#largely because he has to order from them sometimes when he’s crunching hard at work

[wisteriagoesvroom]

oh my god this is the guy from your developer team who codes like a million miles a minute, drinks cold brew green tea out of a stanley cup, and clocks out by 5.35pm daily to go feed his cats (there are two cats and he doesn’t really know how he got the second one. the cat redistribution system just got him somehow)

[drcrushers]

prompt: they go swimming in the styx

out of all the rivers that loop through the underworld, the styx is her favorite. it’s the longest, and there are entire sections of it untouched - the souls only go so far downriver and beyond that, the water flows clear and true. it takes a bit of a walk from the house but it’s worth it, persephone finds. over the course of several years she’s managed to wear a decent path so it’s easier to follow. it’s not quite a secret of hers; hades knows of it, and sometimes he’ll join her but it’s rare more often than not (she’s learned her man is not exactly a swimmer, or one who likes to take breaks).

at the moment he’s bemoaning because she’s dragging him away from work upon threat of a number of things, least of all bodily harm.

"i didn't marry you for you to keep yourself slavin' away all day." she says over her shoulder as he trails along behind, probably still crunching those numbers in his head. numbers for a town he says he's gonna build to house the shades, to put them to work, to give them something to do other than wander around. give them purpose again. persephone ain't against it, but she reckons if he don't start taking more breaks then that gray that's started to show at his temples and in his stubble is gonna spread a whole lot faster.

"it won't be forever. just - for now. i want to give you the best, wife." he murmurs lowly and persephone shoots him another look that she knows he doesn't catch.

"all i want is you, darlin'. your company. that's the best." she's already kicking off her boots, sending them sailing into the dark grasses along the bank as she hops in her struggle to get the other off. she's breezily dressed today, so removing her clothes is a matter of unclipping the pomegranate inlay at her shoulder before the fabric pools at her feet and she can step out of it. ever one for comfort, she wears nothing else beneath.

the low rumble of noise that sounds like thunder behind her is a sure sign she has finally caught her husband's attention proper. all bemoaning is gone and when she turns he's standing there like a statue except those eyes, which are suddenly much darker and roam over her like a mortal man would any olympian feast. she grins, full of wild abandon, before she steps into the cool waters and wades into the river. the styx ain't too deep near the edges, but as she wades further into the wide river the ground slopes and she's forced to start treading water. by the time she turns again, hades is finally loosening his tie and she knows she's won.

he's meticulous in the way he undresses, folding things neatly whereas her garments lay in an unkempt pile. persephone's curls have already started to slump from the dampness by the time he even steps a toe into the river. they're safe from any prying eyes here, no shades to interrupt so there's no need to worry about their lack of clothing in order to enjoy the water across their skin. she watches in silent triumph when she sees him relax a fraction of an inch when the water hits his back, even more so when he finally reaches where she's swam out to. large hands envelop her from beneath the water and she smiles a bit too broadly.

"better?" she cocks a brow, sliding her arms around his neck as he holds her and treads water and suddenly the rest of the world melts away. she rakes a wet hand through his hair, thumb brushing against the gray at his temples fondly - it suits him, even if she hates seeing the signs of age on him every winter when she returns. another patch of gray, another set of lines around his eyes or mouth. it's hard, the suddenness of it - and it becomes more every year. she's luck to have a few more freckles or a few more light streaks in her hair from the sun - time wears on him far faster.

"gettin' there." he says lowly, as if it might kill him to relent to her being right, that this would serve as a de-stressing aid and more time spent with her. it's easier for him to forget work when they can spend time together outside of the house and away from his office.

her legs wrap around his waist and he easily holds her weightless frame against him. persephone brushes her nose against his.

"and now?"

hades hums and it nearly vibrates every inch of her body for how closely they're pressed to each other, how tightly wrapped around him she is.

"you're a real distraction, you know."

"i'll take that as a compliment." she kisses the corner of his mouth and draws away before he can protest. "c'mon. bet i can reach the other side before you."

"and what's my prize if i win?"

"you're a smart man, darlin' - i'm sure you can figure it out."

[thetaxicabber]

Crossposted on AO3

In the Shadow of Choices

Chapter 2

It’s dark outside and clouds are concealing the moon and the stars. The breeze blows in from the west. Once more Sebastian wishes he had robes. Had he known he’d get called to work he would’ve dressed differently. His suit is not for dueling. He doesn’t even get to wear it often since he hardly ever goes out besides to work.

A camp has been set up in the clearing. There’s a few tents and a handful of fires. Sebastian is a little surprised by the amount of aurors already here. This must be a big deal to have called them in too alongside so many. Though he and Ominis are always the most successful. They’ve never failed to catch a mark before. They’re about to set a record, one that was set by their former Potions Master. Ominis is eager to do so since he loathes potions so much. The only reason he passed his NEWTs was because of Elise tutoring him. That’s when they started seeing each other.

“What do you think is going on?” Sebastian asks his best friend.

“Nothing good,” Ominis mutters.

The duo cross through the grass and it crunches under their leather boots. Sebastian leads Ominis to the main tent, made of canvas the color of sand.

Their boss, Theodore Rowle, is a large man. He stands taller than both Ominis and Sebastian. Lately he’s grown his facial hair out and it’s dark brown and peppered with grey. He’s a hard boss but a good one. He knew Solomon from back and the day. Wasn’t his biggest fan apparently. Sebastian respects him for that. He regrets his actions but he never liked his uncle. He didn’t care for he and Anne like he should have.

“Sallow….Gaunt,” he greets them both a with a head nod. There’s always a running bet in the office on if someone can get Rowle to smile. It’s harder than anything he’s faced in the field. Sebastian knows he’s funny and quite charming. But Rowle is immune to everyone.

“Sir.” They reply in unison, a force of habit from years of schooling together.

Sebastian watches others moving around. There’s a sense of urgency in here. One that he didn’t expect. Next to him, Ominis is watching it all unfold. His wand is clenched tightly in his hand. “Everyone is on edge,” he whispers to Sebastian, voice as light as a feather.

Sebastian is realizing the same thing. Even Mr. Rowle looks a bit flustered. His cheeks are shiny red, like a child that’s been scolded by Professor Weasley.

He clears his throat, stepping forward to gain his attention. “Sir? What’s going on?”

Mr. Rowle lets out a loud huff, almost as if he’s annoyed. “We’ve received word from our contact at the Indian Minsitry of Magic. It seems that a small gang, known for their use of Dark Magic, is set to arrive here tonight.”

Dark magic users from India? Sebastian ignores the surge of curiosity that he’s grown used to. He’s never really travelled and he used to long to get away from England. He wanted to learn magics from all over the world.

“What do we need to do?” Ominis asks their boss for orders. He’s the opposite to Sebastian in that sense. Sebastian is always a wing it kind of man. He loves the research of course. But Ominis loves to plan accordingly in sometimes agonizingly slow meetings.

“Fall in line and prepare for a battle,” Rowle barks at them. They don’t wait to follow orders and they join their fellows in setting up a perimeter around the camp. It seems they’re expected to arrive here and they’re casting wards and charms in the area. None know exactly who they’re looking for which is a little annoying.

If they have this great contact in India, why didn’t they give them a description? Just dark magic using gang is a bit underwhelming. Sebastian is used to detailed descriptions when hunting his targets with Ominis. Ominis even has a sense when dark magic is involved.

Ominis is also an annoyingly good legimens. Sebastian has been working extra hard on his occlumency. Ominis doesn’t need to listen to his thoughts. He’s been working on legimens himself during his free time. The old Sebastian would want to master such a strange form of magic.

With all the protections in place they’re as ready as they can be for these criminals. Sebastian wonders what exactly they’re guilty of to get such a response from the Department of Law Enforcement.

It must be something quite bad he thinks. He’s never seen such a response team. Though crime in the wizarding communities has gone way down since the Ashwinders were finally dismantled.

Perhaps this will be exciting, Sebastian reminds himself. It’s been awhile since he got into a duel with the real fear that he could be killed. He’s craving that kind of excitement. The same kind of excitement that he got from sneaking to the restricted section back at school.

Rowle holds a hand up and any chatter between aurors is silenced immediately. They’re concealed by a magical barrier so anybody coming won’t see the force in front of them. He and Ominis are standing beside each other. Ominis is their best warning system. He can sense presences even in places like this.

Ominis raises his wand arm. The tip of his wand is pulsing faster. The red flashes over his pale skin. Sebastian watches his friends eyes narrow. Without a word he points ahead where the forest lies. Sebastian doesn’t need him to speak. Whatever is out there is just ahead. Ominis holds up two fingers and Sebastian knows it means they’re about twenty paces away.

Moments later a man breaks through the tree line. His hands are in his trouser pockets and he’s whistling a jaunty tune. He has skin the color of caramel and he’s wearing a black top hat. A gold ribbon is wrapped around it. The rest of his clothes are just as fine. His jacket is black and it’s hanging open, revealing a burgundy vest. There’s a dark tie knotted pristinely at his throat.

There’s a bit of skip to his step as he comes closer to their ambush. He’s going on like he doesn’t have a care in the world. That’s good for them. It means they weren’t tipped off.

On Rowle’s signal they advance, forming a circle on their unsuspecting target. He’s kicking the dirt with shiny leather shoes. Within moments the man is surrounded. Rowle breaks the enchantment and twenty witches and wizards have their wands trained on him.

Sebastian watches him freeze as he realizes his predicament.

“By order of the Minsitry,” Rowle raises his voice. “Surrender peacefully or we will take you by force!”

The man glances up and his eyes are so dark they nearly blend into the night. He’s certainly not from around here. He holds up his two gloved hands in surrender. There’s a cheeky smile suddenly on his face. Sebastian isn’t sure what to make of that look. A strange sense of anxiety washes over him.

“Well this isn’t the greeting I was expecting.”

Ominis raises a single brow at the mocking tone. They’re not used to getting mocked. Anybody they arrest is usually frightened of them.

“On your knees!” A voice orders harshly. Sebastian is a little surprised nobody casted a stunning spell just because. Aurors have been known to cast first ask questions later. He’s done it more times than he can count.

The man shrugs and kneels down flippantly. He’s clearly not troubled by this. Maybe he’s been arrested before. That might at least make his attitude understandable.

Ominis suddenly falls still and Sebastian turns, instantly understanding he’s sensing something wrong. It’s that odd sixth sense he has.

A black wand appears in the man’s hand faster than one could move. It’s curved. “Vermillious!” The man shouts and red sparks are dancing across the black sky. Rowle curses violently.

“Expeliarmus! Incarcerous!” Sebastian whips his wand up to bind the prisoner before he does something else. He catches the wand as it flies towards him. It’s not Ollivanders work that’s for sure.

The man is struggling against what binds him. “You’re going to regret this!” He hissed at them. “I was just walking! Bloody British bastards!”

“Nice work!” Rowle praises him, not taking his eyes off their prisoner. Sebastian beams, he’s always well known for his dueling. It’s why he became an auror in the first place. He’s always quick to draw and even quicker to cast.

Two other aurors, an older duo, Matthew and Sophia have moved up to drag their prisoner backwards. Hopefully they intend for him to return to the Minsitry so they can question him.

“Something’s wrong,” Ominis mutters and Sebastian notices he’s shifting beside him. Ominis is never so fidgety. He’s not facing the prisoner, but the dark woods surrounding them. His wand is pulsing again as Ominis casts out his senses.

A loud crack of thunder cracks through the sky. The sound is so powerful it shakes the ground. Sebastian flinches and he hears others reacting in surprise to the change of weather. The hazy clouds above their heads darken to a deep, angry, grey.

This is not thunderbrew. This is something else. Their prisoner starts to laugh, a cackling kind that has Sebastian fuming.

A flash of blinding white light that must be lightning has him turn away from it. It’s so bright his eyes burn.

As his eyes adjust to darkness again he gasps at the sight of a figure in the clearing. His heart falls to his stomach so hard he flinches.

Everything around him seems to slow down. Ice seemed to crystallize in his veins, freezing him. He suddenly can’t breathe, can barely think.

Standing in the grass, only thirty feet from him, is MC. Her hair cascades down her shoulders. The breeze blows it back, revealing her face. Her cheeks are still freckled though they’re thinner than they were. She’s still just as short but somehow she seems so tall. She’s filled out, her curves visible in the trousers and buttoned shirt. She is no longer a girl.

“Sebastian what’s wrong?” Ominis catches at his sleeve, bringing Sebastian’s focus away from her. Ominis is frowning deeply and Sebastian is sure he’s noticed his breathing has changed.

“Let him go,” MC finally speaks. Her voice tickles a part of Sebastian’s mind he’s pushed so far away he’s nearly forgotten. “Let him go or you’ll regret it.”

There’s so much more to her voice than before. There’s a hard press to it. Almost a bit of anger and coldness. Her wand is in her outstretched hand. It’s a clear threat. She’s pointing it at Mr. Rowle who has stepped forward. It’s the same wand she’s always had. The one she got that day in Hogsmeade when he walked her rom the castle. The day they met and the day he fell for her. She doesn’t seem to have noticed him and Ominis.

Ominis is clinging to his arm, preventing him from surging forward. His already pale face has gone even more pale.

Sebastian returns his gaze to MC. If possible she’s even more beautiful than she was when they parted. He notices dark bags beneath her eyes and a new scar across her mouth. It’s about the size of a finger. She looks tired and worn. Her clothes are rumpled and dirty.

“Arrest this one too!” Rowle barks at the aurors. Sebastian, rooted in place by Ominis, watches as his fellow aurors raise their wands to attack.

A variety of spells arc towards her. Shouted incantations echo through the trees. MC merely raises her wand and whips it back and forth with a speed unfamiliar to anyone but him. She deflects them all with grace and the ease of a seasoned dueler.

Sebastian jerks free from the grasp of his best friend. He surges forward, both hands outstretched. He’s not sure if he’s going to embrace her or tackle her. His thoughts are pretty much mush at this point.

“Hold your fire,” Ominis shouts as Sebastian places his body between MC and the aurors he works with.

“Gaunt! Sallow! What’s the meaning of this?!” Rowle is thunderous, face red with rage.

“Sebastian?” MC whispers his name and he can’t help but shiver. He’s forgotten the way she said his name and what it does to him.

He brings his dark eyes to meet her gaze. She’s surprised. He can tell by the way her eyes are wide. Her mouth is slightly parted. Sebastian wants to reach out and hold onto her. He wants to demand answers from her. He wants to kiss her.

“This is MC,” Ominis whispers to their boss. Sebastian feels him move to stand at his back, no doubt already prepared to shield him from overzealous colleagues should they think to cast again. “We went to school with her. She’s the Hero of Hogwarts.”

MC shakes her head, breaking their held gaze. Sebastian’s heart aches as she turns her eyes from him. He already misses it like one might miss a limb after it’s been cut off.

“I don’t bloody have time for this,” she grumbles in annoyance. Her eyes crinkling on that cute way. “Release my friend,” she spits at Mr. Rowle. Who backs up a step at the harshness of her tone. “Now!”

“Bring forth the prisoner,” Rowle calls back to the others. Sebastian watches out of the corner of his eye the nervousness that sweeps through his fellow aurors. They’ve never seen Rowle bend to anyone’s will like that.

MC was always good at that. It’s something they had in common. Sebastian hates to admit it but manipulating is one of his best skills.

Matthew brings MC’s companion back up. He’s much gentler than he was before. His jaw is tight and the angry look he gives MC is enough that Sebastian’s wants to curse him.

MC’s face softens as the man looks up at her. “Are you alright Aadan?”

“Mmmm fine,” he replies and shrugs off the man’s hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry MC.”

“Don’t ever apologize to me.” She answers softly and Sebastian’s stomach twists. Who is this man to her?

“Didn’t mean to lead you into a trap. My contact is a bastard I told you.”

She gives him a smile. The kind of smile he knows she gives to people she’s close to. She’d given it to him so often back at school. He took it for granted.

Now that she’s nearly close enough to touch he feels as if someone poured cold water down his spine.

She holds her wand out again and the bindings Sebastian wrapped on Aadan fall off. He gets to his feet, rubbing at his wrists with a small frown. Sebastian knows what that’s like. Ominis left him chained like that for hours when they were training, just as a lesson.

“You’ll still need to come with us MC,” Ominis tells their friend. “We’ve got questions for you and your friend here.”

Sebastian watches MC bristle. Her eyes flash at Ominis, though if he notices her anger he doesn’t say anything. He probably knows. He always does.

“I don’t answer to anybody.” Her voice has lowered dangerously. Goosebumps crawl across Sebastian’s skin. He’s never heard her sound so dangerous. So deadly. She’s not entirely the same girl she was. “You’d do well to let us pass.”

Aadan moves seamlessly to her side, guarding her side like Sebastian used to do years ago. He grabs onto MCs arm and Sebastian realizes what’s about to happen. They’re going to disapparate.

“MC!” He shouts her name desperately. He’ll do anything. Anything if only she’d stay. He can’t let her walk away again.

She stills with a jolt. Sebastian waits for her to meet his gaze. She does and his breath catches. Her eyes are filled with anguish. It’s an emotion he’s all too familiar with.

A million questions pass through his mind. He wants to ask about her. He wants to know where she’s been. What she’s been doing. He wants to know everything.

There’s only one word on his lips though. The main question he’s had. The one that’s kept him up at night. The one he’s agonized over. He’s not even embarrassed by how sad he sounds. “Why?”

[manonblaqkbeak]

Group Hang

..........me again. i haven’t written in so long and it feels good to start it up again. this time it’s a human au. just fluff and aelin’s bad cooking and rowan defending her bad cooking because he actually likes it

3083 words

When Aelin had suggested a dinner at their house for the next group hangout, Rowan was more than happy to accommodate that suggestion.

The last hangout was bowling, and while Rowan excelled at many sports, bowling was strangely not one of them. He almost got banned from the local one when he started swearing his head off when his last bowl was close to becoming a strike when it veered to the side and didn't knock down a single pin.

All their friends behind him starting laughing, Aelin too, when he started going on about how the floor was uneven, the game was rigged and just had a general hissy fit that he never had in his entire adult life.

To be fair, he had one too many beers and it was hot as hell in the bowling alley, the air conditioner barely working that night. So he blamed those conditions on his attitude.

To make it worse, Aelin had managed to snap a picture of him sulking in his seat, posted it on her Instagram with the caption 'when your old man sucks at bowling and comes last'. Rowan hadn't realised it until the morning when he woke up to dozen of notifications from people tagging him and laughing.

Apparently, according to his comment, Fenrys saved the picture and made it Rowan's contact photo. With others saying that they were going to do the same.

Even Lorcan, the stoic bastard, had found it funny.

Aelin laughed at his expression as they laid in bed together, and laughed harder when he sputtered, “I'm only five years older than you!” and fucked her with the vigorous strength of a thirty year old healthy man (Aelin had never climaxed so hard, which made Rowan puff up with pride afterwards, with Aelin rolling her eyes, even though her blood was singing in her veins and a dopey grin was on her face—it was her her secret joy to ruffle Rowan's feathers whenever she could).

So yes, while the aftermath of the bowling night was much better than his losing, he was more than glad to have a quiet night at home; although his friends weren't really the quiet bunch, especially when Aelin, Lysandra and Fenrys had one too many.

However, what he wasn't expecting when he and Aelin went grocery shopping that Saturday morning was when Aelin claimed that she was going to be cooking.

Now, Rowan loved Aelin, loved her so much that he had started planning the night he would propose to her, but the thing about Aelin was that she couldn't cook—at all.

But he grew to love her cooking; came to love the burned crunch that always accompanied it, came to love the under-cooked and overcooked food, loved the dryness of what she piled on his plate when it was her night to cook, the lumpy and misshapen cakes that she made whenever the desire to bake came to her.

Aelin was skilled in many things and cooking was just something she completely sucked at—like Rowan and his bowling. Truly, he didn't mind, although it did stump him how she managed to ruin a sandwich when she sometimes made his lunch for him for work.

Unfortunately, their friends were not him. Dorian, Gods bless him, still went on about the time Aelin accidentally gave him food poisoning on his twenty-first birthday with the homemade cake she gifted him.

Which was why Rowan was the cook in the relationship. His father was a chef and while Rowan wasn't as good as him, he knew enough to cook well and how to present food on a plate.

While they started their weekly shop, Aelin claimed that she was making lasagna, and Rowan was all ready prepared for the under-cooked pasta sheets, salty marinara sauce and overly milky Béchamel sauce and dry mince meat.

He offered to help but she said she would be fine. They continued their shop, with Rowan always appreciating the sight when she had to bend over to pick up something, with Aelin in turn appreciating the sight of Rowan's muscles moving smoothly when he reached for something on the high top shelves.

So here they were, hours later, Rowan watching Aelin as she moved around their kitchen, adding things in from time to time (he was fairly certain he saw her dump some cinnamon in the mince meat, but didn't say anything). She did ask for his help to stir the Béchamel sauce as she made her homemade salad dressing (which would more than have too much olive oil in it, but again, Rowan didn't mind).

He noticed that the sauce was lumpy and on closer inspection, realised that it was large chunks of onion (and why were there large onion chunks? Because she was wanted an obscene amount of onion, she said when he asked about it).

It smelled good though when it was all done and his stomach grumbled as it rested on the kitchen counter, with Aelin rushing to have a quick shower.

Her quick shower always meant twenty minutes, but Rowan tidied the kitchen as she showered and placed the store-bought garlic bread in the oven when the doorbell rang.

Sighing at the incoming whining that would occur when everyone realised that Aelin had cooked, Rowan trudged over to the front door, painted a beautiful shade of Terrasen green.

Rowan barely opened his mouth to greet everyone before they made themselves at home—Fenrys holding a large pink box from Nesryn's bakery, but the woman wasn't in the group, she had a dinner with her fiance's family tonight.

What did surprise him was Yrene's curly head as she walked in with Chaol, the man's hand wrapped tightly on his walking stick as the couple made their way inside. Yrene was a nurse at Terrasen hospital and worked insane hours, so it was a nice surprise to see her.

Dorian and Manon walked in, the latter holding three bottles of Dorian's fathers expensive wine (which either one of them probably took without asking), her black diamond engagement ring sparkling even at night. Dorian claimed that he stole it from his father when he was a teenager and he never even noticed, apparently his father didn't bat an eye when he saw the ring on his future daughter-in-law's ring finger.

Elide and Lorcan followed Lysandra and Aedion, the dark haired man having to duck slightly to walk inside.

The only people missing, other than Nesryn and Sartaq, were Vaughn and Connall—but he knew that the last two were now working night shifts and that it would be hard to catch up with them from now on. Nehemia too, as she was currently on vacation visiting her parents.

Aedion sniffed at the air as they all made themselves comfortable in the lounge room. “Where did you guys order from? It doesn't smell too bad.” And truthfully, the food did smell good—that was something that surprised Rowan about Aelin's cooking, that while somehow everything tasted bad, it always smelled like it came from a five star restaurant.

“Aelin cooked lasagna,” he said and all eyes turned to him, “and there's plenty for everyone,” he added, before any of them could make some flimsy, bullshit excuse about how one of them should maybe order a pizza.

“What do you mean, she cooked?” Dorian asked, eyes wider than everyone else's. His tone implying that she somehow managed to create a radioactive bomb.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “I mean, she's been in the kitchen all evening preparing a dinner for all of us, so you better shut up and eat it, is what I mean when I say she's cooked.”

The timer went off for the garlic bread so Rowan went into the kitchen, but before he did, he deliberately locked the front door, making sure everyone watch him do it.

He wasn't about to let them upset Aelin just because she was a bad cook.

“Yrene, do you have, like, a food poisoning kit on you, by any chance?” Dorian asked.

Yrene snorted. “No, Dorian, you'd have to go to the hospital for that.”

“Oh, Gods,” he cried.

“Dorian,” Chaol sighed, having witnessed many moments of Dorian acting like he was minutes away from dying. “You're twenty-five now, and you're not dead. I'm certainly not, and I dated Aelin for a year.”

“Yeah, when you were eighteen and she was seventeen, I don't think she even went near an oven at that age.” Dorian and Chaol were Aelin's oldest friends, as well as Elide, so they would know.

“I can hear you, you know,” Rowan said from the open kitchen, cutting the garlic bread in equal slices.

“It's okay,” Fenrys said, smiling. “I've got cake from Nesryn's and Manon has good wine, so tonight will be salvageable.”

Rowan pointed the knife at his friend, silently telling him to shut up.

Aelin chose that moment to exit the bathroom, her towel wrapped tightly around herself. Her smile was warm as she smiled at everyone and greeted them. “I'll be done in a couple of minutes, so everyone sit at the dining table. Rowan, could you see to the serving?”

“Of course.” She quickly came over to place a kiss on his cheek and rushed for the bedroom. Everyone went to the table, Dorian acting like he was walking to the electric chair, Manon rolling her eyes at his theatrics.

The glass dish was still hot as hell, so Rowan walked over carefully, hands wrapped in giraffe oven mitts, Lorcan snorting at the sight.

“Shut up,” Rowan muttered as he placed the dish down, took the mitts off and started cutting up the lasagna. He plonked down the slices, pointedly looking at everyone as he did so (except Yrene and Chaol—the young nurse saying that she's had worse cafeteria food, quickly throwing a no offence when she realised what she said, and Chaol, like he had stated, he had Aelin's food before and was fine—joking that his spinal injury was from a freak accident rather then from Aelin's cooking).

Dorian still didn't look happy, and Fenrys was frowning at his plate. Elide poked at it with her fork, Manon inspecting it with narrowed eyes. Lorcan was stoic as always.

“I swear to the Gods I can smell cinnamon,” Lysandra said. “Rowan, did Aelin put cinnamon in this?”

Rowan shrugged and acted like he didn't know.

Sitting down, Rowan looked at his friends and said, “I know Aelin's cooking isn't the greatest—”

“She's definitely not winning any prizes in the future,” Aedion muttered but promptly shut up at the scathing glare that Rowan sent his way.

“But she's been in the kitchen all evening, as I said before, and she's really excited for you guys to try it. It may be under-cooked and dry, but you if you cannot even afford the common decency to offer her respect after making everything from scratch and act like adults instead of sulking children, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave. And Dorian, do not bring up food poisoning for the rest of the night."

Rowan got mumbled apologies, with the man feeling like a scolding father, but they all sat up straight as Aelin entered, dressed and her hair thrown into a messy bun.

They all dug in, and as expected, the lasagna sheets were under-cooked, the Béchamel sauce a little too milky and far too onion-y, the marinara sauce too salty and there was definitely a hint of cinnamon in the meat, but everyone ate it, with Lorcan claiming that it wasn't too bad—which was high praise coming from him, but then again, it could be a lie, he was fairly good at that, something Rowan knew from experience. The salad did have too much olive oil, but the dressing was nice.

Dorian, though, still looked like he was being sent to his death, but ate his food, only lightly gagging once. Aelin didn't notice, thankfully, too caught up in her conversation with her cousin about the upcoming Whitethorn family reunion that she and Rowan were expected to attend. They both had mixed feelings about it since Rowan had a large family and he couldn't stand a number of his cousins and everyone would bring up his dead parents, whose death still hurt even after ten years, as they passed away suddenly. Aelin wasn't looking forward to it, since one of his cousin's was dating his ex-girlfriend Remelle and Aelin could not stand the woman for multiple reasons.

Everyone ate everything on their plates and once the wine was emptied and the cake reduced to crumbs, everyone left, thanking Aelin and Rowan for their hospitality and everyone starting to suggest what the next night out would be as they left.

Aelin and Rowan cleaned in tandem, Aelin changing into her stag pyjamas as Rowan had a quick shower himself (which was actually a quick one) and soon joined her in bed, kissing her cheek as she settled in for the night, picking up his current read.

After long minutes, Aelin said, “I heard what you said to everyone.” Rowan's eyes snapped over to hers, finding Aelin lying on her side, a soft smile on her face. “Is my cooking really that bad?”

“Not to me,” he said truthfully. “I like your brand of cooking.”

“Even the burnt toast?”

“Especially the burnt toast.”

Aelin leaned over and kissed him on the lips, once, twice, three times. “I can't believe that Dorian still goes on about the food poisoning. I think he'll still be going on about it when he's on his death bed.”

Rowan snorted at the imagery that popped up. “He probably would.”

“I have to admit that I liked how authoritative you sounded,” Aelin said, “it turned me on more than it should have.”

Rowan ran a hand up and down her arm. “I'll have to use it more often then.”

“You will,” Aelin agreed, leaning in to kiss him again. Aelin snuggled into him, tucking her head under his jaw with Rowan wrapping his arms around her.

Rowan was on the verge of drifting off when he felt Aelin placed her chin on his chest. “Rowan?”

“Hmm?”

“Rowan, will you marry me?”

He woke up at that and found Aelin's blue and gold eyes shining brightly in the lamp light. “Pardon?” was all he could manage.

Sitting up, Aelin placed a hand over his heart, Rowan's hand covering hers instinctively. Giving him a beautiful smile, the one he fell in love with, she said clearly, “Rowan, I love you so much that I can't even put it into words how much I love you—but I do know this; you're my soulmate and I don't ever want to be away from you. I love you with everything I am. So, Rowan, will you do me the honour of becoming my husband?”

Tears filled Rowan eyes as he looked at the woman he loved with everything he had. “Of course, I will.”

Crying happily, Aelin launched herself at him, kissing him wildly, wrapping her arms around him. Until she suddenly pulled away and almost fell off the bed in her haste to reach for the velvet box she had hidden in the bottom draw of her nightstand.

Inside it was a gold ring, inlaid with a brilliant ruby and engraved in the band were the words 'to whatever end', their promise to each other.

The ring fitted him perfectly and Rowan sat up, capturing her face in his warm hands as he kissed her, their tears falling.

Pulling back, Rowan gave her a smile and went to his own nightstand and showed Aelin the velvet box he had hidden away. Aelin gasped in delight at the sight of it, a wide blooming on her face as he opened it and saw his mother's gold and emerald ring.

Also engraved in it were the words 'to whatever end'.

Aelin was sure she was going to die from pure happiness.

“Aelin, I love you more than anything. I'm so glad I met you in that dingy gym all those years ago. And I don't ever want to be away from you, too. Will you do me the honour of being my wife?”

“Yes, of course, yes,” she said, crashing into him again. Rowan's fingers shook as he placed the ring on her finger. “Thank you for loving me and all my bad cooking.”

Rowan laughed heartily and kissed her soundly. “Thank you for loving me and all my sucking at bowling.”

“You really are bad at it,” she said, laughing.

“I know,” he agreed, kissing her.

This was better than any idea he originally thought of when he started thinking of ways to propose. And it was perfectly Aelin that she proposed first, considering that she was the one that asked him out first all those years ago, to say 'I love you' and to ask to find a house and be Adults together with a mortgage and everything it entailed.

And in the morning, after a rare sleep in, she called her parents and told them the news, Evalin barely able to get any words out as Aelin told them how it happened, even Rhoe, who was a bit of a stoic man, teared up at the story.

They went to their favourite cafe afterwards, getting a slice of chocolate cake on the house as Aelin told their regular waitress their news.

They went to the local garden, after visiting his parents grave, with Aelin snapping a picture of their jewelled hands, the sun making their rings sparkle in a brilliant glow and posted it on her Instagram with a simple caption stating, 'We both said yes'.

Rowan posted the same photo, the first he had in months, since he didn't post often, and he much preferred the streams of congratulations that came their way, their phones soon blowing up with calls after calls.

And as the the sun shone brighter on the beautiful day, Aelin let loose a snorting laugh that had her choking when Dorian pleaded, “Please don't bake your wedding cake. I really don't want to be sick on your special day, I'll feel like an arsehole.”

Rowan promised that she wouldn't and laced his fingers in his fiance's hands as they went to his car towards their home, deciding that last night was the best group hang that they ever had.

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 17)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 4359 Warnings: fluff, light angst

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: I know you’re excited for the wedding but we’re not quite there yet. Although I think you’ll be happy about this... mostly. Feedback is always appreciated!

HEY NEIGHBOR PART 16 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Somehow it was decided that this was a good idea, that Coney Island wouldn’t be so bad on Memorial Day weekend. You were very wrong.

Everyone had the same idea, filling the subways until they were packed as you made the long trip to Brooklyn. What should have taken just over an hour became closer to two because of overcrowding. It was hard to guarantee that eight people would make it onto the same train with all the pushing and shoving of people ensuring that they made it inside before the doors shut.

By the time you arrived everyone was hungry and the mass of people covering the large Boardwalk only added to the frustration you were all feeling. Clint, Steve, Peggy and Bucky wanted Nathan’s hot dogs while you, Natasha and Wanda didn’t. You decided to split up, going down the Boardwalk to another place that was just as crowded but offered something for each of you.

“There’s no place to sit,” Natasha said, looking around as she held a lobster roll in one hand and a beer in the other.

“Ooh, over there,” you said, pointing to a bench across the Boardwalk that was quickly taken before you had the chance to take even one step towards it.

There were a few high top tables that you could stand up in front of so you quickly ran over to an open one before someone else could. Natasha lined up her food on the table, getting the restaurant’s name in the background as she took a picture.

“Clint just texted me. They’re finally about to order.”

“About time,” Wanda said, taking a bite of her sausage and pepper roll. She nudged over her container of fries towards you and Natasha, silently offering them.

“They’re asking if we should meet up with them by the Wonder Wheel.”

“Sounds good to me,” you said while chewing, covering your mouth so pieces of your cheeseburger didn’t spit out.

Despite the crowds this brief moment felt nice, feeling the breeze from the ocean and the warm sun heating your skin. Memorial Day weekend was the unofficial start of summer and that meant you could finally begin your countdown to graduation. You had three months more to go before you would finally reach your goal and it was… scary. Scary and exciting at the same time but you couldn’t wait for that day.

“So Saturday’s the big wedding huh?” Natasha smirked.

You raised your eyebrow, not giving in to the way she looked at you. “Yes it is but we’re getting there Friday and before you say anything our hotel has two beds, okay? Two of them.” you said, sticking two fingers in front of her face.

Natasha mumbled something under her breath that you didn’t bother to decipher. Nothing was going to happen. A little dancing, a little awkward conversation with people you don’t know and that’s it.

“Horses?” Wanda asked you, tilting her head up so you could get a glimpse. Natasha looked confused but held her tongue.

Music filled your ears as you passed a group of people gathered on the Boardwalk watching others dance. It was nice to see everyone let go and enjoy the sunshine.

Wanda kissed Sam as soon as the groups joined up again in contrast to Natasha. “I don’t like hot dog breath,” she said, looking into her bag for gum or a mint to give Clint.

Making a face she didn’t see, he mockingly signed back Natasha’s words making you laugh since you understood him. Bucky held his left palm up, sliding the middle finger of his right hand over it. To your shock you realized he just signed back “rude” to Clint.

Turning towards him you asked, “When did you learn ASL?”

“When someone told me our neighbor signs.” He smiled widely and you suddenly felt light enough for the breeze to carry you away. “C’mon,” Bucky said, nudging his head for you to start walking with the group.

He adjusted the brim of his baseball cap, which was the only difference between your outfits today as Sam pointed out. You and Bucky were basically matching and he thought it was cute that you coordinated even though it wasn’t planned.

You both wore crisp white t-shirts, jeans (though yours were shorts), and converse sneakers. Arguing that you were wearing red sneakers unlike Bucky’s black ones made no difference, everyone still thought it was a very “coupley” thing to do.

As you walked towards the Wonder Wheel you couldn’t help but stare at Bucky's arms. They had gotten much bigger ever since he started working out with Sam and Steve and those muscles definitely stood out now; tanned skin with a prominent vein running down his arm you couldn’t take your eyes off of.

“Swinging cars? Oh no. I’m good,” Sam said as you approached the line.

“Me too. I’ve got a belly full of hot dogs so I’d rather not,” Clint added.

The group split with Sam, Wanda, Clint and Natasha getting in line for the stationary cars as you, Bucky, Peggy and Steve waited for the swinging ones. When it was time to load into your car there were two benches facing forward. Steve and Peggy took the front one and you guys were in the back. Bucky let you enter first and you sat down quickly so the attendant could close the door, adjusting your bag between your legs on the floor.

Steve turned his head around, smiling at you in a way that made you furrow your brows at him but your unspoken communication was interrupted as the ferris wheel began moving backwards. He faced forward again, reaching his arm around Peggy in the cramped space.

The car stopped suddenly but above you was the shadow of another cart and the sounds of screams as it rocked along its own track. Everybody on the stationary cars were missing out, this was going to be fun.

Half a minute went by before the ferris wheel moved again, this time stopping at a point where your car was able to roll forward. You expected the jolt but it didn’t mean you were prepared for it and somehow you found yourself grabbing Bucky by the shoulder as you screamed with laughter as the cart swung back and forth. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact he wished you kept your hand on him the whole time.

He envied Steve holding Peggy close. When the car reached the top he watched them kiss, a small peck to show affection and Bucky was undeniably jealous. Steve had met the perfect girl in Peggy, and Bucky felt the same way about a certain person sitting next to him.

You only accepted his request to be his wedding date because he begged, he’s sure of that. It was so pathetic for him to plead but he really wanted you to go with him, and shamefully, since he knew you had sworn off dating, this was the closest thing he would ever get.

His profile was still up on the apps, and occasionally he would make plans to meet someone. The closer the wedding got, the less frequent it’s been. He’s not proud of the fact that he’s made dates and cancelled them. He tried his best to remember to cancel in advance but sometimes he would forget, becoming lost in the music he was creating, only to find a few messages with choice language he rightfully deserved from the people he didn’t mean to stand up.

Bucky wasn’t interested in any of them, only one person was always on his mind and yet he knew he would have to let that go. Going to the wedding together isn’t going to help his feelings but he hopes by some strange logic he can allow his heart to live out whatever fantasy is not coming true and then let you go.

“You wanna hit the beach now?” Sam asked, once you all got off the Wonder Wheel.

“Yeah, Nat says my ass is pasty,” Clint replied.

Natasha’s nostrils flared as her eyes widened in shock. “You are not tanning your pasty ass on this public beach Clint!”

Laughter rang out and Clint leaned in to peck a kiss to Natasha’s full lips which relaxed her tense expression. Despite all their teasing they loved each other deeply and it made your heart ache, longing to have a love like theirs.

The crowds on the beach hadn’t let up, not that anyone expected them to. Umbrellas of every color of the rainbow were spread out across the sand and it didn’t look like there was even a spot for all of you to fit among the crowd but that didn’t stop anyone.

Your sneakers crunched on the sand scattered along the wood planks by the entrance, grabbing the hot metal railing to pull them off before you walked down onto the beach. Bucky followed suit, holding his sneakers in hand while everyone else left on their flip flops or slip-on.

The sand was burning hot against your soles that also battled against sharp seashells as you trudged your way to a spot, following behind the group. Clint’s impeccable vision pointed out a spot big enough for all of you and rushed over there staking a claim.

Steve shrugged his shoulder down to let the heavy bag he was carrying for Peggy go. She had packed a large bag with towels, sunscreen and a few collapsible umbrellas. Sam helped Steve by setting up the umbrellas as everyone else worked to set their towels down.

Pulling out a large towel you placed your sneakers inside your tote bag, holding it open for Bucky in case he wanted to protect his from the sand as well.

“Hey where’s your stuff?” you wondered out loud as he placed his sneakers inside.

Bucky clenched his teeth together making an adorable face that told you your answer before he gave it. “When you said we were going to Coney Island I didn’t think you meant the actual beach. I figured food and drinks...” he trailed off, still awkwardly grimacing.

“It’s okay. You can share mine,” you offered. Turning away to unravel the towel, you missed the soft smile that settled on his face at the prospect of being close to you.

Bucky helped smooth out the towel, a pretty teal with gold pineapples printed across the fabric. He let a small huff out under his breath, disappointed by the fact that your towel was bigger than he expected and he didn’t have an excuse to be as close as he hoped. The feeling passed just as quickly as Bucky realized how stupid his thoughts were; you were only offering him the towel, it was not an invitation for anything else.

His mental chastising paused from the moment your hands hooked on the waist of your shorts, pulling them down to reveal a bikini. A sexy snakeskin pattern in a mix of steel blue, black with speckles of white that hugged you like a second skin.

Bucky’s mouth fell open as you pulled off your shirt, revealing the matching top and he had to force his gaze away. His cheeks felt hot and with the shade of the umbrella he’s not sure he could use the sun as an excuse for his bright red face.

Sam caught the interaction, raising an eyebrow to Wanda as his mouth pulled into a deep smirk.

“Hey Bucky!” The sound of Sam’s unexpected voice startled Bucky, making him jump slightly as he whipped his head towards him. “What are you wearing man? Jeans? I hope you don’t have a speedo under them.”

Everyone laughed though the sound of your giggling made Bucky ripen like a tomato. With a shaky voice he dismissed Sam’s claim, wishing he had thought this day through and worn board shorts like everyone else.

“You’re not beach ready!” Sam said, crossing his broad, sculpted arms over his chest.

Frustrated by the sound of another innocent giggle that fell from your lips, Bucky pulled off his shirt tossing it aside. “Happy? I’m beach ready!”

The breath was pulled from your lungs leaving you unable to speak, think or do anything other than stare at Bucky. Your eyes scanned his muscular body up and down, as if he had been sculpted by the gods himself.

Your hands longed to touch every ab that was carved into his stomach and when your gaze continued lower you thought you might go feral. The deep cuts on his hips had your mouth watering and without realizing it your tongue had swept across your lips. It wasn’t until Bucky moved to sit down that your focus was broken.

“You look great,” you stated, clearing the nerves away from your throat. Bucky shrugged it off with a modest half smile, unable to fully embrace the compliment coming from you. “No really, I’m actually jealous. How the fuck do you have that body with all the pizza we’ve been eating?”

Your question made him laugh, wrinkling his nose as the smile spread across his face. The tension had eased although you were very aware of Bucky as you laid on the towel, trying not to stare at him like he was a piece of meat and you hadn’t eaten in weeks.

As Sam spoke about an ER case you were happily distracted, even though you were tempted to ogle Bucky every time he shifted beside you, cringing at the gory details. The hours passed quickly as you laid out, relaxing or talking with Peggy as Natasha, Wanda and Sam went into the water. Bucky sat beside Steve and Clint, the three of them laughing at their conversation.

Peggy spoke in a low whisper, “After the way you looked at him today I don’t think you can fool yourself much longer.”

You didn’t respond because there wasn’t much to say. Peggy saw the look in your eyes, the admission of what you both knew was true and the fear that came along with having feelings for him, knowing it wouldn’t go anywhere.

“Anyone want food? I’m gonna get more hot dogs,” Clint said, wiping sand from the back of his shorts as he stood up.

Both your heads shook and he left just as Natasha was coming back. She pulled out another towel to wrap around herself, “He’s getting food?” she asked despite knowing the answer.

Wanda and Sam returned hand in hand, drying off in the still very warm sun and asking about what everyone wanted to do afterwards.

“I’ve never been on the Cyclone before,” Peggy said, looking at Steve as they both silently recalled the story he told her about throwing up after going on it as a kid.

By the time Clint returned he had already eaten the hot dogs he bought, feigning shock to see everyone packing up. Bucky put his shirt back on, slightly wrinkled from the way he tossed it into your bag, and he caught your gaze as you were slipping on your shorts.

He looked away, lifting the towel and shaking the sand off of it. You helped him fold it up to place back in your bag and Bucky kindly removed both pairs of sneakers to avoid an uncomfortable mess.

When you made it to the Boardwalk you leaned against the railing, wiping sand from the bottom of your feet before putting on your shoes. Bucky did the same though he could still feel grains of uncomfortable sand in his socks.

Natasha and Wanda needed to change so you followed them to the bathroom to use it as everyone else waited. By the time you reached the Cyclone you were paired off to sit with Bucky again, not that you minded.

“Hold up,” Sam began, lifting his hand towards Clint, “You’re okay to ride a rollercoaster after eating but not the swinging ferris wheel?”

Clint nodded as he shrugged in response, not knowing how to explain why. Sam rolled his eyes, sharing a confused look with Wanda. They made sure to sit in the back to be far enough behind Clint, just in case.

You and Bucky were cramped together in the padded leather seats of the historic coaster; packed in like sardines and secured even tighter as the lap bar came down.

“It’s squishing my thighs,” Bucky winced, laughing as the ride began; a sharp right turn before the rickety chain began pulling the car up the hill.

Your hands were both in the air as you went down the first drop but quickly you dropped them, holding on to the padded lap bar because despite having no room to move every forceful turn had you pushing against each other.

Screams were present throughout the ride as the coaster went down steep hills and hard turns and in the end you turned towards Bucky, laughing in the pit of your stomach as you saw his hair, loose and wildly covering his face.

He combed through it with his fingers, taming it as best as he could before trying to get himself out of the seat. Once he was free he held a hand out for you to take and that’s when you felt the ache in your thighs. You hissed as you rubbed them, feeling how sore they were from the rough ride.

“Maybe Bucky could rub them for you,” Natasha whispered in your ear as she passed by, laughing, hand in hand with Clint who, defying all laws, did not throw up.

You rolled your eyes and continued to walk, a little painfully as you were still feeling the dull throb from your legs. Passing a few carnival games Steve and Sam eyed each other, their friendly competitive nature carried over from their workouts to now see who could win the bigger prize for their girl.

“Sam, I’m serious, I don’t want a giant teddy bear,” Wanda insisted but Sam couldn’t hear her.

His focus was on the best spot to aim to knock over the six tin cans. He licked his lips, a confident smile spreading across his face. Winding his arm back he let go, leaving all but one can standing.

“Let me show you how it’s done Sammy,” Steve said with swagger, as he paid for his game.

Peggy and Wanda shared a look as she also expressed no interest in a four foot bear. “Honestly, my apartment is small. I can’t have a massive bear taking up space.”

Thankfully Steve’s aim was no better, leaving two cans standing.

“Oh look at that. All those muscles and you can’t knock down more cans than me. Looks like I should be the Captain now,” Sam snickered.

You and Bucky opted for a much more friendly competition playing alongside Clint and Natasha in the water gun game. The four of you sat down on the padded stools, paying for your game and waiting for the round to begin as more people joined. Beside you a small child sat on his knees on the stool, as his mother held onto him and told him what to aim for.

Grabbing the gun you tried to position it towards the target in advance, ignoring Bucky’s comments about how he has the aim of a sniper so he always wins. At the sound of the bell the water turned on and you were an inch off from the center of the target, quickly adjusting and hoping there was some chance you could still win. The prize didn’t matter, but bragging rights certainly did.

“Number eight’s a winner!” the employee resounded.

To your left you saw Bucky’s wide “I told you so” smile, written across his face that now glowed with the flashing blue light above his winning station. Another sound made you turn your head though, the kid next to you that burst out into tears after losing. Your gaze softened as you watched his mother try to comfort him as the employee asked Bucky what color dinosaur plush he would like as his prize.

“Hey buddy,” Bucky said, ignoring the employee for a moment as he knelt down beside the crying child. “Which color’s your favorite?”

With a few sniffles he lifted his head up, tiny curled hands wiping away his tears as he asked for the purple dinosaur. Bucky proudly handed over the plush toy to the now smiling kid, accepting his mother’s thanks as they walked away.

Your heart was swelling with warmth and when Bucky turned around he was met with a soft smile you couldn’t hide. He turned away smiling, trying to hide the dusting of pink he felt forming on his cheeks.

With everyone feeling a little hungry now you followed Steve who knew about a good place a few blocks away. Walking beside Bucky your fingers brushed against his every so lightly making goosebumps ripple up your arm. You wanted to take his hand, lace your fingers together as a small sign to let him know how you felt but you were too scared.

Steve brought you to a small Mexican place that had an enclosed patio, with good music blasting and brightly colored margaritas that everyone around you seemed to have. The guys pushed two circular tables together so you could all sit, looking over the menu of food which you were hungry for but more importantly drinks that you hoped would give you the courage to grab Bucky’s hand.

Your table was with the girls though Bucky was still beside you, squeezing into the other table next to Steve.

“Mmmm nachos, and ohh tacos… I feel like I haven’t eaten in forever. I want them all,” you joked, reading over the menu.

With food on the table and a strawberry margarita in hand you felt great. Today may have been hot and crowded but it was a perfect day spent with your friends.

Natasha stood up, trying to angle a selfie with everyone in it meaning you had to lean back towards Bucky and after your drink you were a little looser, tipping your head backwards to smile at him. Bucky laughed, smiling back at you before Natasha said she was ready.

Bucky moved in closer, resting his chin on your shoulder, his long hair tickled your neck which made you giggle just as Natasha took the picture. He lingered there for longer than he should have before he sat up straight, ignoring the way Sam looked at him.

Somehow everything felt right. Tonight was the night you were going to let Bucky know how you felt. Your hand slowly inched closer to Bucky’s, reaching out for his left hand resting on his thigh. All you had to do was touch it, a light caress by your fingers, just enough to let him know there’s something you want to say without saying it yet.

“Bucky!”

The high pitched voice of a woman calling out to him made your arm jerk back into the safety of your lap.

Bucky turned to see a woman he unfortunately recognized. Whitney, a bartender he had gone on a date with two months ago and ghosted afterwards. She was nice but there weren’t any sparks. He slept with her anyway, regretfully.

With her head cocked to the side and hands on her hips she smirked as she replied. “You were supposed to text me back!”

“Yeah, sorry about that…” Bucky lied.

“That’s not very nice.” She pouted, playfully swatting at his chest. “And after that night we had!”

Bucky forced a tight smile as he looked past her in the hope that she had friends waiting for her. Whitney continued to flirt, at least that’s what Bucky thought by the sound of her voice, the way she purred her words to him even though he wasn’t paying any attention.

Relief flashed in his eyes when another girl stumbled her way towards them, lacing her arm through Whitney’s to pull her away. Bucky had never been happier to see a drunken mess, because this one was saving him from dealing with her.

“Text me sometime, okay Bucky?” Whitney cooed.

“Uh yeah yeah, sure. It was nice seeing you.” Bucky responded quickly, barely hearing what she had even said.

Before he could turn to sit back down Whitney grabbed him by the collar and pressed her lips against his. You turned away, finding solace in your drink, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

Bucky contemplated if wiping his lips would be too childish even if it’s what he honestly felt like doing. He sat down again, embarrassed that everyone had to witness that.

“So…” Sam began, breaking the ice, “Another hook up huh?”

“What? No. I… No that’s nothing going to happen. Not with her.”

Sam scoffed. “Oh so some other girl then? Have you ever tried actually dating one person?”

Steve blinked a few times at Sam’s candid question even if he agreed with the sentiment. After all this time he still didn’t understand why Bucky was so averse to dating.

“It’s just that…” Bucky started before he let out a grunting sigh.

From the corner of his eye Bucky saw your head turn ever so slightly to listen in. His cheeks began to match your margarita and he knew he couldn’t answer Steve honestly, not when he wanted to have this conversation with you in private. He hates the reputation he’s built up for himself, desperately wanting to be the great boyfriend you once thought he could be.

Bucky shrugged off the question, taking a sip of his drink instead. When his glass hits the table he looks towards you and your eyes meet for a second. His smile seems fake and you know why. He’s holding back from answering the truth because you know he probably wants to have an explicit conversation about all the girls he’s fucked, bragging about every dirty detail to the guys but he can’t because you’re there.

The rest of the night was a blur as all you could think about was how to let go of your feelings because you could never be in a relationship with Bucky.

PART 18

[sweetchup]

Not A Chance!!

Type: Shalnark x reader

Prompt: O’Inari’s Wisdom — On any day during this week, people of the ages of 19-30 years old will go through a walk in the woods carrying a clear ornament (Traditionally it used to be a Jar). The ornament is usually filled with the person’s favorite scent or perfume, Name and Phone number on paper slip, and their dream type of lover on a rose petal. When walking through the woods, the person allows the God/Goddess of the woods O’inari’s Imps to trick them into meeting their soulmate. It is a must to switch ornaments with that first person they see for it is said the imps won’t allow them to leave the forest unless they do so.

Author Note: I decided to try a different writing style with the kiss scene this time. Tell me what you guys think.

(Prompts/Rules) (Masterlist)

“Hey (y/n), Bisky, What’s this?” Gon asks. His voice was hardly heard over the many chattering of the NPCS and other players in the city as you looked at him. Gon first shows Bisky, who was closer to him, a baby blue flier that you couldn’t quite read from where you were standing. “Is it some sort of Greed Island event?”

“Wait a minute. Gon do you not know what O’inari’s wisdom is?” Bisky questions, shocked. Walking over closer and looking from behind Bisky, you realize that the Winter Holiday of O’inari’s Wisdom was indeed taking place on Greed island. You were slightly surprised for a second but it soon started to make sense the more you thought about it. It had started snowing on the island recently and if the game was parallel to the times in the real world then it should also be December in the game. So it just made sense that Holidays were also coded into the game to match the changing seasons.

“Oh, so it’s a Holiday,” Gon says surprised once Bisky explains it to him, “We didn’t celebrate it on Whale Island. Maybe it’s because I was so young. But, at the very least, (y/n) will be able to celebrate it with us.”

“Huh?” You murmur confused. You never mentioned anything about doing it, “I’m not doing it. Actually, why would you think I would do it?”

“Well, you don’t have a boyfriend right? So you must have not done it yet. So you should do it! It will be fun!” Gon explains enthusiastically as Bisky nods in agreement. Of course, it was just straightforward thinking done by Gon, not thinking of other possible possibilities. Man, why exactly did Killua have to leave you to take the Hunter exam again?

“I actually have done the Holiday before,” You tell the two as you start to walk away, calling forth “book” as you do so. As you examine through your binder, you continued to explain what you meant to the younger boy, “I’ve actually done it many times. Sometimes doing a full week some years. Other times going to different locations from other cities or towns. But in all the years I’ve done, I never once heard nor bumped into anyone else in the forest. So I just gave up on th—”

Bisky suddenly cuts you off with a loud exaggerated gasp.

“Oh My~ Then that must mean you really do have a soulmate out there (y/n)! What powerful young love!!” Bisky states dreamily as sparkles and flowers seem to dance around her. All you can do is sigh at the older woman antics and continue on your way. Honestly, to you there was no way Soulmates could exist. Not a chance! There was just no science nor reason behind it. Nen could be explained. Monsters could be explained. But soulmates, not at all. It was just some made up myth with no hard facts.

As you make your way to the gate of Aiai, you feel Gon tug at your top to catch your attention.

“But, (y/n)?” You take your eyes away from your binder to look at Gon. “Do you think you could try? Perhaps one of the needed 99 slot cards is given at the event.”

“Oooo, good thinking Gon,” Bisky states looking at the flier and then looking at you. “With that possibility, I order you to do it then (y/n). Afterall, you are the only person who could do it out of us.”

You and Bisky stare at each other tensely for a little. Slightly challenging each other to step down until eventually you give up and finally look away. Even though you aren’t looking at her, you can hear Bisky doing a dance in success. “Fine then where do we go to take place in this event?”

“Apparently, you can get there by using an Accompany to Winterfell. We don’t even need to go there beforehand to use the accompany card.” As Bisky explains, you flip your binder and grab a spare accompany card. This is the last one from your binder so Gon and Bisky will have to start using their ones from now on. Well, Until you can get to Masadora to get some more.

“Okay then, let’s get this over with,” You state. Though for some reason you have an uneasy feeling in your stomach as you hold the card up. You wondered why, perhaps you felt nervous? But why would you? Greed Island was hardly crowded so this is the lowest chance of meeting someone during the Holiday. Maybe it was just the fact you haven’t done this tradition in a while. Yeah, that was probably just it, “Accompany on! To Winterfell!”

—.—.—.—.—

The crunching sound of snow is the only thing you hear as you walk through the forest. For what felt goes on for miles, all you have been seeing was snow covered pine trees. Not even birds or other sources of life have been spotted while you have been walking in this forest which was quite strange. How long have you been walking you wondered. It was hard to tell but you guessed maybe an hour or so?

Stopping next to a tree, you run your hand up it’s trunk somewhat tracing the engravement in it. You had already seen this before. It was like you have been going in circles, even though you have actually only been going straight. Was this some sort of test in the game? Maybe Gon was right about a specified slot card being here.

“Book!” In a poof, your binder opens up. Or, at least that's what you expect to happen. However, it doesn’t pop up. After calling the book a couple more times, you realize it was no use. It just doesn’t work. Was this some glitch in the game?

All of sudden, a rush of wind catches you off guard. It wasn’t just any breeze however, this gust of wind was similar to that of a giant icy blizzard. You cringe as the snow in the wind pricks and scratches at your skin. You needed to take cover from the harsh wind before you freeze to death.

Quickly, when you try to look around to find somewhere to take cover, something whips into your face, blinding you. As you struggle to pull it off of you, the wind suddenly comes to a complete stop. Weird, very weird. Finally getting it off of you and taking a good look at the item, you realize it was just an in-game scarf. Actually, you weren’t even sure it was an item from the game since it had a tag from the real world.

“Hey! That’s my sc—“ Turning around at the cheerful voice behind you, you see a familiar man a couple of feet away from you. You don’t understand why you recognize the man until he suddenly goes on guard and realization hits you. Wait a minute you remember that stance. He was a member of the Phantom Troupe wasn’t he? Shalnark, right? You quickly get on guard as well when he grabs an antenna from his pocket. An manipulator, huh? In a one on one fight like this, he has the clear advantage on you.

“Hey, I’m not here with the chain user,” You state, breaking the silence between you two. You weren’t usually someone to give up but avoiding a fight with him and going your separate ways is the best way to go in this situation. Afterall, the last thing you needed was to become his newest puppet. “I’m with the kids and all we are doing is playing the game by collecting cards.”

You wrap up Shalnark’s scarf and lightly toss it in front of his feet.

“I have no problems with you guys and I don’t want to fight you.” You continue as you start to walk backward, away from him. Hopefully, that woman, Pakunoda, told the other troupe members how you deteratarted Kurapika away from the option of placing a Nen dagger in her heart and helped spared their boss’ life.

It’s quiet and tense for a couple of minutes, not even the wind was blowing, before the blonde nods in agreement to your idea. You watch as he carefully picks up his scarf and then both of you two turn away from each other at the same time to walk away. Thankfully, counting on that woman seemed t—

All of sudden, after a couple of steps, the large gust of wind returns. You tried to fight against it and continue forward but it only seemed to grow stronger the more you tried. It grew so strong in fact that it lifted you right off your feet and threw you backward. You hoped to land on the soft snow but, of course with your luck, you hit something else very hard with a loud thump. Originally, you thought it was a tree that you hit but once you roll onto your side, you come to the realization that whatever you landed on doesn’t feel anything like tree bark.

“Ow! What was that…” Shooting up at the voice, You realize it was Shalnark that you had hit. You attempt to scurry away from him fast however, as soon as you get too far away, a gust of wind drags him back towards you. You pause as Shalnark lifts his head from being buried in the snow and looks at you confused.

“I-It’s some sort of error in the game. I swear. Maybe with the coding? Or—“ You blab out in a tangent trying to explain what was going on. Soon however, Shalnark sighs loudly, cutting you off.

“That’s a really stupid conclusion you cam up with. If you had once stop to look around you in this game, you would have realized this place, Greed Island, actually takes place in the real world. Specifically a straight shot east of York New.” Shalnark explains, somewhat sarcastically. All you do is roll your eyes. Of course you got stuck with the jackass of the troupe.

“Well then since this game isn’t actually a game, what do you think is going on, if you think you are oh so right?” You spat back at him. For some reason, you just couldn’t understand why he was being so rude in this situation, it was clearly neither of yours fault.

“Simple. This,” Shalnark states confidently as he takes the ornament from his pocket and lifts it up to you. You can’t help but laugh loudly at the idea, causing him to scowl at you.

“Y-You can’t be serious?! You and I? Soulmates!?”

“Of course! You do realize that in the myth it’s impossible for us to leave until we exchange our ornaments.” Shalnark explains, tossing his ornament at you. Clutching it in your hand, you quickly examine the ornament before scoffing.

“Yeah, not a chance,” You state as you toss his ornament back to him, causing Shalnark to sputter confused. “In no ways am I giving my personal information and phone number to the tech expert of the phantom troupe. That’s just plain stupid.”

You and Shalnark bicker on back and forth for a while until eventually he goes quiet and just glares at you. Honestly, in your opinion, it was better if he just chose to quit talking. He snaps his fingers catching you off guard, “Okay I have an idea! How about I try to convince you we are destine—”

“Soulmates?” You finish for him, slightly cringing.

“Yeah, that! And if I can convince you, then you can feel safe to give me your ornament so we can both leave.”

You ponder a little on the option he suggested. Honestly, you actually didn’t have much of any others option to begin with, “Fine. What do you got to convince me?”

“Well, first,” You watch closely as Shalnark grabs the Rose petal out from his ornament. Oh, you knew where this was going, that was actually a smart idea. Maybe this guy actually had some brain cells. “I’m going to read off my dream type of lover. I bet this will describes you.”

Reading off his petal to you, you listen carefully. As the more he goes on, you can’t deny that it did somewhat describe you, almost on the dime. As Shalnark shows the petal to you to prove he wasn’t making stuff up, You decide to grab your own petal. He seems to get excited that you finally understood what he was saying.

“See I tol—“ Shalnark is cut off when you let out a loud laugh.

“Yeah no way. Mine is ‘Someone who is like the sun; always cheerful as well as mentally bright.’” You read off, chucking it back into the ornament.

“Hey! I’m pretty cheerful! And bright!” Shalnark states, finally flashing you a smile for the first time you’ve been with him.

“Ha, I doubt that.” You say, though you can’t help but feel your heart skip a beat at how handsome he looked with a smile on his face. Your eyes go wide and you mentally slap yourself. What in the world were you thinking just now? You were flustered over him?!, “N-Next! What’s your other ideas?!”

“Aw come on!”

After a couple of more attempts from Shalnark to prove you two are soulmates, as well as many more confused borderline bipolar back and forth feelings on your end, Shalnark has run out of ideas and you two sit in silence as he tries to come up with more.

“Is that all the ideas you have?” You ask him shivering slightly as you pull your jacket closer for warmth. Looking up towards the sky above the thick pine branches, you see that it had just started to get darker out, effectively making it ten times colder as well. It now dawns on you that at this rate with your progress, you two could possibly freeze to death out here if you couldn’t get to a warm shelter before night.

“Shalnark. Here I—“ You suddenly pause what you were saying as you turn to face the man, “what the hell do you think you are doing…?”

You looked confused at Shalnark, who had moved closer to sit next to you. You didn’t know what he was up to but you definitely still didn’t trust him. As you try to lift yourself up to move away, Shalnark quickly grabs your wrist to keep you put where you were. Oh hell no. You struggle against his grip, attempting to pry his fingers off of your wrist but while you are distracted he uses his other hand to grab your arm. Effectively trapping you.

You struggle against him a little more but it only causes him to push you backwards down into the snow, him slightly leaning over you. Now nervous about what Shalnark was possibly doing, you shout out to him, “H-hey! I’ll give you the ornament okay? I don’t want—“

You feel the rest of your words die in your throat as Shalnark leans his forehead against yours, causing him to get very close to your face as well. Biting the inside of your mouth, you close your eyes tightly as a way to try calming your pounding heart. You couldn’t tell if your heart was racing out of fear or possibly something else. Though, again, it wasn’t like you could think straight at this point on time to figure which one. Cutting off your thoughts, Shalnark lets out a boyish giggle and tells you, “For someone who says they hate me and doesn’t believe in soulmates, your face sure is feeling quite hot. It’s almost as if you are flustered by me.”

Quickly, most likely in an attempt to save your dignity, you turn your face away to him so his face could no longer touch yours. As you do so, your heart leaps out of your chest when you hear him let out a small aww in disappointment.

“H-hey! I said I’ll give you my ornament so let go of me!” You sputter out, trying and likely failing at keeping yourself composed. You know it’s hard for you to think logically in a situation like this but you would’ve thought you had enough common sense in you to not get flustered by a mass murder.

“Hmmmm… Nope” Shalnark answers, popping the “p” at the end. Surprised and bewildered, You whirl your head around back to look at him. He seemed to get a kick out of your reaction because he can’t help but laugh. “You are correct by the fact that all I wanted originally was to take the ornament and leave. But the more we went on, talking and bickering, I realized I wanted something else.”

“H-huh? What? I don’t have much of anything else.” You questioned. Was he talking about cards in the game? Gon carried all of the number slot cards so you didn’t have anything that was useful to Shalnark.

“Silly girl~ It’s simple.” Shalnark flashes you a smile as he boops your nose with each next word, “I. Want. You~”

As you give a weird expression in response to Shalnark flirting attempt, he looks at you confused as to why you looked like that before full on laughing, when what looked like steam started to flow from out of your head. He couldn’t believe he fried your brain with a silly pick up line. It wasn’t even a good one either.

“Adorable~” Shalnark whispers out so softly and quietly that you almost don’t hear it. You go to ask him to repeat what he said again, but stop when he leans down. He wasn’t—

You can only watch as he inches closer and closer to your face. You don’t get why you don’t stop him, you know you probably should. But you just couldn’t for some reason you didn’t quite understand.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Shalnark kisses you. Stealing your first kiss, a precious thing you could never be able to get back from him. Though you doubt you would even try if you were able to.

As his lips moved against yours, you had to admit they were surprisingly soft, not at all rough or chapped like what the very few romance books you’ve read over the years described. Though you had to admit those boorish books were right about one thing, kissing someone was a feeling you’ve never once experienced before in your life. Authors have described the experience in many different ways but as Shalnark pulls away from your lips only to dive it once. Twice. And so many more times that you’ve lost count, you realize yours wasn’t like the ones written down. It didn’t take your breath away, it wasn’t rough or deep, it wasn’t messy or desperate.

But, it was yours. A feverish kiss if you must find a word to describe it. A kiss that even while pushed down into the freezing cold snow, you felt you were burning up inside. So much so, that your brain seemed to melt and your muscles turned to jelly from an non existent heat.

Finally after a while, you two pull away from each other, still in a trance like state from what happened. It’s quiet, nothing is heard nor said between you two as you just stare at each other. You know it is now dark out. You know you should be trying to get back to Gon and Bisky before they worry. You know it would be in your best interests to try to get away as far as you can from the dangerous man before you. You know you shouldn’t be feeling such feelings for him, for it is too soon and he probably doesn’t even deserve to be able to experience a pleasant emotion like this one. You know all these things almost as if they are engraved in your heart.

But, even when knowing all these things, you can’t stop yourself from dragging Shalnark back in to give you another kiss.

[wienerbarnes]

Left for Dead (2/2)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 2,991

Warnings: mentions to bombs and ships and stuff, baking 

A/N: yay pt 2 enjoy!

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

“Her clothes came back with traces of bomb ingredients and she still has no memory of anything that happened to her or anything about this bomb.” Sam briefs the three of you.

It’s later in the day, now, about five in the evening when Sam gets word back from his agents.

“What if she was forced to make the bomb?” You find yourself offering.

Sam waits a moment while looking at you before he responds, “How sure are you that she didn’t do it?”

“Very.”

He sighs, “You were seeing German but my agents said she told them she doesn’t know a lick of any language other than English,”

“That she remembers.” Bucky interrupts.

“That she remembers. Sharon, I want you to look into German bomb manufacturers around here.”

Sharon nods and stands and makes her way out of the room. The three of you occupy a smaller conference room, about a third of the size of the one you were in this morning.

“I want to try again. With my visions. Maybe, with something from evidence.” You suggest.

“Are you sure?” Sam asks, more out of concern than of skepticism.

“Yes.” You reassure him. You haven't paid much attention to Bucky since Sam called you down just now, you find yourself getting a bit invested into the cases and wanting to solve it and figure out what happening, and you don’t want to let Bucky’s pretty face distract you. Such a pretty face it is.

You roll your eyes at that voice again. Being surrounded by so much information is kinda making your brain go haywire, you find. These voice haven’t bothered you since prison, only every once in a blue moon, but they’ve been non-fucking-stop since you’ve gotten on the case.

Makes for a good seat, too. “Shut up, would you?!” You yell, quickly realizing that you said that out loud instead of in your head. Embarrassment floods your body immediately and you look up to see both men staring at you in surprise.

“Uhm, sorry. It’s nothing, can I see the box?” You gesture towards the large brown box labeled evidence.

Sam plops it at your feet and you sift through the copious amounts of plastic bags until you come across a piece of fabric.

“It’s a piece of the dress she was wearing when she was found. Another piece was sent off to the lab which is where they found all those bomb-making chemicals on it.” Sam informs you.

You take a deep breath and remove the cloth from the bag and roll it around your fingers. You’re fingers grip it hard and feel it softly, trying to conjure up something, anything, in your head.

“It’s not a carrier,” You begin, the ship showing up in your mind, but your knowledge is foggy from when you were a Marine.

“Submarine?”

“Destroyer?”

“Cruiser?”

“Battleship?”

“I - I - don’t know… fuck,” You clench the fabric in your fists in an attempt to cease their shaking. All these ships look the fucking same anyway.

Not to the Navy, they don’t.

You ignore it and continue, “I - I - I see a man,” A whine escapes you as the emotion becomes overwhelming, “He’s bald and - and white and like forty? Maybe? Uh,”

You sniffle, “Prince, Prince, Prince, Prince, I don’t know why I’m seeing Prince.”

“Like the singer?” Sam questions.

Bucky gently takes the cloth from your hands, “I think that’s enough for now.”

You try to catch your breath and hastily wipe the tears that escaped your eyes. “I was a Marine, why can’t I remember the ship?” You ask more yourself than the other two people in the room.

Maybe it's all the crazy taking up so much space it’s gotta push some of the older info out.

Ignore. It.

“Cruisers are named after battles and destroyers are named after names, maybe Prince is a destroyer ship. I’ll have an agent look into all current operating ships and see if any matches come up. Barnes, go give Sharon the description of this bald white guy, see if she can use it to match with a bomb manufacturing place.”

“Yes, sir, Cap.” Bucky stands from his seat beside you and exits the room.

The two of you sit in silence, now; you’re not really sure what to do. Should you leave again? Wait until they need you? Stay? Make small talk with Captain America?

“Can I ask you something?” Sam interrupts the quiet.

“Sure.”

“Why are you so adamant about being here? You’re pretty good at this investigative stuff and I think you have a lot of potential for it.”

You give an appreciative smile at his compliment before answering, “I was a Marine for two years where I followed orders from assholes and worked alongside people that treated me like I was garbage. Then, I was kidnapped by HYDRA and tortured to comply working under an organization I didn’t want to with people who didn’t even treat me like a human being. And now, I’m brought here to live and work in a place I don’t want to be at with people who don’t and will never know who I actually am. So, you can kind of see why I’m adamant.”

Sam looks down, and you don’t want to make him feel bad, because he gave you the best scenario he could given the circumstances of everything.

“I just want a little bit of control with my life for once, is all. But, I know what I have now is very lucky for me, so I’m grateful, even if it’s not what I want.”

He looks back at you and now it’s your turn to give him a reassuring smile. You have a feeling you’ll grow on each soon enough.

…

You’re glad your powers didn’t fail you for your first case, because that would have been terribly embarrassing. Sharon was able to find a German bomb-making company with employees who have recently gone missing that match the descriptions of the man you saw and the Jane Doe.

Now that their identities have been found, there’s still the question of where this bomb is and if it’s even real.

You can’t help but let it keep you up that night. When you were doing jobs for HYDRA, it wasn’t a matter of making sure every rock was left turned over; you performed the job because the alternative was being tortured.

You glance at the clock, 1:32.

You remember one particular mission you didn’t complete because it involved you having to kill kids. And when you returned with an unfinished mission they tortured you so bad that you begged them to just kill you. And they said that they would never kill you because then the horrors would end. It was the easy way out; and they would torture you for the rest of time before they ever kill you. It was too much mercy to be shown to a prisoner.

Another glance at the clock that tells you only six minutes have passed causes you to get up. You can’t get too deep into your thoughts, especially if tomorrow is going to have you busy helping with this case. You have to make yourself busy.

So you cook. You go through the pantries and cupboards for ingredients; brown sugar, white sugar, eggs, flour, vanilla. You became very good at estimating and perfecting the things you wanted to cook. You never had a phone or laptop to look up measurements for something or a cookbook to follow, so you had to experiment yourself until you got it right. When you lived in your apartment, sometimes you would venture out to bookstores and try your hardest to memorize the recipes in cookbooks in order to replicate it at home.

You quietly mix together all of the ingredients until a thick dough forms. Cinnamon and brown sugar cookies. One reason you liked cooking so much is because, even though it was hard without any instructions to follow, it was one of the few times your voices were quiet. Actual silence. You cooked without any electric supplies or music for this reason, too.

You sit on the ground in front of the oven and watch as the balls of cookie dough slowly melt and rise up again, forming the perfect circular shape with the perfect amount of chewiness and crunch when you take a bite.

You softly unstick the cookies from the pan with a spatula and glance at the clock again. 3:02.

You remember Bucky’s words from this morning; how he sticks around for these kinds of missions in his spare room.

“Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Yes, Agent?”

“Is… Is Bucky here?”

“Yes, Agent.”

“Is he awake?”

“Yes, Agent.”

“But, is he, like, awake - awake? Or like falling asleep, but still technically awake - awake? Or is he -”

“Would you like me to lead you to where his quarters are, Agent?”

The hallways are quiet, but you’re grateful that there are lights along the floors so you’re not completely walking through the dark. Seeing a sliver of dim light show underneath his door makes you feel a little better about the late hour. After about five minutes of contemplation, you raise your fist and leave three soft knocks on the door.

Bucky opens the door a few seconds later and seems wide awake. You see behind him a notebook open on his desk with some music playing softly in the room.

You speak before he gets a chance to, “I made too many cookies, do you want to help me eat them?”

A smile grows on his face as he silently nods after a moment.

“Hey F.R.I.D.A.Y., mind turning everything off, please?”

The lights turn off and the music stops as he closes the door behind him. The two of you quietly walk side by side back towards the elevator, because it seems like Bucky’s room is right below yours.

He wears a black long sleeve shirt and dark gray cotton shorts, paired with white socks on his feet. What you would do to add some color to this man’s closet, you think.

A cloud of sugar and warmth hits him in the face when he enters your room. The combination of your smell and the smell of cookies and the sight of you in cute little pink shorts and an oversized college sweatshirt that has a big bear on it and the yellow and orange polka-dotted socks on your feet and all of your things everywhere makes him feel like he just entered his dreams.

“It smells amazing in here.” He compliments.

He watches you smile and grab the pan that has since cooled enough for you to grab it and walk over to plop down on your bed. Bucky follows and sits himself down utop one of your soft fuzzy blankets.

“Are these brown sugar cookies? These are my favorite,” Bucky says as he shovels one in his mouth whole.

I know they’re your favorite.

“Mmm - almost feels like I’m back at your apartment.” He smiles nostalgically, looking around and taking in the wonderful colors of your personality that brighten up this room.

“Good, means I did a good job redecorating. It’s okay that I did decorate, right? There isn’t a security deposit I’m going to lose?” You joke, and for a moment, it really does feel like the two of you are back in your apartment, before all of this chaos hit the fan.

The two of you eat and eat and eat, sharing playful small talk in between bites, until the two of you are  stuffed to the brim with dough and are laying side by side on the bed, empty tray by both of your feet.

“Hey, Bucky?” You ask out into the calm, open air.

“Mmm,” He hums.

“I’m sorry for spitting on you. And then avoiding you. And then yelling at you and saying those awful things,” You turn on your side and lay a hand on his arm, “I didn’t mean it, I was just upset.” Your eyebrows quirk up at him, silently begging him to forgive you.

He sends a playful smile at you before mirroring you and turning on his side as well to face you, grabbing your hand from his arm and holding it in his large one, “It’s okay, doll. I would’ve been just as upset as you if I were in your position. I’m sorry things didn’t… work out the way they should’ve for you.”

“Not something you gotta apologize for, Bucky.” You whisper.

The two of you lay there, hands intertwined in each other, eyes locked. You’re not sure how long the two of you lay like that, or how long Bucky stays, but sleep finally comes to you at 4:55 in the morning.

…

The next few days pass in a bit of a blur. One of the private hackers was able to get a list of ships in communication with the found German bomb-manufacturing company and Sharon was able to find one of the ships, named The Princeton - which is why you kept seeing something about prince in your head, not because of the late musical artist - which was having a scheduled bomb test aboard. A bomb testing that was swapped with real bombs instead of fake ones, seemingly by the man you saw in your visions, the same one who tried to bury Jane Doe. All of the Marines aboard remained safe and unharmed, and you officially closed the case on your very first mission.

Sam thought you did very well, but still wanted to keep a slow pace with your advancements on the team. He set up for you to train with him a few times a week in a private training room, and perhaps with the next set of agent trainees Bucky will be tasked with at the beginning of the year in a few weeks.

With the mission being completed, Bucky returned home to his apartment to sleep and stay until he’s called once again for another mission. He kind of… can’t wait? After Steve retired, he didn’t see a big reason to continue with all the fighting; he didn’t really see a reason even before Steve retired when he was still staying in Wakanda. He enjoyed that quiet lifestyle, tending to his gardens, feeding his sheep, cleaning up around wherever he could, talking to those that lived around him, hanging out with the children. It was paradise for him.

But now, with you around, actually around where he doesn’t have to hide you from his closest friends, the prospect of more missions doesn’t seem all that horrible. Maybe it’s the thought that you’d be around him that makes it more bearable for him, or maybe he’s just simply had a change of heart over time.

He finds himself returning more and more to the tower when he doesn’t have to; finding the smallest excuses to go - sometimes he doesn’t even run into you when he does. But he tries to.

He’s roaming around the open gym, opting for thirty miles on the treadmill instead of out and around his neighborhood, panting a bit while he wipes down the machine before leaving to go work with the weights. He feels a tap on his shoulder and he turns and plucks a headphone of his ear, coming face to face with an old trainee, now trained agent.

“Nuñez, what’s up?” Bucky greets him with a rough shake of the hand. Don’t get him wrong, he was a fantastic soldier to train, and he turned out to be an even more fantastic agent. But he has no idea why he’s talking to him while he’s in the middle of a workout.

“Hey, Sergeant, sorry to bother you. I - uh, I was wondering if I could talk to you about something?” He stutters out.

Why is he so nervous?

Bucky urges him to continue with a nod of his head.

“So, uh, I wanna ask you something, y’know, man-to-man, rather than Sergeant-to-Agent, and - and - feel free to tell me if I’m overstepping with this! I just didn’t - didn’t -”

“Spit it out, Nuñez.”

“Okay, okay. Remember the last briefing we had?”

“It was about five days ago, yes, I remember.”

“Right, right, of course. Well, there was… this girl sitting next to you.”

A part of Bucky freezes and he hopes he’s talking about Sharon.

“Agent Carter?” Bucky asks.

“No, no, not Agent 13. The other girl sitting next to you. Black hair, kinda short.” He tries, but Bucky knows exactly who he’s talking about.

“What about her?” Bucky tries to turn on a bit more of his Sergeant voice, anything to end this conversation because he has a feeling where it might be going.

Agent Nuñez pasues, “Well, uh, who is she?”

“Why?”

“She’s pretty.”

“She’s pretty?” Bucky repeats.

“Yeah. I wanted to know who she is, I haven’t seen her around and I don’t remember her from any of the trainings.”

“She’s a new agent in training, she’s being trained under the Captain.” Bucky tells him.

“Oh… What’s her name?”

“Nuñez! Enough with the twenty questions!” Bucky bursts out, because why does he have such a fascination with you? It’s like he wants to -

“I just wanna ask her out or something, but I don’t know anything about her!”

“Well, that sounds like a good reason to -” Bucky stops himself when an idea comes into his head, and before he can think twice about it, he’s speaking once more,

“Actually, I just remembered, Nuñez. She’s taken. She’s in a relationship. So, yeah. Sorry.” Bucky slaps a hand on the Agent’s shoulder for good measure.

“Oh… that sucks. It’s always the pretty ones that are taken, huh?”

“Yeah, buddy. Anyway, see you later!” Bucky breathes out, desperate to get out of that conversation and just continue with his damn workout…

Why did he just lie like that in order to stop a guy from asking you out?

[back-and-totheleft]

"Hollywood rabble rouser"

Late one night in the summer of 2008, I found what turned out to be a stockbroker’s iPhone in the back of a NYC taxi. Turning it on in order to contact the owner, I noticed that amongst the stock watch apps and currency converters was an icon of Gordon Gekko, the corrupt market raider immortalized by Michael Douglas in Wall Street, Oliver Stone’s 1987 tale of insider trading and corporate excess. Intrigued, I hit Gekko’s pixilated face (it felt good) and a website flashed up with an entire transcription of his infamous “Greed is good” speech — one of Hollywood’s most iconic parables to the pursuit of unrestrained greed. Whoever owned the phone found those words as important as checking Facebook or texting his girlfriend. Gekko was his hero, his daily inspiration.

Watching back Wall Street a few weeks later as news of the Lehman Brothers collapse and global recession spread, it struck me that a whole generation of financiers must have grown up, like Charlie Sheen’s character Bud Fox, yearning to be Gekko. He was the business equivalent of a rapper wanting to become Tony Montana, another Stone creation. And some of these brokers, as we’ve all since discovered, were willing to trade money that didn’t exist in pursuit of pin stripe suits, corner offices, penthouses, boats, women, and stacks of cash. Perhaps the perks made the 22-year prison stretch Gekko received at the end of the film seem like a viable risk. Or they deliberately chose to ignore his downfall.

Inspired by financial fiends like Bernie Madoff, Stone decided to spring Gekko out of prison for Wall Street 2: Money Never Sleeps. Set in 2008, he is a reformed character that tries, and fails, to warn business leaders of the impending credit crunch. Many fans are understandably nervous about Douglas reprising his Oscar winning role, especially since his hair gel and brick phone have long been put into storage. Stone, who only agreed to direct the film because he felt that current financial climate lent itself to a sequel, understandably feels that it’s time for bankers to grow up. As the director of Natural Born Killers, JFK and Platoon he’s used to Marmite reactions. But, after giving Dubya an easy ride in W, will Gordon 2.0 be one step too far? Is the world ready for goody Gekko two shoes? Or will traders across Wall Street be deleting their “Greed is good” iPhone bookmarks forever? As they say on the stock market floor, let the bull charge.

Tim Noakes: When you were 18 your father got you to work on a financial exchange in France. Was that your inspiration for Wall Street?

Oliver Stone: No, it was a great summer job actually, because it was very exotic. My father was always into the stock market, into numbers. He loved that world in New York and I grew up on the fringes of it but I wasn’t particularly attuned to it. So it was a chance to see it first hand but I didn’t do very well as a trader. In those days you’d run from the phone booth in the back to the floor. It was cocoa and sugar. It was violent and busy. They used to elbow each other to get into the inner circle, like matadors. It was a real crush. I elbowed my way through it and got up to be assistant buyer, which was very complicated because you had to make the orders for everything right. You couldn’t screw up. A lot of money’s involved. So then I thought I should be one of the cocoa buyers. I was a little too ambitious for my own good.

Your father died before you made Wall Street. What do you think he would have made of it?

I think he would have appreciated that I had done a business movie. We always talked about it. He loved movies and he took me to them. We discussed them afterwards, which was an invaluable experience, and he would say that there weren’t many business movies. And there weren’t. There was not a specific genre. Hollywood was not into the business movie concept. It’s hard. I can understand why. It’s all financial talk, it’s not interesting to most people and it lacks those human emotions. Money is an interesting subject, however, for America. That’s why I addressed it in 1987. I thought, ‘Americans love money’, and what lengths they will go to get it is what that movie is about. Especially coming off Platoon, which is a different kind of movie. I was trying to prove that I could do something domestic with ‘Wall Street’.

The original was very much of its era.

It was the era of “Greed is good” and Reagan. With Wall Street 2, I’m obviously more mature, I’ve done more films, I have more confidence, I hope. I’m trying something a little bit deeper in the relationship field. There’s no Darryl Hannah in the movie. There’s a real English girl this time (Carey Mulligan). She anchors strongly the emotions of the film, because she is damaged. She’s the daughter of Gordon Gekko, if you can imagine what that can be like.

Michael Douglas once said that your style of directing is like taking people into the trenches. What did he mean by that?

He makes it sound like I dress him up in uniform and have a military hierarchy. Every single actor that I’ve worked with, and there’s obviously dozens now, you’d have to talk to every single one of them to get their perception. I would say some would disagree. Maybe Michael, because he hasn’t been in the military, would regard it as a military experience. I didn’t think of it that way. I think of a movie as an organisation that has to work at a very fluid pace involving a large amount of people who have to move quickly over a landscape. Call that what you will. It could be an adventure party or a military organisation. It’s really a satellite business. You form, you group, you rehearse, you shoot, you separate. It’s very nomadic. In that chemistry you bring together so many conflicting types of people who have different kinds of egos. It’s quite a mix. At the end of the day, if you look back at the — what is it? 19, 20 films — that I’ve directed, it’s just a mix of styles. Sometimes it really works with people. It clicks. I think Michael did great work on both films, so I’m very pleased with his result. My style might not have been good for him, but it works for other people. Some people, like Shia LaBeouf and Josh Brolin, were digging it. They loved the way I worked because it was intense and to the point and relatively fast.

Do you see yourself as a hard taskmaster or a disciplinarian?

No, I’m not a disciplinarian. I’m disciplined with myself and I think I try to lead by example not by imposition of my will. I try to lead by example. That’s just to say that people know that I’m trying to get this thing done. My approach is that we’re all in this together. The idea is king. We all serve that king. It is not a democracy, it is a constitutional monarchy, so to speak, with strong legislative power in the House of Lords. No, but the idea is king. I repeat that. Not the director. The idea. I serve the idea.

How do you balance the logistics with trying to create a piece of art?

Oh boy, if I didn’t tell you I wasn’t humbled so many times, you would not believe it. It’s a very humbling experience to make a movie, because you’re at the mercy of the elements. Of the winds and the weather as well as conditions that can go wrong — disease, sickness, bad tempers. All sorts of stuff can happen. Given that nature, to pull off a movie is extremely difficult. The editing room is another humiliation. All your mistakes are thrown back in your face. No matter how many good choices you make, and making a movie involves thousands of choices, you’re constantly having to question yourself again. I find it a very difficult position. I don’t think I enjoy it. I think I’m more experienced at it but I don’t think I completely enjoy it. I think sometimes it’s so painful you want to scream bloody murder and run somewhere.

What’s the cut-off point? How do you stop?

How do you stop? A famous director once said that every film is abandoned, never finished.

So you just let it go?

Some people won’t but I do let it go. I’m not looking for perfection. I don’t believe in it. I believe that a film is many things to many people and it changes over time. I think you have to feel good about it and about what you did. It hangs together and it’s going to be a story that can move an audience. It’s so difficult to pull off quickly. It takes time.

The world’s moved on since Wall Street. Were you apprehensive about creating a sequel to such a well-loved film?

Apprehensions? No. I’d have had more apprehensions if I’d had to do it in 1990, I think. Twenty-three years is a long time to call it a sequel. I think of it more as a bookend.

Don’t you think that’s laying you open for even more criticism? Look at what George Lucas did with Star Wars..

We’re not going back into that period. The beauty of this thing is that there’s a new period upon us, which is quite different, technically. It’s a different kind of Wall Street. The landscape has changed. It’s no longer 1987. It’s really a computer game now. The money has accelerated at a square root that is beyond belief from millions to billions. Hedge funds invest 30–40 billion dollars. Even to have one billion dollars is an enormous amount of money. When you hear these guys say, “Oh, it’s just a billion dollar hedge fund” it’s unbelievable arrogance. The heights are dizzying, and the losses are dizzying. It’s just unbelievable what happened. By all accounts it was a near-fatal heart-attack.

Were you planning on revisiting Wall Street is the crisis hadn’t happened?

No, that was the catalyst for it. It wasn’t the only reason. It was a wonderful idea for a script, that Gekko would be a different type of person. That he would start from the outside. He didn’t have power or connections anymore. Time had passed. He was dated.

Is Michael Douglas in danger of becoming a pastiche of what made Gordon Gekko good?

I feared that. That’s why we approached it in a wholly different way. Michael is playing it twenty-two years older, he’s coming out of prison. Michael has changed in that interim. He was a charming rogue, certainly, in the Eighties. You saw a lot of that in his subsequent performances. You saw a lot of Gekko in later films, so I think it was smart to move away from that pastiche, as you call it, because it would have been boring after a while. There are flashes of the old Gekko, which I love, but it’s not like the charming reptile, so to speak. It’s a different man now. I’m not saying that he’s a wholly reformed figure looking for a martyrhood, but what’s interesting about him is what he’s going to do, and how he’s going to play the game to get back. He has suffered extensively in prison, his family has fallen apart, his oldest son has committed suicide. It’s very tough on him.

How did you persuade Michael to get back on board?

Frankly, I didn’t convince anybody. I passed on the script in 2006. It wasn’t important for me to make it. I felt, what was the need to make this movie if it was going to glorify the pigs on Wall Street? They were really making money and it was ugly. There was a spate of books too like The Wolf of Wall Street, which was a big hit and they are going to make a movie out of that. There was kind of a surfeit and there was sickliness to it all. I got turned off by it. I passed, and I moved on with my life, and I did W and World Trade Centre and stuff like that. Then there was this crash and the crash changed the equation I think, I hope.

Do you think the original message of Wall Street failed because young traders ended up idolising Gordon Gekko?

That’s a very good question. Frankly, I wondered at times. The original Wall Street came about because of my experiences on Scarface. I was living in New York and I was hanging out with the dealers and the mob. That whole scene in Miami was a very shocking thing in 1982–3. Wall Street, was like Scarface north. I was suddenly seeing people my age, in their twenties, making millions of dollars, so easily, so quickly. Moving inordinate amounts of money. Also, snorting and drinking. The partying scene had really kicked in big time in the 80s. It was all new to me, so that’s how that was born. Then it went to excess. But I was very clear that Gekko was the antagonist in the movie, but as you say a lot of young people caught on to him. I do think, and perhaps I’m retrograde, that although he was not feted at the time the anchor of the movie is Charlie Sheen.

But no-one wanted to be Bud Fox.

Well that’s the movies. They want to be heroes. They want to make money. I did meet a lot of people in their 40s that said, “When I saw your movie I was studying this-or-that at this-or-that school, I was going to do history or medicine or law but then I saw the movie and I moved to Wall Street for that reason.” The the kicker was that some of them were multi-millionaires, one of them was a billionaire, and they had moved to Wall Street because of the movie. I said, “Oh boy, I wish I had a royalty on that.” These guys are really rich.

I find that quite worrying.

I gave birth to some rich people. But some of them did good. Some of them created something. That was the whole point of the original. Not to shit on Wall Street but to basically say, ‘Look, this is an engine of capitalism’. This can work. My father always felt that Wall Street was a good thing. It creates companies, it finances new companies, creates research and development, and it does. It still does, by the way, it’s not forgotten but it’s been buried in the greater picture of making bigger profits and more greed, but it’s still there. Wall Street is a good thing. It was a good thing and it can be a good thing.

Throughout your career critics have said you shouldn’t glamourise the people you put on the big screen. Do you like to provoke that reaction?

No, I like to make bigger-than-life characters but ‘World Trade Centre’ is about two very ordinary men who were real heroes. On Bush I guess you could say I supped with the devil and brought out all the reasons I thought why people voted for the guy. There is this fundamental thing which Americans like in him, and I was trying to root that out and how he became President.

You were criticised for making Bush too likeable.

You can fault that, but he was re-elected. I didn’t like him. I was very clear — I empathised. Empathy means I walked in his shoes, or tried to. As opposed to sympathised. I don’t agree with anything he said. Anything. I think he was a disaster. It was a nightmare eight years.

Do you think you were too soft?

No. I wish I’d done it a year earlier and it would have been more timely. He was out of favour when it came out, because of the economy, but frankly the movie was about the national security state which concerned me more.

Why are you drawn to these anti-heroes?

They don’t do me any good. Nixon, too.

I see a lot of similarities between Tony Montana and Gordon Gekko. In Scarface, Tony says “You need people like me to point the finger at and say, ‘That’s the bad guy’”. Do you think film critics see you in that light?

I think you’re right. I think film critics have me as a punch ball. It’s an easy target, I guess. I’ve been misidentified with the characters, but I think over time you see that there’s a whole assortment of different characters. But I agree, I think that’s true and I think that’s hurt me. It’s hurt my career as well as some of the political statements I’ve made and positions I’ve taken in documentaries I’ve made. They’ve hurt me too and they’ve given me a profile that’s not necessarily me, it’s just a profile. Absolutely.

There’s been huge furor recently that you’re reported to be attempting to humanise Hitler, Stalin and Mao Zedong.

I think it’s out of context. I did use the word ‘scapegoat’ and I think that was an unfortunate word, but frankly it’s a very interesting history that we’re putting together. We’re using the facts that we have, that are known but have been forgotten. There’s no question that Hitler had a big hand up the ladder. He didn’t come out of nowhere. He is a Frankenstein, he is a monster and I have no sympathy for him, but he was created by a Dr Frankenstein. That Dr Frankenstein is a very interesting mixture and you have to study cause and effect to understand history, otherwise you don’t learn anything from it. It’s my fault because I’m interested in the world, and I’m willing to go out there. I’m not trying to provoke, I’m trying to look for the truth. I’m trying to shine a light. For Christ’s sake, I feel like we’ve become so politically correct that you can’t do shit anymore. You’re not supposed to turn around.

Do you feel like you sometimes exploit sensitive subjects too much? More than some people can take?

Well, that’s why I like the English. They’re much more out there and they’re willing to explore subjects that the Americans are not. Having been to war, having seen the devastation America visited onto Vietnam, I cannot just be another typical American and live in isolation. My taxes are going as we speak to blowing up people in Afghanistan. I don’t feel good about that.

Back to Wall Street. Gekko says “Every dream has its price”, what’s the biggest price you’ve paid to get to where you are?

I’d have to talk to my psychotherapist, who I haven’t seen in ages. I suppose the price is that you do have long absences from home and normal quotidian values, at times. Your children grow up and you have to readapt to the fact that you haven’t been the attentive father. That’s a big issue, but I have been as attentive as I can be in taking care of them. Still, there’s gaps there. Divorces have happened. Those things.

I see Wall Street as epitomising the ruthlessness of the Eighties. During that era did you find yourself being a slave to the success that you had earned?

Yeah, I suppose everybody can become a mental slave to the need to produce. Remember, I was on a roll in the sense that I had to get financing for very complicated movies. I felt like I had a mission. To get JFK made in that era was very tough, still. You need heat. To make that movie after The Doors you need to keep rolling. In a sense I worked very fast, and hard, but I knew that I could get things done. Nixon was sort of the end of the line. I was making movies all those years. Platoon was impossible to get made. So was Salvador. Every single fucking one. ‘The Doors’. They were always problems. There were always tremendous issues. You asked what the price is? The price was to keep going fast, before they change their mind. The idea was ‘Wrap it up, get another one done’. These are tough subject matters. With ‘Nixon’ I’d done eleven or ten, I was exhausted. Frankly, I needed to take a break.

What kept you moving on? Obviously the pressures that you’re talking about manifested in different ways. You had your drug problems earlier on, but how did it manifest when the financing started to crumble down? Did you resort to those kind of vices?

I think there’s other factors. There was a lot of living. A lot of pain. Children. Divorces. This and that. But I think I have been very successful. I got movies made that wouldn’t have been done in the normal radar. They were not on the scope.

In Wall Street 2 Shia LeBeouf says, “No matter how much money you make, you’ll never be rich”. With all your success, do you empathise with that sentiment?

Of course I do. I don’t think money is the solution to happiness. Life is complicated, but certainly money can have the opposite effect. It can make you unsatisfied with life, and make life harder for you. There are two effects of it. One is that it leaves you unsatisfied, you always want more, as we see from these billionaires. Two, it leaves you falsely content and over-satisfied.

And you’re not either?

I don’t feel that way, no. I feel like I’m one trade away from disaster.

The new film is called Wall Street 2: Money Never Sleeps. What gets you off to sleep?

What gets me off to sleep? Sonata. Medication. I’m just joking. The best solution for sleep is having lived a full day and tried hard to live life fully. That makes you feel the reward of sleep.

-Tim Noakes, "The Hollywood rabble rouser sets his sights on a new generation of Wall Street wolves," Medium, Mar 3 2010 [x]

[joopiterjoon]

Adored and Nothing More

Pairing: YoonJin Queerplatonic

Genre: PG, Slice of Life, Fluff?

Warnings/Tags: Aro!Jin, Ace-Spectrum!Yoongi, handholding, YoonJin complaining, self-discovery

Wordcount: 3k

A/n: I wrote this based on a joke with @kpopfan-antics... and then turned it into a fic.. and made it soft because what else is new.

Part of FicsWithLuv’s FWLBingo!

“Coffee?” Yoongi’s voice draws Jin out of his intense focus on the game that’s been in his hands so long they’re cramping. Jin blinks a few times before he fully registers the small man in his doorway. He leans on Jin’s doorframe, hair a mess and hoodie on despite the summer heat. It’s a typical contrast to be seen in the apartment- Jin in his boxers and a sweatshirt while Yoongi’s bundled up head-to-toe.

The most recent apartment suits them well. In college, the soft pastels of Jin’s side seemed comedic compared to Yoongi’s all-black-or-bust space. Now, Jin’s room faces the sun, while Yoongi’s faces the adjacent apartment building. Jin can look out into the day, and Yoongi’s room is kept cool by the lack of light.

Jin gives a small smile to his roommate before heaving out of the bed for the first time all day. He groans as he stretches.

“Old man,” Yoongi teases.

“Hey, that’s rich coming from you,” Jin argues as he shucks his hoodie and pulls a shirt over his head. “An old man would wish he looked this good.”

“Well, “ Yoongi begins despite walking into the living space towards the door, “You must be that good looking old man ‘cause only old guys groan like that when they stand.”

Jin frows as he trots after Yoongi’s huddled, waddling form.

“Like this?” Jin imitates the sound again while he bends to put his shoes on. “Or this?” He does it louder with his whole chest as they head out. “Or like-”

Jin stops abruptly when he sees their neighbors in the hall, startled by Jin’s noises. His ears burn as he bows deeply. “Sorry.”

Yoongi snickers, tugging Jin along with a loose grip on his hand. Jin’s amazed that in all his layers, Yoongi’s fingers are actually cold. He grips tighter to warm them.

“Hey,” Jin pipes up as they get on the street. “An old man would never shout like that either, you know?”

Yoongi side-eyes him and pulls a baseball cap lower over his eyes. He got a haircut last week, and the hat shows off his undercut well. But Jin knows how chaotic his hair is underneath. Still, somehow Yoongi looks cute with his hair fucked up and askew. “Mhm, sure.”

Satisfied, Jin bounces along next to his roommate. It’s a nice day out, Yoongi’s favorite kind. Good weather and few people. They stay quiet, taking note of the small changes in their neighborhood since the last time they left the house. Both introverts, Jin and Yoongi make a dangerously homebound pairing. If it weren’t for Yoongi’s dire need for specialty coffee, they would barely leave the house in the summer.

They head toward the small coffee shop that Yoongi chose as “his” coffee shop. Yoongi had a tendency to do that. He picked something he liked and stuck with it. Like Jin, his eternal roommate. And seeing as Jin and Yoongi had similar preferences in activities and lifestyles, Jin became what Yoongi stuck with very often. Jin would tease him, but really, he appreciated it. He’s comfortable with Yoongi. Content. He frequently finds it hard to balance his affection and sincerity with friends, yet Yoongi has always seemed to understand how Jin works.

“Woah,” Jin says as they enter the shop. It’s almost empty. He checks the large, driftwood clock hanging in the back of the small space. “Yoongi, it’s 3 pm.”

“Correct,” Yoongi answers curtly. They shuffle between the little square tables for two and up to the front.

“Yoongi, I’ve been in bed until 3 pm?”

“Correct.”

“Why didn’t you get me sooner? I haven’t eaten all day!” Jin whines. He throws his arms up in distress and nearly knocks over the little, inconveniently empty case of muffins on the counter.

“I’m not your keeper, old man,” Yoongi retorts and smiles politely to their barista.

“Just for that comment, you have to come and get naengmyeon with me after this,” Jin sniffs. 

“Awh,” she giggles behind the counter. “You two are always cute together.”

“Oh,” Jin and Yoongi both say. They give each other an up-down, then focus on their conjoined hands. It’s not the first time they’ve been mislabeled. It’s happened so often that they know exactly what the cashier means by “cute together.”

“Oh,” the cashier repeats, covering her embarrassment. “Are you not dating?”

Both of them open their mouths to respond, but neither say anything. They just stare, blank-faced and slack-jawed, at the barista. There’s not usually a pause here. One of them is quick to correct. The pause gives way to another pause as they both consider the weight of the first.

“I don’t think so,” Jin finally says.

“No,” Yoongi says more firmly yet still too late.

“No?” Jin’s a bit offended at how assured Yoongi sounded.

“Did you think we were?” Yoongi curls his lip in frustration. “You just said you don’t think so.”

“Yeah,” Jin agrees, his ears tinting pink. Sure, he doesn’t. But…

Are we dating? It’s a question that’s made Jin nervous his whole life. He always gets close, closer, closest to people. He feels happy, content to have someone close who knows him and values his presence. But, then, there’s always that “next step” others ask for. Something he never recognizes is there until after he confronts these kinds of situations. Situations like romance. Where someone wants him in a way that implies so much more than what he wants. The awkward moments when someone leans in for a kiss and Jin has to say explain there’s been a miscommunication. 

He never thinks they’re dating. He doesn’t feel a need to date, or what people mean by date. He just likes to be close to people he cares for. Jin’s thought about it many times. Why what he wants exudes wanting more to others when he likes what they have.

He thought Yoongi felt the same. Years and years of closeness.Someone who felt good to cuddle when they watched a movie. Someone who he could always talk to. Someone who never made him worried he might want more, that something people want that Jin just doesn’t. And now... “I thought you might think that we might be what we aren’t.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“So you do?”

Yoongi’s lip curls in confusion. “No?”

Yoongi blinks a few times, pout prominent as he becomes confused. “No what?”

They both let out a frustrated sigh. At this point, the barista slinks away to make their drinks, the slightest bit guilty for whatever she just caused. Jin turns to face Yoongi. Yoongi’s slouched against the counter, nonchalant, but his eyes dart between Jin’s trying to read him. Jin asks again, “Are we dating?”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says, rubbing at his other arm since he can’t cross them as long as they are holding hands. He finally looks away, and Jin’s heart jumps a bit at the nerves he’s showing. “You tell me.”

“I think…” Jin startles a bit at the sound of the latte machine. He hopes for a reprieve, the noise too loud for them to keep talking, but he doesn’t get that. The quartet of grinding beans and pressurized air quickly ends. Maybe it’s a sign to keep going. He really doesn’t want to do this in a coffee shop, but… “I think sometimes we are.”

Yoongi sighs again, but he doesn’t look back up, just waves Jin off. “Well, tell me when sometimes turns to a definitive.” 

“Nah,” Jin says, shaking his head, “I like how things are. Can we just keep doing this?”

“Alright then,” Yoongi nods. He drags them down to the open side of the counter as the barista cups their drinks. “Still want to go to dinner?”

“As a non-date date?” Jin asks, perking up. Whatever doing this is. That is a date usually, but it’s not a date for them.

“Jesus,” Yoongi crinkles his nose. “If that’s a date, we’ve been dating for years.”

“Maybe we have,” Jin says, blinking a few times. Maybe he’s right. If this is what they want to call it, it’s been a while. An apologetic barista slides two coffees across the counter as the two stand in silence for a moment. “That would be ideal. But I thought we weren’t-”

“Do not start this again,” Yoongi cuts him off and turns to find a table.

Jin doesn’t. He sits with Yoongi while he drinks his coffee. They check the weather to search for a time to go camping. They’ve tried to plan a trip three times this summer. Jin loves camping with Yoongi.

Late at night when they wait for the coals to cool in the fire, Yoongi talks the most. He talks about the world more when he’s not really in it. Being deep in the woods can feel like being in a different world. Jin likes taking Yoongi camping to help him gain perspective and for them to be out but with no one around. And on those trips, Jin’s thought about it. How if he had to be stuck with one person forever, it would be Yoongi. 

They toss their drinks and head back out. It’s quiet again as Jin follows the GPS on his phone. He tries to focus, but now there’s an idea in the back of his head. Is it this easy? Is this… okay? Is Yoongi going to want more? He’s never wanted more all this time. Jin’s sure he doesn’t want more.

Finally, after they get to the restaurant and order their food, Jin can’t take it anymore. He talks to Yoongi about anything and everything directly. He can talk about this. They are eternal roommates. It’ll be fine. They already addressed it before. Just not as much as he wanted.

Still, he can’t find an in, a moment to clear the air. So he gives up distracting himself, which seems to be what Yoongi’s doing because he won’t put his phone down.

“Why are you on your phone?” Jin asks.

“Googling us,” Yoongi says. He misses his straw a few times while he keeps reading.

Jin blushes. “Look, if anything strange comes up about a GoFundMe from 2012-”

“That’s not what I mean,” Yoongi says, crunching on an ice cube. “It’s called Queerplatonic.”

“That wasn’t the name of my GoFundMe but it’s kind of close.”

“I don’t want to know,” Yoongi says. “This. The thing we do. Are doing. Think we might… nevermind.”

Yoongi huffs out his frustration and flips his phone over on the table. Jin leans over the rickety bar table toward his pouty roommate. At this point, Jin had half a mind that what happened before was a joke for the barista. Now he finds out Yoongi’s been pondering the same thing in his head all afternoon. “Yoongi, you do want to date me, don’t you?”

Yoongi grumbles incoherently as he scratches at his ear. Jin leans back in his seat with a sigh. Ah. “I’m telling you, it’s fine. Everyone wants to date me. And apparently everyone thinks I want to date them. You are not immune.”

Yoongi’s head pops up, irritated as usual by Jin’s ego, and reminds him, “Earlier you literally said you’d be fine dating me.”

“I’m fine non-dating dating you,” Jin says.

“Queerplatonic,” Yoongi clarifies, waving the phone.

“Give me that,” Jin takes the phone from Yoongi. It’s some stylized Wiki page. He glances up at Yoongi, ears a bit pink. “You’re sitting here deciphering us without including me?”

“You’d talk so much I wouldn’t be able to read,” Yoongi shrugs. “Plus, I’ve seen you staring at my nonstop. I know you are thinking about the same shit over there.”

“You say that like you don’t talk all the time,” Jin pauses to nod in thanks to the waiter who sets their beers on the table. Jin drinks a bit more than he should off the bat. “You even talk in your sleep!”

Yoongi petulantly purses his lips. “If you aren’t going to read, give me my phone back.”

Jin leans back with the phone close to his chest and reads through the article. As he goes, he feels tension in his shoulders unwinding. 

What he’s reading in his hands, this is him. Moreover, it’s what he and Yoongi have. And some people, apparently, are okay staying this way.

“Yoongi,” Jin breathes, scrolling further. Yoongi doesn’t answer, he just keeps eating and watching Jin’s face nervously. “Is this… I think I’m this.”

“What is this? There’s like, 20 definitions on that site,” Yoongi gripes.

“I don’t know… something on this?” Jin says, scrolling again.

When he hears Yoongi put his beer down, he glances up. Yoongi’s hand is out on the table, palm up, inviting. Jin takes it hesitantly. He’s always liked holding Yoongi’s hand. There’s nothing implied. Nothing extra expected. Just touching someone. He takes it.

“Are you telling me you’ve never considered your sexuality?” Yoongi asks, wiping his mouth. Jin glances around at the other tables chattering and laughing over assortments of comfort food. No one’s really paying them much mind.

“Um, I mean, I guess I thought this wasn’t a sexuality? More of a libido thing. Not for me. I still like sex and stuff, but maybe every other month?” Jin trails off. Honestly, it’s something he’s tried to ignore thinking about.

“Well, I don’t really,” Yoongi says bluntly. 

“Why didn’t you say something?” Jin asks.

“I did,” Yoongi tries to sound nonchalant, but he hides behind his beer.

“When?” Jin asks, exasperated.

“Do you remember when we were watching that Avengers movie that made no sense?”

“Yoongi, for the millionth time, you can’t just choose to watch Civil War without watching any of the other--”

“That’s not the point,” Yoongi groans over Jin until he stops talking. “We were sitting there. Just chilling. And I said I liked this. And you said you, too. And then you held my hand, and I... leaned my head on your shoulder and shit.”

“That was…” Jin rubs his chin. “That was a confession?”

“I mean,” Yoongi shrugs, but he looks a bit annoyed.

“Oh.”

“I was pretty sure you were aromantic,” Yoongi continues, “or at least something of the sort. I mean, didn’t you google it?”

“I don’t google this stuff, I just deal with it,” Jin scoffs, but he feels his ears burning. He glances at Yoongi’s phone again. Aromanticism (or aromanticity) is an orientation in which someone does not experience romantic attraction. Aromanticism is often confused for asexuality, but asexuality is only a lack of sexual attraction. Not all asexuals are aromantic, nor are all aromantics asexual**. That.

He reads it aloud. “I think that’s me. Like, maybe both. But not all the time? But most of the time.”

“Okay, well, that’s cool,” Yoongi says. Simple. The simpleness of it all almost makes Jin urge to create something more. Not exactly drama. But now he’s finally talking about it, he wants to know a bit more. Especially now that he knows he and Yoongi have been on different pages about who they were to each other for almost a year. And he’s a bit overwhelmed with the fact that what Yoongi wants is to just stay how they are. It’s a bit too surreal to be reality.

Jin chews on his lip. “Do you like me?”

“I don’t like anyone,” Yoongi clarifies. He fumbles with his words a bit, frowning while he gets his thoughts together. He settles with, “But you’re okay.”

“No, I mean,” Jin takes a deep breath in. He laughs nervously. “Isn’t it scary? It feels like… I’m broken. Like I’m supposed to like you more than I do or in some, I don’t know, some other way I can’t fathom?” Jin chuckles nervously. He inhales the salty air mixed with the familiar smell of burning grease. “I didn’t expect to admit something is wrong with me and my dick at a dive restaurant.”

“Nothing is fuckin’ wrong with you,” Yoongi squeezes his hand. Jin glances away at the small compliment, which sounded more like a command. It makes him flustered. “First of all, I’m disappointed you are falling into the ploy of a nuclear family or some shit. The idea of some kind of ideal romantic relationship is commercialized and definitely benefits the economy. The entire dating culture. Don’t even get me started on gifts.”

“I already know how you feel about gifts,” Jin cuts in.

“Exactly, you know me, and I like to think I know you,” Yoongi says, his voice getting quiet at the end. Jin glances up to see something rare. Dusted pink chubby cheeks. He wants to pinch them, fidgeting in his seat.

“Jin, I like being with you, if that’s what you mean,” Yoongi sighs. “I like that we can just be us. I like doing things with you. I don’t want to put a label on it, just like I don’t want to put a label on myself. But the whole romantic thing? Not me. What we have? That fits me. I want to keep doing that. Do you want to keep doing that?”

Jin nods immediately. Yes, yes he does. He loves doing things with Yoongi. “But aren’t we supposed to do more? Get somewhere with it? I don’t know, profess our love?”

Yoongi drops back in his chair with a groan. “Jin, we aren’t supposed to anything. We can do what we want. Tell me what you want. You be you. I’ll be me. We always speak our minds, right? We just be ourselves. Talk to each other. Be, uh, together.”

Yoongi’s words start to drown into the sound of the restaurant, his palm sweaty in Jin’s. Jin smiles softly. He’s nervous. Cute. “Wow, I’m the worst. Here you are having to guide me through all this.”

“You are the worst,” Yoongi agrees. “I can deal with that, though.”

“Okay,” Jin says. He inhales and lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah, um. This is what I want. What I like. What we’re, you know, doing. Coffee and eating and living.”

Yoongi nods. “Alright. That wasn’t so bad. Now let’s eat and go stargazing or some other shit. The weather’s too nice to go home yet.”

Jin smiles softly. The food comes to the table and they both separate, picking up their chopsticks, and dig in. It’s easy. Comfortable. Content.

**This information came from this website [the website will be here in a bit. Tumblr is flagging posts with links so i’m waiting a bit before inserting it]

© July 2020 JoopiterJoon. Protected by Creative Commons. If you repost my work in any form or say “credit to author” I will find you and ruin you :D

Characters only borrow name and likeness from the members. Do not copy, translate, repost, or reuse this work.

[thebestworstidea]

The Green Knight’s Lady (3)

Sequel fic to “The Witch and the Green Knight” (on Ao3)

Warnings: undeserved redemption arc, graphic imagery and as of this chapter violence against minors.

Chapter 1: In which Rowan has Unexpected House Guests

Chapter 2: In Which They Try to Figure Out What the Hell is Going On

>-<>-< ——————-<>——————- >-<>-< 

Chapter 3: In Which Remus and Rowan’s Stupidity Escalates to Treason (sort of)

>-<>-< ——————-<>——————- >-<>-<

The Spider Prince didn’t often check the darkest part of the forest in the winter months. It was difficult to get to at the best of times, and in the dark and cold his mother was at her strongest and most able to shrug things off, even in her recovery. But he’d had something like a feeling, but not all the way to a nudge, and followed it. And what he found was a void in the shallow crunching snow that covered the forest floor. In a place that he’d been, which meant whatever had been there- humanoid- had been hidden from him the last time he was there. He wasn’t an expert on plants, but the plants seemed disturbed so whatever, whoever had been there, had been there a while.

 He sent a feeling of a question at his mother and received- smugness? Amusement?  A secret? An impression of a play hunt? 

He frowned sourly. If she wanted to play a game, he supposed he could do that. There were a smattering of footprints, briefly. He could track what and whoever this joke was. 

He emerged from the forest at the back of a house in Wickhills. From the outside it didn���t look like much, painted a dark green with a brown roof, like a reversed tree. It was a bit rundown- a few missing supports in the porch fence, paint that was patchy and peeling.  A slightly faded rainbow flag flew from the porch. But something about it- it reminded him of Roman, or Grettie, but different as well, like an unfamiliar blend of a tea he’d drunk before. It was a witch’s house; and he suddenly realized that this must be the home of the witch that had befriended Remus.  

He hadn’t been concerned before, but he suddenly was. No one had seen Remus at all since sometime that summer, and now a trail led right to the herb witch’s door.

So he did the rational, sensible thing.

He knocked on the front door.

After a few minutes, the door opened, revealing a heavyset woman with her hair in frazzled braids, and large round glasses.  She stared at him, then said very quietly. 

“One minute please, I’ll be right with you.” The door closed softly and there was a muffled scream from somewhere on the other side. He could hear footsteps inside, then the door opened again for a moment.

Now, he knew intellectually that this was the house of Remus’s friend and that most likely had been her, but the door opening to show Remus  himself- especially shoeless, dressed like a human, was not expected.

“Yeah that’d explain it. Be right with you-” and the door closed again leaving him wondering what ‘Intrusive Thot’ meant and why it had been on the t shirt. He was not expecting the door to open a third time to someone shorter, a boy who was barely into his teens, who glared at him with gold eyes.

“Go away.” This time the door slammed. There was an unmuffled shriek that mostly covered the sound of the door locking. 

“D.N.! You can’t just do that!”

“I just did. I don’t see how it was so hard.” 

That had been another fae. A familiar face, even, though it seemed so out of place he couldn’t figure out why for a long moment. 

“What the hell.” 

There was no iron blocking the door- not surprising with two fae in the house- but a gossamer thin warding of human magic pushing out anything uninvited. It would certainly work on pixies or hobs.

It would not work on him.

“I was going to handle it!” she was saying a hand to her head.“I just need to finish panicking first; it’s a mortal thing, okay, D.N.? I know you don’t have a huge practical experience, but I’d really think that mortals panicking might be a little more in your range.” 

“Little tree?” Remus’s voice was strained. “There’s a spider in your house.” 

She whipped around and unconsciously stepped between him and the person she’d been yelling at. Her face was warring between flushed and pale. A strange whining noise came out of her. Remus vaulted over a chair, and wrapped himself around the smaller fae protectively, half turning away as though that would hide him at all. 

“You were not quite invited in.” She managed, voice squeaking, clutching at her shawl with white knuckles. 

“I need to talk to him.” He pointed a finger past her. 

“He’s in my home.” the witch said weakly. “And you’re scaring me.” 

“Rowan do not!” Remus rasped out. She held up her empty hands where he could see them. 

“Please do not kill someone in my home.” she added. 

“I do not intend to hurt you.” 

“Yay.” she said through a rictius of a smile. “Only. he’s my guest?” her voice squeaked on the last word.

“What did you call him? Dean?” 

“Technically I called him ‘Dee Enn’. Initials.” 

“It stands for ‘Danger Noodle’” Remus said cheerfully and a trifle manically, still holding him up.

“Why are you more afraid of me than him?”

“Because I know how he feels about me. He’d kill me in an instant if he didn’t owe me a debt.” Rowan swallowed, biting her lips together. True? Probably true. “I have no idea where I stand with you. Because right now. I stand with them.” she tipped her head towards them. 

“You shouldn’t be afraid of him.” D.N. said dryly. “He’s a real softie especially when it comes to humans.” 

“Are you capable of shutting up?” She snapped at him, looking back. He looked bored, especially given he was still held in a bear hug against Remus’s chest, gingery hair mussed, and half covering his face.

“Do you realize who he is?” 

Rowan winced. 

“I know who he was. Who he is is kind of up for debate at the moment I think.” 

“What I am is annoyed, put me down Remus, this is undignified.” 

Remus gave a whine in the back of his throat, but set him back on his own feet. He straightened his sleeves and gave Remus’s chest a pat before stepping forward. Delicately he smoothed his hair, drawing a hand down over the back of his neck before raising his chin with a bit of a challenge. 

He didn’t look exactly the same. There was a great deal of time- not even counting the casket- between this child and the other one, but The Spider Prince was sure of that, they weren’t identical. However, there was no room for doubt. He wasn’t sure what to do; but he was sure that this was the ?joke? His mother had been playing at. 

If he had looked any more like Adder- or any less- like the brother he’d desperately wanted, all those years ago, there would be no question.  When his mother had spoken his brother into existence, it had changed him too. He was a brother to the snake, as the snake was brother to him, deep in his core. ‘Danger Noodle’ didn’t look like the man who’d hurt him. He didn’t look like the tyrant who’d broken Roman, who’d disturbed the forest’s balance so badly. He was a child- only he wasn’t. There was too much knowledge in his eyes, and a challenge. And fear. It was well hidden, but there was fear. 

“We… we could leave?” Remus offered suddenly. 

“Shut up!” snapped D.N. 

“No, we could! We could go somewhere else, away from Wickhills where no one would ever see us again. I know lots of places! I can take him far away. Never come back.” 

D.N.’s breath hissed out between his teeth, and his hand came up to cover the back of his neck as if he was in pain. 

“Remus stop.”

“You wouldn’t even have to tell anyone what happened!”

“REMUS.” 

He stared wild eyed at D.N.

“I … can’t.” He said like the words were being forced out, curled up against himself. “I can’t. I can’t leave Wickhills. At least not right now.” he licked his lips, face pinched, and scowled at the room.  “Stop staring. Knowing my condition isn’t … isn’t too odd.” He managed to straighten up. “You two need to leave.” He said, looking at Rowan and Remus and saying it like an order. 

“This is my house, D.N.” Rowan said warningly. 

“Very well, then my brother and I have to step outside, elsewhere.”

“No-” Remus started, and was held up by him raising a hand. 

“We need to talk without anyone else hearing. Besides… if he’s going to kill me, again, it would be polite to give him an opportunity to do it elsewhere.” He gave a sneer of a smile at the idea. 

Remus gave a whine that was half growl. Rowan grabbed his arm, and stared at them with a pinched, scared expression. His hand closed over hers with a grip that looked like it hurt, but she didn’t flinch. 

The front door shut behind the two and Remus looked over at Rowan.

“We’re going to listen in, right?”

“Oh, we are absolutely going to eavesdrop if at all possible.” Rowan closed her eyes. “I don’t think they’ve left the porch, which would make sense if D.N. wanted to take advantage of not being killed in my home. This way.” 

They had to take the long way to avoid windows, but skulked up to the end of the porch.

There was a window there, offset just a bit from the stairs that led down to the back yard. Pressed to the bookshelf in the corner and each other, the two could just about make out two voices; one low like the rumble of thunder in the distance, and the other higher- D.N.’s voice. Their stealth had lost them some of the conversation, so they just tried to breathe softly.

The voice raised just a bit.

“You can not say there is anything I could do as reparations.” 

A low deep rumble that was definitely words. 

“I might.” 

Another rumble like thunder in the distance. 

“It all escalated very quickly. And then it was just… habit.” 

A snarl like ripping silk, and Rowan clutched at Remus’s arm again. 

“Mistakes can become habit.”  there was a pause “There’s a great deal I’d do differently if I had a chance to do it again. But I can’t. However, the fact remains that I am here, now and like this; and you can best believe I would not be if I had any choice in the matter.” There was an explosion of breath. “Do you know what it feels like to rot? I do now. It is horrifying. My flesh dissolved, slowly because nothing would come close enough to strip it from my bones. Then my bones were left, and I hoped that I’d return to darkness, but I didn’t.” There was a pause. “I couldn’t even leave the clearing, because all my bones were there. I was trapped.” There was a deep breath. “Then I heard the stupid witch crooning to Remus. Then his hands on my bones. Everything was soft; and then.” There was a pause and they could hear the heels of his boots against the porch boards as he paced. “A voice, like the darkness itself, almost familiar. Like I should know it. Do you know what it told me? ‘Do Better’” An unchildlike scoff. “For all I care, you can kill me. It’s bound to be better the second time.” 

Rowan’s hands went up and covered Remus’s mouth, and she leaned all her weight against him, as he twitched towards the window. 

This time when the thunder voice rumbled Rowan understood what it said. 

“No.”

“No?”

“If living is your punishment, you should take it.” 

“What!” 

“I’m not saying I won’t kill you; just not now.” 

“I can give you a reason if you’re too busy playing at being merciful.” hissed D.N. “What do you expect me to do? Shall I come back and play court with your new toys? I’m sure Roman will -” There was a thump that shook the entire house, as something struck the outside wall, knocking a book from the shelf which comically bounced off Remus’s head. 

“You will not Say His Name. Ever. Again.” The thunder voice said with so much force that both the eavesdroppers shuddered. 

There were choking noises, that sounded like D.N. was trying anyway. They finally died away. 

“You may want to put me down.” came the child’s voice, finally. “I just heard ‘mom’s car. Somehow I don’t think they’re going to see much but a grown man attacking a child.” 

“Are you… threatening me with humans?” 

“How could that possibly be a threat? I’m just thinking of your reputation. Also the dumb witch’s window, since I think Remus is about to come through it.” 

There was a heavy sigh. 

“I suppose we didn’t ask them not to listen in.” 

Rowan shrugged and let go of Remus turning and opening the window, both levels, letting the breath of late winter into the house.

“I don’t know what you expected.” She knelt on the ground and put her elbows on the windowsill, and Remus learned through, looking the young fae over as if for injuries. “Do you want to meet my mother? Because D.N. was right, and she will do her best to feed you if you don’t escape now.” 

“She’d just-” he looked confused. 

“Since she didn’t see you nearly put her guest through the wall? Yes, probably.” Rowan shrugged. 

“‘Her guest’?” D.N. demanded. “I’m your guest.”

“Her house too. So until he violates it, he has guest right.” She shrugged. “So what do you say, your highness? Want to come in properly invited for some tea?” 

“Don’t invite him in.” D.N. snapped sounding offended. 

“He’s not a vampire, anything I did to block him coming in would also block you.” She said mildly. She glanced up at him. “You’re not a vampire, right your highness? I mean, nothing says you couldn’t be both. I always thought that was what was up with Twilight.” 

He just stared, confused at the casual way she said ‘your highness’. Most mortals were confused by formal address, and she was using it like a very odd ‘mister’. 

“No.”  He looked back at D.N. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Where would I go?” he demanded. “I said I can’t leave. I am weak, and fragile. If I wanted to try to go back to the hill, I would probably get eaten or killed. Or both. They wouldn’t even have to know who I was.” He looked like he was considering that. 

“Just… stay here.” 

“Thanks.” Said Rowan dryly. 

“He’s your guest.” He didn’t expect her to laugh. 

“You’ve got me there.” 

He looked back and forth between Remus and D.N. for a long moment, then stepped off the porch and walked back into the forest, disappearing.

“Well that was lovely.” Rowan stood up and dusted off her knees. “I’m going to go finish that nervous breakdown. In or out? This house costs enough to heat without leaving a window open.” 

Rather than Remus going out the window, Danger Noodle stepped back inside.

“Ugh, what is with your window. It’s like walking through incredibly thick cobwebs.” 

“It’s just the wards.” She shrugged, and shut the window. “I was completely serious, so if you can keep my mother busy while I scream, that’d be great.” Rowan climbed the stairs, disappearing just as the front door opened.

[maddestzoomer]

late-night drives

warnings - i don't think there are any aside from a small amount of cursing and a lil bit of angst :)

word count - 2.1k

summary - you go for a late-night ride with steve harrington

a.n. - just thought this was an interesting concept, and so i put it into writing haha. also, i guess this could serve as a second part to stop thinking 

.`.

It was two in the morning as you got dressed, pulling on an old sun-bleached t-shirt and some jeans, trying to remain as quiet as possible.

Maybe you wouldn't be doing this if it weren't so uncomfortably hot in your room- the type of hot that made your sheets cling to your body and your skin break out in a small sweat. Maybe if your mom would bother to turn the A/C on, well, maybe you wouldn't be sneaking out.

Tonight was different from the regular, though. Steve had invited you to hang out, and the thought of doing so made gave you something to look forward to. It wasn't often only the two of you hung out.

A part of you wondered if he would actually even show up. You, of course, hoped he would- so that you would be able to spend time with that charming brunette. But the clock on your nightstand sprouted doubt and worry in your mind as the time went on, causing you to pick at your nails as you gazed from your window.

All that doubt and worry was left behind when you watch a car pull up in front of your house.

'Shit...' You thought to yourself. All of a sudden, the reality of the situation seemed to come crashing down. You could feel your heart beating in your chest. Why the fuck did Steve have to have /that effect. The one that made it hard to breathe and even harder to think.

Stop thinking.

You began walking from your room, attempting to be as careful and quiet as possible. You'd studied the hallways floors before, so you knew where to and where not to step.

As soon as you close the front door, you felt pure energy. It may have been three in the morning, but it no longer felt like it. The tiredness faded away with a soft summer breeze, causing the smallest of smiles to pull to your lips.

Quickly, you walked Steve's car, hopping into the passenger's seat and shutting the door behind you.

"Well, look at that!" Steve greeted with a smile as he shifted the car into drive "You know, you're basically a juvenile delinquent now."

You rolled your eyes, though you smiled softly "That's definitely a good way to greet someone." You joked, buckling up.

Steve chuckled softly, rolling down the windows. How he managed to look so awake and ready at 2 am, you had zero clue.

The sprinklers from your neighbor’s yard hissed softly, though that becomes distant as Steve pulled further away from your house.

Steve turned the radio on, flipping through a few stations before finding one he liked, a station playing something by New Order.

Steve, like you, doesn’t sleep all that much. His mind simply doesn't let him sometimes. With all that has happened, sleep is a rarity. He could be absolutely exhausted (mentally or physically), laying in bed with 20 milligrams of melatonin in his system and he still would be kept awake. So he drives. It helps calm him down.

The red lights paint his face in vibrant shadows as he taps on the steering wheel to whatever song was playing. Then, he gripped the steering wheel tightly, and a muscle twitches in his clenched jaw.

“Are you alright?” You asked with a frown, surprised at the hoarseness of your own voice.

Steve shrugged with a slightly casual smile, the light turning green. He slams on the accelerator, causing you to tightly grasp the side of you seat. No one else is on the road (thankfully).

Steve slowed down slightly, not wanting to worry you.

“I don’t get it,” Steve finally said, shaking his head a bit. He sent a glance your way “I just don’t get it.”

“Don't get what?” You ask with a slight frown

“What am I supposed to be doing?” Steve asked as he slows to a stop at another red light, again glancing over to you.

“I dunno. Where am I supposed to be? What am I supposed to do?”

“If anyone knew the answer to that question,” You smiled softly, sadly, “we’d all be a lot happier.”

Steve shakes his head with a very small smile, then turns onto a road you knew well.

“We’re going up?” You asks. There was a high up hill in Hawkins, one that allowed for people to overlook the town below. You had visited there a few times, mostly because of how calm it can be there.

“I feel like looking down on something,” Steve replies “Makes my problems seem... smaller. Ya know?”

You nodded a bit, still with a small frown. Sometimes, Steve worried you.

The wind and crickets are quickly drowned out as he rounds curves and climbs up the mountain, pressing your shoulders back and forth in you seat.

“I think... at the very least, you know where you belong,” You finally said quietly, when Hawkins is below you and there was less twisting hill available to climb.

“Here. I think.” You added softly, eyes being drawn to the window. Maybe it sounded a bit off when you said it, but you absolutely meant it. He belonged here... right? Such a small town could be pretty shitting with the generally conservative mindset, but at least it was safe, right?

Steve tilts his head, eyes still glued to the road. The headlights bounce off of the signs and flash in both of your eyes. “Maybe... Hopefully.” He said, tone uncharacteristically unsure of itself. Contemplative.

The wind cuts through your clothes, making you shiver and cross your arms over your chest. Steve sees it out of the corner of his eye. He made a quick glance in your direction.

“There’s a sweater in the back.” He says softly, beginning to make another turn

You nodded thankfully, reaching to the back, grabbing the dark blue sweater, and pulling it over your head. It smells softly of pine and coffee, and you swiped off a few crumbs that fall when the fabric rests on your stomach.

“This is gonna sound stupid, but I went to a tea place today,” Steve says, slowing down and pulling over to the side of the road. “Just to watch, I guess. I wanted to see what people do.”

“And?” You asked, looking to Steve. Tires crunch on gravel as he slows the car to a stop on a pullout

“Everyone seemed to have something to do. Grab a coffee and go to work. Sit down for a couple hours and study some stupid summer course. Meet up with a friend and talk about nothing. They all- well,” he parked the car, turning it off and opening the door to step out

You followed him, now grateful for the woolen sweater. Once you were out of the house, it seemed to get a whole lot cooler

“I guess they all seemed to know what they were doing. And I was just sitting there, like 'Fuck. I could be doing something- I should be doing something.'" He said as he climbed onto a rock, then sitting on top

You hesitated a moment before joining him on the rock, taking a seat next to him. The two of you were close to one another, shoulder to shoulder.

“Maybe that was where you were meant to be,” You finally said with a small smile, settling down next to him. He drew his knees up to his chest, taking in a deep breath. It was obvious he didn't agree.

“In that coffee shop. Wondering about the lives of those people. Maybe that’s what you’re meant for, Steve.”

“Yeah... but that doesn't pay bills. Wondering can only do so much.” He murmurs with a small, sad smile, eyes dancing over the lights of the town beneath him. Distant noises drift up- a car honking, a coyote yelling, drunk college kids running around- and you are reminded that this night is not just yours and Steve's

The wind plays with the hairs on the back of your neck as you tilt your head back to stare at the stars. You knew Steve wasn't really asking for an actual answer- at least, not from you, not tonight.

He just wants someone to hear him. That's all he ever wanted. And he knew you would listen because you always listen. Not many people listen actually to what Steve has to say. They write him off as an asshole air-head, as a boring little boy with parents who didn't give a fuck what he had to say.

You know Steve isn't that, though. You know Steve is far, far more.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Steve took your hand into his own, interlocking your fingers with his. Your eyes grew large, and a pink blush dusted over your cheeks, but Steve didn't notice. His eyes stayed on the town below.

"This town is such a fucking shithole..." Steve said quietly as he absentmindedly ran his slender thumb over the back of your hand. You frowned a bit 

"It's not too ba-" you cut yourself off when Steve faced you.

He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. The look on his face said more than enough. Steve's gaze was soft but somewhat saddened.

"Steve?" you finally ask, then pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. "Why do you think you don't belong?" you finally asked.

Steve looked down at your interlocked hands. "Because... I don't know. This place is just full of bullshit people with bullshit brains. So many of them... They just- They aren't like you." He said this softly, calmly. Saying it out loud made his heartbeat in the back of his throat. It made his chest a little heavy.

You frown as you look at Steve, shaking your head a bit in confusion. "W-What does that even mean?" You asked, tone obviously confused. Your heart also began beating faster

Steve smiled a moment, looking up to the sky a moment. "Jeez, Y/N..." He bit his bottom lip a moment. Tearing his eyes away from the starry sky, placing them on you, smiling slightly more at your confused frown

Steve let out a deep breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding. His grasp on your hand became slightly tighter, though it still remained gentle and comforting. He smiled softly, remaining quiet for a few moments before saying "I like you, Y/N. I really, really like you."

A strong wave of realization hit you. First, your eyes grew large, then your mouth fell open. Your reaction was, simply, pure awe. Shock, even. Was Steve saying what you thought he was? Or- did you somehow misunderstand him?

Your silence began making Steve a bit nervous "C'mon, Y/N." He let out a quick, sharp breath that was a failed attempt at a chuckle. "You're scaring me." He said, beginning to frown slightly himself. Was telling you how he felt the right idea? Fuck, Steve was beginning to think it wasn't

You kept your eyes on Steve. "I umm..." You looked down a moment at your hands- how nicely they fit together, how nicely /you fit together. "I... like you too, Steve." You looked up to meet Steve's gaze again.

Steve surprised you when he let out a quick laugh. It made you flinch a bit, thinking this may have been a stupid joke. But then, you saw the bright smiling curled to Steve's lips. You hadn't ever seen such a brilliant and genuine and fucking /happy smile plastered on Steve's face before, on anyone's face for that matter.

It was a truly beautiful smile. One you thought you would remember forever. You thought, for a very quick moment, that you would want wanted to see that smile forever. It was a smile that filled you with happiness, with genuine gladness. That smile put you at more ease than any spoken words possibly could.

A small thought made itself comfortable in your mind. 'I want to see that smile every day until I die.' The thought wasn't alarming, invasive, or untrue. It was a comfortable, calming truth. It was like a warm weighted blanket or a mug of hot cocoa between cold hands.

Maybe someday you would tell Steve what you truly thought. But that day... it wasn't today

[luthien-t]

The Sun Will Shine. (Chapter 5)

Summary: Thanos invaded the asgardians ship & Thor called for back up. Being a liable paramedic, you gather your tools and went to space. You end up being injured during battle but Thanos was defeated, what will you do when you find out your lover, Loki suffered more than just a few battle scars? But then again, no one is ever really gone.

Chapter Summary: You followed the signs to where Loki promised to be there waiting for you, after a month and a half of searching, will you finally reunite with your love?

warning: very sad-ish

wordcount: 2.6+K

A/N: Hellooo, yes I know this story is going way too slow even for my liking, but I just dont know where it will go after a certain scene, but if anyone has any ideas or even how they think it will end, please tell me, I could use some inspiration here, Happy reading!!

You grabbed your laptop to check the current weather for the location Loki wrote for you, to prepare yourself for the trip you’re about to go to. You also stumbled upon your email and it was flooded with messages from Tony, sending you emails for any meeting and any party they were having. It made you frown knowing that he is still trying to include you as if you’re still there around them, you bit your lips and read through every single one of them, in some emails he was just checking up on you and asking about your whereabouts and checking if you’re doing okay and a certain email was talking about Bruces birthday today and they’re having a party to celebrate, you sighed as you started typing about how your last month was like, what you were doing and how difficult it was to decipher the journal. You still left out the details about Dr strange and the answers you found, you decided that you will tell him when you head back at the tower with Loki. 

You sent the email and got out of bed, checking the time, you knew you had an hour to go see Stephen before the time you both agreed on. You got ready and headed towards the Sanctum, you were more than ready for this search to end.

“Are you ready?” Strange stood in front of you, waiting for your respond so he can open a portal for you. 

You sighed softly and nodded, watching him as he moved his hands in a circular motion for a portal to open next to you. You take one last glance at him before smiling and going through. 

“Two hours! You have two hours before I come and get you two!” He smiled while pointing a finger at you. You nodded happily at the mention of ‘you two.’ 

“See you in two hours!” You waved at him before walking forward and away from the portal before he closes it behind you. 

The snow was piling around your feet, it wasn’t deep but it was enough for you to hear the crunch with every step you take, you look around you, it was quite, empty and peaceful, the sun just started rising in Ice Land and the horizon was beyond beautiful, you start to understand why Loki chose this place out of all the places you had on your list, he always talked about how landscapes like this remind him of Jutonheim, and he always fit perfectly around the snow, even sometimes if it was cold enough, his blue would start to show and glow softly under the sunlight, defining every curve on his skin. 

You found a large rock that resembled a chair and sat on it, counting the time in your head. 

55 minutes, 56 minutes, 57… 

Almost an hour past and no sign of Loki, you start to wonder if you misunderstood anything from the journal and cursed yourself for not bringing it with you. Maybe he meant 10AM Ice Land time? Or maybe he meant 10PM? You kept waiting and waiting and your negative thoughts kept growing and growing. Is it possible that Loki wrote that journal and forgot? Or just simply, is it possible that his plan actually failed? Maybe he really is gone? Maybe this was all to distract me and stop me from mourning for him because he always told me to move on if something does happen to him. You shook your head and look around, you heard a rustling sound and turned your head towards it with a smile. 

“Took you long enough” Your smile fell flat when you noticed that it was Stephen looking at you through the portal he just opened from his side of the world. 

“It’s been 2 hours, y/n.” He said with a frown on his face, he must have noticed that you are still sitting alone with no one around you. You shake your head as tears start to threaten to fall. “No, Steph, we have to wait a bit longer, maybe he meant a different time” You look away from him and wipe your face from the cold tears falling down your cheeks. 

“It’s okay, y/n.” He sighs quietly and walked through the portal to you, a blanket in his hands. “It’s time to let go.” He wrapped the blanket around you and helped you get up on your feet, you wanted to protest, to stand your ground and to not leave until Loki decides to stop playing this stupid game. You were starting to get angry. “This is stupid. Why did you agree on doing this with me?” You look up at Stephen and he shrugs. “Because I believed you, but Loki proved us both wrong” He said as he helped you step through the portal before closing it behind him. 

Unbeknownst to you, Loki was there and was waiting for you there, he was beyond happy seeing you again, you still look the same, you still took his breath away, after two months of not seeing you he was ready to run towards you but seeing Dr Strange helping you with his teleporting stopped him from moving from his spot behind the rock. He never wanted to drag any of the Avengers with you, no one was supposed to know about this but you, if anyone knew he was still alive, words will reach Thanos minions and it will backfire at you, they will use you as bait to drag him back to where he was before New York happened. He had to find a way to leave, he never meant for it to be like this, he only wanted to reassure you that he is fine and maybe ask you to leave this planet with him, he misses you and wants you back in his life, but he can’t risk anything when people still want him dead. He decided to teleport back to his hiding place and hope that one day you two will be reunited again.

You feel stupid, you feel like the world was pressing around you and it was getting harder to breath, the reality of Loki being gone was finally starting to hit you and you finally understand that this was always a game to Loki, he never wanted you to mourn, he never wanted you to feel bad about him being gone, he only did this to entertain you. But at what cost? You were ignoring the people who were looking out for you while hiding in some apartment, and you dragged Stephen with you on a ridiculous treasure hunt. 

“I feel like a child.” You say as you sit down on the chair and look up at Stephen. 

“You’re not. He was the God Of Mischief. Of course he would refuse dying without one last game.” He sat on the chair opposite of you and handed you a cup of tea. 

He was the God Of Mischief.

It was all coming down on you, the realisation that he really is gone. All of your hard work is just thrown out of the window. You’ve learnt Juton for nothing and you’ve learnt Asgardian for no reason, and you were going back to the Tower empty handed, defeated. 

You drank your tea in silence as you stared out the window, it was beginning to rain, in the middle of June, how ironic. 

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” Stephen interrupted your thoughts, you turn your head towards him and shrug with a weak smile on your face. 

“I can’t really avoid the inevitable, there is nothing left to do but move on.” You sigh and suddenly get up. “I’m gonna head back home to move back to the tower.” You look down at him and he nods. “Thank you, Stephen, for everything. You helped me with more than you can imagine, I learn a new thing every time I come into this Sanctum” and with that he smiled up at you and nodded again. “I’m glad for doing so, now if you are going to the Tower, I guess I will be seeing you tomorrow for Bruces party?” You chuckle softy and nod before walking towards the door. 

“Guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow” You bow your head and leave to go back to your apartment. 

You unlocked the door and headed to your room, the window was open and there was a crow standing on the edge of the frame, you raise an eyebrow and move your way towards the crow slowly. “Hey there little guy” You said in a singsongy voice, you grab the closest thing to you to shush the crow back out of the window. 

“I am not in the mood.” You say to the crow and wave a book towards it to leave the room but it wont budge, did not even flinch. You sigh and sit on the bed. “Whatever, I am leaving this place so the landlord will have a talk with you.” You say as you shove everything back in your bag, you never unpacked your stuff because you were too busy with the journal you had, so distracted by the game that you forgot about your actual life for a minute. 

You grabbed everything that was yours and left the room, the crow was still standing this with his held tilted at you, watching you as you were watching him. You were confused as to how a crow can be so calm around humans but shrugged it off and left. You have bigger things to focus on than some random crow. You have to head back to the tower and go back to your normal life. You can’t keep getting distracted by every little thing anymore. It is time to move past this. 

Your walk back to The Tower was quite, the rain stopped long before you left the apartment and your shoes were wet from the water on the pavement, you feel defeated and the weight of Loki being gone kept hitting you harder and harder with every step. You reached the tower and went straight to the elevator. You sighed happily when no one entered the elevator with you and pressed on the button to the living area you shared with the team. 

The elevator door opened and you were greeted by Tonys back while he was busy ordering people on where to put the cake and rearranging the furniture. You walked towards him and cleared your throat. “Oh thank goodness Pepper you’re back, can you he-“ His sentence was cut short when he turned around and saw you. 

“Y/n!” He smiled wide and walked towards you. You smiled lightly. 

“We’ve missed you” He wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace and kissed the top of your head. “How have you been?” He mumbled against your head. His question wasn’t supposed to hurt you like this but it did, you tighten your hug and buried your head in his shoulder, you can’t say he was shocked by the sudden tightness but he held you closer and sighed, as if he understood the words you couldn’t say. You wanted to pull away and apologise but you simply couldn’t let go. You needed this.

“You were right.” You mumbled against his shoulder and nodded. “I know, kid. Don’t beat yourself, you needed this to get your closure.” He said as he rubbed your back. You did not notice your tears but the dampness of his shirt under your breath gave it away to you, causing you to pull away and sniff. “Oh god I’m sorry” you say as you pat the wet patch on his shoulder and let out a small chuckle, he just watched you with a smile. “I’m just glad you’re back, y/n.” He said before pulling away from you. “Everyone is currently busy and getting the place ready to party! You don’t have to join if you don’t feel like it” He reassures you and you shake your head. “I’ll be fine, besides, I’ve missed you guys and a party never hurt no one” You say and pull your bag up, waving at him to get back to what he was doing and head back to your previous quarter. 

You can’t say you’re exactly happy to get back to this place, it was still filled with memories of Loki, but you knew that in order to move on you have to face it. Opening the door, you walk into the room and Lokis smell immediately invaded your lungs, everything is exactly where it was since you left a month and a half ago. You sigh deeply and head to the curtains, sliding them for the sun to enter the room, everything had a layer of dust on it and you have a lot of cleaning to do, you look around not sure what to do with Lokis stuff, you know that you are going to keep some of it but you also cant hold on to everything if you want to move on. 

tap, tap, tap. 

You hear a tapping noise on the window and turn your head towards it, there he is again, that crow from the apartment, you raise your eyebrows and walk to the window, approaching the crow slowly. “How-“ you were interrupted by someone opening the door and calling your name, looking back at the door you see Thor and smile widely before glancing quickly back at the window and the crow was gone, you sigh quickly and put your thoughts aside to go greet him. 

“Thor!” you yelped as he gave you one of his famous tight hugs.

“It’s so good to see you, Lady y/n!” He pulled away to look down at you and you smile at him, your smile slowly fading as you notice his beard grew longer than he likes and his eyes were framed with dark circles, you frown and cup his face. “What have you been doing to yourself, Thor?” you say in a soft whisper and he smiles slightly to you. 

“I’m doing fine, you shouldn’t worry, I came from New Asgard as soon as Tony informed me that you’re back in the tower” He pulled away and sat on your bed, avoiding your eyes. 

“That quickly?” You chuckle.

“Well, thanks to Tony and Bruce, we discovered a new way to create a portal similar to the one we had in asgard before, you know…”

You sighed and sat next to him, you start feeling selfish for leaving him to mourn and suffer his brothers loss on his own, you were so busy and distracted by that stupid journal that you forgot that not only did you lose your love, but Thor also lost his brother. You rest a hand on his knee. “I’m sorry for everything, I should’ve checked up on yo-“

“Nonsense! I know you’ve been looking for him, I know how my brother can be sometimes.” He chuckle and looks down at you.

“But I didn’t..” You look up at him with tears in your eyes. “I didn’t find him, Thor. You were right, everyone was right, and I’m sorry.” 

“Lady y/n, It’s all right, what matters is that we’re all here now. We have to celebrate Hulks birthday!!” He tries to change the subject and got off the bed. “We will be seeing you in the party, correct?” He bows his head so he is at eye level with you and smiles, you nod at him and get up. “Yes, I’ll be there, I promise” You smile and watch him leave the room. 

Your eyes couldn’t help but drift back to the window, and as if on time, the crow flew back again, standing on the balconies grill behind the window and it hits you. 

“Loki..?”

[theonetheycallhannah]

A Mage’s Beginning-Part One

Summary: Anathema of Velena is sent by the Brotherhood of Sorcerers to a kingdom already decimated by a mighty beast when she happens upon another. One who saves her life…as she saves his.

Pairing: Geralt/OFC (Anathema of Velena)

Word Count: 5k

Rating/Warnings: M for language, discussion of mature themes and situations, alcohol consumption, violence, and reflection on a particularly shitty childhood that could be triggering. Body image triggers. No smut for now. Also, warning that it’s stupid long and only half done! Wow! I’m super sorry! Anathema is kind of a long winded little witch.

Inspiration: Netflix’s The Witcher, that sweet, sweet Cavill bod, and the chocolatey crunch of his “Geralt voice!” (idk why, but that’s the imagery for me. Lol!) Also, Ana inspired by the badassness of Anya Chalotra as Yen, the powerful vulnerability of Anna Shaffer as Triss, and the poise and grace of MyAnna Brunning as Tissaia…I honestly can’t believe that the name Anathema is a total coincidence now. Especially considering that my name…is Hannah, a version of all of these. It just came to me as a cool name.

Author’s Note: Like most of my OFCs (and honestly, even EFCs), Anathema is loosely based on myself. She reacts how I feel I would (or sometimes hope I would) in her situation. For those of you who read “Shape of Her” you’ll know that I’m chubby. Anathema was, as well, before her transformation, and she talks about what it was like for her as a child and adolescent growing up. For me, this was a deeply personal thing to write about. I don’t usually talk about the effect my weight has always had and continues to have on my mental health. I’m very fortunate that, unlike Anathema, I have loving parents that have never treated me this way. But in an odd way, their “help” and concern for my physical health has created this sort of villainous aspect of them in my mind, and I suppose that comes out in Ana’s mother here. At any rate, I should probably go back to a counselor about it, but that’s tough during a pandemic and with my work hours. So I write about it, and I guess there ends up being a bit of validation for her/me when Geralt shows interest (and maybe takes that further in part two...no spoilers here!). Not that any of it’s completely healthy, but at least it’s kinda cathartic and fun in the moment if you don’t think too hard about it. I hope the monologue doesn’t bog you down and make you lose interest. If it does, just skip it. It won’t hurt my feelings.

Also, I’m sure my spells are total baloney compared to what’s in the books and deffo to what’s in the show. I just wanted to write something down to sort of show the power being expelled by Ana. These are probably way more Hogwarts than Aretuza! Lol!

Tag List: @sunflowersstan @mylittlepartofthegalaxy @mstgsmy @lareinedususpense @geekycanuck and @littlefreya (omg it let me tag you this time, Freya!) I didn’t tag some of you that I tagged before in Shape of Her, just because I didn’t know if that was something you wanted. (basically, if I didn’t get a concrete response one way or the other, or I wasn’t fairly sure you’d want a tag, I didn’t tag you. I still love all of you!) Please let me know if you want to be tagged or if you want me not to tag you in things! I will not be offended! Also, this is not smutty. It’s pre-smut. lol!

Anathema of Velena was a mage of little renown. Powerful enough, but nothing compared to someone such as Yennefer of Vengerberg. She had worked so hard at Aretuza and all Rectoress Tissaia de Vries could manage to tell her most days was “You could not organize a pair of gloves, Ana. How do you expect to be able to control chaos? I’m not even convinced you have any chaos in you.” She turned away, calling the five other girls out of the lightning tower, some of whom had ampules filled with crackling white light. The rest were in various states of injury from singes to limps. Anathema…well, she had nothing. The lightning didn’t come near her. She left the tower without a prize, but filled with shame, uninjured from the typical failed attempt. She didn’t know why it was worse, but it very much was.

It took her years to finally get over that day.

Her first assignment the brotherhood sent her on was, well, it hardly mattered now, because the city, the whole kingdom was now rent by some foul beast. She’d been sent to help. But had arrived too late. She heaved one of her deeper sighs. “Fuck.” She let out audibly. She’d have to make camp. For the third night. At least. Maybe it was the fifth. She wasn’t certain. But it seemed like too long. She dismounted her chestnut mare, Clove, and started to get her supplies down for her modest tent. Modest, meaning that it appeared modest to the casual observer.

Inside, however, when she’d cast her enchantments, it was almost like home, complete with a full bed, soaking tub, fireplace, table, chairs, and a lovely lounge with a settee and chaise. One of her favorite things about Magic was being able to pack heavy while still traveling light. She was even able to bring a small book collection.

She’d just finished setting everything up and was casting the necessary protective enchantments to the perimeter of her site when she heard a rustle in the bushes about twenty yards away. She attempted to remain calm, but was terrified. She carried only a small silver dagger and a steel short sword that she rubbed with a silver infused oil which she made when she came across good silver and decent tallow. It wore off, but the silver oiled blade was a good compromise when you couldn’t carry both silver and steel. What was she, a fucking Witcher? Anyway, she drew her dagger, but conjured a revelatory wall around her so she could see who or what was out there hunting her. She prayed it wasn’t a kikimore. Anything but a kikimore, she thought. Those shits gave her the creeps. Give her an iron toothed wyvern, or the king of dragons, himself. She could conjure in battle against the best of beasts born of magic, but those insects…no.

There came a keening howl unlike anything she’d ever heard. A drowning scream that almost sounded like it was coming from under the water. Then too many pairs of glowing green eyes started appearing from said bushes. They were horrifying lizard-fish people. And they were walking toward her camp. It would be all too soon that they would walk through the invisibility shield as she hadn’t been able to cast any deflective measures yet. They’d breach her camp in minutes if she didn’t act. She prepared to cast a fire spell on them, hoping that would work, when she heard a deep male voice behind her growl an order.

“Get down! Hide!” Pardon me? She thought. This guy didn’t know who he was dealing with.

It appeared though that she didn’t, either.

The voice had come from a very tall and amply muscled horseman. He wore no armor, only a dark linen tunic tucked into leather breeks, and tall black boots. All was weathered and smelled heavily of horse, ale, and sweat. He quickly dismounted in that way that some men do in which they swing their leg over the horse’s head instead of around the rear. This was the way that, even in her terror, made her feel an unfamiliar but pleasant stirring in the pit of her stomach.

His hair, which she had presumed blonde at first, she noted now to be silvery grey, and well past his shoulders. Maybe longer than her own. He grabbed a sword from the large sheath on his saddle and stalked toward the oncoming rabble of sodden predators.  

She thought…she might have been mistaken but she was fairly sure he’d grabbed a steel sword. Steel would not be very effective on these monsters, if she had sized them up right. She looked to his saddle, seeing the hilt of another blade there. She stepped toward it and slid it out to reveal that this was precisely what had happened. He’d grabbed the wrong weapon in his haste. Well. He was dead. She grabbed the silver sword, sheathing her dagger, and marching toward the scrum around the well-meaning muscle head.

“Selectum ignitus!” She chanted as she wrought her hand in the corresponding motion. This spell burned only victims she chose, leaving others unharmed. It had only stunned these creatures, but it was enough time to allow her would-be hero to catch a small break from his blunder. His thick neck was still in the spindly clutches of one of the largest fish men, apparently less susceptible to fire than the others. Ana stepped up behind him, and with the silver sword, sliced his head clean off at the neck.

“Here.” She said as she tossed him the weapon, the steel sword somewhere on the forest floor to be found later. “They’re waking back up.”

“Mmm.” He mumbled. Right. He was welcome. All this gratitude was just making her blush.

They fought well together, surprisingly. She with her magic and dagger, and he with his signs and sword. She could feel it when he cast them. She noticed him using Aard, so she started casting more similar spells herself. The skirmish was over in minutes. All of the beasts had fallen and she looked at her newfound comrade, both of them covered in blood and muck.

“That was…fun!” She said, in earnest.

“Hmm.” He responded. As if to say, sure, whatever, freak. And began hovering over the corpses, rummaging in his satchel.

“So…these handsome fellows. I’ve never come across them.” She waited a beat, hoping he’d just answer her, knowing that’s what she meant for him to do. Oh, okay. This wasn’t the kind of guy he was. Fair. “What are they?”

“Drowners. Bigger ones are called drowned dead. They come out of the nearby bodies of water.”

How nice. Surely she wouldn’t have any nightmares about that. She'd heard of drowners, as a coastal dweller, but had been fortunate enough to never see one. Until tonight.

“And…not that it’s my business, but…you’re doing what exactly?”

He sighed. “These remains have a lot of useful potion ingredients. I never waste a kill if I can help it. Ginatz’s Acid doesn’t grow on trees, does it?”

“No tree I’ve ever seen, no.” She laughed. He didn’t. Well. This guy would just be a barrel of fun, it seemed. But he did just try to save her life. She should attempt to repay him that kindness. Even if he failed a bit at first, she didn’t know what she would have done if he hadn’t been there.

“Hey, I have a few more spells to do before my camp is fortified for the night, but then I was going to have some dinner in my tent. I have plenty, if you’d like to join. As a thank you for helping me tonight.”

“Camp?”

“Tempora Portia.” She swept her arm down to create a window in the cloaking spell so he could see her camp in the clearing.

He saw the small tent, that looked as though barely two people could lie down in it, much less sit for a meal.

He eyed her warily. “I think you’ll be lucky enough to eat in there by yourself with just a bowl and a spoon.”

“Ever heard of not judging a book by its cover?” She asked. “Trust me. I have a plump pheasant, some really delicious herbs I got on the way here from Aretuza, and some lovely wine! I’ve been saving it until I got here to share with the court, but…” she looked sheepishly at the ruined city on the hillside. “You’re clearly the only surviving citizen, Sir….”

“Geralt. Just Geralt. I’m not a citizen. I was commissioned to come here, just as you were. Only I was sent by…the neighbors…to eliminate the threat before it reached them, too.”

“Right. Geralt. I’m Anathema of Velena. Nice to meet you, and thank you for saving my life tonight.”

“Anathema, thanks for saving mine. And I guess, I’ll take you up on dinner.”

~~~~~~

She told him to finish his scavenging, and cast a charm onto him and his horse, Roach, to allow them to enter through her custom enchantments.

When she was finished securing her campsite, she went inside her tent to clean up. She conjured lots of warm fragrant water into her copper tub. It would have been more relaxing had she not been covered in the muck of battle. The drowner guts were slimy like fish entrails on her skin and in her hair. She was fairly certain that she also had blood from both her own wounds and Geralt’s spattered across what skin had been exposed during the fight.

She reached for her sponge and a bar of soap that smelled of lilac, one of her favorites, and scrubbed until all of the muck, mud, and blood was gone from her skin and hair.

She felt a telltale shudder come from the perimeter of her camp, indicating that her would-be rescuer and his steed had stepped through them. She had put up sheer modesty curtains somewhat arbitrarily, but today she was glad for them. She had just stepped out of the tub and was fully naked when Geralt entered.

“Erm.” He cleared his throat simultaneously announcing his presence and asking if he could come in. She must applaud him for his excellent communication skills.

“Come on in, I’ll be right there.”

She donned a simple, modest wrap dress that went well beyond the duty of a bath robe and looked infinitely more chic, and piled her damp, dark hair into a messy coil high on her head.

“So glad you could join me. Did you get everything you wanted from the creatures?”

“Everything they could give me. Yes.”

“Good. Well, I’ve not started dinner yet, but it won’t be very long. Why don’t you have a bath? You look like you’ve been riding for weeks with no sleep and you’re caked in the muck of a dozen battles like the one we were just in. I’ll clean and mend your clothes, too.”

“I’m fine thank you.”

“Oh, please? You’ll enjoy dinner so much more if you’re not concerned with how you smell…plus my table isn’t so big that…I couldn’t smell you too.” She giggled. “So as a courtesy to your cook and table mate?”

She looked at him with her doe eyes. Maybe that would work. She loved helping people and making them feel better. She thought he was restraining a smirk. He complied with a grunt and a nod.

“Splendid. I’ll get you some wine, too. I love wine with a bath! Don’t you!?”

“That and silence.” Point taken. She’d let him relax.

He stood in the corner of the bathing alcove as she conjured bath water for him.

“Agua fragra fieretta.” she spoke, and the tub filled with steamy water that smelled like spearmint, cedar, and a hint of lavender. Her own had smelled so different. She hadn’t realized it seemed to change depending on who you were drawing the bath for, never having done so for anyone but herself.

She dug around for a sandalwood soap and a new sponge and set them out for him on the small side table.

“Here you are. I’ll be right back with your penis! I mean, woah. Sorry.” She had turned around at the wrong moment. She knew he’d been taking off his shirt when she was rummaging. But she assumed modesty would mandate that he wait for her to leave before removing his trousers. She had been mistaken. He stood there as naked as the day the midwife pulled him from his mother, hands on his hips just like it was the most blasé thing to ever happen.

“It’s fine. I don’t really think about being shy anymore. Sorry. My clothes are on that stool if you want them. Thanks.”

“Right, great. I’ll be right back with a towel and wine. That’s what I was going to say before. And yeah, then I’ll see what I can do for those clothes.”

She left, procured the wine and a towel, and hurried back, placing the cup audibly on the table so she didn’t have to speak to him. She was so embarrassed. She grabbed his clothes and sat them on the settee for later. She was somehow both glad and disappointed that he did not acknowledge her.

Now, she needed to work on dinner. She’d gotten a lovely pheasant this afternoon with her bow. She’d been gathering fragrant herbs of all kinds along her journey and had traded some of them at market for potatoes, carrots, garlic and pearl onions. She prepped the pheasant, stuffing it with the vegetables, herbs, and some salt and pepper, and rubbed it down on the outside with some olive oil and seasoning. She placed it in her camp oven to cook in the infused oil and its own juices, basting it every so often.

She magically cleaned and mended Geralt’s clothes and tried unsuccessfully not to think about the body that they covered. His arms were as thick as the average man’s legs and his legs were not unlike tree trunks, albeit much more shapely. His chest was monolithic with two great pecs and six well-defined abs. He was also perfectly hairy. No one would confuse him with a bear, but this was definitely no boy. No boy, at all. And Mother Melitele herself would weep at the sight of the cock on this man. Long. At least halfway down his thigh. She didn’t get that good a look, but she thought it was veiny. And it was definitely thick…although she couldn’t compare it to much. To anything, really. Not even the instruments used on her the day she ascended to her current state of perfection. She'd been given powerful herbs to sedate her until the transformation was complete.

She’d arrived at Aretuza a sluggish and overweight wallflower with tiny breasts. When she went over her desires for her new form with the “miracle worker” as she liked to call him, she asked him to upgrade her in every way he could, but to keep her eyes the same shade of green they’d always been. She’d felt that the eyes were too directly attached to the soul and to change them was going too far. The rest, however, was fair game.

And this was her first assignment since her ascension, so she hadn’t been anywhere but her home, which was an unforgiving place, and Aretuza. Little opportunity for romance had presented itself. And she wasn’t even sure how romance would go for her at this point. Were mages adored for their power? Beauty? Or who they were as people independent of those attributes? Was that all she was now? A beautiful magician? She suddenly felt a small pang of regret.

Her eyes shifted involuntarily now to the bath partition. Must have been the movement she caught out of the corner of her eye. Geralt was taking a drink of wine, a very long drink, and when he set the goblet back down, he leaned his head back with a contented sigh. She took the clothes back to the stool when she’d finished, smiled at the scarred, and incredibly heroic man before her, and popped away to finish dinner.

~~~~~~~

She busied herself setting the table with modest candles, and conjuring an extra setting for Geralt. She filled a pitcher with an “agua potum” spell and put her wine vessel out. As she was tabling the pheasant, her eye caught movement again in the “bath room.” Geralt had gotten out of the tub and was drying off. His back was no less impressive than his front and his ass was like a fresh, crisp apple. She’d always loved apples. In her dreamy haze, she'd come too close to the hot camp oven and burned her hand. She let out a whispered but audible “fuck” and brought her hand quickly to her mouth to cool the fire with saliva.

It helped a little, but not much. She continued to prepare as Geralt got dressed and he was out right as dinner was on, wine goblet in hand.

“Smells nice.” He complemented. She was shocked, but still in a lot of pain from the burn.

“It better be the best fucking thing I’ve eaten in ages to make it worth searing the skin off my finger here!” She put her hand to her mouth again, and brought it out, shaking it.

He sat his goblet on the table and went outside, all without a word. She was confused. Wondering how she could have offended him, but honestly, not really caring. She’d tried. She sat down. Exhausted. He came back in with the satchel he’d been wearing and packing with solutions from those corpses.

He walked around the table to kneel in front of her, held out his hand, and raised his eyebrow expectantly. She gave him her injured hand, extending her index finger to indicate the affected area.

“You know, I’ve seen men lose half their faces to fire. This isn’t so bad.” He rifled through the bag for a vial of clear oil with bits of purple floating in it.

“Did they live?” She asked, amused.

“A few.” He smirked, dabbing a small amount of the oil onto his index finger and applying it to hers.

Her relief was instant and evident on her face.

“Wow, that feels so much better. Thank you! What is that?”

“A simple infusion. Oil of lavender. Here.” He gave her the vial.

“Oh I couldn’t.”

“Take it. I make more all the time. It’s damn near free. I’ll show you how, too, so you're prepared for next time. It’s essential for a healer’s kit. Many uses.” These were more words than she’d heard him speak all together since they’d met. She decided not to remark upon it.

“Well thank you. I hope you’re hungry! I think the pheasant is ready to be torn!”

They filled their plates with juicy, savory sections of the bird and large chunks of the vegetables that had become pleasantly tender inside it. Thyme and rosemary, onion and garlic danced off the tongue, complimented by the salt and a dash of ground peppercorn for zest. For once, a meal tasted even better than it had smelled and she had forgotten the terror of the fight with the drowners, the pain of her burn, even the startling sight of the naked man in her tent, and relaxed into the pleasure of a delicious meal.

This is one of the reasons I was fat before, she told herself. And made sure she stopped eating before she'd filled herself to gluttony.

She noticed that her companion was eating…enthusiastically. She was on the verge of saying ravenously, but there was an element of refinement to it that forbade her from using the more savage descriptor. He seldom drank, and most rarely from his water cup.  He liked the wine, then. She liked this fellow. Quite a lot. He stabbed large portions onto his fork and put them easily into his wide mouth. But even though he took larger bites, he did take his time in chewing, savoring the succulent food. She appreciated this from him.

"You're going to have to finish the poor bird off. I'm stuffed." she patted her tummy, demure now, as it had never been in her recent memory.

"Hmm." he grunted in protest. This one she couldn't quite translate past general disagreement.

"What?" she prodded.

"We both know you didn't need any help taking down this bird alone. Even with the vegetables. It's all incredible, by the way. Best meal I've had in ages."

"First of all, thank you, I quite liked it too, and secondly, it's called restraint. Ever heard of it?" she sassed him back.

"I've heard of it, yes. Can't say we've ever crossed paths, though." he held her gaze as he drank deeply from his goblet. Was it suddenly warmer in the tent?

"Well, it might be a good idea to seek it out here and there." she said, hiding well the feathers he'd just ruffled. "Food and I have a volatile history. I have to show restraint or all of this is gone." she indicated her physical form. She hadn't truly intended to make him look at her, but he was. He was holding her in his gaze in a way that was utterly alien to her.

"Mmm." he grunted, as if to express his understanding.

"But enough about me. What about you? It's not every day I meet a witcher!"

His amber eyes met hers, inscrutable, but not pleased.

"You knew."

"Of course I knew. I have eyes and ears, and all kinds of senses working. And all of them caught wind of what you were the moment you dismounted your horse."

"And yet you helped me. Fought with me. Saved me."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Most people don't want a witcher around. They'd prefer the monsters we kill. Even when we're summoned to communities, invited, we're a pariah until the job is done. We're seen as the…lesser evil."

"Tell me Geralt. Did you make the choice to become a witcher?"

"No."

"Do you think I made the choice to be a conduit?" This question, he didn't answer. She thought he may not know. She decided then to tell him her story. How she came to be a mage, and the hell she went through to get where she was.

"Do you know what my nickname was as a child? It wasn't anything cute, like a vegetable or fruit or a baked good, or even a cuddly little creature, no. No term of endearment would suit me. I was called 'Rat.' Because you see, as I mentioned, I have a complicated past where food is concerned, and this comes from my youth. When I would sneak into the pantries and steal food. My mother and the staff thought at first there was a large rat, or even a raccoon behind the lost inventory, for at first, I left behind traces and made a mess of things. But after a while, I got good. Covered my tracks. Then mother started blaming the staff. Beating them, then firing most of them. No one seemed to notice how fat I was getting. Me being the middle of five girls. Eldest two sisters already married off to wealthy business men from town and bringing the bratty little grandchildren around, the younger girls learning dance and music, and generally being full of charm. I was in the background. Until one night, mother found me. She was searching the pantry for a tonic for indigestion when she saw me burrowing, trying to hide between sacks of potatoes. She hauled me out and dove for a long wooden spoon on the worktop in the kitchen. She beat me bloody with that spoon. I couldn't sit and could hardly walk for days."

She took a drink from her goblet, fortifying her. She didn't tell this story often. In fact, she hadn’t told anyone but her best friend Codrick, the blacksmith's apprentice. And that had taken many years.

"She started giving me smaller portions at dinner. Insisting that I wouldn't find a husband in my current state and threatening to sell me to a brothel if I didn't marry in good time. I was nearly starving, but still not getting thin fast enough to satisfy her. She made me run around the perimeter of our grounds. If I wasn't back in time, she'd set our wild bull out after me. There were a few times I was nearly gored. But I kept sneaking into the cupboards late at night. They were locked now, but once I told Codrick what was happening, he helped me by forging me a spare key. She kept calling me 'Rat' which was interesting. As if the sneaking and stealing was the more deplorable side of me than my actual size. She never called me 'Pig.' Perhaps because at least pigs had a use. Pigs could be sold or slaughtered for food. Rats were just a nuisance. The last time she caught me, she hauled me into the kitchen and reached for her wooden spoon again. But this time, when she reared back to strike at me, the spoon had turned into a vicious raven. It squalled and flailed and she let go of it, shooing it away. But it didn't relent. It clawed and pecked at her head and face until her hair was patchy and ragged and her face was a bloody mess. One eye was completely gone, the other, likely to be lost. But she could see well enough to tell where the raven landed after it had left her alone. Right beside me, as if it was trying to calm my still quivering form."

"So that was your conduit moment?" Geralt asked, knowing the answer.

"Yes. Lady de Vries showed up at our door not a moment too soon. The Madame from the local brothel had just agreed to my mother's price. There was a rather tense moment where the money had already changed hands and Tissaia had to threaten both women with rather unpleasant repercussions. She was having me and there would be no arguments. Actually, though, the whole experience of being fought over gave me the confidence I needed to confess my true feelings to Codrick and kiss him before we left the town. I'd fancied him for years but never had the guts to tell him."

"I'm sure you have a point to telling me this life story of yours." Geralt said, patiently, but clearly ready for her to wrap it up.

"Right. Sorry. My point is, most of us that are born or imbued with magic have some story like this. I'm certain you're no different. I could go on with horrors at Aretuza, too, just like I'm sure you could with stories of…where was it you were trained? Kaer Morhen?"

He looked at her skeptically.

"Wolf amulet around your neck. School of the Wolf. I thought that was Kaer Morhen."

"Mmhmm." oh, a two syllable grunt. His vocabulary was proving vast.

"Why shun you over a life you didn't choose? And if I have a fucked up past too, and I'm still dealing with that trauma, what right would I have to dismiss you or consider you an unworthy brother in arms? Or dinner companion? Or maybe even travel companion? After all, we fought well together and we don't know what's out there laying waste to the countryside."

"Suppose you're right."

"About which part?" this always happened to her as someone who never shut up. She never knew whether "you're right" was a blanket statement covering an entire monologue, or just certain parts that someone wanted to subscribe to.

"The first part. I'm still not sure about traveling companions. Or mages, if I'm honest. No offense."

"None taken. If it makes you feel better, I'm still very new to being a mage. I don't have any bad mage habits. I'm not even that good of a mage. I had to hand assemble this tent before I spelled it."

"Well, you did a fine job." he chuckled. "It looked…sturdy, from the outside."

"That's what I was going for. And why don't you just…try me for this expedition. I'll sign a contract saying that it's not your fault if I die. Not that anyone would care. Plus, we'll live in luxury every night, and I can make anything taste delicious with bare minimum ingredients."

"Tempting, but won't it be a little…cozy with both of us in here?"

She looked at him, incredulous.

"Remember the part where I'm a mage?" she walked over to the sitting area and contorted her hands toward the wall. "Addendum Sanctorum."

She beckoned him through a new flap in the canvas to a modest, but still accommodating room with a large, plush bed, a few sturdy, simple chairs, a small table, and a bathing area of its own, complete with a stash of sponges, soaps, and towels.

"See? It may not be all of the comforts of home, but it's hardly roughing it compared to the alternative, am I wrong?" She turned to look at him, but he was much closer than she'd expected him to be. She looked directly up into that piercing amber gaze that was unlike any she'd seen before. And he looked so…dangerous. And yet she wasn't afraid. At least not primarily. What she was mostly feeling was desire. She wanted those strong, skilled hands to touch her. She wanted to be held. She hadn't been held since she was a child. And a very young one, at that. She could feel something mutual coursing between them. And that was the thing that terrified her. The thought that he might be hungry for her in that way. He ran his hand along the slope of her temple and cheek down to her chin.

"I don't recall saying I'd mind sharing a cozy space with you, Ana."

TBC in Part Two

[emily-charles]

Jumper

[WP] Drinking and driving can be a dangerous idea, leaving you with no memory of what you were doing, but every eyewitness of the crash you were just in has the same story: your car suddenly teleported across three lanes of traffic in an instant, and you can't prove one way or another what happened. Griffin Davies hadn't been sure of what happened, but waking up in the drunk tank only to be interrogated by the cops had been the worst six hours of his life. They'd come at him right away, as soon as he was awake and coherent enough to tell them what happened. Only he had very little to tell them. He was hungover as hell, and he had started the party early with his roommates. They had insisted that drinking at 10AM on your 21st birthday didn't make you an alcoholic, it made you a pirate. He had laughed at that, and so… They took their first shots together. He'd been slow to start, mostly because who the hell drinks in the morning? However, it had picked up by the mid-afternoon. As more people filed into the house that he shared with two close friends, Aaron and Matt, the party had picked up immensely. He remembered going to the washroom, going out for a smoke, and then… Nothing. Apparently, at some point, he'd decided he was starving. He had eaten snacks throughout the day. Random food in bowls that tons of other people had devoured, but he wanted something real. So, a quick run to the local McDick's wouldn't be a problem, right? Matt had tried to hide his keys, but he'd found them in the freezer. Walking out the door without anyone even noticing, according to Aaron. And off he'd gone. And the crash… Nothing. Still, nothing. He hadn't killed anyone, thank fuck. If Aaron and Matt hadn't come to talk to him, he wouldn't have even known about Matt hiding his keys. Or that he'd complained of being hungry. Matt insisted that he told him they were ordering a ton of pizza, but apparently that wasn't what he'd wanted. The cops had asked him questions over and over again. And he'd responded the same way every time. He'd managed to get several bottles of water from them while being interrogated at least. He desperately needed to rehydrate, and the water fountain/toilet in the cell was disgusting. It was uncleaned, with gum and loogies, he was even sure someone had pissed in it. Eventually out of exhaustion, and the hangover from hell, he'd asked to be taken back to his cell, and that he clearly needed a lawyer. It didn't matter though… He was going to fucking prison. He knew it, the cops knew it, Matt and Aaron knew it. Everyone knew it. That was… Until the cops came back with traffic camera footage, that they were unwilling to show him. And then, when they'd pulled him from his cell again, they started asking strange questions. "How'd you do it?" "The witnesses saw it. Nine different people." "How is that possible?" "You need to tell us right now, Griffin." "How did you do it?" But there was no alluding to what they were talking about. He kept repeating himself, over and over, but no one was listening anymore. They were sitting up close and personal by the time the door to the interrogation room was opened again. A black man with a well-tailored grey suit stood in the doorway. He looked at the cops, almost in disdain. With the blue eyes of a husky dog. Clear, crisp, and focused. One of the cops, Agent something-or-other, stood abruptly and glowered at the man in the doorway. "What the fuck, you blind? The lights on. The room is in use, man," the beefy man growled out. The unnamed black man flashed a badge at the man, and raised a brow without an ounce of interest in what the cop was saying. Griffin can't see what the badge says, but he sees the cop bristle. "Our fucking collar, man," he snaps at the mysterious stranger. "Not anymore. Get the fuck out. Close the door behind you, and disconnect the cameras, or you'll have no job, no life, no pension, and be spending time in Guantanamo. Away from that lovely wife of yours, what's her name again? Oh yes, Cathy. Do you understand me, Agent Meisner?" The black man's voice is cool, and calm. He doesn't seem to have a single interest in the cops. His sharp blue eyes are focused intently on Griffin. The intensity is unnerving. "Fuck," Agent Meisner cusses, and continues to curse as he exits. His counterpart follows quickly after him at a clipped pace. The door closes behind them, and the man pulls one of the chairs from their up-close and personal position and gives Griffin some distance. He sits down silently, before glancing up at the ceiling. "Turn the fucking camera off. Do you think I can't tell you're watching right now, Agent Meisner? This is your very last warning. And I am not a forgiving man," the unnamed man says looking directly into a spot in the ceiling. Griffin looks up and sees nothing. There is no camera that he can see. The man is sitting near him, but in no way invading his space. He seems to be waiting for something. The fuck? "The fuck, indeed, Mr. Davies," the man says to him with a small smile. "The camera is off now. We are alone together. May I call you Griffin?" Griffin's heart palpitates, and he nods ever so slightly. "Well, Griffin, my name is Ezekiel. If you'd like, you can call me Z. Many people do. I'd like to ask you a few questions." Would it matter if I actually answered aloud or not? Griffin can't help but think. Ezekiel smiles in an almost pitying manner, and clears his throat. "Probably not, Griffin. But I'd rather we discuss it vocally, so that we can interact in a way you are used to, and more comfortable with," he offers, keeping his voice and facial expression soft. "You see, Mr. Davies, I'm sorry, Griffin, we have footage from a traffic camera showing you jumping across three lanes of traffic." "I don't remember any of it," he says, his brow furrowing. "Are you my lawyer?" Ezekiel chuckles at this, and shakes his head ever so gently. He raises his eyes to Griffin once more, and those blue eyes seem to twinkle ever so slightly in their amusement. "I'm glad you're entertained, Ezekiel, but my life in a prison cell is waiting—" "I am not your lawyer, Griffin. And, there are many people who drive drunk who don't even serve time. Especially as a first indictment, and you didn't kill anyone," Ezekiel says, with a still amused smile on his face. "Sure, you're going to lose your license, but I'm sure we can work with that. I already know you don't drink often, and you've never driven drunk before. And you're right around the age of juvenile powers showing." "I'm sorry, what?" Griffin is even more confused than ever. "I'd like to show you something," Ezekiel says, simply. He opens his briefcase, and inside is a laptop and several papers for things that he can't make out. Ezekiel opens the laptop, and it's already set to where it needs to be. He simply turns it to Griffin, and presses the spacebar. The traffic cam footage begins to play. The footage of his car about to go through a red light appears and he leans back miserably. Bracing himself for the impact of whomever he'd hit. He's clenching his teeth so hard, he's sure he's going to crack his molars. His car seems to disappear, despite other traffic continuing, he shows up three lanes over into oncoming traffic. He watches as his car sideswipes a truck, a minivan, and crashes head-on with a huge Mac truck. The way his small sedan crunches underneath the front of the large eighteen-wheeler is terrifying. His car is on fire in the video. How is he unmarked? No broken bones? Not bleeding to death in a hospital? Burnt to a crisp? Dead? He should be dead from what he sees here on the video. He is wide-eyed and in disbelief. After a moment, he sees himself appear out of nowhere, nearby the wreck. Standing about ten feet away, in between the original cars that he'd hit. People had already dismounted from their wrecked vehicles, and seem confused at his appearance. If he hadn't appeared right in front of their eyes, they would have never known. He doesn't understand and voices his uncertainty. "I don't… understand," Griffin says, confused more than ever. "I don't remember any of that." Ezekiel smiles calmly, and reaches over. Closing the laptop, slowly. "Is this doctored? Photoshopped or video-shopped or… I don't understand…" "It's okay, Griffin, I need you to take a breath," Ezekiel instructs him, as his heart continues to palpitate. Griffin starts to hyperventilate. "I need you to breathe. The video is not doctored. You are what we refer to as a 'Jumper'. It usually happens at a much younger age, but sometimes for those who don't relax or focus enough on the concept, it doesn't happen until much later." Griffin gasps for breath. "I'm…I can't breathe," Griffin looks around the room almost deliriously. Ezekiel reaches out, and places a hand on his shoulder. And immediately calm covers him, like a cool soothing blanket. He feels almost elated. "I'm sorry, I don't usually do that, but these are special circumstances," Ezekiel expresses apologetically, but Griffin is grateful, and fills his lungs with air. "We will need to go soon." "Go?" Griffin asks, confused again. "I'm sorry, Griffin, their kind and our kind, we… don't mix well. You will need to start anew elsewhere, with a new identity, and in a place that you are unknown. We will erase their memories of you, from family, friends, witnesses, and the traffic cam footage. All things. You are a risk to all of those who know you, they could use them as leverage against you," Ezekiel says sadly. "I hate to disrupt your life like this, but people like us… We don't have many options." "People like us?" Griffin queries. He feels like all he's been doing is asking questions. Ezekiel smiles sadly before speaking the one word that will change Griffin's life forever, "Superheroes."

[ninadewitt]

Colour me Curious Part 2: Monday

Just another Ben Solo High School AU! 

Warnings: Swearing 

The only thing worse than a regular Monday, was the first Monday back after the winter break. It never mattered how long the holiday was, you just never felt rested; Christmas created the perfect opportunity for drunk family members to strangle you for information and force their, unwanted, opinions down your choked throat. The holiday was made worse by the pre-celebration preparations, where your mother would go on an intense cleaning spree creating a (Y/L/N) house reformation. Everyday household items such as the straighteners were deemed too offensive to be allowed to be within two miles of a guest. Therefore, your mother took it upon herself to move them to a nondescript location, without informing you that she was doing so, just to save you the embarrassment of having to explain to your relatives why you owned such a perverse item in the first place. Over the years you had gotten used to this strange behaviour and just let her be, but this time she had forgotten where she had hidden the appliance. So, when Monday morning came around and your, normally gloriously crisp locks, were stuck in a bun looking like a tumbleweed had made a home atop your head, it made an already shitty day into one that included some equally shitty hair. Thanks Mom!

And so, you sat at the lunch table with your group; Finn, Rey and Poe, shifting your hair around hoping to keep it in order, at least until the end of the day, and at the same time, actively trying to avoid being dragged into one of Poe’s daily school football rants. Although, one of your best friends he was a bit of a hot head regarding the sport, and ever since Kylo joined the team, with around a hundred pounds more muscle and an extra 8 inches in height, challenging him for captaincy, he became even more insufferable than usual. Finn usually listened intently, his doe eyes fawning over his ‘friends’ passion but even now he seemed a bit sick of listening to Poe’s anti-Ren speech, yawning and rolling his eyes.

This continued on until Rey eventually threw her hands up in the air and smacked them dramatically on the table, gritting out “Poe, please stop, my head is going to explode if you mention Ren’s ‘bad attitude and poor tactics’ one more time”

“All I’m saying, is that if a guy disappears for years, he can’t just come in expecting to be Captain, it just doesn’t happen, right (Y/N)?” For some reason he smacked your shoulder confidently while smirking at you, expecting some support.

“Oh please, as if she’s gonna be on your side, (Y/N) is the biggest traitor here, giving the Big Emo, ‘stalker’ eyes, every time he walks past. Haven’t you guys noticed how she’s become a massive book worm recently, hanging around the library, where Kylie spends all his spare time?”

“Well, now that you mention it…” the boys looked at one another and then back at you, with curious looks on their faces.

“Rey! What the fuck, why is this about me now? I have not been giving him ‘stalker’ eyes” and in an attempt to defend yourself, you sacrificed your last chip, chucking it at her with immense force and scrunching your brow in a way that let her know that you were pissed.

And Rey being Rey, was willing to challenge that look. picking the chip up from the table, looking you dead in the eye and crunching it, signalising that she did not give a fuck. “I can’t listen to football talk anymore, and if I have to sacrifice you to make him stop, I will. Sorry (Y/N) nothing personal.”

Sometimes you really hated her.

 Watching the silent chip filled stand-off that was occurring between the two of you, Finn, wanting to avoid being covered in lunch meat before his fifth period Trig, attempted to diffuse the situation

“So, who watched the Witcher over break?”

  “I did, it was great, loved Geralt” You replied, eager to change the subject but unfortunately, it looked as though you weren’t going to get out of this mess yet.

  “Of course you did, your love of Ren has exposed your cave man kink, you love an angsty man” Poe teased, apparently, he decided he didn’t want to be on your team anymore and high-fived Rey, forgetting their past beef as she joined in, deepening her voice and widening her shoulders:

  “Hm fuck, (Y/N), I love you, be Mrs Ren”

  “I’d die for you (Y/N), I’m ignoring you to keep my heart safe”

  “you like it when I grunt, I’ll show you a grunt”

  It was at this point that you regretted munching down all your chips with such haste, and noticing the unfortunate lack of ammo you, instead of attacking the duo, proceeded to flip both of them off and dig your head into the table, with your bun whacking it dramatically in the process. However, this seemed to only give the pair more confidence:

 “I only ever hunt for my own food and I kill my prey simply by raising my left hand threateningly, I can provide for our family (Y/N).”

“By the grace of my goth training I will not be seduced by Coldplay.”

 When the bell went off, you practically skipped to biology, moving away from the trio, still holding up your middle fingers, as Rey and Poe practically crawled to class, wheezing the entire way. It was Monday lunches like those that really made you thankful that none of your friends were interested in bio, with both Rey and Poe focusing on Physics and Finn avoiding sciences as though they were the plague. Its not that you didn’t love them and their bantering, but sometimes when you were in a mood, like today, it was hard not to get a bit salty about the whole situation and just need a break.

A break to work on your Solo experiment. It was on the walk to class when you thought about whether Kylo would acknowledge you today, that you realised that maybe Rey was right about your stalker eyes. But now was no time to back down. You knew that with Kylo it was all about consistency, he was like a jittery animal; jump at him and he will almost definitely run for the bushes and avoid you for life, but if you approach him slowly, letting him gain some familiarity, maybe throwing in some “sksksk-ing” as though he were a cat, he might let you in. So, in that logic you assumed that if you popped up around him now and again, he might realise that you mean no harm. Or he would avoid you further, only time would tell.

Reaching the class room and plonking down in one of those high-up science stools you began to ponder; why did science feel the need to make its seats absurdly tall. They were those types of seats that were, normally, exclusively used at hipster ice cream parlours or smoothie bars. They always made sitting down so uncomfortable, giving you absolutely no back support and your knees would consistently knock off the metal bar of the desk leaving an unflattering gum stain on your jeans, for the rest of the day. Maybe that’s why everyone found science hard to grasp, because they spent the whole period trying to contort their bodies in a way that would make sitting comfortable.  It was during that very intelligent inner monologue that Kylo stomped in and plopped into his seat, on the other side of the class, crunching his knees under the desk. You could practically hear his six-foot frame groan at being pushed into such an awkward seat. That couldn’t be comfortable you thought, before diverting your attention from the dark prince to Mrs Barr, ready to be riveted by some spores, fungi and bacterium. Delicious.

And all was going swell up until the end of the period; your notes were tidy, you only lost interest a couple of times but you seemed to understand what she was getting at, then she started talking about the next assignment. Partner work was the first issue with the task. It wasn’t ideal but you always knew that Jess would be willing to group up, but then, issue number two, Mrs Barr pulled a fast one and said that she would be picking the pairs. Well, fuck. Finally, for issue number three, what did the woman do? She only went and paired you up with Kylo, just before sending the class away, to go figure out in their teams what they were going to do their projects on.

To some people this would have been a godsend, but when you saw his gaze latch on to you and his frown deepen, you couldn’t help but want to crawl into a hole and die. Yes, you wanted to get him to be your friend again and yes, you suppose this would help, but you wanted the reconciliation to be done on your terms. Your slow and steady pace. This caused the process to go from a crawl to a sprint and quite frankly, it was probably going to give you whiplash. And if that didn’t Kylo suddenly being right in front of your face would. Somehow despite his large stature, he could move incredibly quietly if he put his mind to it. It made you wonder if he stomped down the hallways for theatrical purposes, maybe you could ask him when he stopped staring daggers at you. But it didn’t look like he would anytime soon.

 “Oh, Hi, Kylo” you stuttered out to him, tilting your head up as far as it would go, he was much taller up close.

 “We are gonna need a study space, my house is empty, Leia’s working. So, assuming you can walk ten feet without falling we can work there.”

 Wow, maybe Poe was right about him lacking some social skills.

“Yep, that’s fine” you replied in a less friendly tone than before, sure you wanted him to be your friend, but you weren’t going to be a doormat.

 “Fine, four o’clock, don’t be late.” And with that he stomped away in a cloud of rage.

 Well, maybe you made a mistake in wanting to be his friend again. You supposed you would find out after school.

~This cool Kid wanted to be tagged and you can be too @shockwavee (But Idk if I’m doing it right)

[antiquecompass]

Untamed Spring Fest Day 7: Pastel

Wherein there is hair dye and easter egg hunts. Of a sort.

Mo Xuanyu had given his hair a rest over the winter. It’s something he did every few years, knowing that no matter how much product and head massages and professional shampoos and serums he used, dyeing his hair as often as he did wasn’t good for it, especially turning his naturally dark brown hair to his favored pastel colors. He still had some color of course. Hair chalk, little strands of hair tinsel, and even the old Kool-Aid method when he was bored, but by the time April rolled around it had been nearly six months since he’d dyed his hair. And to celebrate the coming of Spring, he decided to go full on mermaid hair.

At least, that was his intention when he’d left the house this morning for his appointment with Sunny.

“Can I try something new?” Sunny asked when he got there. “It’s called ‘oil slick.’ We’ll still give you the colors of the rainbow, but with less bleaching.” She ran her hands through his hair. “It’s just so healthy right now.”

“Your hard work,” he praised her.

“Yours too,” she said.

“Pictures?” he asked.

She handed him a tablet and he quickly thumbed through the references there. It was gorgeous and stunning and while not his normal pastels, still beautiful. He wanted it. Even if the coming of spring usually meant pastel for him, he could just paint his nails various easter egg colors. This was something different and exciting. He wanted to try it.

“Do it,” he said.

Sunny grinned at him, as bright as her name. “This is why you’re my favorite client.”

He was one of her first, back when they were both going through beauty school together. Her trying to raise a kid on her own and get her certifications; him trying to juggle beauty school and art school at the same time. They’d bonded over too much work and too much stress. He’d often volunteered to let her experiment with his hair and she’d always let him experiment on her with various make-up looks. It was a friendship that had grown from those early class days to years later; Sunny a renown hair stylist and Xuanyu an established part of the art scene, both in the theater and for his make-up looks. Make-up outside of his theater work was still more a hobby than anything else, but considering the company he kept these days, he’d ended up with a following on all his social media.

“Our lives are strange,” he said as Sunny nodded. “As soon as I get this done, you know you’re going to get people flocking here.”

“As long as I don’t fuck it up,” Sunny said.

“You won’t fuck it,” Xuanyu said. “And even if you do, we’ll make it work.”

**********

Sunny had not fucked it up. His appointment took far longer in the end, and even when she tried to refuse, he made sure to tip her double because they were friends, but this was still

business

and she’d done such an amazing job. She deserved to be more than compensated for taking up two entire blocks of her time. He couldn’t stop checking his hair as he waited for his ride to arrive.

Even if it had been two--nearly three--years since that summer, the one where everything changed, the Nies and most of Springfield Security had adopted Xuanyu as their own and were just slightly paranoid about his safety. With their impending wedding next-next winter, it had been decided by family council or, really, an entire group of stubborn assholes, that Xuanyu needed a driver. There were battles Mo Xuanyu would always fight; hills he would always die on; going against the over-protective instincts of the entire Nie family and most of its employees? Not even worth trying. Sometimes it was easier to give in.

The car that eventually pulled up was one of the standard Springfield Security fleet vehicles. When he opened the passenger side door, he was pleasantly surprised to see Zonghui behind the wheel.

“I thought you were still working a job,” he said as he settled in.

“Just finished this morning,” Zonghui said. He waited for Xunayu to buckle his seatbelt and then pulled out into traffic. “And I’m on another one now, or at least a family mission.”

Xuanyu glanced in the back and saw one of his overnight bags resting on the seat.

“Am I being kidnapped again?” he asked.

“Whisked away at the very least,” Zonghui said. “One last vacation for you two before the start of, what does he call it, hell season?”

Weddings. So many weddings. Golden Canary Events wasn’t even a wedding planning business and yet, because of his reputation alone, Huaisang had become one of the most sought after wedding planners in New England. For his own sanity, he only accepted seven weddings a year and most of those hit in either May or June.

One last weekend of peace and calm and nothing but the two of them? Yes, please.

“And this out of the way destination just so happens to be on your way to….”

Zonghui shook his head and groaned. “Not you too.”

“I’m just saying, considering the direction we’re going, I’m assuming it’s Huaisang’s favorite cabin, which just so happens to be in the same direction as the secluded mountain house Carson calls home, and, if I remember what my brother muttered over breakfast this morning correctly, Carson is currently on sick leave.”

Zonghui sighed. “He’s all alone out there.”

“No one to hear the screams, I suppose,” Xuanyu teased him.

“We’re just---we haven’t--I’m just concerned,” Zonghui said.

“Of course,” Xuanyu agreed. “Well, Jade Palace in the next town over has marvelous egg drop soup. If you’d want to get it, just to check on him, because you’re concerned and all.”

“Thank you,” Zonghui said. “You little brat.”

“Well, honestly, we’ve been in this car for nearly ten minutes already and you haven’t said a thing about my hair.”

It was nice to hear Zonghui laugh, his words muffled and broken as he tried to keep his eyes on the road and give Xuanyu the most saccharine sweet compliments through the wheezing breaks in his laughter.

*********

The cabin looked empty when he arrived. Xuanyu shrugged it off, figuring something had kept Huaisang in Boston. Xuanyu crouched down and shook the little turtle that served as their hide-a-key, palming the key and walking inside, quickly shutting off the alarm as he entered. He jumped back in shock as something crunched under his boot. He lifted it up and found a plastic easter egg there, a slip of paper falling out of it and its candy contents spilling out over the floor. He quickly gathered up the fallen Hershey Kisses and Hugs, before reading the slip of paper.

Huaisang’s beautiful calligraphy took up the entirety of the slip.

 Come and see

Xuanyu dropped his bag on the couch and looked up in awe. The outdoors had been brought inside, the walls and ceilings decorated with greenery and flowers--fabric of course, but so lifelike. By the couch was a large, empty, pastel-colored easter basket and at the other end was another egg.

“I love that man,” Xuanyu told the room as he started his own little easter egg hunt.

Sixty-six eggs and another basket later (one egg for each month they’d known each other), Xuanyu finally found himself in the backyard. The deck was covered in hangings, lanterns, and twinkling fairy lights. And his fiancé sat there waiting for him, a large, ornate jeweled egg in his hand.

“How did you have time to plan all this?” Xuanyu said.

“There are entire binders devoted to our courtship,” Huaisang said. “You said you never got to participate in the Jin easter egg hunts.”

“This one is far more to my tastes,” Xuanyu said as he walked over to Huaisang. He left the full baskets of plastic eggs on the table and slid into Huaisang’s lap. “You’ve got me, you know. I don’t need the wooing.”

“I like the wooing,” Huaisang said. “You like it too, my golden pheasant, and you deserve it.”

Xuanyu laughed as he caressed Huaisang’s cheek. “I’m a golden pheasant today?”

Huaisang carefully put the jeweled egg to the side. He then rested his hands on Xuanyu’s hips. “With that hair of yours, perhaps I should call you my lilac-breasted roller?”

“No,” Xuanyu said.

“My nicobar pigeon?”

“Why do you know all of these?”

“My green-headed tanager?”

“Please, stop,” Xuanyu pleaded as he laughed.

“My blue bird of paradise?”

That sounded vaguely familiar, from one of the many nature documentaries they’d watched together.

“That’s the one the dances, isn’t it?” Xuanyu asked.

“Many of them dance,” Huaisang said.

“Right, but that’s the one goes all--” Xuanyu puffed up his cheeks and waved his arms about.

Huaisang cupped the back of his neck. “Not even a little bit, but I appreciate your mating dance.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” Xuanyu said.

Huaisang laughed softly as he ran a hand through Xuanyu’s hair, holding the strands up to the light. “It’s holo, bitch,” he joked.

“It’s iridescent, get it right,” Xuanyu corrected.

“It suits you,” Huaisang said. “Dare I say, I even prefer it to the pastels? The pastels are gorgeous but this almost reminds me of when we met. Your hair was indigo then.”

“I could barely speak a word to you,” Xuanyu said as he recalled that day.

“You spoke all the right ones,” Huaisang said. “Had me hooked from the start.”

Xuanyu had been worried, once, years ago, that it was just because he was pretty. That wasn’t an arrogant statement, he’d been told often enough in his life, since he was very young, just how pretty he was and it had always brought him attention--both good and bad. He hadn’t known much about Huaisang back then, but he knew of Nie Huaisang and how he liked to collect pretty things. He’d been worried that he was just another thing to add to that collection, but then Huaisang had started their slow and steady courtship. Made Xuanyu feel like an Austen heroine. Made Xuanyu feel appreciated in so many ways, all the big and little things.

And then he did things like this, when their time away was supposed to be for Huaisang to relax.

“You could’ve just ordered a pizza and left the lights on,” Xuanyu said.

“But this is so much more my style,” Huaisang insisted. He nuzzled Xuanyu’s chin. “And trust me, many of those easter eggs contain things that will bring us both some joy and relaxation.”

“And rest,” Xuanyu said.

Huaisang smirked. “Rest wasn’t my top priority.”

Xuanyu gaped at him. “There are sixty-five unread slips of paper in there.”

“Then we better order dinner and get started.”