entering your phone number and name into his list

later that night you got a text

‘want to meet at omelas on saturday to talk about the hw for next week?- kim seokjin from your lr1101 class’

you texted back that you could meet him in the morning at the local coffee shop

saturday came by soon enough and you got ready to meet seokjin as you woke up

walking into the coffee shop you saw him at the counter, chatting excitedly with a staff member

although as you came closer, the person opposite seokjin nodded his head in your direction, to tell seokjin you had arrived

he turned to you

‘hey! i put my stuff at the table in the back!’ 

you followed him to the corner of the coffee shop, where the bookcase, for the most part, hid your table from view

you sat down, and he took the silence as perfect timing to pull a notebook out of his backpack

he flipped to a page and started talking about the week’s homework

‘since this week’s assignment is to get to know each other, what icebreaker would you prefer? there’s 20 questions, 36 questions to fall in love…’

honestly, you were surprised at his enthusiasm, you had expected to simply ask each other a few questions and jot down a few things to turn in 

you chose 36 questions to fall in love

you had tried it a few times before with friends and liked the questions 

you cycled through a few of the questions, and found out some more about seokjin

he was a junior and a business major with a minor in psychology 

he was from a few hours outside of the city and had six best friends, four of which went to the same university, whom he described as both “my family” and “those idiots”, although lovingly

and to each question he had a well thought out answer, or at least is what it seemed like

eventually you got about halfway:

‘question 14 -  is there something you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? why haven’t you done it?’

seokjin nodded a bit as he heard the question, his lips pursing 

‘well… i’d love to open a coffee shop with my friends, we’ve talked about it for a while now’

‘why haven’t you?’

‘well, my parents want me to finish university first… and plus, the youngest of my friends, jungkook, is just in high school. knowing him, he’d drop out of university if it came down to supporting us or finishing school. and i wouldn’t want to drag him out of university for that’

you were a bit confused

after all, with what you could tell, seokjin didn’t strike you as much of a ‘coffee shop owner’ type of person

you imagined him more as a ceo/boss sort of character if anything

with how outgoing he seemed and how he held attention when he talked

he seemed to notice the confusion plastered on your face

‘i know it seems a bit whimsical - but wouldn’t that sound amazing? having a place where kids can come and relax with their friends? and the guy i was talking to outside- his name’s yoongi- he’s a music major and he has music created and everying, for that perfect ‘coffee shop’ vibe” 

he began to talk more excitedly, hands waving around, describing how the coffee shop would work (with his friend taehyung’s eye for design) before looking at you sheepishly

‘it must sound a bit boring to you, right?’

but it was exactly the opposite

you were amazed he had his dream sorted out, and that he knew what he wanted to do after university

while you weren’t even sure what you wanted to do that following year

seokjin was a gentle person, you decided

he wanted to make people smile, and wanted to help up and coming kids in the community

and the way his eyes lit up when talking about his younger friends, you could tell how much he cared about them

but before you knew it, the two of you had talked for nearly four hours

you wouldn’t have noticed if not for your stomach grumbling 

‘ah- i didn’t even notice- it’s nearly two; i’m sorry i had plans to get lunch with yoongi’

you started to pack up before you realized that for the last third of the questions, neither of you had written anything down

you had been so engrossed in each other’s conversation

seokjin seemed to come to the same conclusion, before he suddenly said

‘hey, i’l write up what we missed and send them to you tomorrow? as a thanks for meeting me here’

you tried to refuse, after all, it was a partner assignment, and you enjoyed talking to him

but seokjin evaded your attempts to get him to agree to split the work

and grabbed his bag before turning to you 

‘it was really nice getting to know you, y/n. truly’

leaving you in such a daze that you didn’t respond

the next day, your face smiled at the text you received

‘to y/n, thanks for hearing my deep dark secrets and making me feel like they’re not so outrageous  ♡’ as well as a attachment of handwritten notes 

over the next few weeks, you and seokjin began to complete the homework with ease

you were grateful that he had asked to be partners that day

the two of you got along so well you that you had stopped asking each other to hang out to finish assignments

but ended up just texting each other to hang out or even grab food

and then finishing the work when you felt like it

he began to meet the few friends you had on campus, whom he quickly befriended with his light banter and easygoing personality

and you met his friends as well

he introduced to you to yoongi, the boy working at omelas, who said he was a total homebody but was super sweet once you got to know him

although he did warn you that yoongi took some time to warm up to people in general

and over thanksgiving break you even got to meet the other five friends he talked so much about

although it was slightly rushed since your schedules only overlapped for an hour

before you had to catch a flight back to california

you had already met yoongi

so you were only introduced to hoseok, namjoon, jimin, taehyung, and jungkook

‘ah… so this is the y/n you keep talking about’ namjoon said to you

to which he was quickly elbowed by seokjin, covering it up with ‘of course.. we’re such close friends’

you didn’t know why your heart dropped a bit at hearing that but you blamed it on the stress you had for your first flight home 

jungkook looked at you with wide, innocent eyes

‘wait… so this is the girl that you want to -’

seokjin had quickly moved from namjoon to cover jungkook’s mouth with his hand

‘ah… kids these days… don’t know what they’re saying half the time with all the mumbling haha’

‘i’m nwot numbling’ jungkook retorted, trying to move seokjin’s hand away

you made some small talk with the boys, before seokjin started to shoo them away

‘i have to walk y/n to the station to catch her flight’

he was met with whines of ‘but we just met her’ and ‘hey why can’t we go too?’, mostly from the youngest four of the group

yoongi stood slightly away from the younger boys and simply smirked

‘let seokjin be, kids. after all, it’s y/n’

and by that point you were even more confused

but that aside, you bid your goodbyes to the boys and started walking with seokjin to the station

he carried your suitcase for you, and started to ask you what you wanted to do the most when you got home

‘well i’m super excited to see my high school friends, we’re planning on meeting and maybe having a movie night-’

seokjin suddenly stopped

‘you know that i really care about you right’

you stood a bit in front of him, frozen to your spot

‘of course, seokjin you just said we’re really good friends’

he let out a breath 

‘yes but i-’

and he looked at you before shaking his head softly, his cheeks tinged with pink

‘it’s nothing’ he said quietly

and he began walking again

the silence between you two was new, after all, you had never had to try to hold a conversation with seokjin before

you reached the station faster than you thought you would, and seokjin turned to you, 

he face crinkled a bit, as if he was contemplating something 

but he simply handed you your suitcase, before saying ‘stay safe! these creeps on the subway might try something when i’m not there with you’

you nodded, flashing him a small smile to convince him you would be okay

so you waved goodbye before walking to the station 

you reached the stairs before you heard a shout 

‘Y/N!’

you turned, only to be met with a body slamming straight into yours and strong arms wrapping around your shoulders

seokjin was slightly out of breath, like he was when he first met you

you could feel his short, quick breaths on your shoulder

he took your silence as approval to start talking

‘i’ll miss you, please text me when you land’ seokjin mumbled into your shoulder

you were praying he couldn’t feel your heart pounding through your sweater

coming out of shock, you pulled away, but not too far

after all, he was still holding you flush against his body

‘i’ll miss you too jinnie, and i’ll text you, i promise’ 

he seemed to be satisfied with your answer before placing a small kiss on your forehead

‘i wouldn’t want my favorite person to get hurt and not be able to be there to protect them’

sorry for the slightly rushed ending - i honestly started this as a short bulleted au but it slowly turned from 500 words to… well you get the point. plus i was worried it came off as word mush after a too much. i’m planning on writing a part two to be posted by the end of the week!

constructive feedback welcomed ♡

[thunder-the-ranger-wolf]

On (Not) Wooing Steve Rogers

@aurumacadicus

Happy birthday, Owl! Hope you like the fic!

Summary: Stony No Powers College AU where Steve is definitely pining over his best friend who is a genius. They go to MIT for different reasons and Rhodey is sick of their shenanigans so he sets them up on a dinner date and he and Carol laugh from across the restaurant as they watch the boys stutter their way through a good time. Turns out, Tony thinks he's hot as hell and "was going to ask him out anyway, thanks, Rhodey! I guess."

Steve

Steve couldn’t stop looking at him. He moved fast and he talked faster. Every other word out of his mouth sounded like a foreign language that everyone in this class could understand except for Steve. He belonged on this track. He deserved to be in this class. But… maybe he’d bit off more than he could chew, coming into a two-hundred-level class and expecting it to make sense. It was on his track sheet, and no one said anything about prerequisites. In fact, when he’d talked to his advisor the older man had waved him off and allowed him into the class. On the request that they meet twice a week to make sure Steve was keeping up with the class. He was lucky that Erskine was so hands-on, but that probably had something to do with the program he was in. An Architecture student who put the art in the architecture, this stuff was going right over his head.

But his classmates were just fine with it, apparently. And so was the boy a few seats in front of him who broke into the teacher’s lecture every five minutes to correct him. Some people were a bit annoyed with the guy, who looked to be around Steve’s age, but he definitely knew what he was doing. He managed to shut them up with each question they asked until they could no longer catch him off-guard and stopped trying after a bit.

Steve was lost by his conversation with the professor and just as lost in the boy’s eyes, one chocolate brown and the other crystal blue. He didn’t even know that type of heterochromia was possible in nature, but it looked right at home on this boy. Steve spent the rest of the lecture sketching the boy’s face and writing down every other word he said. He’d look some of it up later. He needed something to bring to Erskine.

Rhodey

Four classes.

The poor kid beside him was in over his head, a freshman to his junior and Tony’s sophomore. Granted, the only reason Tony was allowed to be a sophomore is that he was a bonafide genius. Well, enough of one to skip most of the early-level classwork required of his degree track.

This kid, on the other hand, needed every single one of them.

And maybe a few others, like how to stop staring hopelessly at the genius boy who is so hopelessly out of your league.

At least this one was Tony’s age. Fucking leeches tried to get the boy for all he had, but this kid was one of the art-types that were attracted to the prestige of the school without really knowing what went into it.

Poor kid.

But four classes of this kid practically drooling over his little shit of a brother would not stand. The kid should ship up and ask a question or just plain ship out because he wouldn’t get anywhere doing this.

Eight classes and the kid… wasn’t hopeless, at least.

“You’ve actually managed to learn something.” Rhodes snorted when the teacher called for a twenty-minute break. This thing was three hours long, as a once-a-week class, but damn if they didn’t deserve every second of that break.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not.” Rhodey snorted, amused. “But at least you’re getting something out of this class, even if it is a little eye-candy.”

“Eye-can-? No!” The boy yelped. “No, it’s not like that at all.”

“So the notebook full of sketches surrounded by random words are supposed to be invisible, got it.”

“Well it’s my stuff, so yeah!” The guy snapped defensively.

“Fair point. What’s your name, kid?”

“We’re all adults here, aren’t we?” The kid asked coldly.

Fair enough.

“Barely.” Rhodey snorts. “Seriously though, you’re what, nineteen?”

The stunned look on the boy’s face told him he was right.

“So’s Tony.” Rhodes offered.

Another look, confused this time.

“Tony Stark is the kid who keeps interrupting the professor to half-way teach the class. The one whose likeness is plastered all over your notebook. You’re in luck, kid.”

“What?”

“He’d probably be willing to tutor you on this stuff. Hell, he’s tutor half the class, if they let him. He’s a total pushover if you know how to ask.”

“How do you ask?”

“Ah, for you… just sit there and look stunned like you usually do, only make sure he can see it. And maybe show him that notebook. He’d stick around for the whole year if you did that.” Rhodes snickered.

The kid shot him a look that, if he was reading this right, bordered on protective.

Oh, this would be way too easy.

“Just because he’s a good person-.”

“Doesn’t mean he’ll help you? Sure it does, he’s a sucker for lost causes. He keeps making them every other day.”

“What?”

“Ah, I guess you’d have to see it to know what I’m talking about. Not that you’ll be getting that far. He builds robots with newborn AIs that he keeps trying to teach. It’s the funniest thing in the world because they’re so cute but so helpless at the same time.”

The kid was interested now, but the break was over.

“Ask him a question or two about the homework late on. If you can understand any of the words on the page, Tony’s got you the rest of the way. Just prove that you’re not a lost cause.”

“I’m not a lost cause.” The kid muttered. “I’m not.”

“Good luck, painter-boy. These engineers will eat you alive.”

Later on

“Don’t you think that show of yours was a little much?” Carol asked as they walked to Boca Grande. Rhodey wasn’t really in the mood for Mexican but he wasn’t sure he was in the mood for much of anything. Art Kid’s dilemma was weighing on him now.

“Well, if I want anything to get through that thick head of his-.”

“Okay, now you’re projecting. James, look at me.” Carol stopped him and Rhodes turned to face the girlfriend he’d pined so hard for just for her to turn around and act like they’d been going out the entire time. “They will be fine. People can get their own dates without their annoying older brothers interfering. You’ve known that kid since he was, like, ten, so I’ll let you off easy here, but he’s finally got someone his age interested in him. Why not let him have a little fun?”

“Because he’s completely oblivious to genuine affection,” Rhodey informed her as if it was something he’d practiced every day in front of the mirror. “Just trust me on this one, if Art Kid doesn’t make the first move then nothing will ever come of this.”

“Fifty bucks says you’re wrong.” Carol insisted. “Give it a month. Don’t interfere. If Art Kid doesn’t make a move then Tony will.”

“God, not another four classes.” Rhodes groaned. “Fine. Whatever. I guess I can stand to lose fifty bucks if the kid shapes up.”

 Steve

Steve did not shape up. He couldn’t help himself. There was no way in hell that guy was talking sense, especially since the guy was right and he didn’t really belong here. What was he doing, anyway? There’s still three-fourths of the semester left, he should go to Erskine and quit while he’s ahead.

The genius boy, Tony, has a mole under his left eye, the blue one. Not the only blemish on his tanned skin, but the most prominent. This guy’s acne stage really did nothing to him, if he even had one.

“Hey, do you know the answer to number three from the homework?” A blonde girl with mischievous green eyes leaned across the aisle and whispered to him. Steve shook his head. It was a multiple-choice question and he’d likely gotten it wrong. God forbid they write a paper anytime soon. He really is in over his head.

“C’mon, we’re almost halfway through the semester, you had to have gotten something right.”

“Fat chance.” Steve groaned.

Besides, even if he did know the answer, he didn’t like where this talk was heading. She might have taken a few tips from the guy next to him on how to look down on helpless fuckers like Steve.

The blond artist shook his head.

“I know it’s at least supposed to resemble an arch, but not how wide, so there’s that.” He groused.

“See? You’re not totally hopeless. You should see what Tony has to say about your homework.”

Steve groaned and buried his head in his arms. So she was in league with the guy who sat next to him.

“I’d rather not.” He informed her acidly.

“What? He’s a good tutor. You see how he gets up there and basically hogs the conversation, the kid knows what he’s talking about.”

“If he’s my age then he’s not a kid!” Steve snapped.

“Sure, sure.” The green-eyed blonde snorted, amused. “My name’s Carol, in case you’re trying to figure out what the hell is going on here. I had money on your actually doing something about your crush over these past eight weeks, but Rhodey was right. Ah, well, goodbye fifty bucks.” She sighed. Her friend, Rhodey, he guessed, snorted.

“Told you the kid wouldn’t know a crush if it hit him in the face.” Rhodey yawned. “Look, kid, Steve. Look, Steve, just ask him a question about the homework, talk a bit about it, play it off like you don’t understand, and slide into ‘talk about it over dinner?’”

“I really don’t understand, though.”

“All’s the better for it, Tony hates posers. Which you’re not. You’re an architecture student, and that takes a lot of engineering, but it also takes a lot of art and angles and knowing what looks good where. There’s a reason you’re here, after all.”

Right.

Steve didn’t know what to do with this, but the least he could do was try.

 “So, the word around class is you’re hopeless.”

He knew that voice. It was the same one he heard every day trying to figure out what the hell the teacher thought he was doing, teaching like this?!

And it shouldn’t be walking him to one of his art classes.

“What’s it to you?” Steve grumbled. Apparently, Rhodey spread tales of his imminent demise at the hands of failure.

“I just so happen to be a tutor, and your grades are projected to be atrocious. Lucky you, everything is technically due at the end of the year, so if you want, I could help you get up to snuff.”

“Uh, sure?” Steve choked out. “Yes, absolutely! I need to pass this class.”

You’re damn right, you do.” Tony chirped. “Which is why I’ve humbly offered my services. See you, next class, we’ll work out a schedule after that.”

The shorter boy breezed off and Steve found himself doing a very good job of watching him go.

“You gonna get to class anytime soon?” Another familiar voice snarked.

“Hello, Carol. What’re you doing in the art building?”

“I have a few classes here, Stevie-boy. And man, am I glass I do. Looks like Tony decided to take things into his own hands.”

“Looks like he did.” Steve snorted. “He called me hopeless.”

“Oh, that’s a great sign! He loves hopeless. Means he can impress you with bullshit. He’s not going to, of course.” She snorted when she noticed to look on his face. “He needs you to pass that class. This is good! You might get a date out of him yet.”

Steve scoffed at that one. Now she was just yanking his chain.

“Yeah, I just might.”

Rhodes

“We’re going on a date.” Carol announced.

“I thought I was choosing the next three dates.” Rhodes objected. “That was the deal we made for the bet.”

“You are, which will work out in everyone’s favor because you know Tony best. Where does he like to eat?”

“Oh, this. You’re lucky I’ve already thought this out because Steve is-.”

“Not as hopeless as we thought. And neither is Tony. We just have to drop hints that their first study session should be somewhere with food, somewhere Tony likes and will want to keep going because your boy rocked up to his crush in the hallway and offered to be his tutor.”

“Yes!” Rhodey threw his hands in the air. “Thank God, we are one step closer. They might get together before the end of the year!”

“So, Tony, what’d you have in mind for tutoring Steve?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, flyboy.”

“Yeah yeah, I don’t know why you think that’s still funny. Anyway, I’m asking because he likes your rambling but he hasn’t gotten anything done since the start of class so you might have to take it slow, y’know, ease him into all this, maybe get some food every few sessions, the usual.”

“I know how to handle dummies, Rhodey, and contrary to popular belief, Steve Rogers is no dummy.”

“Really?” Rhodes crowed, interested. “And just how do you know that, Shrimp?”

“Fuck off, Rhodey, have you seen the curves that boy draws? No way he’s as hopeless as you and Carol think, he’s got to have something between the ears.”

“An artists’ mind, sure.”

“Well, artists have to use the same tools we do, for some projects, just on a smaller scale. If anyone can get Steve Rogers to pass this mind-numbing class, it’s me.”

“Atta boy, Tony. Go get your guy. He looks like he’s lost on campus as well.”

Tony coughed a laugh at that and stuck his tongue out at his friend.

“Next time I see that tongue, it better be down Rogers’ throat!”

“It will be, fuck you very much!”

Steve

Steve had no idea where he was going to find Tony, but at least this looked like a place he would want to be.

“You made it!” Tony crowed. “This is my favorite spot, y’know. They have the best burritos. Chipotle-sized but a million times better. You want to order something and then we can get started?”

“Sure, yeah.”

Steve stuttered through his order, a chicken-pineapple enchilada with green chile sauce and a Sprite. Tony made him look smooth by comparison because he couldn’t decide if he wanted an enchilada, a tamale, or a burrito. The waitress grinned and said, “I’ll put you down for your usual.” before going back to the kitchen.

“Yeah, that was probably a good idea,” Tony grumbled. “Now, show me some vocab skills, what’s up with your notebook?”

 Tony kept taking him to random places to eat every Thursday. This time, he asked if they could go to a bar. Irish pub, technically. He knew it wouldn’t be anything like the stuff his mother called dinner but it’d be close enough. Indeed, the Black Rose did not disappoint. Or at least it was about what he expected. They got carded but as long as they stayed away from the bar, the bouncer wouldn’t say anything. Steve wasn’t in the mood for alcohol anyway. Steve got bangers and mash and Tony asked for a chicken pot pie. Steve wondered if they were made fresh. His mother loved chicken pot pie but he couldn’t get past the slimy feeling.

The fast-paced atmosphere fir the mood for the night because Tony was quizzing Steve for the upcoming test. Some of it would be multiple choice but this time there would be diagrams, so Steve would actually have to know what he’s doing. He does, surprisingly enough. Tony’s study sessions have really helped, and Steve’s even been able to get through the lectures with more coherent notes.

This was proved when he saw his grades online.

“I got a C on the test!” He exclaimed.

“That’s great, Steve, it’s two in the morning. Go the fuck to sleep.”

“Sam, Sam, you don’t get it, this one engineering class has been driving me batshit and I finally proved I belong in the class!”

“I’ll probably freak out tomorrow but I just came back from a long shift so if you could-.”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely. Gnight, Sam.”

His roommate yawned and nodded off pretty quickly.

Six hours later, he heard “wait a minute, that one class with the boy you’ve been drooling over who tutored you? That class?!”

“Yep.” Steve yawned. He never understood how Sam Wilson could be such a morning person on maybe six hours of sleep.

“Hey, that’s amazing! Everyone says that class is stupid hard to follow if you don’t already know what the kid up front is talking about and half the time people have to stay behind and ask him to break stuff down.”

“Wait, what?”

“Well yeah, it’s a junior-level class, Steve, what were you expecting?”

“I… not that. I thought it was just me.”

“Aw, Steve… look, find the guy who was tutoring you. He’ll know what I’m talking about. You should be extra proud of that C, too. Means you can get all your homework done before the year is out.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Steve muttered. He should probably have asked Erskine more questions before he went along with this class.

 “You got a C? On that last test? Steve, that’s brilliant!”

Even Rhodes was congratulating him. This felt… strange.

“No, seriously, that last test was not easy. And you actually got some of the questions that everyone missed, even Carol and I. Those study dates are paying off.”

“Yeah, I guess they are.” Steve mumbled.

If this was how Rhodes was reacting, he wondered how hyper Tony would be.

 “I have succeeded!” Tony crowed for damn near the entire building to hear. “And clearly so have you. Lemme at that test of yours, I need to see every-. Fuck yeah, it’s a High C, too! You passed, Steve! This is the second major test of the class and you passed enough to make up for the first one! That, plus all the homework you turned in. You should come out relatively unscathed. And if you play your cards right, with a B.”

“That might be pushing it.”

“Oh no, trust me on this one. You’ve been trusting me on everything else. So, where do you want to go?”

“Go? What for?”

“To celebrate! This is an accomplishment, Steve, this class is hard enough for the best Architecture students. They just dumped you in here, no prerequisites or anything, and expect you to pass with flying colors? But you have, and that’s great!”

“You seem to have no trouble with any of the coursework.”

“Well, that’s because I’m a literal genius, Stevie. Joined Mensa and everything.”

“Huh.” Several things clicked into place and he nodded. “Okay. Well, we keep going out for study sessions so why not stay in this time? Watch a movie or something? We could order pizza or something.”

“You mean you’re not sick of pizza?” Tony cackled. “But yeah, let’s do that. Want anyone else to be there?”

“I mean, we both have roommates, so whoever’s place we go back to, someone’ll be there. Did you not want them to be?”

“Wow, you’re dense. I thought Rhodey was joking, but nope, you’re dense.”

“Hey, you can’t take back your-!”

Tony rolled his eyes and yanked Steve down to his eye-level. Before Steve could say anything else, their lips met.

The kiss was brief and Steve had to lick his lips twice after that.

“You need chapstick.” He blurted out.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony grumbled. “Totally not the point, but whatever. We’ve been going out for literal weeks, Steve.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“Yep.”

“Cool.”

“So we’re good?”

“We’re great!”

“Do you still want our roommates to be there for movie night?”

“Nah, Sam’ll be annoying if I get you to kiss me again. But we’re still ordering pizza.”

“All the cheese your heart desires.” Tony drawled. “And I still wanna see what’s in that notebook of yours.”

[roaminginspiration]

Before The Last Grain

My first true AU ever! No Avengers at all. I hope you’ll enjoy!

Chapter 1

Time is a strange concept. It's impalpable yet heavily perceptible. It can make a moment linger forever or go by fleetly. It stretches or shrinks. It is mysterious and unfathomable.

Or so, it was.

It all changed fifteen years ago when scientists finally deciphered its secret code. At a time when divorces were skyrocketing in the world, a company came up with an algorithm capable of determining when you were to meet your significant other and encapsulated it in the modest form of a watch.

LOVE IS ONLY A TICK AWAY the slogan read on every TV commercial and banner in the streets and online.

Skepticism gave way to curiosity and hope. And as hard as it was to admit— and still is for some — the Watch had startling results. Every encounter predicted led to a successful relationship. Love blossomed everywhere and never perished. The divorce rate fell significantly across the world and the efficiency of the Watch became indisputable.

The principle is astoundingly simple. The Watch activates around the wrist of the wearer the first time it is worn and sets automatically. When the countdown reaches 0, which means you are standing in front of your soulmate, it beeps (along with theirs) then turns off completely.

Of course, a small, trivial object with such power stirs strong opinions. People began to argue over it — some asked to make it illegal and have it banned. The initiative was strongly supported by the main Churches, but not only. Over time, — after the heated debate wore off—, you could pretty much find three categories of people. The overwhelming majority — who wore the Watch and waited expectantly waited for the last tick; the minority — those who'd refused to buy or activate it altogether; and those who knew, but vehemently tried to fight against fate...at their own scale.

Now, whether people live by or abhor it, the Watch has become a trivial object omnipresent in your everyday life. Like a phone or tablet.

The many people currently bustling in the small Manhattan coffee shop are walking past, waiting in line for their orders with a Watch around their wrist. Or not. It's something you don't dwell on.

Natasha Romanoff is sipping coffee at her usual table by the window, right next to the tall plant. She looks up from the book she's reading and notices a man is staring at her from the sugar counter across the room. She dismisses it and goes on to take another sip before resuming her reading. Her cup is nearly empty when a tall, broad figure comes to stand above her.

"Excuse me," a male voice calls. She takes her eyes off of the page and looks up. It is the same man from earlier. He's holding his cup and has a notebook clutched under his arm.

His blue eyes stare into hers with an unexpected combination of boldness and bashfulness.

"I couldn't help admiring you from across the room and, as I was about to leave, I thought I had to take a chance and come and speak to you."

She raises her eyebrow. His advances certainly are flattering. And she'll admit, he is strikingly handsome. His sharp, square jaw, his full lips, and the golden hair, without mentioning his incredible athletic figure — the man has it all.

"May I?" he asks, pointing at the chair across from her.

She nods. He smiles and sits down. He puts down on the table what she realizes is a leather sketchbook, creased in the middle for often being folded with the corners worn out. He attentively watches her.

“You come here a lot?” he asks.

“Probably more than I should,” she says with a smirk. “You?”

“First time, actually. And I’m glad I did.”

The smirk tugging at his lips is compelling. Almost irresistible.

“Yeah. Their lattes sure are the best,” she chimes in. Her humor makes him smile.

They chat, mostly banter in the most natural and familiar way until he finally asks:

“Can I give you my number? See how things could develop…”

She eyes him without a word.

“They wouldn’t develop much unless you are…,” she trails off as she pulls up her sleeve, “3 months, 5 days and 37 minutes early.”

He brushes his thumb over his bottom lip with a slightly stern expression. He takes a breath in and leans back on the chair. His eyes dive into hers, unwavering.

“You didn’t come off as the type to wear the Watch,” he says. He doesn’t sound disappointed or judging. Maybe the contrary intrigued and willing to tackle that unexpected challenge.

“I like to keep people on their toes.”

“3 months, huh? That’s quite close,” he comments.

She smiles unabashedly. He nods to himself.

“I’ll admit I didn’t see this hold-up coming but I’m a good judge of character.”

“And?” she cocks an eyebrow.

He extends his forearms on the table and leans over, creating an unsettling kind of intimacy.

“You’re not the type to let an algorithm take control of your life.”

His bold statement and the quiet confidence he displays draw her in. She smiles and glances away quietly.

“Or maybe I believe in destiny.” A short, contemplative silence follows.

He quickly looks at the clock on the wall across.

“Time seems to be against us today. But I’m pretty stubborn. What’s your name?” he asks, casually.

“Natasha.”

It makes him smile. “Let’s make a deal, Natasha,” he purrs her name like hot and sweet liquor. “If we meet again, you’ll owe me a date. It’ll be my honor to ask you out again.”

“Why would I make such a deal?” she questions daringly.

“Because if we meet again we can definitely agree it was meant to be, right?”

The corner of his mouth curls up. He takes his sketchbook, folds it under his arm then gets up. As he walks away, she calls out.

“If I choose to honor this deal, I should at least know your name.”

His large shoulders spin around. He smiles triumphantly.

“Steve Rogers.”

That evening Natasha Romanoff comes home from work and smiles as she finds herself almost wishing to meet that stranger in the coffee shop again.

_____________________________

2 MONTHS, 30 DAYS, 18 HOURS, 12 MINUTES AND 33 SECONDS

And indeed, they do. It happens very randomly about a week later. Natasha is chatting alongside her colleague and friend Maria Hill at a fancy but relaxed banquet party they have been invited to when she sees him, watching her from across the room. He is standing with a group of people who are laughing loudly, totally oblivious of the scene that seems to unfold in slow motion.

He is wearing an elegant black shirt with sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms with a pair of black trousers. It strikingly contrasts with his light hair and turquoise blue eyes. He is a guest, too, but he has the attention of half the females in the audience without even trying. But he doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are fixed on her with a satisfying smirk playing on his lips.

He lets the moment linger as a way to savor his victory. And oddly perhaps, she is too. Maybe she likes the thrill of this adventurous curve in the straight and steady path lying ahead of her.

She whispers a couple of words into Maria’s ear, apologizes to her company and goes out on the large terrace looking over Manhattan and its skyline. It only takes a few seconds before she hears him approach.

“Quite a lovely evening, isn’t it?” he says after standing by the guardrail.

“And full of surprises,” she finishes with a smile.

She turns to face him. “Ok, what’s your secret? How’d you know you’d find me here?”

He leans an elbow on the rail and turns towards her, too.

“I didn’t. I’m pleasantly surprised too, to be honest.”

She snorts and shakes her head, then gazes at the floodlit landscape in front of them.

“So how come you were invited? Who are you friends with?”

He points at the exuberant man giving a grandiloquent speech to his assembly.

“I’m Tony Stark’s lawyer.”

She nods to herself. “I guess that explains the whole ‘good judge of character’ talk.”

“Becoming his lawyer may not have been my brightest moment,” he jokes. “And you?”

“I’m a pianist. Stark has been funding many of my concerts across the city.”

“You must be very good at it, then. Tony doesn’t choose to be someone’s patron lightly.”  

She smiles silently. She can feel his expectant gaze upon her.

“So…Natasha, will you have dinner with me? And who knows? I might even surprise you.”

His boyish smile forces a giggle out of her. She reaches over to take the flute of champagne in his hand and takes a sip.

“Maybe you already have,” she murmurs.  

_______________________________

The date was agreed on for the following Friday in a busy street in Brooklyn. She finds him standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets. He is wearing a dark brown leather jacket. She has put on a pair of blue high-waist jeans with a silky maroon cropped top with a jacket. Her hair is up in a bun.

He flashes a wide when he sees her coming up.

“You look stupendous,” he says. For a pair of jeans and a jacket?

“That’s…quite an enthusiastic response.”

He chuckles. “You’ll understand later.”

“So where are we going?” she asks.

“I know a local Italian around the corner. It’s been open for as far as I can remember.”

They make their way there. The interior is as modest as the outside façade. It surprises her — not a common choice for a Wall Street lawyer. He’s not trying to dazzle her and she likes it.

“Steve!” a man calls loudly in a thick Italian accent. He warmly shakes his hand and taps his shoulder then turns to greet Natasha with the same friendly enthusiasm. “Welcome to Giovanni’s, darling. I have kept the best table for you.”

They go and sit and Giovanni lights up the half-used candle.

“They serve the best lasagna. I know, I’ve tried at other places.”

Giovanni casts him the glare. Steve gulps. “Not that many.”

The wine is exquisite in an authentic type of way. There is nothing glittery or arrogant at Giovanni’s but it’s charming all the same. She can see why he’s chosen this place for their first date.

"Of course we could only meet again, and in these circumstances. This is Tony Stark's world and we all live in it," she remarks and they both laugh.

The conversation eventually shifts to the Watch.

“What’s your story? Why aren’t you wearing one?”

“Why should I?” he laughs. “Half my family is obsessed with it and I’m not sure they are any happier.”

“So your family doesn’t share your views?”

“The day my parents got theirs it struck the end of their marriage. My father was never truly involved anyways; it simply gave him an excuse to leave us. My mom’s Watch beeped eventually and she re-married. He’s a nice guy; his wife had passed many years before. They’re doing well. His son — my step-brother — who’s about my age, has patiently been waiting for his Watch to beep.”

“And what’s so wrong about it?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “Call me old-fashioned or stubborn, but I like the idea that I have chosen the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“Some people need a little help, sometimes. It is scary to fall in love.”

“It’s always been. I’m not scared to have my heart broken so long as I allowed it to work.”

She eyes him from behind her glass of red wine.

“You think people don’t fall in love nowadays?”

He stares into her emerald eyes. “I think they forget to be spontaneous.”

They’re words she hasn’t heard in years and that bring back fond nostalgia.

“Spontaneous?” she trails off as she plays with the spoon of her dessert. “Show me.”

He cracks a smile.

He lays bills on the table and gets up, flaunts his leather jacket over his shoulder then stretches a hand out to her. “I was hoping you would ask.”

She looks up at him with inquisitive but beguiled eyes then glances down at his hand. She gently slips her fingers onto his palm.

A couple of minutes later, they are walking along the street. He halts and looks at her.

“Why are we stopping?” she asks.  

He smiles. “Our ride is here.”

She stares in disbelief at the big motorcycle parked behind him. She chuckles.

“You’re the first lawyer I meet who rides one of these!”

“I guess I like to keep people on their toes,” he echoes her words, earning a smirk from her, then leans over to get the helmet. He steps in front of her and gently lays it on her head. He then fastens the clip.

He teasingly pokes the tip of her nose with his finger. “It looks cute on you.”

He puts his helmet on and straddles the motorcycle. She watches with an agape mouth — what a sight!

“When you’re ready,” he says kindly.

Her heartbeat quickens. The exhilaration is slowly surging up her body. It feels like old times again. She smiles and gives an encouraging nod to herself before getting on. Her hands gently slip around his waist.

The engine roars fiercely. It sends shivers down her spine. Steve pulls back slowly then engages on the road. As they enter the freeway, his hand swiftly pulls around the handle, launching the bike forward. Her fingers grasp the fabric of his shirt. They soon get away from the bustling city and the light turns dim as they dive into the night. Steve drives fast along the deserted roads lined with trees. She slowly looks up and catches sight of the thousand stars glowing in the sky. It seems like ages since she last saw them.

The mild air sweeps across her face and she breathes in the scent of humid grass and leaves. She loosens her grip and bends backward, taking in the view, enjoying the moment. She lets out a joyful and carefree squeal whose echo dies down in the distance. He smiles from where he is sitting.

Thirty minutes, he pulls over on the side of a quiet rural road. They are both leaning on the bike, gazing at the splendorous untouched nature in front of them.

She taps her finger on the screen of her Watch.

“My father bought it for me when it came out. I’d just turned 18. He had great hopes for me which involved being in a happy marriage and having children. But I wasn’t ready for any of it. I was…,” she smiles blankly, “rebellious. Hardly contented with anything. I took his gift as a leash so I protested. Commitment meant little to me. I’d date around for the sake of proving I could. Then I met this guy, a singer, he offered me my ticket out. I went with him on a tour around Europe. It was fun, and I felt free. Alive.” She pauses and takes a deep breath in. “My father had a heart attack. He died alone and it took days before someone even realized and found him. It took even longer before I came back and claimed his body. After that, I saw why family was important. And I put the Watch on.”

She turns to look at him with watery eyes and shrugs slightly as she sniffs and forces a smile. “Never took it off once ever since.”

Steve is watching her quietly. She notices his eyes are slightly gleaming too under the moonlight. “I’m sorry,” he says.

She shakes her head. “It’s ok. It was years ago. Anyways, when I came back I settled down and resumed my studies. I started a new life and it hasn’t been an unhappy one so far.”

The corner of his mouth goes up slightly. “Has it been a happy, fulfilling one, though?”

She runs her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know. It’s been so long. But it feels safe.”  

“I get it. I really do.”

They look at each other without a word. She bites her bottom lip and shuts her eyelids. Her mind runs through a thousand thoughts, once of which is far more obsessive than the others and she can no longer pretend to ignore. Looking back at him staring at her with such candor and yearning, she feels the pull to lean in.

She makes a resolute nod and stands on her feet. She turns to face him.

“If we’re doing this,” she begins, “we can’t get attached. We’re just being spontaneous and going along with it…for the time it lasts.”

Still sitting on the bike, he looks at her with meek, but lustful, eyes. He looks down and shakes his head, snorting.

“Natasha. I like you,” he admits. “I like you. I think part of me will always want more but I can’t risk losing it all for being too greedy. We’ll go with your terms.”

She smiles. “Great,” she says and holds her hand up to make it an official shake.

He laughs softly. He swiftly puts a hand to her waist and pulls her to him, crushing his lips against hers, sealing the deal with a kiss.

2 MONTHS, 28 DAYS, 14 HOURS, 41 MINUTES AND 7 SECONDS

[andersunmenschlich]

Episode 8: Burned Out

Okay! So tonight I get the story of an Ivo Lensik, a contractor. (I sense a haunted house story.)

He gets called in to take over a wiring job for a guy who had jury duty, and decides to take the job and do it in the evenings since he has another job going during the day. So far, so good.

The house is on Hilltop Road, which apparently is a very quiet road with not a lot of people living on it. This means Ivo Lensik is going to be in an unfinished house in a secluded location as night falls, doesn't it? I like that. That is nicely spooky.

Let's see, the house has two floors, doors but no locks, and no windows.

...Why are they putting electricity into a house with no windows? It might just be me, but that seems like a good way to get a short.

Oh, and there's a big old dead tree in the yard.

I quite like trees, especially big ones, but the dead ones are only really good to look at since if you climb them the limbs have a tendency to break at inconvenient moments. This tree sounds particularly aesthetic: apparently it casts nice, clear, dark shadows even on overcast days. I don't know why, but I really like the sound of that.

Anyway, the third evening of this job, there comes a knock on the door. Ivo Lensik goes and opens the door (and takes a hammer, in case the knocker is unfriendly), and oh, look! It's a man in a tan jacket.

No word on a suitcase filled with flies, though.

The man in the tan jacket introduces himself as Raymond Fielding, the owner of the house.

And this is evidently not a crossover, since our statement-giver seems able to describe him quite easily: young, white, maybe mid-twenties, clean-shaven with shaggy chestnut brown hair. He produces the deed to the house, which says yep, a man named Raymond Fielding owns the place.

So Ivo Lensik lets him in, which is something I don't entirely understand. I mean... sure, he's got a deed saying the house belongs to Raymond Fielding, and sure, he says he's Raymond Fielding, but what proof is there that he is?

But our story-teller lets him in.

Raymond Fielding (self-proclaimed) heads over to an empty window and stares out into the backyard, which is weird but I guess doesn't get in Ivo's way, because he goes back to work. Then there's the smell of burning hair, and when Ivo Lensik looks for the man in the tan jacket all he finds is a smoldering patch of floor in front of the window.

...That's some extreme spontaneous human combustion, right there.

And the floor! Is that coming out of our Ivo Lensik's paycheck? I mean, how's he going to prove he didn't char the floor?

Oh. Apparently I was worrying about nothing, because when he takes a couple seconds to grab a fire extinguisher the smoldering bit goes as cold as the rest of the floor, and then the ashes turn out to just be sitting on top of the wooden flooring, which is fine once it's cleaned up.

That's surprisingly thoughtful of... Mr. Fielding, I guess, or whoever burned him.

Anyway, I approve.

Ivo cleans things up and then, as the situation sinks in, begins to panic because he thinks he's losing his mind. It seems his dad went a bit loopy later in life, and Ivo's worried it'll be him next.

Ivo's father, it seems, was obsessed with fractals. Big into mathematics, which I can understand. Math can be really fun, when you're not being forced to do it. But the older Mr. Lensik also developed this idea that some mysterious person who can be recognized because "all the bones are in his hands" was stalking him and trying to stop him from finishing his fractal work, which would definitely be stark, staring, unmoored-from-reality paranoia in our world, but since this is the world of The Magnus Archives, well... who knows?

Aha, and then one day he turns up dead in his locked(?) study with deep gouges along his wrists and arms (made by something the coroner can't identify) and a look of fear on his dead face, surrounded by drawings of fractals (not in blood, though, in pencil, mostly on paper but also on the walls). And this is called a suicide, because of course it is.

"All the bones are in his hands"?

I have no idea what that means, but dang it sounds creepy.

I'm picturing a kind of boneless man with giant hands full of all the bones the rest of his body doesn't have, dragging the squelching, wet, oozing part along like giant, bony spiders trailing a partly digested corpse.

In any case, Ivo's so worried about losing his mind that he loses his balance, slips on the just-cleaned floor, and hits his head.

Whereupon he loses consciousness.

Head wounds do have a marked tendency to bleed awfully. So when he wakes up, dizzy and bleeding, I'm sure it's quite dramatic. In fact he's so dizzy that he can't drive, and calls an ambulance instead. It comes and takes him to the hospital, and yes, he's got a terrible concussion, which I suppose means he can't be alone for a while, either.

At least he probably won't end up at the apartment of a strange man who eats notebook pages... but, then again, who knows?

He tells his doctor everything and asks if he's losing his mind.

His doctor says no, probably not—it would be very strange if he went that nuts that quickly, normally you have to sort of work up to full-on hallucinations, and Ivo is reassured.

Meanwhile, an eavesdropping nurse (an older lady) seems very interested in the story, but (like most eavesdroppers) doesn't hang around to be talked to. Just before Ivo's discharged, though, he sees her again. Actually it's her job to give him the final check, so they get to talk! Which, it seems, she wants to do.

She wants to know if the man in the tan jacket really called himself "Raymond Fielding."

Ivo says yes, he did, and he had a deed to the place with that name on it, too. This information seems to give the old lady a need to sit down. So she does, and explains that her family's among the few living on Hilltop Road, and they know that house.

Apparently there was a house there in the 1960s, and it belonged to a man named Raymond Fielding, who used it as a halfway house on behalf of the local diocese.

Having a bunch of juvenile delinquents around didn't make the neighbors happy, but everybody really liked Raymond so nobody said anything. And then one day Agnes showed up. She was eleven at most and might have been Raymond's actual daughter, and she was also kind of creepy, always standing in windows staring at people. But she didn't cause problems, so....

Oh, and then the delinquents slowly stopped causing problems.

Actually it looks like they slowly started vanishing.

And then there was no one living there but Raymond and his maybe-daughter Agnes... and then there was just Agnes, who by this point was a quiet young woman of 18 or 19.

Okay. Something's definitely up with Agnes.

People ask where Raymond went, and she just says he went away and the house is hers now. Which apparently is the case—the house has been legally signed over to her, and there's certainly no sign that Raymond's been murdered or anything. So she lives there, all by herself, which sounds lovely except I do wonder how she gets the groceries, and what happens if a pipe leaks or a drain gets clogged or something?

Maybe she knows how to handle all that sort of repair on her own, but if there's one thing I know it's that you can't buy groceries without money, and it's very difficult to get money without leaving the house unless you work from home somehow, which Agnes doesn't seem to do.

Ooh, and pets in the area tend to vanish, so people learn not to keep them.

...And it looks like small children aren't exempt from vanishing, either. So long, Henry White, five years old.

A week after little Henry goes missing, the Fielding house burns to the ground. No one calls the fire department, because Agnes creeps them out and they figure she might have had something to do with all these disappearances—which, frankly, seems like a pretty reasonable assumption to me, but that still looks like a fire hazard to the whole community, doesn't it, unless someone's come up with a way to prevent neighbors' houses from catching fire when something like this happens?

Well, maybe the Fielding house is set far enough away from the other houses (and the air's calm enough) that it isn't a problem. Who knows.

Anyway, there's no sign that there's anyone in the house at all, and when the fire finally gets put out a burned body is found inside—but it doesn't belong to Agnes. No, it's the skeleton of Raymond Fielding, missing its right hand. Huh. I wonder if that's the hand that signed the house over to Agnes....

Then people cleared up the rubble and had some confusion over who the land belonged to now, and finally they figured it out and someone started building.

That new house is where our Ivo Lensik is putting in wiring.

So the man in the tan jacket was a ghost. Haunted house! Called it.

Ivo Lensik, recovered from his concussion, decides to do his wiring work as much during the day as possible, and he does pretty well; but whenever he finds himself alone in a room, or things get quiet, he thinks he sees little Agnes's brown pigtails whisking around corners, or thinks he smells burning hair.

Funny, he didn't see anything to do with Agnes before, and... would she be dead now? I don't think she died in that fire, anyway. Maybe he's imagining that, now that he knows the story.

He does pretty well at working only during the day when there are other people around, but as they're finishing things up apparently he works later and later, and one night he looks up to find the sun's set and he's completely alone. Whereupon he starts sweating.

He thinks he's just freaking out at first, but no—he's legitimately burning up. Like fever, except more so.

Now, I'm usually cold. I live in the desert. On average it gets up to around 93 degrees Fahrenheit come July, and that strikes me as a bit warm but much better than winter, because my internal heating system basically doesn't work. That said, this doesn't sound great. I have no objection to lying around like a lizard on a rock, surrounded by heat that seems to melt all your muscles to useless, cozy goo... but this kind of heat sounds unpleasant.

Ivo takes off his coat and his hat and it doesn't do any good at all. He can't even breathe, he's so hot. He's collapsed to the floor (dying, I think) when there's a knock on the door and suddenly he's fine.

He climbs to his feet and answers the door, and it's a Catholic priest.

...Well, that was unexpected.

Oh, apparently the nice old lady from the hospital sent him (and apparently her name's Annie). Aw, she was worried about Ivo so she sent him an exorcist. With suspiciously good timing, too!

Father Edwin Burroughs wanders around and takes a look at the house while Ivo explains what's been happening, and then he tells Ivo to go hang out in the backyard while he runs through some prayers and things and sees if he can't do for ghosts what's typically done for demons.

In the backyard, Ivo suddenly develops an herbicidal mania and attacks the already dead tree with a crowbar.

Which seems... really weird to me.

And then the tree starts bleeding! Like, actual blood!

I wonder what kind of blood it is. And if it's human, would it be any good for transfusions? Could they just go tap the, I dunno, B- tree instead of asking for donations or going to the blood bank? Blood trees could be really handy so long as they didn't, you know, curse anyone who got their blood! ...Actually, depending on the curse, certain types of people might think it was worth it anyway.

Oh, and the tree's got old scorch marks at its base. Which I guess makes sense: it's an old tree, it would've been here when the old house burned, right?

Ivo decides to chain the tree to his car and drag the thing out of the ground, for reasons which are not well explained and make me think either he's got some kind of supernatural intuitive sense, or something's reaching into his head and using him as a tool to destroy the tree.

He drags the tree out of the ground.

The bleeding, surprisingly, stops.

Looking into the hole where the roots used to be, Ivo notices something in the dirt and climbs down to get it.

It's a six-inch-square wooden box engraved with patterns that remind me of that table from episode three (which, after the concussion, is the second thing in this episode to remind me of that one), and it's got a nice, fresh, green apple inside. Looks like it's just been picked.

When Ivo takes it out of the box, though, the freshness shrivels away, the skin splits, and spiders just pour out of the thing.

He screams and drops everything. The apple hits the ground and turns to dust.

Ivo backs off and waits for the spiders to leave before he goes back and wrecks what sounds like a perfectly lovely box, which wanton destruction I'm coming to expect from this particular statement-giver, and chucks the splinters into a trash can.

Not long after Ivo's finished trashing everything, Father Burroughs comes out of the house and, ignoring the tree, tells our guy that he's done his prayers and hopefully it'll help and here's his card.

Ivo works on the house for another week.

There are no further interesting incidents. Job done, he leaves and never goes back.

Jonathan Sims seems to blame the man in the tan jacket on the concussion that happened later, or else on the genetic disposition to mental problems that the doctor said probably weren't happening. That... it seems like he's really reaching here. Maybe it's less that he's an actual skeptic, and more that he really, really doesn't want to know what's actually going on?

That would make a kind of sense: it's a sort of self-defense. He only believes horrible things when he's forced to. Otherwise he's skeptical, sarcastic, and dismissive.

Oh, neat—Father Edwin Burroughs gave a statement, too!

I'm guessing the fact that it's mentioned means we get to hear it later.

Unless this is the kind of show where they taunt you with stuff you never get to know, but that's unusual and so I figure I'll be hearing that one eventually. Should be fun!

And apparently Ivo Lensik was the only contractor who got haunted by the house they were all working on, which is interesting. I wonder why? Was it just because he was the only one who stayed late? Or maybe he was the first one to stay late, or the only one to let in an ID-less stranger waving an old deed and claiming to be Raymond Fielding, or...?

Who knows.

Mr. Sims's assistants have apparently done a ton of work in research, as usual.

Martin couldn't figure out who built the old house, but the earliest records it turns up it show it being bought by Raymond Fielding's grandfather (Walter Fielding). Then it was inherited by his father (Alfred Fielding), and then by him. But there's no record that it was ever an official halfway house. Maybe he was running it illegally. Maybe that record got lost. No way to know.

Tim got an interview with the nice old nurse, Anna Kasuma, but didn't get any new info.

One of the residents of Hilltop Road did provide a photo of the old house in flames, which means that while nobody called the fire department, at least one person was taking pictures. This strikes me as extremely human.

The obit for Raymond Fielding said he worked with juvenile delinquents, and died in a house fire, but didn't give any real details.

Mr. Sim's little team down at the Magnus Institute apparently can't turn up any proof that Agnes ever even existed, which makes me think that something's definitely going on with her.

...Ooh.

And on the same day Ivo Lensik uprooted that old dead tree, a woman named Agnes Montague was found dead in her apartment.

Apparently she'd hanged herself, and there was a severed human hand attached to her waist with a chain—a right hand, one that the coroner time-of-death-ed at the same time Agnes Montague died, which makes no sense from a natural perspective but suggests some interesting things from an unnatural one.

What do you want to bet it was the ghost of Raymond Fielding that made Ivo Lensik uproot that old tree?

Oh, and Agnes Montague passed as only 26.

You know, if you're going to tie your life force to something, maybe don't pick a tree? It's as bad as a secret painting that you have to hide in a secret room of your house to prevent people from seeing how old and evil you're actually getting.

What would I tie mine to? Uh... hmm. I think maybe entropy. A painting never ages, sure—a tree loses life a lot more slowly than a human—but the entropy of a closed system never decreases over time. Tie your life to a painting and it'll age instead of you, to a tree and you'll get all its life, but if you tie your life force to entropy, well! That's a force that'll never run out, and if it should happen to decrease a bit... would that be so bad?

In any case, two more families lived in that house since this statement, and nothing weird happened to any of them, either.

Looks like Raymond got rid of Agnes and they both finally died.

This is a really good story! I like this one. It's very tidy.

[venusloveslobotomies]

Pyromania (Bucky x Reader) 5

  Summary: (Winter Soldier-Endgame Insert) You’re an enhanced HYDRA agent who negotiated her way out of being a weapon. You’re now the nurse/ aid of the Winter Soldier. You end up escaping with him and follow him in and out of danger while slowly developing feelings for each other.

Words: 1650+ (approx) Chapter: 5/? Part 4

  Once we’re in the cab and speeding on our way I finally snap out of the trance and notice he’s still dripping wet.    “What’s going on?”    “I don’t want to talk about it. But malen’kaya. We’re finally getting away from here,” He says quietly, gripping my hand. I decide to just follow what he does, “I was set to kill Captain America. He called me his friend. Said my name was ‘Bucky’. We got into a fight and he fell into the river. I pulled him out. Though I’m still not sure why. I need to go to a museum to find out if he’s telling the truth.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, “That’s essentially what happened. It’ll be safer to hide out in south Europe.” I nod, taking it in.   I have always trusted him and he’s always trusted me. There’s no way he would have brought me unless he trusted me one hundred percent.    We end up waiting for the Smithsonian to open. When we head in there’s a huge exhibit of Captain America. We wander around, reading information on each piece.

  I end up alone and reading a piece of information about ‘James Buchanan Barnes’. I look up and jump slightly in shock. The man in the video staring back at me is my soldier. Younger, happier and laughing with Captain Rogers. But definitely him. I feel a hand on my back and whip around in alarm before realising it’s him. My reaction has had no impact on him, he’s transfixed on the video.     “I think I remember,” I touch his arm gently and when he looks at me, his eyes are sparkling with moisture.   However I’m distracted by a woman staring directly at me and looking confused. I realise that despite the hat, he’s still recognisable. I take his hand and march out of the building.     “We need to get out of here. Some woman noticed you.”   We end up at the airport with a flight to Bucharest.     “We’re lucky they’re careless with so much cash. And I had the opportunity to take it,” He mumbles as we count over what’s left at the gate. 

  Arriving in Bucharest we immediately search for an apartment to stay in. One building has a few one room apartments available so I go on a search for somewhere to exchange the money. When I return and we pay, we’re handed a key. The room is small. Very small. A bed in one corner, a little kitchen with a fridge and a stove. That’s pretty much it. We sink into the bed together and fall asleep.   When I wake up, sunlight is streaming through the curtains. I leave Soldat to sleep and go out to buy food and cleaning supplies. I find a small supermarket and return with two heavy grocery bags. As I unlock the door, it is opened quickly and I almost drop the bags. Soldat pulls me inside.    “I didn’t know where you went. I thought someone had found you,”     “I’m sorry! I just thought you’d like to get some sleep. You’ve been stressed lately,” I touch his face softly and he catches my hand there, “You need to shave,” I chuckle. He smiles back at me.    “What’d you get?” I pull out black bread, a few cold cuts, cheese, cucumbers and tea packets from one and I empty detergent, sponges, washcloths, trash bags and a little mop from the other. I found a broom and a bucket in the bathroom this morning.    “You cook, I’ll clean, yeah?” He looks nervous and picks up the food cautiously, “Haven’t you ever cooked before?” He shakes his head, “Ok, just slice some cold cuts and cheese and put it on some bread. Cut up the cucumbers and that’s it. Easy, right?”    “Sure…” He doesn’t look sure but I let him figure it out.   I start with sweeping the whole place. I open the windows and beat the dust out of the curtains. I start in the bathroom, which is mostly just dusty, putting plenty of spiders outside. While I scrub the sink and toilet, I let the bucket fill up in the tub.    “Bol’shoy, can you get this for me?” I call, unable to lift the full bucket out of the tub. Once it’s out, we set the food on the bed and dump water over the still dusty wooden floor.   While it’s soaking in, we eat on the bed. It’s nice being around him and I can finally start focusing on the potential of a future outside of HYDRA. Away from stress, danger and just HYDRA in general, he’s much chattier and smiles a lot more. Both of us are still tense about the possibility of someone finding us but for now we just enjoy each other’s company. He hasn’t done too bad a job on the food either. He chose a ham cold cut and while the food is cold, it tastes good and seems to restore our positivity.     “So, I fell off the bike and smashed my nose because why would I wear a helmet? And the guy in the car sped off and I ended up chasing him on foot, with my nose streaming blood by the way, and he looks out the car window and just does a double take because I’m on foot sprinting past this car and he crashes the stupid car himself so I don’t even have to do anything. I took the documents out of the backseat and left this guy losing his mind in a crashed car in the middle of nowhere. So now this man is just existing after witnessing a guy sprint seventy miles an hour after his car!”     “Wait, wait. Wait. When was this?”    “1973. So, maybe the guy is dead now but imagine living with that experience,” He laughs, “So you lose important government documents and you have a soldier run faster than your car. I would not want to be him,” We’re in fits of laughter for some reason and I honestly think this might be the first time he’s laughed this hard, at least since becoming the Winter Soldier. I can hardly even finish my food since everything he says just sends me into giggles.     “Ok, ok. Let me finish cleaning,” I get up and take our plates to the kitchen sink.    “Want help?” I motion to the dishes and he springs up and gets the hot water going. I fill up the bucket again halfway and start scrubbing the floor with a heavy sponge.   After a little while I start humming.   I glance over and Soldat has begun scrubbing the grime out of the kitchen sink and counters. We continue on like this for three more hours, mopping, scrubbing and dusting. He smiles to himself a lot and ruffles my hair whenever we pass each other.   I leave again to buy bed sheets and a blanket and towels. I also buy a notebook.    “What’s this for?” He asks when I hand it to him.    “I can tell you’re starting to remember things. From before. I thought it might help if you could write them down,” I say as I put on the bed sheets. I’m suddenly spun around and pulled into a tight embrace.     “Spasibo, malen’kaya,” I can hear the strain in his voice and when he pulls away I wipe the tears from under his eyes.     “It’s nothing,” I pat his cheek and finish making the bed, “So. What do we want for dinner?” I grin and twirl in a circle, already in a giddy mood.    “Whatever you can find in the store,” He shrugs and returns my smile. I feel my heart melt a little and suddenly question why. I consider for a moment. I’ve known him for a long time. He’s pretty solemn most of the time and his smiles are difficult to come by. Do I find him attractive? Sure. Who wouldn’t? He’s got a sweet smile and gorgeous blue eyes. I decide to put that aside for the moment. We’re hardly out of HYDRA’s grasp. It’s time to focus on survival, not emotions.     “Ok. I’ll go again.” As per the last two times I left the house, I put on a bucket hat and sunglasses.   I can tell he would prefer to come with me but it’s not an option. He’s too easily recognized by HYDRA. Despite my long history with them, it’s easier to hide in plain sight. No tell-tale signs of my identity. Sunglasses hide my eyes, which therefore hide my ethnicity. Only my black hair is unhidden. I am alert but not scared. I can easily outrun them, even in their cars. So I enjoy my walk to the supermarket.

  I dump the bags on the counter.   “Ok. I bought grilled mushrooms from some guy on the way back. But we also have potatoes and polenta. I also got sparkling wine and pumpkin pie.” I start the water on the stove and chop up the potatoes to put in the pot. I decide to chill the mushrooms while that’s cooking and shove them in the fridge.     “Here, let me do that,” He guides me out of the kitchen and starts chopping parsley and mixing it with butter before straining the potatoes and mashing them with the butter and parsley. I lean against the window and watch the people outside. The curtains are now clean and since it’s getting dark, I shut them and turn on the lights. “Alright, let’s eat,” He hands me a plate of mushrooms, polenta and potatoes before sitting on the bed.    “We should really get a table,” I mumble through a mouthful of food.   We sit in silence and shovel food in our mouths. Once we’re done he washes our dishes while I pour wine and take the pies out of the oven. We finish the meal in the kitchen, toasting to our daring escape. 

Part 6

[pansy-pansy]

⧼  adelaide kane, female, she/her   /   divide by bastille + the sound of high heels on a stone floor; gothic architecture with modern decor; a blank page of a notebook, waiting to be filled with other people’s secrets.   ⧽   ━━   hey, isn’t that PANSY PARKINSON? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the TWENTY FOUR year old [ pure blood ] WITCH is a [ SLYTHERIN alumnus who has gone on to be a DAILY PROPHET INTERN ]. i’ve heard they can be quite CLEVER & RESOURCEFUL, but i don’t know… they came off very VINDICTIVE & ELITIST in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it?   [   carly, 24, nst, she/her ]

Fast facts

Full name: Pansy Elladora Parkinson

Birthday: 13 November

Birth place: Cambridge, UK

Age: 24

Parents: Timothy Parkinson and Cassiopeia (Selwyn) Parkinson

Hogwarts house: Slytherin

Occupation: Intern at the Daily Prophet

Patronus: nonexistent (Pansy cannot produce a patronus)

Boggart: Being forgotten, especially by the people she cares about the most

Amortentia: tea with sugar and milk, fields of lavender, a fresh bottle of ink

Hindsight’s an unhelpful friend

Born in Cambridge to a loving father and, well, her mother, Pansy Parkinson was on the 13th of November. It wasn’t that her mother disliked her, per se, but Pansy was certainly not high up on the list of things that she cared about. The family’s position in society had the number one spot and the amount of galleons in Gringotts was firmly number two. Pansy supposed that she would probably be number three or four, but she had no definitive proof of this.

Her father, Timothy, however, had adored her from the moment he set eyes on her. It was he who had suggested the name Pansy, for the simple reason that they were his favourite flower, and her mother had agreed without comment. Elladora, her middle name, was also her father’s suggestion (it was his mother’s name). Pansy was spoiled by her father, he gave her everything and anything. As she grew older, she noticed that her mother was not so keen on this fact, so she made sure she didn’t abuse the situation.

The first time Cassiopeia Parkinson showed true interest in her daughter was when Pansy mentioned Draco Malfoy. Suddenly, her child could be useful. Having a connection to the Malfoys, even through children, was sure to be very helpful. And it was. The Parkinsons were soon being invited to more exclusive parties and events, and Cassiopeia was finally invited to join a fancy club that Pansy never heard the name of. When her mother heard that Pansy was going to the Yule Ball with Draco, she wouldn’t stop talking about it. Pansy couldn’t bring herself to tell her mother that they were going as friends, she knew she wouldn’t be able to deal with that level of disappointment.

We fall from heaven straight through hell

When Voldemort took over, the Parkinsons refused to get involved. At the beginning, Pansy knew little of what was happening outside of Hogwarts, and everything she knew was second or thirdhand from Draco or Theo. She wasn’t very worried at first (her family is Sacred 28). In fact, she hardly cared. It wasn’t affecting her, so why should she?

But then Draco was recruited. Nothing was the same after that. The person who had been her best friend in the world was suddenly pushing her away. Sure, she still had Theo and Blaise and Daphne, but they weren’t the same. They didn’t know her like Draco did. And she was scared for him, unimaginably so. She didn’t know what he was doing, but she was clever enough to piece together that it had something to do with Voldemort and that nothing good would come of it.

As things started to get worse and worse, her only wish was that it would all be over soon. She didn’t care who won. She didn’t care if Potter lived or died. She just wanted things to go back to normal.

Lay me down in ash again and watch the world crumble

On the night that Voldemort attacked, Pansy almost fled with the other Slytherins. She was over halfway to the dungeons, on her way to escape, when she realised that she actually, well, hated Voldemort. She’d felt that way for awhile, deep down, but had never admitted it to herself or anyone else. She hated him for the way he turned the world upside down and the way he ruined her last year of school and, most of all, for what he’d done to Draco.

She didn’t want to live in his world. She knew she had to at least try to stop him.

So she turned around and ran back towards the battle. It was hard. She almost died, more than once. But she saved people too. Most of them she didn’t have time to recognise, because she’d cast a spell instinctually while running past, but there is one face she will never be able to forget. Lavender Brown. A girl she’d mocked all through school, for the main reason that she was a Gryffindor. But that didn’t matter now. Suddenly, all of that seemed so foolish. This girl was in danger, she could die, and Pansy had the power to stop that. She could tell that there was someone leaning over the body, but couldn’t tell who until she got closer. The look of hunger on Fenrir Greyback’s face scared and repulsed Pansy more than anything ever had before. She cast stupefy and sent him flying, then ran over to make sure Lavender was ok. The girl was injured, badly injured, but alive. Pansy didn’t have time to do anything else for her, though, because more Death Eaters had stormed the area.

The rest of the battle was a haze of bright lights and flames, crumbling walls and clouds of dust.

I’m already past the point of no return

In the days after the battle, Pansy didn’t know what to do with herself. She didn’t know where she fit. She didn’t want to be lumped in with the other war heroes, she didn’t feel she deserved to be. Yes, she’d fought. No, her parents weren’t Death Eaters. But had she really done enough to be considered a hero? She didn’t think so. The title didn’t suit her. It was a perfect fit for other people, like Granger and Weasley, but not her. Draco, she thought, deserved the title, but she doubted he would make the list. But she certainly didn’t have a place on the other side. She’d fought against Voldemort, she’d killed Death Eaters. (She didn’t want to know their names) She didn’t know where she belonged.

So she ran away.

She packed up all of her things and left the country. She went to France first, to Paris. Then to Germany. Switzerland. Italy. Greece. Bulgaria. Romania. She went as far away as Moscow at one point.

The only people she really stayed in contact with were her father and Draco. She sent letters to Theo, Blaise, and Daphne occasionally, but Draco was her main point of contact.

She didn’t return to England for five years.

At 23 she decided that she was done running. She decided she was ready to move on. She was ready to grow up. She moved to London and got a job at the Daily Prophet. Ok, it’s an internship but it looks promising.

[wackpainterkid]

a burst of bright color (1/1)

a/n: I love noliv because they’re two artsy fuckers who are also giant children when they’re together so here’s a Manon’s Mondays fic that’s just that :) Also why am I such a procrastinator lol, made Monday with six minutes to spare, please forgive any mistakes.

rating: T (things get dirty but not in that way)

2400 words

also on ao3

Liv: Are you home, because I’ll be there in five minutes :) 

 Maybe she should have given Noah slightly more notice before dropping by, but Engel wanted to meet in a café close to his house and eventually had to cancel last minute because she wasn’t feeling so great, so Liv was suddenly left with an unexpected free moment and what better way to spend it than by annoying her boyfriend for a bit.

She’s sure he won’t mind.

Well, she’d know that if he would answer his phone of course.

 Four minutes pass and she locks her bicycle close by, walking the final minute to his house. She rings the doorbell before taking a step backward, peering up to see if she can spot any movement in his room. 

 The doorbell goes off for a second time, but still no answer. Liv purses her lips.

 Noah might be with Micha or Gijs, he might even be at the grocery store.

 Obviously, she doesn’t need to know his whereabouts 24/7 and obviously, she’s a strong and independent woman that doesn’t need a man but on her way here, she had kind of anticipated to see him and going home without seeing him would be disappointing. 

 A thought emerges in her head. 

 Liv thinks about a place she hasn’t been in quite some time, a place she hadn’t even thought of in a long time. There is no real reason for her to suspect he will be there, no real reason except for something he told her six months ago. That he used to go there to find some peace. And she doesn’t even know whether that is the case right now, whether she isn’t overthinking his absence, but still, she decides to just take the leap. To just go there and see if she is right. And if she isn’t, if he isn’t there, well then she’ll simply go home.

It’s a calm September evening, with a light breeze moving through the warm air, with the sun lingering in the sky, undeterred by clouds. At least the walk there and back will do her good.

 The church comes into view and there seems to be light coming from inside; it is difficult to be sure when the sun hasn’t truly set yet, but it still evokes a hopeful smile on Liv’s face. 

 She walks towards the entrance– or what she believes to be the entrance as the one time she has been here before, Noah had brought her inside the building through here. With some of Liv’s force behind it, the door creaks open.

 Her eyes adjust to the dim lighting of the church and see him standing there. She has to control the smile that tries to creep on her lips, has to keep it from being too ecstatic at the sight of him. Noah, however, has a wary look on his face as he is alarmed by the door’s sounds and attempts to determine who has come to infiltrate his quiet place. 

 Liv struggles to shut the door again but when it’s finally closed, she walks over to him. Out of nowhere, a seed of fear settles in her body as she comes closer and closer; what if wanting peace means not having to be around her?

 “What are you doing here?” she asks him, taking in the paintbrush in his hand and the large canvas he’s standing in front. His distrust instantly morphs into something happier, something more joyful when he hears and sees her. He definitely doesn’t mind that she’s here, Liv’s chest deflates in relief.

 “I could ask the same of you,” he teases with a broad smile.

 “I went by your place and you weren’t picking up your phone.” Noah’s eyes shoot to his jacket lying in a corner, his jacket which Liv presumes contains his phone as well. “I had an inkling you might be here,’ she continues while minimizing her words with a tiny shrug.

 “Good instincts.”

 He lays down his brush on the easel and wipes his hands on a cloth to get rid of the excess pigment. His paint-stained hands cradle her cheeks before he goes to kiss her hello, she rises on her toes to meet him halfway.

 “Hope I’m not intruding,” Liv says once their greeting is over.

 “Of course not,” he reassures, his head shaking.

 “What’re you painting?” Her gaze travels to the pedestal and her body follows. She stands next to him, her hip almost glued to his as she watches the almost empty canvas. 

 The little color the painting has, Liv doesn’t really consider color; they’re greys and blacks and dark blues, and she doesn’t like how suffocated they make her feel. By now, however, she’s learned to be patient and just wait to see the finished product. She knows better than to second guess Noah’s art. He’s the artist. He’s the one who creates these pieces of art. He isn’t about to tell her how to write a chorus out of the blue, nor should she give unsolicited advice and criticism on how to paint.

 “I have no idea,” he replies, scratching the back of his head as he considers the painting too. “I got stuck so I thought a change of scenery might help.” He motions to the church they’re standing in. So that’s what he’s doing here. Trying to get inspiration.

 “And is it?”

 “Nope.” His lips plop around the word before he lets out a sigh that makes his shoulders drop. “Very frustrating.”

 Her eyes leave the canvas and fall on him. He didn’t need to tell her it’s frustrating because, as she watches him, she can see it influence his expression and his movements.

 This isn’t the first time something similar has happened. Occasionally, Noah just gets worked up in finding the right colors and composition, and sometimes it’s to such an extent that it completely blocks him, that that search for perfection keeps him from finishing the piece altogether.

 Luckily, she knows something that could help distract him.

 Liv hugs him from behind, laying her cheek against his back and she feels his hand cover hers.

 “You wanna make out?” she mumbles against the fabric of his shirt.

 “What?” Noah looks at her over his shoulder.

 Liv teasingly wiggles her eyebrows and he chuckles as his hand rubs over her arm.

 “Given the place we’re currently standing in, that seems slightly blasphemous, don’t you think?”

 She frowns as she tries to figure out where exactly this is coming from. Noah is just about the least religious person she knows and usually, she’s the one who has to say no to a make-out session because if he would have his way, they would randomly make out in the freezer section of an Albert Heijn supermarket.

 “I mean, you’re the one who brought me here on a date and started this whole thing. But your loss, I guess.” Her hands unlock from around his waist and she steps away from him. She sits down on the closest pew instead, giving him the room to focus on his painting again.

 Her eyes travel around the church, they rise to the ceiling and descend to the floor, they oscillate along the walls.

 She forgot about the beauty of this place, of its simplicity. Forgot about the dim lighting and the colored windows. It makes her want to sketch. She opens the little notebook she always carries with her and fishes a pen out of her bag. A line appears on the blank page and then another one until the shape of a cross appears, until the shape of a painter named Noah appears underneath.

 Liv can sense his eyes spending more time trained on her than on the painting in front of him. He grabs a new brush and dabs it in color, bringing it close before laying it down again, mixing yet another shade or picking another color altogether. He doesn’t actually brush them on the canvas, though.

 Eventually, he gives up pretending.

 “What’re you drawing?” he asks as he approaches the pew she’s sitting on, one of the paintbrushes still in his hands. He hovers over her and tries to take a peek at the page she’s working on.

 She clicks her tongue and quickly closes her notebook. 

 “No no no focus on your painting, Mr. Boom,” she instructs.

 “You’re too distracting, Ms. Reijners.” His hand travels up her arm but before he can reach her hair or shoulder, Liv inches away from him.

 “Well.” An eyebrow goes up. “You should’ve grabbed the opportunity when it presented itself.”

 At this point, she is teasing him and both of them are very much aware.

 He could’ve had a full-blown make-out session if he wanted but he said no. So, he should live with the consequences now.

 “Being spry, are we?”

 Her other eyebrow joins the already raised one in response and a sly smile curls her lips.

 He flicks his paintbrush at her and three tiny droplets of yellow end up on her wrist. Liv stares at them before looking back up, a stunned question in her eyes. “Did you just–” she begins to ask but is interrupted by Noah repeating his previous action. A splatter ends up on her leg.

 “No,” she sternly commands with a warning finger pointed at him. “Noah Boom, I swear to you, don’t you dare.” 

 A boyish grin appears on his face and Liv knows it’s too late; there’s no stopping him now. Her notebook ends up on the stone floor as she gets up in a rushed manner to flee from him. Noah manages to paint a yellow streak on her calf as she leaves the pew. 

 Liv isn’t just running away, however. She has a mission and heads for the canvas and the pedestal. As Noah chases her, time is of the essence and after snatching a brush, she turns around in a surprise attack, her own weapon being a brush with orange paint.

 He clearly isn’t expecting it because Liv manages to place a dab of orange right on his nose. He jumps back, shock on his face as his hand wipes off the color. 

 “Oh, that’s how you want to play it, huh?” he asks, and she only lifts her shoulders in response, the movement clearly meant as a challenge, as a dare he accepts in mere seconds as he, his brush at the ready, bolts towards her.

 She expects him to strike again, expects that she’ll be able to run away again but instead, he picks her up, lifts her body from the ground and nuzzles his orange nose in her hair. He carries her to the easel, places his hand on the palette covered with paint and wipes it against her face. A shriek escapes her mouth.

  “Noah!” He only laughs in response.

 Liv wiggles and wiggles, trying to free herself from his grip. She colors everything her brush manages to reach, leaving orange streaks in its wake, in his hair, on his hands.

 After some more squirming, her feet end back on the floor but if Noah thinks it would mean the end of this war, he doesn’t know her yet. Liv goes straight for the palette too and plans to take her revenge.

 Their laughs echo through the church.

 “And this isn’t blasphemous?” Liv asks once a truce has been agreed upon, her chest heaving due to all of the running and chasing they did.

 “As far as I know the church does not have anything against this kind of dirty.” He winks.

 He actually dares to wink.

 “You know what,” Noah says, “I take my words back. You don’t look like Monet’s Waterlilies, you’ve got more of a Pollock vibe.”

 “Oh my god, Noah, stop talking.”

 And he does listen, but the silent chuckle that bubbles out of him is somehow worse.

 At the moment, Liv isn’t sure if she wants to kiss him or just smear him with even more paint.

 Their relationship has existed for months now and the combination of mostly love and a considerable amount of frustration that makes itself known every time she spends time with him has still not worn off.

 Liv hopes it never does.

 “How on earth can we go outside looking like this?” Her hands attempt to untangle some paint-slathered curls but end up giving up. There’s no use when the paint acts as a colorful glue in her hair.

 “It’ll be dark by now.”

 “You’re not helping.” She pushes him lightly.

 “At least there is some good news,” he says, and Liv looks at him with a curious look in her eyes.

 “And that is?”

 “I know what the painting needs.” And the places where she could previously see Noah’s frustration – in his face and in his behavior– she can now see contentment, inspiration. He isn’t stuck any longer and the spark in his blue eyes makes a happy expression appear on Liv’s face. 

 “It just needs an uncontrolled burst of bright color.”

 And it sounds so unbelievably cheesy that Liv can’t help but roll her eyes. She doesn’t really understand either how that random notion is magically going to fix his painting but if he says it’s the solution, the only choice she has is to believe him. Like she said before, Noah is the artist.

 “Great. I’m expecting my share as soon as you sell it. Thanks.”

 An orange middle finger flips her off and she laughs before leaning in to kiss him.

 She can feel the paint drying on her skin, crackling with every breath she takes, chipping off with every move she makes.

 “Okay, we need to go home,” she concludes. “I desperately need a shower.”

 “Mind if I join?” Noah’s question comes out low and husky.

 Liv gasps and puts a stained hand on her collarbone, a consternated expression appearing on her face. “Noah, how dare you? We’re in a church.”

 You know, blasphemy and all that.

[vvtaverenvv]

Todomomo Christmas Day 2

Hello! Here’s my submission for the @todomomo-christmas celebration! The theme of this story is “baking,” so that’s pretty much it. Hopefully you enjoy!

Links will be posted when the account becomes available. Words: 3075

This was partially influenced by my ongoing finals and what I think is cute at 2 in the morning

“How do you think you did on the math final?”

“Honestly no clue, let's be real though probably not the best.”

“Do you think if I got a concussion I wouldn’t have to take the english final?”

“Better go with permanent brain damage just to make sure.”

“Have you written that final paper yet?”

“Whey, nooooo, why would I?”

“It’s due in five days??”

Class 1-A talked amongst themselves in the common room of their dorm hall, the fear of their final exams lingering over their heads. The end of their second semester was drawing close and while the thrill of knowing that they had survived, for the most part, their first year was great, the fear of final exams was equal to that. Already the first wave of tests had hit them, with more to come over the next week. The fact that this weekend was likely going to be spent studying was not ideal either, for any of them.

Mina glanced around the common room and saw how exhausted her classmates were. Iida sat straight in a chair but she could tell that it was a struggle to maintain his form. Kaminari was reduced to a bumbling mess; his hair stuck out every which way, his eyes were glazed over and he couldn’t manage to sit still. Even Bakugou had a little less irritation in his glares than normal. Something needed to be done about this.

“Everyone!” Mina stood from her chair and raised her right hand with a smile. “We should do something this weekend! Ya’know, since we’ll all be leaving soon.” It was true that all the students would be returning home after their exams, so really after the end of the next week they wouldn’t be seeing each other for a good while.

“Yes!” Iida stood up and started waving his arm as well. “Something to brighten the mood and help everyone prepare for our final exams would be preferable.”

“Please no more studying.” Jirou commented as she pulled Kaminari down next to her. “I don’t think I’d be able to handle it.” The way she glanced towards Kaminari told a different story, but nobody was willing to point out the obvious.

“What if we baked cookies and had a fun competition?” Midoriya chimed in. He was looking well, save for his unusually-messy hair and the heavy bags under his eyes.

“Great idea! But we need the supplies.” Mina said and turned towards Iida with a bright smile on her face. “Maybe the class president will be able to help out?”

“I’m sure Iida would like to rest. I don’t mind getting what’s necessary, just give me a list and I’ll get it.” Todoroki quietly said.

“Perfect! Thank you Todoroki!” Todoroki nodded as everyone started to thank him. Honestly it wasn’t that much of a deal for him to get it since he was one of the more wealthy students. It just made sense.

Later that afternoon he left with Midoriya, Shoji, Sato and Sero to go shopping and returned about two hours later with the baking supplies. While each of them carried a significant amount of bags, Shoji was the real team player. Since he was able to carry multiple bags with each hand, and having multiple hands, he looked like a tree that was decorated with shopping bags. They stuffed the refrigerator in the kitchen full and the competition was set to begin at three o’clock the next day.

Momo entered the common room just ten minutes before the competition began to see everyone setting up. Since the kitchen was too small for the entire class to use at once, they had opted to do the preparation in the common room and then bake the cookies all at once. Long tables had been set up and the couches pulled away to allow for the most cooking space, and Aizawa “oversaw” the entire operation from the couch on the opposite side of the room. In reality, he was probably asleep. She felt someone next to her and turned to see Jirou.

“Hey Yaomomo, where are you planning on setting up?” Jirou said from her side.

“Oh, um,” she glanced around the room and saw that it was already pretty crowded. Bakugou and Kirishima were in the far-right corner, Midoriya stood in the middle next to Iida and Uraraka and everyone else was getting set up. The only real spots left were near Mineta and Todoroki. “I actually don’t know.” She gave a half-hearted laugh, she definitely had a preference but didn’t want to say it.

Both Jirou and Momo saw the way Mineta looked over at them and immediately decided that sometimes being dead was better. For a moment, it looked as if a difficult choice was going to be made, but then Kaminari came into view right next to Mineta.

“Hey Jirou! Come on over here, you said you’d talk to me about the paper!” The blonde practically shouted across the room. Jirou blushed and turned towards Yaoyorozu.

“Ah, I guess I’ll be going over there then…” She gave Momo a small wave and then rushed over to Kaminari, who stood there with a broad smile on his face. Momo sighed but felt grateful for him, and then turned towards the last available spot which was next to Todoroki. She walked over next to him and set down a small journal she had been carrying with her since she had entered the room.

“Good afternoon Yaoyorozu.” Todoroki said as she walked up. He had all his ingredients set in front of him, but no obvious recipe.

“Good afternoon Todoroki-san.” She replied, “are you excited for the competition?”

He nodded and turned towards her. “Yeah, granted I don’t think I’ll be able to win.” He glanced towards Sato who looked as if he was the most professional chef in the world. He had on an apron and matching hat, and his equipment, from the stirring bowl to the whisk, was obviously of the highest quality. “I honestly think Sato has the best chances out of all of us. That being said,” he looked towards her again, “I’m looking forward to trying yours.”

“Oh, well I’ll make sure to save you one then.” She tapped her notebook and smiled, “I handcrafted this recipe by borrowing from other famous recipes. You have to learn from the best you know.” Todoroki nodded and she turned away to gather her materials, her heart fluttering.

When the clock struck three the competition began and everyone dove into making cookies. The common room became so loud from the conversations and the general noises created from the cracking of eggs and the whirring of beaters that Aizawa looked up and groggily watched his students. While making a cookie was ultimately a pretty basic format, each student was unique in their approach. Bakugou made his cookie dough aggressively, Sato added a lot of sugar and Tsu added green food coloring.

Momo flipped open the notebook to her chocolate chip cookie recipe and began following the step-by-step instructions to the letter. First she cracked two eggs into the bowl and added one cup of brown sugar, one cup of white sugar, half a stick of butter, and a teaspoon of cinnamon and began to whisk it together. Then, halfway through, she added another teaspoon of cinnamon and brown sugar and enough flour to make the cookies just soft enough to melt in your mouth. Her recipe was tried and tested and she was confident that her cookies were at least going to be well-received.

As she cooked she glanced over at Todoroki. He appeared to be focused on the task at hand, but again Momo did not see a recipe that he was following. In fact, there were no measurement supplies he used except for simple glass one would use for water, a tablespoon, and a butter knife. He did not measure how much butter he cut and added, or how much sugar he poured into his mixing bowl. It was almost as if he was adding things in randomly. She trusted Todoroki, however, and turned back to her own work.

After the cookies were baked, some students decorated theirs to match themselves. Kaminari added a lightning bolt and Jirou added a guitar, Kirishima’s was fully red frosting and Midoriya’s had the carefully drawn smile of All Might on it. When all the cookies were finished, they were plated and each was set before a placard that named the student who made them.

“Alright let’s dig in!” Mina declared and everyone began touring the room tasting cookies. It soon became clear that Sato’s cookies were among the best of the bunch, along with Bakugou’s.

“How did you get them to be so soft, Bakugou?” Uraraka asked as she bit into another one of his cookies.

“It’s easy! Just roll the dough until it hits the sweet spot and bake it and the right temperature!”

“I don’t think you really explained it…” Kirishima said as he took another one of Bakugou’s cookies.

Momo turned away from that commotion and back towards where Todoroki and her had been standing, hoping to catch one of his cookies. However, when she returned, neither one of them had any cookies left. She frowned slightly and glanced around, wondering who took them all.

“Oh, sorry Yaomomo did you want some of Todoroki’s?” Kaminari asked, with what appeared to be the last of her cookies in his hand, half of it missing. “Sorry they were really, really good.” He rubbed the back of his head and smiled. “Yours were really good too though! Not gonna lie I think you rival Sato.”

“That’s very nice of you to say, Kaminari.” Momo smiled and turned to clean up her mess. If she was being honest with herself, she was just a little upset. She had promised Todoroki one of her cookies but it appears that she wouldn’t be able to fulfill that promise.

“Hey.” Todoroki’s soft voice caused her to slightly jump and turn to him. He held up his hands in apology, “Oh, sorry to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me Todoroki-san, I just didn’t think anybody was closeby.” She said as she piled up her dirty dishes. “Did you manage to try any of my cookies?”

“No actually, I kinda got distracted.” He rubbed the back of his head and then looked up towards the ceiling. “Are you doing anything tonight?”

“No, why?” She turned towards him and crossed her arms.

“Oh, well, do you mind if a stop by around ten?”

“That’s awfully late since we’re supposed to be studying.” She smiled and nodded, “But I wouldn’t mind.”

“Great,” he met her eyes then and she swore she could see a plan forming there, “I’ll see you then.” Midoriya caught his attention then, and the fluttering that Momo thought was gone only returned.

Shoto Todoroki knocked on Yaoyorozu’s room and took a half-step back. Outside the day had grown dark and the excited air the dormitory had held dissipated. Now, most students were likely sleeping or studying for the upcoming tests and here he was standing in a t-shirt and pants in the middle of the hall.

The door opened and Yaoyorozu stepped out. She had let her hair down and was dressed in a tank-top and pajama pants. “Hello Todoroki-san,” she smiled and carefully shut the door behind her, “what did you want to talk about?”

“Oh, actually, since neither one of us managed to try each other’s cookies I figured we could fix that. I bought a little too much yesterday and didn’t want to let it go to waste.”

Yaoyorozu smiled and let out a small laugh. “That sounds like a good idea, though is it really a good idea for us to bake cookies this late?”

“I mean, technically no.” He shrugged then and glanced down the hall, “but I don’t think anybody is going to stop us.” He took her second laugh as agreement and started down the hall. She quickly caught up to him and walked close.

“So I noticed that you didn’t use a recipe today.” Yaoyorozu said when they reached the kitchen. Todoroki had all the supplies set up on the kitchen counter, and instead of the too-bright kitchen light he instead had lit a few candles and set them nearby giving the room a warm atmosphere.

“Well I learned all my baking skills from my mom, and she never really used a recipe either. It was all ‘a touch of sugar here, then add this much butter and stir for five seconds’ type of stuff.” He looked over at her, “I notice you didn’t bring that notebook of yours.”

“No I didn’t.” She turned to him and put one hand on the counter to rest against it. “I actually had a request.” He nodded and she continued. “Do you think you can teach me how you make your cookies?”

“I don’t mind, but when will I be able to try yours?”

“I guess we’ll just have to do this again.” She smirked then and time froze for a brief second. Todoroki nodded with a slight smile in response and began taking the supplies he had brought out for Yaoyorozu away.

“I guess so, I’ll clean up if you want to crack two eggs into the bowl.” Yaoyorozu turned away and gathered the eggs while Todoroki put everything away. “After the eggs you want to add some brown sugar and white sugar, then a pinch of cinnamon and about a cup of flour. A pinch, mind you. Then some butter and you can start mixing everything together. Halfway through you will want to add the vanilla.

Once everything was cleared away he leaned against the counter and watched her cook. Her measurements weren’t exactly the same, but that was fine. He had no doubt that she could make chocolate chip cookies no matter what. It was just nice to watch her, if he was being honest. When she began to mix the ingredients together, he got an idea.

“There’s a special way to mix everything together, do you mind if I show you?” Todoroki asked her and took a half-step closer. She turned her head towards him and gave him a small smile.

“No I don’t.” She offered him the spoon and he shook his head.

“It’ll only work if I guide your movements.” He said in all seriousness, to which Yaoyorozu’s face became a shade of red he had never seen before. “If that’s okay with you,” he quickly added, heat rising on both sides of his face. Did she hear a pounding too?

“I-it’s fine.” She stammered and turned to stare down at the bowl. Todoroki slowly stood behind her and laid his hands over hers. For a moment he could feel her hands shaking slightly, or was that his own? Todoroki noted that she smelled nice, her perfume reminiscent of mint, and that she was warm, even against the half of his body that was accustomed to the heat.

“What you want to do is hold the spoon like this,” he spoke in a soft tone as he guided her right hand, “and cup the bowl like this.” They moved as one and Todoroki judged that first step done. “Begin mixing clockwise, then after three turns reverse it for four.” His hands gently followed her movements and slowly he could feel her, and himself, get more relaxed. She let him guide the spoon in the motions he described. “Then, as if the spoon is a shovel, turn it over on itself.” Again he guided her movements, but almost stopped when he felt her back press against him. Heat flared across his face once again when she rested against him. “Repeat the process twice, and you’re done.” He ran through the motion with her again, and when it was done he stepped away from her.

“What do we do now?” Yaoyorozu asked in a soft voice. She looked over at him with a soft smile, eyes hiding a mysterious light.

“Put everything on the pan and let the oven do the rest.” Todoroki said, meeting her eyes with a slight smile on his face. She put the dough they created onto the pan and slid it into the oven, and left it to cook.

“Tell me, Todoroki-san,” Yaoyorozu stepped closer to him and tilted her head, “Why did you really want to bring me down here?”

“Is wanting to have your cookies not a good enough reason?” He asked in a level tone.

“I think it is, but I also think you were planning something else.”

There was a pause in conversation as the air shifted. Both stood rather close to each other, bound by an invisible rope that kept them from breaking the half-foot that separated them.

“Would you be mad at me if I said I was?” Todoroki finally said. Tentatively he reached forward and brushed a few strands of Yaoyorozu’s hair out of her face and behind her hair.

“I don’t think I would be,” Yaoyorozu whispered and shifted closer to him, her shaking hands moving to gently lay against his shoulders. “I trust you, so whatever you have planned…”

The kiss was sudden. The moment Yaoyorozu stopped speaking Todoroki leaned in for a soft kiss that held for a few moments before he pulled back. Yaoyorozu’s face was a light shade of red, but then again so was his. They made eye contact for a moment again before he leaned back down for a more passionate kiss.

They were interrupted when the oven timer dinged and forced them to turn their attention to the cookies they had just made. “Ah Todoroki we should probably get to that.” Yaoyorozu spoke softly and took a step away from Todoroki, though she did link hands with him.

“We probably should.” He grabbed an oven mitt and opened the oven so he could pull the cookies out of the oven and set them on a cloth on the counter. “Now we need to wait for a little bit to let them cool.”

“Whatever will we do in the meantime?” Yaoyorozu asked with a small smile on her face. Again she stepped close to him, and Todoroki wrapped his arms around her lower back.

“I have an idea.” He whispered back to her as he pulled her against him once again, and everything that seemed to matter faded away.

[linssikeittomies]

The Place Between Here And There - An Excerpt From Ch 8

Masterpost

I disappeared without a single sign of life for a long while, but chapter 8 is underway! I’ve been struggling with writer’s block but it might finally be lifting. @freakyfeline has been helping me out with grammar, sentence structure and such. Ch 8 will have emotions running high! Fights! Fluff! Romance! Here’s some astronomy nerds stargazing.

--

If they weren’t in the city, they could see the stars really well. It was a cloudless night, and the moon was only a crescent, so the snow wouldn’t reflect too much light. It had been a while since he last saw a proper night sky. “Hey, wanna go stargazing?” Vanya put down his notebook and looked surprised. Yeah, Al didn’t come across as the outdoors type, and honestly he mostly wasn’t, but every now and then some wholesome outdoorsy goodness was just what he needed. And stargazing was basically the most romantic thing ever. Never mind that you had to drive out real far from the city to get a good view, and that it got stupid cold in the winter at night, but seeing the Milky Way while cradled in the arms of your lover just couldn’t be topped in the romance department. “Alright. We could try Aster park, it doesn’t have many trees.” “No, no, we gotta drive way out into the boondocks. Trust me, it’s worth it.” “Are you sure you want to? Have you ever even been camping?” “Hell yeah. I lived in the middle of a desert for a year, I know what isolation is. You?” A flash of discomfort crossed Vanya’s face before he answered. Was he really that afraid of spontaneity? Or was this another case of his mind working all backwards? You’d think he’d jump at the chance to get away from civilization, what with his hatred of humanity, but maybe he only liked being alone in a crowd? “We used to play in the woods every now and then when we were little, but it isn’t quite the same as a desert. Being so far away does not sound like a good idea. What if something happens?” “Vanya, baby, nothing’s gonna happen! We just drive out, stay for a while, and then drive back. I’ll keep you safe.” “I will consider it if you can find a pharmacy there that carries an antidote for snake poison”, Vanya claimed, but in reality it seemed like he was warming up to the idea. He was smiling, at least, and the objection was said in a teasing tone. “I promise, it’s gonna be the one of the best nights of your life.” “I will hold you responsible, should either of us die.” “Fine by me! We should get driving right away if we want to get back before morning. Put on your warmest clothes, it’s gonna be freezing.” “What? Now?” “Yeah, now.”

For a few seconds Vanya looked alarmed. He didn’t like surprises, because he liked everything nice and planned beforehand, so his life could be as boring and predictable as possible. But despite his concern, the thought intrigued him, so it didn’t take much more convincing to get him dressed. Al borrowed a coat from him, since his bomber jacket wasn’t meant for prolonged cold. Ivan also offered fur hats for them both, but Al convinced him to leave the ridiculous things home. Why did he even have them? No city in the state had cold enough winters for them. On the way, Vanya got steadily more nervous as they went on. He’d never been far from a city, he said, and he hadn’t realized how dark it got. He had expected it to be more like the city, where streetlights didn’t allow for real darkness. He denied being scared, but from the way he struggled to keep his voice unaffected and how he steadfastly kept his eyes on the road ahead, and most of all how he started leaning more and more towards Al the further they got, Al called bullshit. He wanted to tease Vanya about it, but the Russian could get really touchy at times, so instead Al just took one of Vanya’s hands in his own. It must have helped somewhat, since Vanya started taking more part in Al’s monologuing, and it got halfway to being dialogue. He  even stayed relatively calm when Al took the car off the main road and started navigating whatever tiny dirt roads he found. If he’d been alone, he could’ve spent the whole night just driving along, not caring where he ended up and only worrying about how to get home once he felt like going home. However, with Vanya fretting about finding their way back, he didn’t want to scare the man further and so stopped the car at the first turnout they happened upon. “Isn’t it a great view? Aren’t you glad we came all the way here?” “This is exactly the type of place people get murdered in”, Vanya mumbled in response, but the way his eyes were glued to the skies revealed that the scales were tipped in favor of the stars. Al settled on his back on the ground and beckoned Vanya to join him. Vanya settled his head on Al’s chest, still nervous. Even through the thick layers, he thought he could feel Vanya’s heart thumping. Maybe it was just imagination, but he still soothingly petted Vanya’s back. It felt odd being the one comforting the other, when Vanya was a head taller and about 40 lbs. heavier. It should’ve been Al curling up in Vanya strong arms and being protected. Not that he was the type, there were very few things he was scared of, and murderers weren’t one of those. He could K.O. any bad guy who had the brilliant idea of coming after him. Ghosts were another matter, but they weren’t real, so who cared? “We’re the only people for miles.” “I can’t even see anything. It’s so dark.” “Not even the stars? Babe, I think you’ve gone blind.” Vanya snorted at the stupid joke. It couldn’t be that he found it actually funny, it was just his nerves. Some more reassuring was in order. “Don’t you worry about anything. I’ll keep you safe, darling.” “Thank you.” Vanya was probably blushing. It was too dark to see, but his voice was subdued and embarrassed. “Look, there’s the Big Dipper”, Al said and pointed at the sky. Ursa Major was almost right above them. He had learned to recognize most of the constellations visible in the northern hemisphere a long time ago – his father was a space enthusiast, and Al had picked up on the hobby very early. His dad was a star man, while Al grew up to become more interested in planets. “The stars that make it are called Alkaid, Mizar, Alioth, Megrez, Phecda, Merak and Dubhe”, Vanya informed, not knowing Al knew the names of most stars in the zodiac. “Wow, I didn’t know you were into astronomy!” “I don’t have much time for it these days, but I was always interested in space. I think every child is at some point in their life.” “Have you heard about the giant blob of water just floating around in space?” “The one orbiting a quasar, who hasn’t?” Vanya answered arrogantly. “Do you know about Kepler-452b?” If he was looking to challenge Al, he was up for a serious competition! “Sure, it was huge news! It’s a shame the star it orbits is too dim to see with the naked eye. We could’ve searched for it.” “It would be difficult to find it, there are so many stars”, Vanya said, his voice was full of awe. Al wished he could see his face, it was rare to see Vanya with any other expression than calculated calmness and small smiles. With that kind of voice, he had to be staring up at the sky in absolute wonder. “I can’t even find Cassiopeia, and it’s one of the first I learned.” “You’ll find it eventually, love. Straight down from Dubhe”, Al reminded, and even pointed a helpful finger towards the constellation. It was one of the easiest ones to find, thanks to the stars that made the W-shape being some of the brightest in the sky. There were also a bunch of fainter stars in the constellation, but not a lot of people even knew that. Most thought it was just the five. Vanya probably wasn’t one of those people. “I know that much”, Vanya scoffed, offended that Al thought he was that unfamiliar with the night sky. “I’ve just never seen this many stars, I can’t see the forest for the trees.” Al saw the opportunity for a great joke. It might even help Vanya relax some more. He was already doing great, he’s been so scared to come out in to the middle of nowhere, populated only by tiny-ass dirt roads with no lights anywhere, and yet there he was. Nestled comfortably in Al’s arms, breathing calmly,  not even glancing around frantically. “Wow, the stars are so beautiful”, Al started, snickering. “I’m still certain that we will be leaving this place in bodybags, but I must agree”, Vanya answered, also with a light chuckle. “Know who else is beautiful?” “Many people”, Vanya mumbled darkly, probably thinking along the lines of not me, and possibly I will find them all and eliminate them. “Which one are you thinking of?” “No, no, you’re supposed to say who, and then I say me.” Because Al didn’t dare say anyone else’s name like the meme required, after the reaction Kyle had elicited from Vanya. “Oh, it is a joke of some sort. I see.” Vanya sounded a tiny bit relieved. Next time Al would play it straight, Vanya really needed a boost in self-confidence, despite having the best skin Al had ever seen in real life and wonderful proportions, not to mention his hair was the silkiest thing on Earth. Maybe he could’ve used a little bit of muscle definition, but on the other hand, the soft teddy-bear looked fit him to a T. Al couldn’t have pulled it off, he needed to be lean because his aura was completely different from Vanya’s. “Why the hell do you even have internet? You didn’t even know what does the fox say!” “I don’t have time for memes, Fredya. They are meaningless.” “You can pronounce Megrez but not meme?” “I can also pronounce Arcturus.” Oooooh, the uppity snob! Like he was any better at English than Al was at Latin! Stupid Vanko-sounding walking stereotype. “No wonder, I’ve tried listening to Russian and I’m convinced it’s just people hissing at random.” “Hush, lyubimiy”, Vanya laughed and snuggled up a little closer to Al’s face. So even if the joke had failed, it had reached its goal of relaxing Vanya further. Al kissed the top of his head, glad that Vanya had decided to forgo the stupid fur hat. As funny as it would have been, it wouldn’t have fit the romantic atmosphere. “Vanya, say something in Russian.” “Would you like me to hiss something specific at you?” “Nah. Feel free to profess your undying love to me or whatever. I just like to hear you talking in tongues.” Al only spoke English and a few words of Spanish, thanks to his brother-in-law. Almost all of those words were cusses. “I will call you a little poopy-pants brat”, Vanya snickered. Knowing him, he totally would. “Aww, c’mon”, Al play-whined. Vanya chuckled against his neck and thought for a little while. When he spoke again, it sounded like he was reciting a poem or something. “Sredi mirov, v mertsanii svetil, odnoy zvezdy ya povtoryayu imya… Ne potomu, chtob ya yeyo lyubil, a potomu, chto ya tomlyus' s drugimi. I yesli mne somnen'ye tyazhelo, ya u neyo odnoy ishchu otveta, ne potomu, chto ot neyo svetlo, a potomu, chto s ney ne nado sveta.” Poems under the stars. Vanya really had a knack for romance, he should let it show more often. Intimacy was a little scary for him, so he liked to play it cool and keep his distance. It was nice that he was slowly coming out of his shell, even if Al was getting impatient with how little physical contact there was in their relationship compared to the previous ones he’d had. ”That was nice. Got any more?” ”Mne nuzhno vremya podumat'.” ”I have no idea what you just said, but it was hot.” “Spasibo. Ya sdelayu vse vozmozhnoye, chtoby poradovat' vas.” “I wish I knew foreign languages.” “You have the time to study one”, Vanya lectured, like Al didn’t already have his hands full with his hobbies. It was easy for Vanya to say, he already knew English. He had forgotten how energy-draining learning something new was. “Hey, you were supposed to only talk Russian. I’ll let it slide if you say something romantic.” “Alright. Ya ne zasluzhivayu tebya v svoyey zhizni, no ya rad, chto vstretil tebya. Ya nikogda ne khochu rasstavat'sya s toboy. Ya khotel by vyrazit' svoyu blagodarnost' luchshe.” “Everything sounds so smooth when it comes out of your mouth.” “Vot klassika: Ya vas lyubil - lyubov' yeshche, byt' mozhet, v dushe moyey ugasla ne sovsemyu no pust' ona vas bol'she ne trevozhit - ya ne khochu pechalit' vas nichem. Ya vas lyubil bezmolvno, beznadezhno, to robost'yu, to revnost'yu tomim - ya vas lyubil tak krenno, tak nezhno, kak day vam bog lyubimoy byt' drugim.” “I bet you’d make a good singer.” “I’m afraid I am a better dancer than singer. I can carry a tune but anything more is beyond me.” “Really? We should go dancing some time, tear up the dance floor.” “Not that kind of dancing. I meant ballroom and ballet.” “You? Ballet?” Al asked astonished. Ballroom he didn’t bat an eye at, but a ballerina needs to be able to support his own weight on his toes. Vanya would need to weigh about half his current weight to do that. “I know, I don’t have the body type for it”, Vanya agreed begrudgingly. “The stereotypes just keep piling up”, Al laughed. He pictured Vanya doing pirouettes with those funny little ballet shoes and crashing through the floor. “Don’t ever change, babe.” They spent an hour spotting constellations and talking about all the distant planets and stars they had heard of until Al got too cold. In the car Vanya got started on about nebulas, and how in elementary school he had been so jealous of a classmate who had his bedroom walls covered in posters of them that he had emptied ten elmer’s glue bottles in the boy’s backpack. He hadn’t been caught, so he had repeated the trick the next semester. He had planned a third hit, but then the boy had transferred due to his mother remarrying a man in another city. Who knew, baby Vanya had been a little rascal!