#i will purposefully ignore your art if you do this depending on the tone

[gwillwrites]

For You, For Her

Little self indulgent first kiss thing between OCs. Lovita belongs to @grumpys-blank-worddocument. Art credit also goes to AJ.

The light in the electro-lantern flickered. Hyram reached over and gently tapped the lantern’s casing, coaxing the batteries to provide a little more power and keep the bulb stable. Percussive maintenance worked wonders more often than not, even to the point where the techpriests the tanker knew followed it as a matter of practicality as much as any of their more esoteric rituals and maintenance practices. The lantern flickered once more, as if to protest being struck, before the light grew stronger and stabilized. Hyram watched it for a moment longer, just to make sure the little machine spirit wasn’t trying to trick him. When it failed to resume its flickering, the tanker turned his attention back to the data slate on his desk.

Hyram didn’t get letters often. There were few outside his regiment that he spoke to, or cared enough about him to actually write. He didn’t even need all the fingers on his hand to count them. All three, so far as he knew, were still back home on Venturia. Tonight’s reading was from his sister. She wrote to him most frequently, usually three or four times a month on average. Of course some of that frequency depended on when and how often Hyram was able to get a break between things to write her back.

The data slate winked on with a plaintive hum. It seemed all the machine spirits were taking issue with being used tonight. Hyram couldn’t necessarily blame them. The blizzard outside was enough to make anyone grumpy. Were it not for the fur-lined coat he wore and the space heater working overtime in the corner of the tent, he would be throwing a fit too. Hyram let it warm up for a moment before opening Emillia’s letter.

Dearest brother, I hope this finds you well.

Hyram smiled. He could hear Emillia’s voice in his head as he read what she had written. They hadn’t spoken face to face in over a decade. Not since he had joined the Astra Militarum. She had been eleven back then, but he could imagine what she would sound like as a grown woman now. It was one of those things he just knew.

Your last letter left me in a state of worry. I don’t know what a knight-desecrator is, but it sounds terrible. If you truly managed to destroy one, then I suppose the Imperium is better off for it.

“You have no idea.”

Imagining you face off against something so horrible is just… Mother and I both worry. She is doing well, by the way. You asked in your previous letter. The doctors said there is no more sign of the disease in her. We are all elated and she is slowly gaining her strength back. She will still need to go back for periodic monitoring to make sure it does not return, but we are hopeful. The Emperor has truly blessed her in her healing. But back to the point, if you are well enough to keep writing after facing such a monster, I suppose we do not need to worry so much.

“Prayers are always welcome though.”

On a lighter note, how is Lovita?

Hyram could hear Emillia’s smug tone through her written words, and could imagine the knowing smirk gracing his sister’s face as she wrote them.

You did not mention her in your last letter. Is she still around? Are you still seeing each other?

Hyram snorted. “Maybe that’s because I wrote the last letter from the medicare’s tent,” he said. “And seeing each other is hardly the way I would describe it.”

Even as he said the words, there was a strange pang in his chest, as if he wanted it to be true. There was no denying that something existed between the two of them. Hell, even the rest of his crew were doing their best to get something to happen. That made Hyram feel guilty. Lovita had done her best to express interest, but he had purposefully ignored her, telling himself he wasn’t worth her time, she could do better with anyone else, that he didn’t deserve her. All because of the way he felt about himself, his past, and his own perceived shortcomings. Was he wrong?

I hope you give her a chance. Not just because I think dating someone would do you some good, but because I think you deserve a chance at happiness in this life, Hyram. Even if it is only fleeting. I do not know how long the God-Emperor will keep your paths crossed. I do not know if you know. But I know that if there is anything there between you at all, you owe it to her and to yourself to try.

“You owe it to her…”

The last words died on his tongue as he read and reread them. Hyram’s brow furrowed as emotions warred within his breast. He could agree with the first part. Hyram wanted Lovita to be happy, and he would do anything he could to see her smile. Hearing her laugh had become a bright spot in his life, something he chased after more often than he would care to admit.

But did he owe it to himself?

His father sprung to mind, and the guilt and rage of that night that saw Ezekiel Barrus’ life extinguished at the hand of his eldest son. Hyram’s intentions had been good, but there had been enough spite in his actions that night to render him guilt-ridden since then. Over fifteen years later, and he had been unable to wash the blood from his hands. He hadn’t even been able to disguise it with the blood the Astra Militarum expected him to shed. So instead, he had convinced himself he wasn’t deserving of happiness, and had worked to deprive himself of everything and anything that could possibly grant it.

Including Lovita.

Hyram placed the data slate down. His sister’s voice continued to ring in his head as he skimmed through the rest of what she had written in the letter, but he was no longer focused on what she had to say, as if it had absorbed too much new information at once and needed to blot out everything else to give him a moment to process.

You owe it to her and to yourself to try.

Maybe Emillia was right.

+++

The stench of blood and antiseptic mixed with the scent of mud and wet earth. Hyram pulled his jacket tighter, as if the rain pouring from above hadn’t already soaked through every layer of clothing he wore. It wasn’t the rain that caused him to seek warmth. Hyram had been cold and wet before. He would be cold and wet again. He was used to it, and weathered the discomfort as well as anyone in the Astra Militarum. No, the pulling of his coat had nothing to do with the weather and more to do with the nervousness he was feeling.

Hyram stopped a junior orderly struggling through the mud with a trolley laden with supplies. Boxes of syringes, bandages, clotting powder of dubious value now that it was as soaked as the orderly was. The trolley’s wheels had gotten mired down in the mud and the orderly was struggling to free it and get it moving again. In exchange for his aid in freeing the stuck trolley, Hyram received from the orderly the information he needed. He made his way down the row of tents, turned left at the first intersection, and continued along until he found a long tent of drab green fabric with the word RECOVERY stenciled in yellow paint over the entrance flap.

Hyram stepped inside.

The smell of antiseptic doubled in his nostrils, and the sound of the storm was replaced with the groans of the injured and the patter of rain on the canvas above. It took a moment for Hyram’s vision to adjust to the dim yellow light seeping from glow globes hung at intervals along the tent’s support poles. 

The wounded and convalescing were placed on cots and arranged head to head and foot to foot. White sheets provided warmth, though some had heavier blankets given to them by sympathetic squadmates or families following in the regimental trains. The cots were arranged in a grid pattern, with avenues up and down and across at intervals that allowed medicae and nurses to pass and minister to those under their care.

“I’m sorry, sir, but visiting hours for the patients has ended for the day.”

Hyram turned to find a short man in a nurse’s apron standing beside him. He was balding, with thick spectacles perched on the end of a pointed nose. The name tag pinned to his chest read Klawskinni. One of Klawskinni’s hands clutched a clipboard close to his chest while the other adjusted his glasses, as if trying to bring Hyram into better focus.

“Yes, I know,” Hyram said, his gaze going back to scanning the tent.

“Visiting hours resume tomorrow morning at 1000,” Klawskinni said. “You can visit your- hey, wait! Sir!”

Hyram strode past the man, ignoring his pleas to wait and slow down. Klawskinni did his best to keep up, but the taller man’s strides were longer and carried him farther faster. Hyram did not care. He had seen who he had come for.

Lovita stood up from the bedside of a trooper with bandages wrapped firmly around the left side of his head. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she heard Klawskinni’s frazzled tone. “Sorias?” she called. “What is the matter?”

Then she saw the tanker coming towards her, and her eyes widened. “Hyram? Hyram what are you-”

The rest of the sentence caught in her throat as Hyram pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers. Lovita’s eyes went even wider, surprise written clear across her face, before she melted and kissed back. She almost threw her arms around Hyram’s neck before she remembered where they were.

“Hyram!” Lovita stammered, pulling back just enough to look up into his eyes. “What was that for?”

Hyram swallowed breathlessly, suddenly aware that he may not have thought this course of action through entirely. “I, uh… Because I wanted to.” Hyram glanced around, acutely aware that some of the patients were looking at them. A few had knowing smirks on their faces. One gave him an enthusiastic double thumbs up.

“You wanted to?” Lovita raised an eyebrow. “Hyram this is hardly the time or place.”

“I… I know…” Hyram felt color rush to his face and fought to keep embarrassment from rising any farther. “I’m sorry.”

Lovita looked up at him for a moment longer. Then she smiled and placed a hand on his cheek. “You are a wonderful, silly man, Hyram Flint.” The hospitaller went up on her toes to reach his lips and kiss him again. Someone on the far side of the tent gave an obnoxiously cheerful whoop. Lovita let the kiss linger before coming back down. “And my shift ends in an hour.”

“An hour.” Hyram repeated, still blinking owlishly at her. Then he smiled, an honest smile full of more warmth than any Lovita had seen on his face before. “Alright then. I’ll meet you back here in an hour.”

“Good,” Lovita said. “Because I am quite interested in seeing what else you might want to do after that kiss.”

[floriannas]

What Exactly Gothic Is

(Let me preface with trigger warnings, because Gothic makes a point of delving into dark themes: murder, abuse, racism, homophobia, incest, ableism, misogyny)

I have seen certain posts about what the definite characteristics of gothic fiction are that, I hate to say...felt either incomplete or inaccurate. And that has bothered me enough to make my own post about, at the very least, my understanding of this genre. 

Some things to get out of the way:

Gothic does not have one fixed definition. It is fluid and nebulous, and while all literature reflects its society, genre changes massively depending on where it was written. Canadian Gothic is not Welsh Gothic is not American Gothic. Victorian Gothic is not contemporary Gothic is not Regency Gothic. Nineteenth century British gothic is often in response to the drastic technological changes of the industrial revolution. Welsh Gothic has a lot of focus on the disenfranchised and the coal mining industry. Where and when your WIP is, and where and when YOU are writing it, is going to define it. 

We cannot talk about Gothic as a genre without talking about the racism that much of it is rooted in. We cannot ignore Charlotte Bronte’s dehumanising description of Bertha Rochester, a creole woman. We cannot ignore that Edward Hyde’s physical description is less ‘white’ than Henry Jekyll’s. We cannot ignore Heathcliff’s identity as a racially ambiguous villain. We cannot ignore just how bigoted in every way Dracula is. We CANNOT ignore the whiteness of much of the ‘feminist’ gothic literature, either. This is something you must be aware of if you're writing Gothic - it is not integral to gothic fiction but as I will explain, the traits of the genre lend themselves to antagonising marginalised groups.

Gothic is not just gothic horror. It can be horror, but it is still a genre in its own right and the horror is not mandatory.  

This post is about gothic as a literary genre. I will not be talking about Ostrogoths, Visigoths, gothic architecture or art, and - for once - I’m not talking about the Goth subculture either, the two actually have almost nothing in common.

Some frequent, though not all required, characteristics of the gothic (this is NOT a checklist. I cannot stress that this is a genre purposefully WITHOUT a clear definition):

Familial trauma - the ending of family lines (the presence of the aristocracy is common in Gothic, this trope perhaps most blatantly depicted in Edgar Allan Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher), hauntings - not necessarily literal but metaphorical. There’s often a secret, or some kind of terrible incident that has been covered up, amongst a family that is inevitably unearthed. Marital trauma is very common - as seen in Jane Eyre with the original ‘madwoman in the attic’, the mystery surrounding the titular character in Rebecca, the secret room of The Bloody Chamber, the murdered husband being literally unearthed in House of America. 

The setting is everything in Gothic. It often has a presence enough that it is a character in its own right. Key things about the setting is that it’s typically old - or at least old enough to have a turbulent history - and typically remote, ‘feral’, in amongst nature and separate from civilisation. The latter is very often executed in a racist and/or xenophobic way in Gothic classics. Think very critically of what is considered ‘civilisation’ and what is not. Dracula being a novel about white Christian Britons being threatened by an Eastern European vampire? Don’t replicate that. You will also see the ‘sublime’ (see below) here, and motifs of decay (which can be linked to the ending of a family line easily!), and themes surrounding imprisonment and escape. Gothic fiction loves pathetic fallacy - whether a storm, fog, rain or bitter cold, the weather is absolutely there to set the tone.

Repression. This can be of a trauma, but repression of sexuality can feature too. I have seen it asserted that homoeroticism is a key component in Gothic, and while it can feature, I would not say entirely agree, for a number of reasons. There is often a focus on ‘taboo’ sexuality, a categorisation which places LGBT people with taboos such as incest (which features often in some forms of Gothic). Homophobic tropes such as the predatory gay villain (e.g. Dracula’s obsession with Jonathan Harker and Mrs Danver’s obsession with Rebecca) are fairly common, and a general treatment of homosexuality as immoral or depraved especially older texts, so let’s not act like it’s always been a LGBT friendly genre. Something either hidden away or repressed that is then discovered is a huge, huge, component to most gothic fiction. 

Misogynistic gender dynamics are often present: the combination of a young, vulnerable and innocent woman with an older male ‘Byronic Hero’ type love interest is common. The Victorian template of ‘bad’, ‘promiscuous’ or otherwise ‘improper’ woman reaching a sticky end is well loved. And then there’s Poe’s sinister obsession with ‘beautiful dead woman’. Don’t forget the intersection of ableism and misogyny with the ‘mad’ women like Bertha Rochester and Miss Havisham (though Eleanor Vance of The Haunting of Hill House is a sympathetic antidote of this trope.) The way women are written is something I’d very much like us to move beyond. 

The sublime: this is everywhere. That something, especially the wilderness, is beautiful and massive enough to be incomprehensible. 

Doubles or doppelgangers. Often as a ‘darker’ reflection of the protagonist - such as the hero and villain having close parallels, or the heroine as a foil to her husband’s mysterious dead first wife. It doesn’t have to exist just in this way, but the motif of the doppelganger is one Gothic fiction likes a lot.

‘Otherness’ or monstrosity. ‘Otherness’ and ‘Othering’ is something that is a crucial part of literary theory - what the narrative deems strange, unfamiliar, not like us, and so most depictions of monsters will also be Othered. Considering how almost all of the time in the Western literary canon this is a vehicle for racism, please think critically. Frankenstein’s monster has a more nuanced approach to what society defines as strange, or monstrous, how monstrosity is created, and self fulfilling prophecies. 

Cultural anxiety. This is by no means unique to Gothic but the genre is shaped by what the society of its creation is afraid of. This - like Frankenstein or The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde - can be scientific advancement and new discoveries we do not yet understand, but the problem arises that for a lot of Western Gothic this has been marginalised groups. 

The Uncanny. As found in various forms of horror - same with the fear of the unknown, but often in Gothic - that something resembles something else enough to recognise at least what it ‘tries’ to be, but not enough for it to be truly familiar. This is a really effective way to make any person, place, or thing unsettling.

I think I’ve covered most of my notes - please take my first bullet point into consideration as this will inevitably be a bit UK centric. The thing about gothic is that it doesn’t really have one fixed meaning, so you have a lot of freedom. Bonus: if you want to read a really good gay feminist Gothic short story, ‘The Resident’ by Carmen Maria Machado is one of the best pieces of fiction, ever. 

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

an icarus and his sun: chapter 7

A/N: scott's pov, finally!! as well as more of my "the empires smp gals deserve to go off, actually" agenda. also check out this rad art submitted by @dancinglifeboat! i also would like to apologize ahead of time, the updates from here on out are probably going to slow down a bit because while i am still extremely motivated to write this fic, it hasn't been as high as it was for the upcoming chapters as it has been for the previous ones. i honestly don't even know HOW i was so motivated to write several chapters so fast that i actually had a backlog of them for a bit and was able to post them daily. so the updates will likely slow down to being every couple of days or maybe every couple of weeks, depending on time/motivation. but yeah! anyway, enjoy!

Warnings: lying/manipulation, threats of violence, past violence, arguing, heartbreak

AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost

-

Scott felt just about sick to his stomach every time he looked at the slimeball Jimmy had given him. It was such a stupid little thing to get emotional over, and it was honestly kind of gross and sticky. But Scott couldn’t bear to get rid of it. It had stung more than he cared to admit when Jimmy had reminded him of how isolated and distant Scott was from everything. Staying up and away from the world kept him safe, kept his empire safe. But being safe didn’t make it any less lonely and isolating. And then Jimmy had looked at him like he was the world, and told him that he should be able to enjoy the little things too. Scott couldn’t bear to get rid of the slimeball, even though the memories were painful now. For as much as bluntly being reminded that he was alone stung, Jimmy telling him to leave stung even worse.

Looking back on it now, Scott didn’t really know why he had sided with Fwhip. It was long before Scott had really felt anything for Jimmy, mostly flirting with him to get a rise out of him. That flirting had always devolved into fighting, and it was after one particularly nasty argument that Fwhip had pulled him aside after the meeting and talked about how the House Blossom Alliance would be the downfall of their empires. And at the time… Scott had agreed with him. He loved Katherine, he really did- but there were too many rivalries in that alliance for it to ever truly work. So he went along with Fwhip’s plan- go along with the meetings until an opportunity arose. Then came the addendum of Scott keeping an eye on Jimmy to make sure he wouldn’t be a problem. And then came the plan of rigging the ballroom to explode and blame it on another empire. And even worse- Scott actually caught feelings for Jimmy, instead of it being an act like Fwhip had planned.

So before the night of the ball, Scott had struck a deal with Fwhip. If there was no argumentative behavior during the ball, then he wouldn’t set off the TNT. To his surprise and relief, Fwhip had agreed- and then went and purposefully antagonized Jimmy. And Jimmy- sweet, impulsive Jimmy- had fought right back. Scott didn’t get a chance to pull Fwhip aside and convince him to change his mind before Lizzie had asked him for a dance, then spun Jimmy right into his arms. Fwhip had been watching them the entire time they danced, then left as soon as the song ended, heading up the stairs. Scott snuck away from Jimmy to follow him- only for Fwhip to have flown off by the time Scott made his way up the stairs. Then Jimmy followed him too, and once he spotted Fwhip in the distance with his crossbow, Scott realized he had been used to draw Jimmy out. So he kissed Jimmy, and then Fwhip set off the explosions. It was then Scott realized Fwhip had lied to him about the plan- somehow he had rigged Katherine’s entire castle with TNT, not just the ballroom, and wanted to be sure that everyone knew it was Fwhip and the Wither Rose Alliance behind it all. A show of power, so that no one would mess with them.

So now Scott was alone again. Jimmy felt like Scott had betrayed him- and frankly, Scott had. He should have told the House Blossom Alliance about the TNT, instead of striking a weak deal with Fwhip. Now the House Blossom Alliance would never trust him again, and all Scott had now was the Wither Rose Alliance- which Scott wasn’t so sure if he wanted to be a part of anymore. And at their next secret meeting, Scott found out that he wasn’t the only one with this opinion. Usually they met in Gem’s hidden meeting room, but this time around, she insisted on meeting in the Grimlands, not giving a clear reason why. Scott had thought nothing of it, until the time for the meeting actually came.

“I’m done, Fwhip,” Gem said, not even taking a seat at the table. Fwhip leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow at Gem.

“What do you mean, you’re ‘done?’” he scoffed. Gem slammed her hands down on the table, purple magic sparking in the air. Everyone in the room had ranging expressions of shock and terror on their faces. Gem never got angry like this, at least not as long as Scott had known her. Fwhip, however, seemed unphased.

“You lied to us. You said you were going to make a point at the House Blossom Ball. Instead you blew it up! You could have killed us!” she fumed. Fwhip rolled his eyes.

“Gem, you know me. What other point would I have made that didn’t go off with a bang? Besides, Sausage and Scott knew about the TNT,” Fwhip replied with a shrug. The glare Gem sent him was deadly, and Pearl rose from her seat at the revelation.

“I was hoping that maybe Scott was clever and figured out your plan, and just wasn’t able to get the information to anyone in time- but you told him and Sausage?! And I’m not exactly pleased that neither of them felt it was necessary to tell Gem and I what was going on, but the nerve of you to hide information from your own allies, Fwhip!” Pearl scolded. Scott and Sausage didn’t say anything, a little embarrassed- but to be fair, it hadn’t really occurred to Scott that Fwhip didn’t tell everyone about his plan. He had told Scott one-on-one, and Scott had foolishly assumed that he had told the others as well. Yet another frustrating hoodwink courtesy of Fwhip.

“Because I knew you would react like this! But there’s no sense in arguing about it now, what’s happened has happened. Let’s discuss plans for the future, shall we?” Fwhip said with an overly charming grin.

“No,” Pearl said firmly, and Fwhip blinked in surprise.

“What?” he asked in disbelief.

“You heard Gem. She’s done, and so am I. I won’t be a part of this senseless destruction anymore,” Pearl said evenly. And before Fwhip had a chance to protest, Pearl and Gem stormed out of the room. Fwhip let out a dejected sigh, before sitting up straight in his seat again.

“Fine. Who needs them? We’ll be just fine- won’t we, boys?” Fwhip asked, and the smile he gave Scott made his stomach roll.

“Yeah! Now we don’t have to tiptoe around them anymore!” Sausage cheered, and Scott could only give a weak smile in response. Something in Fwhip’s smile turned sharp as he leaned towards Scott with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“You know, I never properly complimented your acting skills. You really had Jimmy caught like a fish in a net. It’s a shame though- you got a little too wrapped up in the act- not to mention him- and we lost a valuable chance to deal with the Codfather once and for all. But that’s alright- I’m sure we’ll get another opportunity,” Fwhip said in a low and dangerous tone, the thinly veiled threat very clear to Scott. Don’t get in the way again, and don’t try and weasel out of plans. Or he’d make sure he’d regret it.

“R-right,” Scott said shakily. Fwhip seemed satisfied, and leaned back in his chair once more.

“Good. Now I suppose that advantage with you pretending to like Jimmy is gone now, unless you do a lot more than just kiss him this time around-”

“No,” Scott blurted, before he could really think about it.

“What was that?” Fwhip asked, raising an eyebrow. A lie about how Jimmy definitely didn’t want to see him again- which wasn’t really a lie per se, but it wasn’t the reason Scott said no- was at the tip of his tongue. But he couldn’t say it. And in that moment, he finally decided to do what Pearl and Gem had done.

“I’m not doing this anymore. It makes me sick to my stomach to even think about bringing more pain and destruction to J- to these lands,” Scott said, voice shaking a little but his eyes sharp as he glared at Fwhip. But Fwhip caught the wobble in his voice and how he nearly said Jimmy’s name. However Sausage spoke up and commented on it before Fwhip could.

“You WEREN’T pretending, you actually fell for Jimmy!” Sausage gasped, and the tone of his voice reminded him of simpler times, when Sausage would tease him about his flirting with Jimmy and Pearl would admonish him and tell Sausage to leave Scott alone. Then Fwhip had taken advantage of Scott’s banter with Jimmy, and brought Scott’s world crashing down around him as a result.

“You’ve gotten weak, Scott. What happened to the imposing, cold ruler of Rivendell?” Fwhip sneered. Scott rose from the table at that, glaring Fwhip down.

“I’m finally being the ruler I should have been. I’m not going to let other empires use me for their own gain, and I’m not going to be part of your destructive plans,” Scott fumed, wings flaring and making him seem taller, more threatening. Fwhip chuckled darkly.

“You walk out of here, and you’ll regret it,” he growled.

“I’ll take my chances,” Scott shot back, turning on his heel and exiting the room, ignoring both Fwhip and Sausage’s voices after him. He was done with the Wither Rose Alliance. In fact, he was done with alliances entirely. He was going to stay in the mountains and care for his empire, like he should have been all along.

-

Then the slimeball on the side table by his bed reminded Scott why he didn’t want to stay in the mountains. He would just be exactly what Jimmy expected of him- high and mighty, being too good for anyone. And being alone. Scott had a taste of what a sense of togetherness felt like, and now being alone hurt more than ever. But there was no one he could go to, no one who would trust him. Maybe he could form something with Pearl and Gem, or maybe the two new empire rulers, Shelby and Joey- but it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing would ever be the same, not as long as the mere memory of Jimmy’s goofy grin sent his heart fracturing a thousand times, over and over again.

He couldn’t stand being within the walls of his home any longer. His wings itched with the need to spread and take to the skies, and flying always made him feel better. So Scott did just that, taking to the skies and flying nowhere in particular, just far away from all the empires as much as possible. Maybe if he flew far enough, it would all disappear and Scott wouldn’t have to deal with his problems anymore. And maybe with enough distance, his heartbreak would disappear too.

-

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[gwynrielendgame]

Gwyncien part 3

Idk if y’all will like this one as much. It’s kind of a filler but it took forever to write so I’m posting it anyways. I’ll tag people who have asked below.

Gwyn thought she might puke and it had nothing to do with Lucien's winnowing abilities. She never thought she would feel so nauseas especially after the blood rite. She supposes that the imminent fear of death had her more distracted from her typical anxieties. Now that she could focus on the fact that she was actually leaving Velaris, she felt sick. She grabbed onto Lucien harder and closed her eyes tightly. What felt like hours later, although it was truly only a minute or two, Lucien spoke.

"Welcome to the band of exiles." She opened her eyes to a surprisingly large castle. She was not sure what she expected, perhaps an abandoned cabin, but the building was spectacular and beautiful.

"Jurian and Vassa are excited to meet you." Lucien added as they continued to stand out front. It appeared that he would allow her to stand here for as long as she needed. She knew that if she demanded he take her right back he would. His words finally caught up with her brain that seemed to be running a mile a minute. Why would his closest friends be excited to meet her she thought. It made her anxious for the first time. Perhaps she mistook his friendly countenance for something less than it actually was. She would address it later. She began walking towards the door, mumbling under her breath.

"Let's get this over with."

"That's the spirit!" Lucien inserted much more enthusiasm than necessary into his tone. He grabbed her arm and laced it through his which had her feeling very grateful. Her knees were shaking as she walked and she knew he could tell. Gwyn felt the need to remind herself that he had a mate. She wondered if he would be desperate enough to make a move on her. A large, beautifully decorated foyer greeted them. Two very beautiful people stood in the middle of the white marble floor. Gwyn tightened her hold on Lucien when she saw the new male, stopping them mid-walk. She started her mind-stilling technique as the anxiety clawed at her chest and throat. She would eventually have to face men if she ever wanted to get her revenge. She could not allow a few measly physical reactions hold her back. She took one last deep breathe and then continued walking towards the couple. She spent less time analyzing the female, but from what she saw Gwyn knew she was beautiful. She also had red hair, however, Gwyn's hair was more of a copper/bronze red while Vassa had a deep maroon red. Gwyn kept her eye on Jurian though.

"You are making her nervous, standing there like two parents ready to scold their children." Lucien reprimanded his friends with a roll of his eyes. The female waved his comment off, completely ignoring him. Gwyn did not miss the look they shared, however.

"I am Vassa and this is Jurian." She gestured to the male next to her. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I have heard so much about you." It unnerved Gwyn that the few interactions that she had with Lucien warranted Vassa knowing much about her. She did not think much on it as she continued to watch the beautiful male. He had hair cropped short to his head and a deep skin tone. His looks were not what had her distracted though. It was the weapons. Gwyn found it unnecessary for him to require weapons while meeting with her. Instead of exchanging pleasantries like socially integrated Fae would, she began her questioning.

"Why so many daggers?" She gave him a scathing look while cocking her head to the side. He would not manipulate her into believing anything but the truth and she wanted that to be conveyed in her facial expression. His eyebrows shot up into his hairline as if he were surprised.

"I could ask you the same question." He threw back at her with a smirk. It only infuriated her more. He could not tell she had daggers on her. She was wearing a cloak over her priestess robes with silver majesty strapped to her thigh. There was no possible way he could see the outline through her clothes. She narrowed her eyes and waited for him to respond. The staring contest was only broken when Lucien cleared his throat and Vassa nudged him.

"Fine." Jurian conceded with a smile. "Vassa is woefully bad at handling anything sharp, so I have taken on the role of her protecter while soon-to-be high lord is out and about." Both Vassa and Lucien seemed annoyed by his explanation. The anxiety began to loosen in her chest though. He was not completely trusted, but in this moment he would not attack.

"Gwyn." Is all she managed for an introduction. It seemed good enough for Lucien because he began leading her off to the side of the room towards a grand staircase.

"I will be showing Gwyneth her room and then we can talk." He threw over his shoulder. She held onto his arm all the way up the long staircase and through an even longer hallway. She laughed internally at the size of the mansion considering only three people resided here. A thought occurred to her when they finally came to a stop at a door.

"How many people live here?" She finally let go of Lucien and took a step back.

"Just us three. And now you. Occasionally we have a guest or two, but I will give you ample warning before that time. This will be your bedroom here. Mine is right across the hall if you need anything. There is a lock on the inside, but if you would like I can show you how to set up some furniture to keep the door from opening at all." Lucien gave her a small smile. It made her soften towards him even more.

"Thank you. I appreciate that. I appreciate all that you have done for me. Truly. I cannot say thank you enough." She gave him a short hug to convey her gratefulness. He returned it, hesitantly. His touch was feather light. As though he did not want to touch her and make her uncomfortable. She stepped back towards the door once more and began to walk inside.

"I will come get you before dinner. You have a full wardrobe to pick from in there if you would like to change. If there is anything you require, just ask." Gwyn nodded and then he was gone.

The first thing Gwyn noticed was that the satchel she packed earlier before leaving was sitting on the bed. She had been so nervous about everything else that she had not even realized it was missing. Gwyn continued to survey the room. It was beautiful. The decorations reminded her of the night court. Lucien really did pay attention to the smallest details. Gwyn truly believed Elain was an idiot for not giving Lucien a chance. The bedding was all black and the drapes twinkled with specks of a shiny material. It almost made them look like stars. The bed was unnecessarily large and so was the desk that was off to the side of the room. It had been such a mentally exhausting day that Gwyn decided a nap was needed. She locked her door and stripped off her cloak. She knew the lock would do nothing against winnowing, but as far as she knew only Lucien could do that. She placed her desk chair under the doorknob anyways. She fell onto the bed without even removing her priestess robes. She did remove her dagger and place it under her pillow for protection. A small smile graced her face as she thought of a certain spymaster who also slept with a dagger under his pillow.

Soft footsteps woke Gwyn from her sleep. She had no idea how long she had slept, but knew that dinner must be approaching if it had not already passed. A light knock on the door made her jump.

"Gwyn? Dinner is almost ready if you would like to join us downstairs." Lucien yelled through the door. Gwyn's racing heart began to slow as she realized where she was and who was speaking to her.

"One moment." She decided this dinner was not worth changing her clothes so she grabbed her dagger, putting it back in its sheath, and flattened her hair down with her hands. She did not want to keep Lucien waiting after all. The second she stepped out of the room, a sly smile crossed the male's face.

"What?" Gwyn demanded a tad self-consciously. She flattened her hair once more.

"Enjoyed a nap I see?" He was teasing, but that did nothing to stop her from shoving him.

"Oh shut up and show me the dining room." A real smile graced his face as he put his arm out for her to grab. She was half tempted to shove his arm away for his teasing. Instead, she rolled her eyes and held onto his arm anyways.

"Your wish is my command."

The castle was truly beautiful. Gwyn knew she could spend hours looking at the art pieces- some of them looked familiar. She would guess those were done by Feyre. The marble flooring and intricate ceilings were only part of the beauty. It has clearly been decorated. Perhaps Vassa and Lucien bonded over similar tastes in rugs. The thought made Gwyn giggle internally. The castle was so large that it took them about five minutes before they reached the dining hall. Gwyn took her place next to Lucien across from Jurian and Vassa who were already pleasantly discussing Vassa’s doomed fate. They quickly stopped talking once she sat down and turned the conversation to her.

"So I have been dying to know," Jurian begins "is Rhysand as much of a prick as he pretends to be?" Lucien sent him a glare which only had Jurian shrugging with an innocent expression upon his face. Gwyn sighed.

"Depends on who you are. He is kind to me, but only out of pity from what he witnessed at Sangravah. I have seen him be cruel to those he purposefully does not want to understand. I am not here as your spy though. That is as much from me as you will get about Rhysand." Gwyn truly felt a level of gratefulness to the high lord, however, he often squandered any other positive feelings she had of him by constantly looking at her as if he was seeing that day in Sangravah all over again. It did nothing to help her forget. Jurian gave a contemplative look before turning his attention to his plate. Vassa decided to try her hand at conversation.

"How are the Archeron sisters? I know the death of their father was hard on all of them." Vassa took a sip of wine. Gwyn did not want to discuss this either though. Speaking of Nesta made her miss her sisters.

"They are as well as could be expected." It was generic and had the fiery red head pursing her lips in displeasure. Gwyn did not quite care.

“Gwyn is a beautiful singer.” Lucien finally changed the subject to something that she did not mind engaging in. “We will need you to sing for us sometime.” Gwyn nodded in agreement. The conversation continued on with Lucien boasting about Gwyn, talking about her training as a Valkyrie and winning the blood rite. She started feeling uncomfortable with all the compliments he was sending her way. It reminded her of a conversation she needed to have with him. Right now was as good of a time as any she supposed.

"It was extremely generous of you to offer your help, but I feel I should inform you that I am not interested in anything other than your friendship." Gwyn interrupted Lucien mid-speech to clarify. He looked startled by her statement. Jurian choked on his wine and Vassa cackled like there would be no tomorrow. It made Gwyn feel as though she was on the outside of some joke they all knew.

"Excuse me?" Lucien, for once, looked genuinely surprised. It was as if he could not quite believe she would say that and needed her to repeat it just in case he heard her wrong. Maybe Gwyn misinterpreted some of his advances.

"I know our coupling seems inevitable," Gwyn explained further a bit shyly, not quite sure of herself anymore. "But I am not interested in any one that is not Azriel." Vassa's cackles slowed down to more of a chuckle and Jurian kept sending amused looks to Lucien.

"Gwyn, I am your grandfather." Lucien approached the topic slowly. "I assumed your mother talked about me, but, and I really hope this is the case, you did not know this?" His tone lifted up at the end in questioning.

Oh, Gwyn thought. She was not easily surprised, but this topped the cake. She tried to think back to anytime her mother mentioned her grandparents, but the instances were few and far between. Gwyn realized she did not even know their names. Suddenly, every compliment and favor from Lucien no longer appeared odd. He was complimenting and bragging about his only living granddaughter. This took much longer to process than Gwyn would like to admit. Unexpectedly, she felt an unwarranted amount of anger towards Lucien.

"And you waited until this very moment to tell me? What the hell Lucien? Or should I say grandpa?" Her tone was more hostile than it had been with anyone else. The sarcastic comment at the end had the red-haired male cringing. Jurian and Vassa started laughing once more.

"I know this is not great timing to interrupt, but I, for one, will be referring to you as grandpa from here on out." Jurian inserted. Vassa gave an amused smirk, but said nothing. It earned him a glare from Gwyn and Lucien though.

"I apologize, Gwyneth, for the delayed reveal. I thought you knew that's why I offered to help you, though. I assumed your mother had spoken of Jesminda and I. She was rather young when we had to surrender her, I suppose." Lucien looked so genuine that Gwyn's anger diminished as fast as it had appeared. Gwyn's family history had always been a mystery to her. She might finally get some answers.

"Jesminda is my grandmother?" Gwyn inquired. Her own mother had never given details. This adventure was beginning to answer many questions she had always had.

"Yes." Lucien said. Gwyn was trying to understand his expression and tone. She spent another minute watching him. Their other table mates had gone quiet as well. It did not take a genius to understand the moment. Jesminda had never been mentioned before to her from anyone and she was not here right now. She was dead that much was clear. Lucien cleared his throat and for a brief second Gwyn could see the emotion he was so desperately trying to hide, guilt.

"Why did you give my mother to Sangravah?" Gwyn realized it probably had something to do with Jesminda's death. She truly wanted more details. Lucien sighed heavily, probably understanding that there were many questions in store for him.

"Beron just ordered for Jesminda to be tortured and executed in front of me. I am certain if he had known of your mother, he would have had the same future in store for her. I had kept the child a secret from everyone except a brother, who helped me hide her after Jesminda's death." It did not escape Gwyn's attention that Lucien neither referred to Beron as his high lord nor as his father. Lucien ran a hand through his hair roughly. Her hair was clearly from him, but it was his one russet eye that had her pausing. An eye that suddenly reminded her so much of Catrin.

"Why did he kill her?" She asked softly. Gwyn realized she would never be able to deny Lucien anything. One look from his russet eye and Gwyn would give in simply because of its similarity to her dead twin.

"Because he's a spiteful old man." Vassa spit out. Clearly, she was just as enraged by the situation. It made Gwyn wonder if Vassa and Lucien had ever been together. Lucien rolled his eyes at the fiery female. He seemed to roll his eyes constantly while he was here.

"Because he could," Lucien added. "Your mother, who was about six at the time, was extremely unsafe even under my brother and I's protection. Beron would put your mate to shame with all the torture tactics he uses. I dropped her off on the doorstep of that church in the middle of the night. I always planned to go back and visit, but I was nervous and I knew she was safe there. I felt it was selfish to visit her since it only put her in more danger." Gwyn felt sad for everyone involved. Sad for Lucien who watched his love be tortured and executed in front of him only for him to have to turn around and surrender his daughter to a church. Sad for Jesminda who died that day. Sad for her mother who must have lived every day wondering where her parents went and why they abandoned her. Sad for Catrin who never got to meet her grandfather.

"I had a sister." Gwyn felt the need to mention. She was unaware of how much Lucien knew, but it suddenly felt important to her that he knew of Catrin.

"I know." He responded with a sad smile. "This family is well versed in tragedy." Gwyn had so many more questions. She had time to ask though. Her questions were making Lucien relive memories that were better left untouched. Perhaps he had endured enough for one night. She looked down at her full plate. She had been so distracted that she had not touched a thing. She began to devour her food as the rest of the table engaged in a debate about seasonings and which was the best.

"Have you and Vassa..." Gwyn trailed off, leaving the innuendo open when Lucien walked her back to her room after dinner.

"She wishes." He chuckled.

"Would you be with Elain if you could?"

"I would not jump into a mating ceremony but I would like the chance to get to know her. She has not given me the opportunity." He answered practically with his arms folded behind his back. Gwyn felt the need to assure him that knowing Elain would not make any of this easier.

"Trust me, it's better this way." She did not want to leave the conversation on such a sore point. As they approached her door, Gwyn jokingly shoved him. "So this would make Elain my step-grandmother?" Lucien was quiet before speaking. It was not the reaction she hoped for.

"Elain does not know. No one knows. And no one can know, even Azriel. At least until Beron is dead. Make no mistakes if Beron were to discover you, he would torture you simply to spite my mother." His lips pursued together in displeasure.

"Azriel is very good with secrets." She felt the need to remind Lucien. He is a Shadowsinger after all.

"Not with his high lord. If Rhysand knew, he would tell Beron if he had too. If Nyx or Feyre's life were on the line, he would do anything to save them. That includes selling you out. This is very important, Gwyneth. You cannot tell anyone- promise me." His stare was so intense that she could not look away. He grabbed her hands in a tight grip to make sure she understood how serious he was. Gwyneth had never purposely kept a secret from Azriel before. Hopefully, Beron would die sooner rather than later.

"I promise."

+++

Two weeks later

"What do you mean she’s gone?" Azriel was shocked to discover that Gwyn had left two weeks ago. He thought she had been avoiding training because of the kiss they shared- not because she was gone. He had been eating dinner with Nesta and Cassian when he finally had the courage to mention the priestess and where she had gone. Now he was mad that he had not asked sooner.

“She left with Lucien on some adventure. I am not really sure. Her note was unclear.” Nesta responded solemnly. The House dropped a piece of chocolate cake in front of her which made a small smile curve at the brash female’s lips. Azriel’s stomach dropped at the mention of Lucien. Gwyn did not know him well enough to go on an adventure with him. Gwyn would not leave her sisters here and she would definitely not choose Lucien to be the first person she left Velaris with. He was certain of that. He also knew Lucien to be a spiteful person. Perhaps he was tired of watching Azriel and Elain parade their relationship around him, making a fool of the one-eyed male. He could have taken Gwyn as retribution.

“He must have kidnapped her. Gwyn would never willingly leave the House of Wind with anyone- let alone Lucien.” Azriel knew this had to be true. Gwyn would never just up and leave. Guilt started gnawing at his chest as he realize he could have prevented her from being taken. If only his shadows would work properly around her, he could have prevented Lucien’s nefarious plans from being completed. His siphons started glowing the longer he though about it. He had to clench his hands around his silverware to keep from winnowing straight to the Band of Exiles and demanding his mate be given back. Nesta gave Azriel an odd look before speaking.

“She left a note that said she was willingly leaving with him and as much as he annoys the shit out of me, I don’t think he would hurt Gwyn.” A frown marred her face now, though. As if she had not considered that her sister could be in trouble. It only annoyed Az further.

“He could have made her write the note.” He reminded in a quiet, harsh voice. Gwyn and Lucien were not friends. She would have no reason to leave with him. Cassian was cautiously glancing between his mate and Azriel. He did not know what to say that would not piss off Az, so he was choosing to let Nesta handle the situation instead.

“She is not in danger.” Nesta declared after peeking at her wrist. There was no possible way for her to know whether Gwyn was safe or not. Even Azriel could not find out given how stubborn his shadows were being. He could always take a trip to the Band of Exiles, but he had to assume Lucien would not be stupid enough to take Gwyn there.

“You do not know that.” His wings flexed in anger. The siphons atop his hands were glowing dangerously bright now. He needed to get his emotions under control.

“Yes I do.” Nesta insisted with a roll of her eyes that annoyed Azriel to no ends. “My bracelet is not glowing. They glow when any of us is in trouble. It’s how I found her in the blood rite. It has not glowed since then either.”

“Hers could have fell off.” Gwyn would not have left after the kiss they shared. It was too important of a moment between them for her to have left immediately after.

“Gwyn and Lucien are friends, Az. You know if you want someone to blame for her leaving, maybe you should look inward.” It was a sharp jab that hurt more than the Shadowsinger would ever admit.

Suddenly though, he could see the hurt on Nesta’s face. It was there for only a second, but he saw it. Nesta was just as hurt by Gwyn’s departure as he was. He finally unclenched his hands from around his silverware- his fight giving out. Nesta was right. Lucien would never kidnap Gwyn especially if he thought it might upset Elain. Azriel chose this time to leave, however. He would not stoop to Nesta’s level and trade jab after jab. He headed to the training arena. It was hours later when slight footsteps could be heard making their way over to him. He was sitting at the edge, his exhaustion forcing him to take a break. Nesta took a seat next to him, resting her head against his shoulder.

"I miss her too, Shadowsinger." He said nothing in return because there was nothing else he could say. "You are worse than I was with the mating bond." Nesta tried again with a joke this time to try and get Azriel talking. She knew he was not normally one to discuss his feelings though. He gave her a withering look at that comment. It was an ongoing joke within the inner circle that Nesta handled the mate situation particularly horrible.

“Shut up.” Was all he responded with and he only said it halfheartedly.

"I am just saying, if you ask me for advice I could save you some time and heartache." They both continued to look out at the Velaris skyline.

"And what precious advice would you bestow upon me?" The comment was dripping in sarcasm, but he decided to humor her.

"Anyone other than your mate will be a disappointment, especially to you. Just accept it and her and everything else will become background noise." She looked up at him for a second before setting her head back down. He was not one to seek out comfort through touch, but sitting here with Nesta made him feel a bit better. Maybe it was because they could both ruminate in their sadness at Gwyn’s departure.

"Ah so wise. I had not considered that." Again the sarcasm was heavy.

"Well if you have thought about it and have not done it then I would consider you an idiot. You do not strike me as an idiot, Az." She was frustrated now- throwing her arms up and crossing them over her chest. He chuckled lightly.

"I think I might be." He admitted. Everything was so confusing with Mor and Elain that he lost focus of what was truly important.

"Gwyn is the most compassionate and understanding person I know. If she can love me, she can love you too. Just be honest with her." Her voice was soft now in a way that it never was. She always seemed to push him even when it seemed the rest of his family refused. It was the thing he liked most about Nesta- she was never scared of him or his feelings.

"Thanks Nes." He settled his head on top of hers and they stayed like that for hours- reminiscing in all things Gwyn.

[bthump]

What do you think about the point in the story we are at now? Would you say you like the direction Miura is going in or not? What are the things you dislike about Berserk as it is now?

lol this is hard to answer because it’s so heavily dependent on what happens next. I think we’re at a point where everything could start coming together in a way that really appeals to me or where everything could just fall apart and I’ll have to accept that this is no longer a story I’m particularly interested in.

Though I am slightly leaning towards the former right now, whether that’s based on real evidence or mostly blind optimism I’m not entirely sure lol.

Basically I think it’ll depend on a) whether Moonlight Boy becomes a major motivational plot point or turns out to be more of a red herring or brief inciting factor in the shift to a new arc, and b) whether Guts and the rpg group overcome the imminent challenge they’ll face thanks to their personal growth and friendship or whether it’ll fuck them up.

But the reasons I’m feeling tentatively optimistic right now are:

all the foreshadowing re Guts losing himself to the armour and wreaking some havok, which has to happen at some point lbr

fetus as the focal point of Casca’s traumatic memories and symbolizing her thorn-covered heart, which to me screams sacrifice material, which would be the only thing that could make it time sharing Griffith’s body interesting to me (ie what happens to Griffith if it’s sacrificed?)

I’m gonna link this post because I’m still mostly feeling the basics of this theory, ie Skull Knight and Elfhelm in cahoots plotting to use the behelit to entrap the godhand, at Guts and Casca’s expense. Plus another possible way for Moonlight Boy to come to nothing is if it’s a manipulation of Danann’s.

I think Guts is purposefully being written as emotionally distanced from the rpg group, which is a good sign for the power of friendship not saving him yet, and there are also aspects of Guts+rpg group that parallel Griffith+Hawks in the golden age (eg Farnese’s feelings for Guts being paralleled to Casca’s feelings for Griffith, Guts gaining followers who compare him to fire, etc) which also gives me hope that tragedy will strike.

Miura’s little bait and switch wrt Guts and Casca’s relationship that honestly felt like gentle mockery of people who wanted them to immediately get together lol. Yk Casca getting sent out in a pretty dress to meet Guts complete with romantic double page spread and having a breakdown, then changing into pants and cutting her hair and saying how much better it is, and not being able to look at Guts now.

Also more recently, Guts at a loss now that he’s brought Casca’s sanity back and it didn’t actually solve any of his issues. “The hell do I do now?” “You have reached the end of your journey. It is not always a happy thing.” I’ve been worried for a while that Guts’ complex issues have been dropped and we’re meant to see him taking Casca to Elfhelm as him genuinely growing past them, and that one moment was such a huge relief when I read it lol. It really suggests to me that this sidequest was always about Guts trying to find a distraction to avoid dealing with his actual issues (fear/trauma, insecurity, love/hate feelings for Griffith, regret, etc), and those are going to make a return sooner rather than later.

Miura implying in interviews that we’re not all that close to the end, so there’ll probably be at least one more arc after Elfhelm, which gives me more hope that this whole rpg arc will lead to some amount of narrative-shaking tragedy and we’ll get some interesting stuff after.

this parallel with the climax of the Millenium Falcon arc and my firm belief that it has to come full circle.

other stuff like complex apostle characters, the lost chapter worldbuilding, schierke suggesting that her elemental guardians are holy see angels alongside implications that holy see angels are the godhand. Basically my hopes for worldbuilding that doesn’t boil down to good spirit world vs evil spirit world.

all the little suggestions that NGriff isn’t as emotionless as he’d like to be that have nothing to do with a demon fetus giving a shit about its parents

So I guess my answer is that I do like the direction I hope Miura’s going in, but there’s also enough counter evidence that I may be wrong about that direction.

So some of the things I dislike about Berserk now are:

Moonlight Boy and the Fear that he will derail everything and the plot will soon revolve around, idk, Guts and Casca trying to free their kid’s soul bringing them closer together or some awful shit like that.

Moonlight Boy and the Fear that Miura is actually going to ignore the absolutely incredible foundation he wrote in the Golden Age to support the hints of Griffith’s current capacity for emotion in favour of pinning it all on a magic baby.

I have some lowkey fears that Guts “bleeding” for Casca is gonna be a thing, largely based on me recently re-reading the scene where Farnese gets upset about everything Guts has done for her while bathing her. Like yk, maybe Casca will remember Guts saving her and warm up to him... tho in all honesty I can’t actually think of an example of Guts being the one to save her post-Eclipse lmao, he fucks it up every time. Maybe when he first put on the armour and killed an apostle in front of her or w/e, yk. Some shit like that. Like I can come up with 50 counter arguments but those only work if you accept the basic premise that Berserk will be good, yk?

The fear that we are meant to understand that Guts has overcome most of his flaws throughout the Millenium Falcon/Fantasia arcs and will get a big moment to demonstrate that and overcome the armour or save Casca or whatever.

And less speculatively and more generally, like many people I’m not a fan of the current art style, I think the larger cast on Guts’ side is causing some poor writing and not helping the pacing issues (and tbh I think Berserk is paced fairly well up until the boat stuff), I don’t like the lighter more comedic tone right now bc I got into Berserk for the grimdark vibe and tragedy and characters succumbing to their fatal flaws and making huge mistakes and I miss that a lot. I’m not saying Berserk can’t be light and funny and campy but I prefer that Black Swordsman or Conviction Arc style where it’s offset by a lot of fucked up shit, or Golden Age style where there’s an underlying sense of dread bc we already know shit’s going to go wrong, yk? If shit does get dark soon I might end up being a lot less critical of the current tone on re-read tbf.

So basically to sum up:

hopes: tragedy, character flaws that haven’t been dealt with yet coming home to roost, Moonlight Boy becomes a non-issue.

fears: power of friendship staves off tragedy, slower gtsca romance, moonbaby affects plot and emotions, guts’ flaws get brushed under the rug instead of fucking him over

I can argue that the former makes a lot more sense than the latter, but I’ve been burned a lot in my life and I know a lot of fans would argue the latter makes more sense than the former so yk, everyone has their biases including me and idk how blinded I am by those biases lol.

Anyway ty for asking!

[missmollybloom]

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2020 - Day 1 (a little late!)

Day 1 – There’s only one bed

Title: Trying Again

Summary:  When, two weeks after Sherrinford, Molly has to share a room with Sherlock during the weekend away for Greg and Laura Lestrade's re-marriage, what might happen between the pair? If you know me, you know it's gonna be Sherlolly-flavoured! And fluff, there will be fluff.

Rated: M for some smexy times. 

Although Molly was skeptical when Greg Lestrade announced that he and Laura were tying the knot for the third time, Molly had to admit that there was more than a little appeal in spending the weekend out of London for the wedding. Especially after the last few months – Mary’s death, Sherlock’s relapse and recovery, the bombing of 221B, Sherlock’s sister, and that phonecall – the one that Molly tried her best to forget and Sherlock seemed to have perfected the art of acting like it had never happened.

And so when presented with the option to get away, Molly took it.

Greg’s wife-come-ex-wife-come-fiancé Laura, being a High School English teacher (or glorified babysitter, as Sherlock had once said a little bit too close to Greg’s earshot), had chosen Stratford-Upon-Avon as her setting. Ignoring Sherlock’s protests (Shakespeare didn’t even write those plays, he’d snarked), Molly RSVP’d yes straight away. It was only a week later that she started doubting that Greg and Laura’s relationship would last as long as the wedding date, concerns she refused to share with an equally sceptical Sherlock.

But the day drew near and Molly soon found herself pulling into the driveway of the Hallmark hotel. The grounds almost took Molly’s breath away, beautifully manicured lawns, terraced gardens, and the hotel itself was like something out of Downton Abbey – ornate and imposing on the landscape with more windows than Molly could possibly count. If she were to have a wedding, she would have chosen a place just like this.

Greg and Laura were there to greet her when she arrived. Any prior tensions about their impending nuptials seemed erased as they clung to each other as if their very lives depended on it. Molly hadn’t seen such levels of public affection since back at uni between her roommate Meena and Meena’s boyfriend Mark. Molly never admitted to Meena that she was relieved when the two boke it off in third year.

“You’re the lucky last to arrive, Molls,” Greg grinned at Molly as Laura nipped at his neck as if Molly wasn’t even there. “Here’s the key to your room.”

Molly thanked Greg and made as swift a departure as she could from the increasingly nauseating couple, promising to return downstairs for dinner at 6.

Molly couldn’t believe what she saw when she opened the door and stepped into her room. If the outside was like Downton Abbey then her room was so on-point she felt like Lady Edith. Warm, cozy furnishings, a small round table with plush dining chairs in the corner, all bathed with a warm glow from gorgeous lamp lighting placed strategically around the room. It was all beautiful, but it was the ornate four-poster bed that really drew      her eye.

Molly couldn’t wait. She kicked off her shoes and flopped down on the bed. It was just as comfortable as it looked, her body almost falling into the mattress. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of relaxation when there was a knock at the door.

“I thought dinner wasn’t until 6?” She asked as she opened the door.

She had assumed the knock to have come from Greg.

It didn’t.

It was Sherlock.

“I decided to come. ”He said, brushing past her to enter the room, placing his travel bag on the floor and removing his coat.

“I see that, but why didn’t you drop off your bag before coming to say hi?”

Sherlock’s face scrunched. “Well, about that. It seems that they’ve run out of rooms.”

There was a moment of silence while the situation dawned on her.

“Ok,” Molly said cautiously.

“So I was wondering – I mean,” he gestured to the bed. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve shared.”

He was right. They had shared a bed in her flat on multiple occasions, especially when he was “dating” Jeanine and needed a place to stay away from her. It was one such platonic bed-sharing occasion that Tom had stumbled upon and completely misinterpreted, leading to the end of their engagement.

More recently, in the desperate moments during his recovery when in the dark of night he’d call her name and find comfort in her presence, she’d slide into the covers beside him. In the light of day he’d always wake before her and greet her in the morning like nothing had ever taken place.

But they hadn’t shared a bed recently, not in the last few weeks, definitely not since that phonecall. Molly wasn’t sure if her heart could take more hurt, having him so close but not being able to touch him.

“Sherlock, I’m not sure if it’s a good idea,” is what she meant to say.

“Ok,” is what she heard herself saying instead.

Molly thought she saw relief flash across Sherlock’s face.

“Fancy a drink?” he asked, reaching for the complementary bottle of champagne that Molly hadn’t noticed in her hurry to test out the bed.

“Why not?” She asked. But she knew why not. Sherlock Holmes was in her room, Sherlock Holmes was about to share a bed with her, the same Sherlock Holmes who knew without a doubt that she loved him, and who had said the same to her in a tone so convincing she almost believed he meant it – right up until Mycroft’s assistant knocked on her door and told her the full story.

Perhaps Dutch courage was precisely what she needed.

“What should we toast to?” Molly asked as he passed her a glass, purposefully ignoring the electricity she felt when their fingers brushed.

“To trying again,” he said, his eyes burrowing deeply into hers.

He’d meant Greg and Laura, right?

Champagne always went to Molly’s head and before long she was in rapt attention as he regaled her with the details of his latest case. So taken was she by his story that she almost didn’t hear the knock at the door.

Sherlock opened it, only to be greeted by Greg, eyes red-ringed from crying.

“I’m sorry Sherlock, Molly, the wedding’s off,” he said, before crying again.

“Was it the masseuse?” Sherlock asked.

Greg shook his head.

“The hairdresser?”

Greg’s tears turned into sobs.

“Or was it-“ Molly put a steeling hand on Sherlock’s arm, stopping him before he shared another one of his deductions.

“I’m so sorry, Greg.” Molly said.

“I’m, s-sorry you came all this way for nothing.” Greg said before another wave of sobs crashed over him.

“I’m sure we’ll make good use of the trip,” Sherlock said. There was an undercurrent in his voice, but Molly couldn’t quite work out what it was.

Greg apologized again before moving off to the next room on his rounds.

“So, room service?” Sherlock asked as the door shut.

“I suppose the group dinner is off, so why not?”

When the food arrived, they ate in companionable conversation. He talked more about his cases, she shared some interesting findings from the bodies she’d examined over the last few weeks. It was just like old times, back when they could share her flat and not have her feelings take up all the air in the room.

By dessert, the champagne was long gone and the wine that came with dinner had been emptied. Sherlock reached into the minibar, grabbing two mini bottles of vodka.

“I really shouldn’t,” Molly said.

“Yes, you should,” he said, handing a bottle to her.

Dutch courage indeed.

The dessert was chocolate volcano cake. Rich gooey chocolate ran out of the center when she pierced it with her spoon. The sauce was so delicious, Molly couldn’t stop herself moaning as the flavor exploded in her mouth.

“This is so good,” she said by way of explanation when she caught Sherlock staring at her.

Without warning, Sherlock reached across the table, his finger running along her lip.

Molly had no idea what he was doing until he showed her the chocolate on his finger. Wordlessly, he licked his finger, removing the chocolate.

Molly’s breath hitched.

Sherlock stood, walking over to Molly.

“There’s still some left,” he explained, “may I?”

Instead of his finger, Sherlock leaned down, placing his lips on hers. Molly’s mouth opened in shock, only to find Sherlock kissing her soundly.

All conscious thought vanished and instinct took over. Her fingers weaved through his hair. His arms snaked around her body, pulling her close. Both moving in perfect unison as he backed her up against the bed. His lips teased hers and Molly couldn’t help opening to him, eliciting a small groan as she did. Emboldened, he claimed her lips more powerfully, as if marking her as his own. The feeling caused Molly’s knees to buckle and she pulled them both backwards onto the bed, Sherlock’s full weight pinning her to the mattress.

The kiss stopped briefly as they settled in place. It was enough to bring her back to reality.  

She rolled away from him, still panting, mouth still tingling with the ghost of his lips.

“Sherlock, what is this?” she asked, cursing herself for her need for clarity, her desire for definition rather than just going with every instinct inside her that said to go for it.

“This is me, trying again.” His face was downcast, almost in supplication.

She searched his eyes, trying to glean his meaning. “Trying again to do what?”

Sherlock reached out for her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers.

Molly’s breath caught in her throat. They’d shared a bed, she’d examined his naked body on numerous occasions, and they’d just kissed each other senseless – but somehow the joining of his hand with hers was the most intimate act they’d ever experienced.

“Do you see these scars?” he asked, moving his hand, which still held hers, closer into her view.

Sharp lines marred his porcelain skin, jagged cuts which were healing, but hadn’t yet disappeared. They looked only a few weeks old.

A few weeks ago Sherlock was stuck in Sherrinford with his deranged secret sister.

“What happened?” Molly asked, removing her fingers from his so as to trace the violent lines that violated his flesh.

He described Eurus’ tests, each more sadistic than the last. He’d explained about the Garrideb brothers, the fear in their eyes as they processed their fate, dangling as they did above the Sherrinford cliffs. He’d condemned Alex because he had no choice, but Eurus spared the murderer only to spare his innocent brothers – or so Sherlock had thought until she cast them, too into the sea and rocks below.

As he spoke, Sherlock looked haunted by the memories. Molly couldn’t stop herself from running a hand through his hair, a gesture of comfort. His eyes closed for a moment, reveling in the sensation, before taking her hand in his.

“What happened to the Garridebs was just the beginning,” Sherlock explained.

He described another room, empty except for a coffin.

“She said that somebody was about to die, and considering I’d just watched her kill three men in cold blood, I believed it.”

His eyes were so far away, Molly wondered if by sharing it with her he was also reliving it.

He described a coffin designed for someone small – about 5 ft 4, a practical informed choice made by someone acquainted with the process of death. His eyes bored into hers as he said it, and Molly wondered if there were the beginnings of tears forming in the corner.

“It was your coffin, Molly.”

He almost broke then, eyes darting away from hers as if looking at her would make it real, bring the memory back to life.

She reached for him, hoping that the contact would bring him back to her, to the present, to this room.

“I had no other choice, my sister,” his tone was poison as he said it, “she said you were about to die and I had no reason not to believe it.”

“The phone call,” she said. Sherlock closed his eyes, nodding slowly.

“It’s ok, Anthea told me all about the lies about the bomb, her agents removed all the cameras. It’s fine, Sherlock.”

He shook his head, eyes still closed so as not to meet hers.

“I thought I might lose you, Molly. And in a way, I almost did.”

“What do you mean? I’m here, I’m alive.”

“Eurus didn’t take you away from me, but she did almost take away my one chance.”

“What do you mean?”

“That coffin – I didn’t tell you what was written on the plaque.” He paused, steeling himself. “Three words. I love you.”

“It was the code, it was what she needed you to get me to say,” Molly supplied.

Sherlock shook his head. “When someone dies, the words on the coffin aren’t a message from those who have departed, it’s a dedication from those who are left behind. My sister, who has no concept of emotion, knew the one thing I had blinded myself to.”

“Which is what?”

“I love you, Molly.”

Molly couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Eurus robbed me of the chance to say it properly the first time, or the second, but here I am, trying again.”

Molly didn’t know what to say, but instinct took over. Her lips brushed his, feather-light. He tilted his head towards her, kissing her gently but soundly.

“I love you, too” she murmured between kisses a truth they both knew.

---

The next morning Molly awoke to the feeling of Sherlock’s warm body pressed into hers, his arm across her torso and his leg draped possessively over hers. It took a moment before the memories of the previous night registered in her conscious mind. Flashes came back to her.

Fingers brushing along the side of her face, down her neck, pulling down the strap of her bra.

Mouth on lips, throat, chest, breasts.

Her fingers snaking their way through his hair, tangled in his curls, pulling ever so slightly to elicit a moan from him so deep and desperate it was positively sinful.

Clothes abandoned, strewn around the room in a frenzy as skin ached to meet skin.

The exquisite ache as he filled her soundly, thrusting deeper and deeper.

The glorious sound as he reached his climax moments after she did her own.

In the light of day it all seemed so surreal, like she had dreamt it, but the feeling of his hand on her back, tracing small circles as Sherlock slowly woke brought reality crashing in.

“Morning,” he growled with a voice still gravelly from sleep.

“Morning,” she said, arching into him, luxuriating in the feel of him against her bare flesh.

She wanted nothing more than to stay there, enjoying each other and the pleasure they could bring from each other’s bodies, but something stopped her, a question she needed answered.

“Is this why you came?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you would have known that the wedding would be cancelled.”

“True.”

“So, did you come just so that we could,” Molly smirked, “share a bed.”

“Not quite.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, there’s a wedding venue with a last minute cancellation. It would be a shame for it to go to waste,” Sherlock smirked

---

John had to be told three times before he’d believe it. Mrs Hudson was so overcome with the reality of it that she didn’t care about the details. Greg, as heartbroken as he was, was happy that something good could have come out of the situation.

Even years later, Molly would smile as she remembered the weekend she got married to Sherlock Holmes. She was so thankful that she decided to get out of the city for the weekend, and even more thankful that Sherlock was brave enough to try again.

[granpafrisbee]

Truth or Dare Part 3

Summary: After going to Italy and avoiding any romantic relationships for pretty much all her life Joey comes back to the U.S. to move in with her life-long best friend, Sam Wilson, and his two closest friends from college. Joey’s met Steve but is apprehensive to meet the elusive Bucky, whom she’s always missed despite having visited Sam consistently throughout college. Once she meets him, however, she wonders how she’ll be able to run from love when they share a bathroom.

Warnings: Cussing

Word Count: 4111

Pairings: Bucky x OFC

Masterlist

The AO3

Part 1

Part 2

A/N: Let me know if you enjoy or if there are any spelling/grammar mistakes!

Stay Sexy

The first couple of weeks living together pass without conflict. They all became accustomed to each other’s schedules slowly enough. Sam and Steve are both up at the crack for their run. They race home to shower first, Steve occasionally lets Sam win, and Sam is cooking breakfast by Eight-thirty. The smell of eggs and bacon normally gets Joey and Bucky out of bed. Steve will wake them up if not. He’s adamant that they all have a meal together. Since Steve and Sam are normally at work for lunch, and Sam is almost always busy for dinner; breakfast is the big winner. Steve is out of the door at nine-thirty and home by five-thirty like clockwork. Bucky works from home or the local library if he feels like he’s being too lazy. He occasionally goes to meetings for new assignments, but as long as he meets his deadlines, he’s golden. Joey’s schedule is much more relaxed as well. Unless her boss has a project for her, she has the day off. When there is a project she’ll head to the studio around ten and sometimes stays until seven or eight depending on how demanding it is.

Bucky loves her days off. He loves sitting on the couch reading or working and her taking over Steve’s art space doing whatever she wants. Her first day off she made a mosaic out of broken glass Sam brought her from the restaurant. Right now she is making wire sculptures of each of her roommates, humming along to the Beatles’ song playing on his record player. Bucky is sitting in his corner of the couch, computer and book open, glasses on the tip of his nose. She sits on the other end manipulating the metal to resemble his likeness. Occasionally he will strike up a conversation with her when he wants a break from Russian literature.

They’ve continued their never-ending game of truth or dare, much to Sam’s chagrin. Joey has discovered a strategy that has started a war between them. One night when watching a movie, she leaned over and whispered in Bucky’s ear. He looked at her and whispered, “Dare,” unsure of what was going to happen.

She smiled and leaned back into her seat, ‘’I dare you to go get me more water.”

Now anytime one of them let their guard down, they became the other’s personal assistant.

Bucky shifts in his seat, the soreness of staying in one position too long catching up to him.

“Sunshine?” He’s been perfect about his end of the nickname pact. She has yet to call him Baby other than saying goodnight to him their first night. They haven’t spoken about it, and he worries that she’s forgotten.

“Hmm?” She responds without taking her eyes off her work.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth, I invented that trick. I’m not refilling your coffee or getting you another blanket.” She twists something that now looks more like his jawline.

“How dare you assume that I would ever use truth or dare for nefarious purposes.” He makes an expression of mock offense.

She sighs and looks up at him, “Shoot.”

“What would I have to do for you in order to get a back massage?” He bats his eyelashes to punctuate his half question half request.

She narrows her eyes and considers it. After a moment she makes her decision, “I will exchange the greatest massage of your life if you do the dishes for me today.”

He looks back at the sink. Last night Sam was off work and he made them lasagna. They were all too exhausted to clean and the cheese has been hardening by the minute. It would be quite a challenge. But Joey’s offer is very appealing. “Let me clarify; if this massage is not the greatest of my life, then I am not required to do the dishes?”

“That’s the deal.”

“Sunshine, I’m not sure if this is fair. I’ve had massages from exes that ended not exactly platonically. Unless we want to move this to the bedroom, I don’t know if you’ll win out.” His flirty grin is unwavering.

She matches him, “I guarantee that I can give you a massage that will have you forgetting your exes names.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

They shake on it and she starts moving her stuff off the couch. He follows suit and a feeling of nerves waves over him. Flirty banter is the homeostasis for them, but she’s kept her distance physically since their first night in the apartment.

About a week before, she came home late after having been completely engrossed in a project for the past five days. Sam was cooking dinner while Bucky and Steve were sat on the couch watching a soccer game when she walked in and dramatically set her keys down with an exhale. The boys all looked up at her. They had barely seen her all week.

She turned to them, “I am finally done.”

Steve applauded her and Sam hit his spatula against a pan, “Congrats Joe, how did it end up?” Sam asked.

“Really well, the client says they’ll have a new job for us next month. Hopefully, they’ll give us a longer deadline, the ten hour work days are killing me.”

Bucky stood up and crossed the room to her while she shrugged off her coat. He opened his arms to embrace her, “Way to go, Sunshine.”

She looked up at him with a smile but as he started to close his arms around her she flinched and retreated away from him.

He immediately dropped his arms and begun to apologize, but she stopped him as she stepped around him, “No big deal, you just snuck up on me.” Before he could say anything else she disappeared into her bedroom for the rest of the evening.

Bucky was naturally extremely hard on himself. He collapsed onto the couch and ran his hands through his hair, “God I… I didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable. I was just glad to see her.”

Sam had stepped behind the couch and placed a strong hand on Bucky’s shoulder, “It’s okay man. She’ll warm up to you, she’s just not always good with touch.”

So when she accepts his proposal he feels like they’re entering uncharted territory, but the fact that she’s willing cools some of his anxiety. He tries to focus on the fact that he’s about to get the tension in his back worked through, and not anywhere else.

She sets a pillow down at the end of the couch and motions to it, “Lay down. On your stomach.”

He set his glasses on the coffee table and slips off his sweater, leaving him in just a black t-shirt and sweats. He lays down and adjusts his head on the pillow until he’s comfortable.

“Is it okay if I sit on your lower back?”

He swallows and nods.

She climbs on to him and sits half on his ass, half on his back. The pressure is comfortable. She places her hands on his shoulders and leans down to whisper in his ear, “You ready, Baby?” Her breath tickles his ear and he all of the sudden is very thankful for the angle his body is currently in.

She softly digs her thumbs into his shoulders and he has to fight a groan, “So you do remember our wager.” His voice muffled by the pillow.

To say Joey was out of her comfort zone was an understatement, but that seems to be where she and Bucky are living for the time being. She doesn’t do this. She doesn’t instigate touch, not even if she��s known the person for years, but she and Bucky have become fast friends. Alarmingly fast. And she sooo doesn’t want to clean up lasagna night. Still, he’s right to call her out. She hasn’t addressed him by name very purposefully. She’s not gonna wimp out of the dare, but calling him Baby still feels so foreign.

“I told you I wouldn’t be good at it.” She presses the heel of her hand right below his shoulder blade and he lightly squirms at the sensation. She’s good at this. Really good.

“Too much for you?” She’d expect his tone to be taunting but it’s genuine, curious almost. Like he’s checking to see if it’s okay.

“Um,” She moves to her right hand to his lower back and digs both down to lengthen his spine, “Just new territory for me is all.” She moves her hands to his neck and presses each finger down in a rhythm.

For ten more silent minutes, she kneads into his back and he falls into some sort of a heaven, even when she uses her elbow to take out a knot in his shoulder. She tries to ignore how warm his back is and he tries not to think about what the massage would feel like without clothing in the equation. She stops for a minute and he prepares himself to relent that it was, in fact, the best massage he’d ever had. Then she puts her fingers in his hair. Her nails scratch his scalp and he lets out a groan he’d been working hard to keep in up until that moment. He feels her knees tighten around his hips and she stops moving her fingers for a second. He’s about to apologize when she continues again. Switching from slightly pulling to scratching sends him into euphoria. He’s begun to drift off when she places her hand over his left upper arm. She holds it there for a moment and right when he considers asking her something she gets off of him. He misses her weight and warmth immediately.

Even though Bucky so doesn’t want to, he sleepily flips over, “Well that was truly awful. You’ve got a lot to learn, Sunshine.” His eyes are barely open and his hair is sticking in every direction. She just hums in response, and he sits up. “Where did you get so good at that?”

She sits back down in her corner of the couch, “I took a massage therapy course in Italy.” Her response is dripping in nonchalance.

He’s still dazed, “You’re like a god at that. Seriously. You transported me into a new dimension.”

She laughs at his hyperboles, “Does this mean you’ll do the dishes for me?”

“As long as you keep me company.” He stands up and runs his hands through his hair before making his way to their exploding kitchen.

She sits at the island, “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he says as he rolls up his sleeves to start scrubbing the pan.

“If you could have any superpower what would you want?”

“Throwing it back to basics now?” He looks at her over his shoulder.

“Just trying to get to know the man beneath the smirk.” She shrugs, sporting her own side-swept smile.

“I appreciate that. So many people assume that just because I am devilishly handsome, I have no real substance.” He sighs dramatically.

“What a burden to bear.”  She rests her chin in her hand.

“I guess I’d like to control time. You know, pause when I want to stay in a moment, go back when I want.”

“Haven’t you seen the cautionary tale Click ?”

“Of course, so now I know what not to do. No fast-forwarding anything! I’d stay away from the future.”

“I must admit it would be a real asset. You could pause and just sleep any time you wanted.”

“Exactly. What about you?” He finishes the first pan.

“I’d like to speak and understand every language on Earth.”

“But that’s possible.” Bucky protests.

“It is most definitely not possible! I know two and I feel like my Italian is fading every day.”

“That’s just because you’re not using it. With my job I’m constantly using the languages so it’s fresh.”

“How many languages do you know?”

“Well, I grew up knowing Russian and Romanian, but we had a neighbor who spoke Spanish so I learned that and took it in high school. In college, I obviously focused on Russian a lot but I took every language course available, so I’d say four fluently, but I can understand and speak French, and Portuguese, although I wouldn’t be the best writer.” Joey’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “It’s not that impressive, they’re mostly all romance languages.”

“Can you understand Italian, it’s a romance language?”

“Understand, probably. Speak, I don’t know enough vocabulary I think.”

“La Tua lingua è molto impressionante.”

“Thank you, you’re not the first person to be impressed by my tongue.” He gives her a wicked grin.

She rolls her eyes, “Your turn.”

“Truth or dare?” They both enjoy the fluctuation of their conversations and the constant game.

“Truth.”

“Why’d you take the massage therapy class?”

“Um… It was suggested to me by a therapist.” She twists a couple rings on her fingers and adjusts the scarf that blocks her hair from her eyes. He doesn’t push for more information, but she continues, “I have some… physical intimacy issues. I know you… I mean I’m sure you’ve noticed. So before I left a therapist told me it might be empowering, and it was.” He’s so focused on her that he stops paying attention to what he’s doing when he picks up the cast iron and almost places it in the soapy sink water. “No!” Joey rushes up and stops him at the last second, “Baby, you can’t clean the cast iron in soap, you’ll ruin it.” She takes it from his hands.

He knows if he points it out she’ll immediately clam up, so he lets his smile be the only evidence he heard her, “My bad, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“That will get you at the top of Sam’s shit list.” She starts scrubbing at the cast iron with steel wool while he loads the dishwasher.

“Oh you mean there’s someone ahead of me as is?”

“You know you’re one of his best friends.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s one of mine.” She dries off the cast iron with a rag and he takes it from her, “You don’t have to help, I’m a man of my word.” She nods with a smile and leans against the counter. He works in silence while she watches for a moment or two. He sets down a sponge and softly but casually says, “You are too, you know.”

“I am what?”

He decides to turn to her, “One of my best friends.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

He sees her click her jaw and she purses her lips to hide her smile. “Anche tu.” She responds in Italian.

He tosses a rag at her to dispel some of the lingering tension from their mutual vulnerability, “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to get me a beer to enjoy as I finish up this monstrosity.” She walks over to the fridge and pulls one out for him.

He finishes up cleaning while they share the beer. Once he proudly presses the dishwasher’s on button they sit at the island and continue their conversation.

“So who do you think will be the first to get married?” Joey takes a sip and passes the bottle to Bucky.

“Hmm… I guess Thor and Bruce right? Those guys are so in love. I don’t think Nat and Wanda will get married for a while, Nat’s got a touch of the commitment phobia. Of the single friends… Maybe Sam? It’s crazy to think about this stuff, we’re all so young.”

“You see I think that constantly, but I’ve got a ton of friends who are getting engaged. I agree about Thor and Bruce. I’ve never seen that big lug look at anyone like he looks at Bruce.”

Bucky gets up and gets them another bottle after he finishes the previous one off, “How old were you when you met?”

“Sixteen. They moved into the home I was in at the time. Thor was this bubbly and protective sweetheart. His brother was a walking shadow, but so wicked smart. Their sister was older and she ran off as soon she could.” She can’t help but smile when she sees him only grab one, rather than two so they don’t have to share.

“I’ve only ever met Loki at the bar, he’s never been the most social butterfly. Can’t say I know the guy very well.” He pops off the bottle cap and hands her the bottle.

“He’s tricky but a good listener, and he’s the only person in the world who can challenge Bruce for who loves Thor more.” She smiles fondly before taking a sip.

“You can say no to this, you’re not bound by truth,” he tentatively puts his hands up, “But do you mind telling me why you were in a home?”

She takes a much bigger gulp from the beer before handing it back to him, but she answers, “My mom passed away when I was twelve. I never met my Dad, my mom never talked about him, so I kinda assume that if he’s alive, he has no idea I exist. No other family members so I was in the system for six years. It was hard but I had Sam and his family. I’ve gone back and visited some of my favorite homes a couple of times. When I got my scholarship it was due a lot to some of the people who worked at the homes. The system is villainized a lot but there are some really amazing people there. Still, I’ve got my issues and trauma from it all.” She’s staring at the table in a trance, and they’re both surprised at how much she just shared with him. She looks up, “What about your family?”

Bucky itches to touch her, to comfort her in some way, but he knows she doesn't need or want it. That knowledge doesn’t do anything to eliminate the electricity in his veins. “Parents live in Brooklyn still. My little sister is at NYU for journalism. My mom is Romanian and my dad’s parents were Russian immigrants, thus all the languages.” He feels a little ashamed all of the sudden. He had this perfect childhood with two loving parents and a kick-ass little sister. His gaze shifts downwards and she catches it.

“No, no, no you don’t get to have not an orphan guilt. It’s not a big deal. You don’t look at Thor that way do you? As long as you understand and appreciate what you have we’re good. Just recognize your privilege.”

He nodded, “You got it Sunshine.”

Joey starts to say something else but is stopped by the door opening. “Hellooooo,” Sam sing-speaks as he enters.

“You’re home early,” Bucky’s tone is slightly annoyed in response to the interruption.

“Barnes, your keen observations are always impressive, who knew you could read a watch?” Sam quips without missing a beat as he drops his keys in their communal bowl. “I switched shifts earlier this week with the other Sous-Chef so he could go to his kid’s recital. Therefore, I have the night off. Therefore, we are going out tonight.” He claps his hands together to punctuate his half proposal half requirement.

Bucky grins, “Have you let Steve know that this is happening?”

“Grandpa is jogging home from work, so once he’s showered and I’ve cooked him something nice, but he’s not full, I will bring up the fact that we should properly celebrate the anniversary of Joey and I’s friendship today.” Bucky and Joey both laughed a Sam’s detailed, yet necessary plan. Steve was a notorious homebody. Anytime anyone of them suggested going out Steve argued that they should just invite everyone over there instead. Joey has a suspicion that he just gets too shy and is scared to talk to any of the girls who hit on him out in public.

“Friend anniversary?” Bucky looks to Joey.

“Fiction. We don’t even remember meeting each other.”

Sam nods and enters the kitchen, “Just showed up in each other’s life with- Holy shit, “ He interrupts himself as he sees the state of the kitchen, “Joe you’ve outdone yourself. This place is immaculate.” He gives her a grateful glance.

“I didn’t do it. Bucky did.” She replies. Bucky is grateful for the recognition, but he already misses her calling him baby. He covers his disappointment with a smug grin.

Sam’s expression immediately morphs into something resembling indifference, “You missed a spot by the sink.” Bucky chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Joey, wasn’t it your day to clean?’

She nonchalantly goes into the living room and begins cleaning up her supplies. She hadn’t noticed the sun had gone down while she and Bucky sat in the kitchen, “We traded.”

“Traded what.”

“I gave him the best massage of his life and he cleaned the messiest kitchen my life.” Sam is genuinely surprised. He knows how close they are, and how fast it’s happened, he saw it their first night. But Joey did not go around touching just anyone. The number of times he’d heard her exes complain about her lack of physical affection toward them was insurmountable. He keeps his bewilderment hidden, however, “Fair trade, you’ve got mad hands.”

She walks back to the kitchen and scratches her nails on his short hair. “Don’t you forget it.” She turns and walks back to her room.

The action takes Bucky back to the practically orgasmic feeling of her hands in his own hair. His scalp feels electrified just at the thought of it.

Sam clears his throat to get his attention, “Nice job.” Sam’s glare is so skeptical it makes Bucky feel like he’s sixteen and talking to the dad of the girl he likes.

“I could’ve wiped down sink better,” Bucky shrugs.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Bucky’s head tilts with confusion and Sam clarifies, “She doesn’t trust easily. She trusts you. Don’t fuck it up.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “You gonna come at me with your shotgun if I wrong her, Sammy?”

“Don’t try me. You may have all that hair and a thick enough skull to protect from my first shot, but I’ll get you.”

They don’t say anything more, and despite Bucky’s joke, he feels Sam’s words weigh heavily on his shoulders. He picks up his laptop and books and takes them back to his room while Sam gets started on dinner. Bucky’s been engrossed in a book for about an hour when he hears a knock at his door. He gets up and opens the door to Joey leaning against the frame.

He’s got his glasses on again and an imprint on his cheek, so she deduces he’s been reading and therefore not checking his phone despite Sam’s announcement of dinner in their group chat. “Dinner,” she walks away and he follows her.

Sam and a wet-haired Steve are already at the table discussing whatever happened during their days. Sam gesturing wildly and his eyes wide, while Steve nearly choked on his food laughing. Sam looks up from his story and points to the kitchen, “Chicken masala is on the stove.”

They all sit together, mostly listening to Sam talk while the three others comment here and there. Just before Steve finishes his meal Sam looks across the table at Joey to signal he’s about to make his move, “You know, funny thing about today is it’s Joe and I’s friendship anniversary.” Sam states casually.

“Oh really, that’s sweet. How many years have you had to put up with this fool now, Killer?” Steve inquires.

She quickly attempts the math in her head, “Something like eighteen years, since kindergarten at least.”

“That’s nice,” an unaware Steve smiles to them before looking back down to his plate, “Sam this amazing by the way.”

“Thank you, Steve,” Sam kicks Bucky’s leg under the table and Bucky sends him a confused and pained look, “Did you say something Buck?”

Bucky rolls his eyes but gets the message, “We should go out and celebrate.” His tone dripping with fake enthusiasm.

Sam’s foot finds Joey’s shin and she speaks out a startled, “Yeah!”

Steve skeptically looks at his friends and then sets his fork down, “Sam, really? Is there even an anniversary?”

Sam is quiet for just long enough that Steve lets out an annoyed groan of sorts and moves to go wash his plate.

Sam follows him, “Oh come on Steve! This is the first Friday I’ve had off in weeks! Everybody else is in!”

“Sam! I’m tired! I worked all day and all I want to do is watch a movie with my best friends and pass out,” he scratches at his beard. “You do that every night! All we’re asking for is a little trip down to Asgard!” Sam pleads. Joey notices Steve’s expression change now that he knows he’s not going to some trashy club and instead to the bar Thor and Loki own together. She can see him weigh the options in his mind.

“Sam… Why don’t you guys just go without me?”

“Because we don’t want to man! Come on! We’re a squad. Everybody’s favorite foursome. I’ve got the looks, you’ve got the arts, Barnes will make us seem more interesting, and Joey’s got boobs!”

“Hey!” Joey and Bucky say simultaneously. Joey continues on, “If anything Steve has bigger boobs than I do.” Bucky laughs out loud at this but Steve and Sam are too wrapped up in each other to even hear her.

Sam and Steve continue to stare each other down until Sam sighs and says, “I will do your next three dish duties.”

Steve hesitates and then sticks out his hand. They shake on it and Sam turns to them with a blinding smile, “It’s time to party bitches.”

Never wash a cast iron with soap.

@buckybarnesxoxo 

[sugakookielix]

Hi!! I was hoping for a ship!

I use she/her pronouns.

I am an art student-although at some point would like to go into the medical field. I always wished I had stuck to an instrument (played a lot when I was younger) my ADHD brain now has me bouncing, trying to learn as many as possible! Currently teaching myself piano! I love road trips-especially the ones where you purposefully get lost in the desert somewhere. And when I get into the zone of working out (which isn’t often-but does happen occasionally) my preference for sport is surfing or rollerskating!

Personality wise, I think people would describe me as loyal, sometimes too much. I put in a lot of effort to make sure my friends are comfortable and taken care of (often at my own expense) but am definitely wary in the beginning of who I give that attention too. I have lots of kids in my family, so I do love kids, but don’t really know if I want them myself. I do believe being surrounded by so many kids also gave me a lot of patience, however. I have very few friends, but all ones that I am incredibly close with, and that is a priority for me. Finding a few great ones, rather than a bunch of crap ones! (And ironically all that live far away. I am a magnet for long distance friendships-which gets lonely at times) I have never been into the party scene. My social anxiety, would NEVER. I’d so much more prefer making a yummy (carb filled) dinner, having a beer, and snuggling on my couch with my dogs, watching a movie. I’m a BIG sleeper, I tend to have really vivid dreams, so I always really enjoy going into that space. And truthfully, on days where there is nothing expected of me, will only go out to take my dogs to pee! I’m definitely a homebody!

I saw others mentioning their looks, so I will go for it as well! I’m average build. Definitely curvier, and slightly heavier than I would like to be, but numerically, considered average. I am 5’2 (so pretty short) with blonde curly hair, freckles, and (depending on if I go out) pale to medium skin tone.

My bias is Yoongi. (If you didn’t guess at this point 😂)

And I guess a fun fact about me would be that I am adopted, and raised in a single parent household!

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Requested by @ellierebekah227 Honestly, this was a bit of a tie between Tae and Yoongi, so I went with the member I thought of first! I hope you like it! Gifs are not mine.

Who I ship you with:

TaeTae has his moments where he can be energetic and outgoing, but also where he can be quiet and laid back. So if you weren’t feeling up to anything overly hyper, he could definitely adapt. He is also definitely okay with just staying home and cuddling up with you and the dogs, though he may try to take you out once and a while to hopefully break you out of your shell. Nothing too major of course, just like taking the dogs to the park or going out for a nice dinner. While he is a member that would like to have kids in the future, he wouldn’t push you if they weren’t something you wanted. The fact that you are patient and like kids is already enough to have him falling for you. He is a very family oriented person, so small things like that would mean the world to him. Play dates between your dogs and Yeontan while the two of you relax are very common and your go to date. He also definitely enjoys hearing about the dreams you have if you are willing to share, as he finds them interesting and you both have something to bond over. 

His favorite things about you: That you like children, hearing about your dreams, that you are learning different instruments. 

First date: Due to your anxiety, the two of you would agree on a simple movie night. Making dinner and then spending the night snuggled up on the couch. 

Mini Scenario:

While you had originally told Taehyung to come over later in the evening, giving him enough time to freshen up from practice and you a chance to make dinner. It seemed he had other ideas, given he showed up at your door step a good three hours before he was supposed to. He had said something about practice being let out early which you may or may not have actually believed as you let him inside, still recovering from the shock of his appearance. It was only when he bent down to pet your dog that you finally reacted to the idol in your living room. 

“Not that I don’t love surprises,” you said softly, “but you could have given me a bit of a warning so I could straighten up a bit and start dinner.” 

“That ruins the fun of the surprise though!” Taehyung argued, never once taking his attention away from the animal in front of him. Standing up after a minute, he smiled his famous boxy smile at you, “Besides, everything looks fine and now we have even more time to spend together!” You supposed that you couldn’t really argue with that fact now could you? 

“I guess I will go get started on dinner then,” you said after an awkward moment of silence. 

“Perfect!” Tae exclaimed, “I’ll help!” There was a part of you that wanted to argue against it, since he was the guest and it would be a bit odd to have him running around your kitchen. However, it would be a lot faster with the both of you, and he looked so excited about it as well, so how could you say no? 

“Alright fine,” you agreed, albeit a bit hesitantly, “come on! Let’s go then. The sooner we finish dinner, the sooner we can eat and start watching movies.” You began making your way to the kitchen before pausing again, “Do you even know what we are going to watch?” Taehyung, who was not far behind you, nodded eagerly. 

“I have a few different ideas depending on what your preference is! Though if there is anything specific you want to watch we can do that as well!” You couldn’t help but laugh a bit as you nodded, of course he had everything planned out. 

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Quick note (for the requester, this has nothing to do with you btw! Just want to make this note real quick instead of writing another update.) If you have submitted a ship request and havent gotten it yet, please know I am working on them just very slowly. My family and I are going through a bit of a hard time at the moment and I have been offline (Quick update can be found here) I am slowly getting back to writing and will be finishing my current requests. But all requests are CLOSED for the time being. If you submit a request now it will probably be ignored as I am so far behind and need to catch up before taking new requests. Thank you for understanding!

[movingaccounts-rip-blog]

Light shone through a small gap between two heavy curtains, seeping through the eyelids of a certain purple haired girl. A small, frustrated groan rumbled in the back of her throat as she turned, burying her features in the warmth of the figure next to her, earning a muffled chuckle of affection. There was a soft coo of her name, to which she ignored with a passion, tangling herself further into the mess of blankets. There was a slight prod to her ribcage, causing her to whine and curl into a ball. “Mal…” It was practically sung in a tone of warmth and amusement, and eyelids grudgingly fluttered open to reveal green irises. Her vision was fuzzy from sleep, but she could still see brown eyes swimming with endearment and a tangle of blue hair. There was a flutter in her stomach when the other girl smiled. “Mal, it’s almost time for school. You have to get up.” The thought alone made her lower lip stick out in a pout, and Evie laughed, making it rather challenging to appear saddened. “Come on.” The blue haired girl attempted to detangle herself from the heavy quilt, but only succeeded in getting her legs stuck, earning a snicker from Mal. Her features took on an expression of faux offense, scoffing. “You think it’s funny, do you?” The other nodded in response, causing her to grumble under her breath and push the girl away, much to her displeasure. “I’ll show you funny.” Managing to unwrap herself from the blanket, Evie shoved the shorter girl off the bed, huffing. Mal landed awkwardly upon the floor, groaning as she tried to free her arm from underneath herself. She pouted once more when forcing her torso into a sitting position, bangs brushing just underneath her eyelids and casting the view before her in a purple haze. “How rude.” Her only answer was nimble fingers wrapping around her own and lifting her to her feet, although she didn’t really want to carry her own weight, and instead leaned against the taller girl, which practically forced said girl to wrap her arms around her small frame, else she would have fallen over. “M, seriously. We have to get ready. Or I least, I do. My hair is a mess.” The fairy descent almost scoffed, marveling at how Evie said that so easily. Her hair always looked perfect, no matter what. Come to think of it, she always looked perfect, no matter what. The sudden thought of affection caused heat to rise to her cheeks. Once again, there was a prod against her ribcage, and Mal elicited a sigh. “Fine.” Removing herself from the others girls embrace, she perched on the edge of the bed and slipped her feet into the combat boots below, not noticing the sympathetic smile sent her way as Evie grabbed her brush from the bathroom counter. Having some trouble with the laces of her shoes, she pushed magenta locks out of her vision in frustration, but her sight was still blurry. Squinting, she managed to pull the purple and green strings(she mixed two pairs together)through the loops and tie them at the top, but had more trouble than when she had first learned to tie shoes. After rubbing her eyes, though, her vision seemed just fine. But, without her knowledge, just fine to her was still more blurry than most.

By the time Evie was satisfied with her makeup and whatnot, Mal had been leaning against the doorway for ten minutes, a purple jacket thrown over her purple t-shirt with stains of green, and a green beanie sitting just below the tips of her ears. Normally, the girl would have arched a brow at the crown of braids placed atop Evie’s head, but now there was a simple upward quirk of her lips as she extended her arm, allowing the other to loop hers around it. Opening the door, Mal gestured toward the hallway, tilting her head the slightest. “After you, Princess.” The blue haired girls giggle entered her eardrums like a melody, and her fingers itched to paint her smile somewhere permanent. Although, it seemed to have already found its place in her mind.

By the time the core four were in Remedial Goodness 101, Mal’s eyes almost hurt from squinting, even at some small details that were only a couple inches away. She could feel Evie frowning from beside her, but chose to ignore, instead writing down some sloppy answer in frustration on the paper below. The door clattered behind them and broke her concentration, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Ben walking into the classroom, an awkward smile on his face. She arched a brow. “Excuse me, Fairy Godmother, may I speak to them for a moment?” The woman in question looked a little confused, but shrugged good-naturedly. “If you must.” The young King stood in front of them, small pamphlets held in his hands. “Normally, a King would do this via email, or scroll, depending on what era, but as your friend, I would like to personally invite you all to Auradons’ traditional Summer Ball.” Mal could feel Evie perk up beside her, and almost rolled her eyes. Almost. Instead, she was challenging herself out of frustration to see if she could mark out the details of the Beast pendant on Ben’s blue jacket, but ultimately failed, frowning. “It takes place in two weeks, and you may bring whomever you’d like.” … “Yes, Carlos, you may bring Dude.” There was a small cheer from Jay and Carlos’ side of the room. “The details are on these pamphlets,” he began, setting one on each desk. “And I hope to see you there.” Mal glanced at the sheet of paper in front of her, and grit her teeth. The text was so small that it was just black fuzz to her, and the fact that she couldn’t even make out a letter grated against her nerves.  Before the King could exit the room, she called his name, hesitating slightly. “I, erm…What time is this ball, again?” Ben tilted his head with a curious smile, raising a brow. “It’s on the very front of the pamphlet.” “Right…” Mal turned back to it, expression defeated as she tried to read it once more. She felt a slight nudge in her side, and turned to see Evie almost pouting in worry. If not for the situation, she would have found it extremely adorable. “Are you alright?” The girl nodded, although adverting her eyes and running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, totally.” Her gaze was brought back to the other when her hand was placed atop her own, and she felt guilty when met with concerned eyes. “I swear, I am…I’m just tired, is all.” It was obvious Evie didn’t believe her, but she tore her eyes away anyway, finishing her(rather easy, honestly)homework just as Carlos turned in his. To be quite honest, they didn’t even need this class anymore, but they did have to finish this grade, and someone(probably the previous King)set it up to where they wouldn’t advance unless they finished it. That small annoyance caused Mal to be more on edge, and she bounced her leg until the period was officially over, and she nearly fell over from jumping out of her seat so quick, earning curious glances from her classmates. She shoved everything in her backpack and fumbled with the zipper for a moment longer than normal before slinging it over her shoulder, beginning a fast pace toward the door. She jumped when something cool passed over the back of her neck, only to realize it was Jay in a lazy attempt to swipe the dragon pendant on her choker. He fell into step next to her and rose a brow, grinning. “A little on edge today, eh?” Her shoulders uplifted in a small shrug, adjusting her bag. “Yeah, I guess.” No more words were said as Carlos and Evie joined them, only to split off a couple minutes later for a different class, Evie pecking her cheek before disappearing into the classroom. Mal and Jay had the art of sword-fighting together, and therefor spent the remainder of the school day making fun of the pictures of ridiculous poses on display.

The next day was almost the exact same, except a little worse. She had more trouble seeing, and a couple times had to ask Carlos for help during math, seeing as he sat right next to her. Later in the day, during a break between classes, Mal stopped Ben in the hallway, fidgeting with the sleeve of her shirt. “H-hey, um…is it possible that someone who still holds a grudge on me may have…I dunno…Cast some kind ofspellonmethatsmakingmeslowlygoblind?” The last words were rushed out in embarrassment, and the young King stood for a moment to sort them out, soon furrowing his brows. “No, I don’t believe so…why? Is something wrong?” The purple haired girl shook her head quickly, her nerves causing a chuckle to bubble up. She didn’t like the feeling that something wasn’t in her control, especially when it had to do with herself. “No, not at all. It’s probably-…It’s nothing.” She began to turn on her heel, but was stopped by his hand on her shoulder, gritting her teeth at the sound of worry in his voice. She hated making people feel that way, and a small part of her, hidden away, hated that she felt guilty. “Mal, what is it?” When she didn’t answer, an idea came to mind, and he brushed her bangs aside, peering into her bright green irises. Little golden specks still lay hidden in them, but they seemed unfocused, and only now did Ben notice that they were always like that, even when he first met her. Originally, he had thought she was calculating ways to trip him up, but now understands she was only trying to see his features more clearly. “Mal, have you ever had an eye test?” Of course, she frowned with confusion. “A what?” Smilingly lightly, the young male dug into his pocket, and placed a pair of black-rimmed glasses upon the bridge of her nose. She rejected them at first, then blinked, looking around with an expression of confusion and slight amazement. Taking her wrist, he led her away from the lockers, not bothering to take the glasses back. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

The next day, Mal wore a pair of squared, dark pink-rimmed glasses, and although she could see a lot better than she could remember, nerves fluttered in her stomach as she walked into Remedial Goodness, purposefully late. She had refused to wear them while Evie was around, and hadn’t even put them on until a few minutes before when Ben chastised her. She could feel her friends’ eyes locked on her, and kept her gaze downward, allowing her bangs to cover her glasses. She felt unbelievably stupid, especially since the lighter color of her hair made her look even more like a nerd. Taking her place beside Evie, she refused to look up except when it was required to glance at the blackboard, and couldn’t help feeling relieved when all she had to do was glance. No more squinting, frustration, or asking her friends to help with the simplest of questions. Just…a lot more embarrassment. After a few moments of complete silence, Evie uttered her name in a slightly confused manner, which only caused her nerves to skyrocket. She knew she looked geeky, and she hated it, and she hated being self-conscious. She had never been self-conscious about her looks, she never really cared, especially with her mother breathing down her back. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized how hard she strived to keep an intimidating look, even after her mother turned into a lizard the size of her palm. Back on the Isle, if she had looked like she did now, she would have been the center of attention for all the villain kids to make fun of. She should know, from personal experience of being the bully. But things weren’t like that here. Except…what if they were? What if- Her thoughts were cut dramatically short when Evie placed her index finger under her chin, forcing her to look up. Her other hand was used to brush strands of magenta from her vision, and she stared for a long, pain-staking moment, before her lips parted in a large grin, brown eyes twinkling. “I always knew you were cute, but not this cute.” Mal spluttered like a fish out of water, shocked, her face turning red as the other girl kissed the tip of her nose. From behind her, she could hear Carlos and Jay whistling, and even a quiet chuckle from Fairy Godmother, her face now burning like molten lava. “I do hope this means you will raise your grade above a C+, my dear.” The very tips of her ears burned, especially after Evie elicited a melodic laugh, and she didn’t even try to hold back her large, geeky grin. “No promises.”

At the end of the day, the four made their way back to Mal and Evie’s dorm- mostly because Carlos really wanted to experiment on her glasses, and partly because his and Jay’s Xbox Live ran out. Jay nudged his shoulder into hers, grinning. “You don’t mind if I call you four eyes, do you?” She glanced towards him out of the corner of her eye, raising a brow. “So long as you don’t mind getting beat up by a glasses-wearing geek.” “My glasses-wearing geek,” Evie corrected, to which Jay made a show of gagging, Carlos simply rolling his eyes. Mal grinned for what seemed like the fiftieth time that day, and returned Jay’s previous nudge, a little too hard, and nearly sending him crashing into Carlos.

However, later that night, her streak of grinning ended abruptly when all four of them ended up ducking under a table or a bed, trying to avoid the sparks jumping off her pair of glasses in the middle of the floor. “Lucifer, Carlos, what in the world did you do?!” “I don’t know!” Came his panicked answer, and Mal groaned in despair as they caught fire, Jay rushing forth and stamping them out. Beside her, she could hear Evie trying to muffle fits of giggles, and glared, glowing green eyes and all. That only caused her to laugh harder, seeing as Mal was on the verge of a large pout, which set Jay off, their emotions seeming to be on a high after so many events in just a few short minutes. Huffing, Mal grabbed the pair of glasses(which were really just fragments, now)and Carlos’ wrist, mostly because her vision was blurry again and she wanted to make sure she wouldn’t make a fool out of herself by tripping or something ridiculous. Carlos yelped as he was dragged out of the dorm, Evie and Jays’ laughter echoing behind them. “W-w-where are we going?!” “Ben’s. I need a new pair of glasses, thanks to you.”

@evieoftheisle @princess-of-the-lost HERE YOU ARE I’M SORRY IF IT SUCKS OEUHUGEG