#the papers are super super thin and the dust jackets are too

[titsthedamnseason]

my two friends from work are going to start reading throne of glass and i’m going to reread it at the same time and we are going to talk about it on lunch break IM SO EXCITED

[austarus]

Harry Wells x Reader Crisis of Infinite Wells (Part 3 of 5)

**A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to @countlesswells

Part 1    Part 2    Part 4    Part 5

*Yes, I know this is super late, but I had so many exams and deadlines shifted due to the transition online. Didn’t help that finals were around the corner either. But I’m back, and hopefully I can make things right with my fics, especially with the fact that we’re not going to get the Alls Wells That Ends Wells episode this season thanks to Ms. Rona (Please don’t come after me T.T). Anywho, this ended up being super, SUPER, long and I have no regrets. I feel that we need this series more than ever. If you already haven’t make sure to check out Part 1 and 2. Don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment, I read them all!

Word Count: 6601

You took in a deep breath, simultaneously opening your eyes to find yourself being hovered over by Caitlin and Cisco

“There’s our sleeping beauty,” Cisco jokes, grinning at you before running back over to the monitors to get a screwdriver.

“Mm, it’s too bright here.” You winced and blinked a few times as your brain had finally registered the bright lights of the Speed Lab. Rubbing your face a few times, you moved slowly to sit up. Stretching your aching body, you cracked a few bones and let out a little noise in contentment. Eyes looking around for a bit, you saw that the Mindscape Machine was still out, and that Cisco had hooked you and Nash onto it. Nash was still knocked out on another bed though because of the sedation. He looked peacefully asleep, as if the weight of his expeditions and the murmurings at the back of his head were gone. He should be coming back soon, I hope.

Cisco noticed where your gaze had gone before grabbing your attention, “Cecile had to go back home to feed a fussy little baby Jenna and Joe, so we ended up resorting to the Mindscape Machine. Went smooth sailing, thanks to our very own resident genius engineer, no thanks needed. All in a good day’s work.”

“I figured when you chimed in saying that we needed to go to the Nexus of Nash’s mind to get out.” You pointed out.

“Nash should be waking up in an hour or so, he’ll be fine I promise. How are you feeling?” Caitlin asked softly as she checked you over for any sign of abnormalities before removing the wires from your head.

“Cold,” goosebumps were already breaking out through your body as a shiver goes down your spine. “Really cold, Caity. Can’t you STAR Labs techies afford heat or something?” You joked, watching a look of fake hurt cross Ciscito’s face, a hand automatically over his heart.

“Dude, it’s like beautiful outside and what am I doing? I was stuck in here babysitting Princess Aurora and Pebble Brain over there until you guys came back to reality. You’re welcome for that, by the way,” Cisco made a face, pointing towards the direction of Nash’s unconscious body with a screw driver before walking back to where you sat, “while fixing these bad boys up,” the mechanical genius gestures dramatically to the tech in the room. “Meanwhile, Barry and Not-Mirror-Iris are on a picnic date in Central City Park enjoying the sunny weather. One which I wanted to do with Not-Mirror-Kamilla first.”

You and Caitlin just giggled at Cisco’s dramatics. Caitlin gave you the ‘all clear’ that your neural functions were still working and that you should be coordinated within your own body.

“So, Persephone,” You rolled your eyes at the nickname and shook your head at the two. Cisco had basically dubbed you and Harry that even before you had gotten together. In secret of course, or else Harry would start throwing things at him for dropping obvious hints of his feelings towards you. It’s at least so much better than Romeo and Juliet because in all honesty, they had a tragic love story and that is something that my love life does not need. More tragedy, internal pain, and suffering. “Did you see your Hades again?”

“I did, yeah.” A soft smile crossed your lips as your mind replays the interaction, your cheeks dusting the lightest color of pink. Your gaze dropped down a bit as Cisco and Caitlin started going “Ooooooo” as if high school gossip girls wanting you to spill the beans while giving you that one look you know all too well. You didn’t have the heart to tell them to stop.

“How is he?” Caitlin asked while Cisco nodded, wanting to know if his friend’s okay.

“He’s good,” you responded with a smitten grin, and then made a little sheepish face. “They’re all good.”

“They?-” Caitlin frowned as she slowly asked with a raised eyebrow.

“-Excuse me? They?” Cisco had a look mixed with dumbfoundedness and disbelief. His mouth slightly open as you saw his mind comprehending that simple sentence. You just nodded with a slightly sheepish grimaced expression. “You-”

“-had to meet the entire Council of Wells and propose to them the Multi-Dimensional idea that could possibly save them all because my boyfriend and a select few of his pals convinced me to since apparently the Wells men tend to have lots of arguments and so they also tend to never get things done sometimes. Yeah. That happened.” You quickly rambling how you met the infinite Council of Wells and then slowed down at the latter sentence with a nod. Cisco and Caitlin were stunned in place as they had tried to keep up with every single word that you said. Before they could even say anything, you spoke up once again as you got off the bed to stand on wobbly legs. “Did I mention that Harry, Sherloque, and Wolfgang are the triumvirate lead of the Council and that Sonny’s their hype man, apparently? I did not ever see that happening.” You ran a hand through your hair, “I have seen things. Standing in a huge lecture-ish mental room in Nash’s mind filled with doppelgangers of Harrison Wells is something I just cannot unsee.”

“No, you can’t.” Cisco added in agreement, his arms crossed. “You met all of them?”

“I mean, sorta. I mainly just stood at the front where the Wells triumvirate take their spots to start their meetings. Ok, so like you know the Galactic Senate from Star Wars where Palpatine and Padme were in?”

“Hell yeah, I do. What do you take me for an uncultured swine?”

“So, like, the layout of the room was sorta styled like that.” Cisco looked slightly mind blown because Star Wars obviously. You located your leather jacket and put it on to have some layer against the cool wind of the AC. “How’s everything coming with the modifications?”

Cisco and Caitlin look at each other before Frost took over for a bit, “I think this is the part where we tell you that they’ve sorta hit a roadblock.”

“Perfect,” you deadpanned, with a slight pain reverberating at the back of your head. I need some coffee, you thought before collecting your things and giving Nash one last glance.

***

I jinxed myself when I told Cisco that I could handle this. Handle them and their stupidity. A frown plastered itself onto Nash’s face, his head throbbing at the legit argument going on at the back of his head. What about? Who the hell knows or cares? Rubbing his face then his temples when the headache started to radiate to the front, the dark-haired explorer let out another annoyed groan as a doppelganger started yelling to contribute to the argument. I have never been more annoyed at the sound of my voice. Nash’s been trying to mentally block them so he himself can think things out, but collectively it hasn’t been succeeding. His heavy footsteps carried him to the Med Bay, thankful that no one was here at this ungodly hour to see him like this. I need an icepack and multiple pills of aspirin. Nash snorted when a mental image of you scolding him for the number of pills he might take to ease the pain was conjured in his mind. You entertained him, is what he told himself, just like the rest of them.

As he entered the Med Bay, the door creaked and the dim lights from the labs allowed him to see a faint silhouette on the bed. Nash raised an eyebrow as he crept slowly towards the bed, gauntlet at the ready.

“Well, speak of the devil,” he whispered to no one in a low voice, forgetting about the throbbing and disgruntled voices in his head. Nash disengaged his gauntlet. On the bed, you were curled up with a thin blanket, clearly still cold, but sound asleep at this hour. Curled up like a kitten and cuddled up to a pillow. Nash’s blue eyes wandered to what’s beside you, seeing multiple papers messily put together and various binders littering the bed. Due to the dimness, he couldn’t really make out any of the writings on the paper at this angle, but the Wells doppelganger can only assume that they’re medical files for Barry and the others.

Nash’s blue  gaze snapped back to you when you emitted a small noise as you shuddered. He didn’t know why, but he made a beeline for the cabinets and closets, finding another thin blanket hidden in them. At least two are better than one. He pulled the thin cloth over you, ensuring that you would be a little warmer than before. Nash’s gaze softened slightly at your tired expression that you carried even while asleep. Shutting his eyes for a bit only to reopen them, Nash curled his hand into a fist then uncurled it. He let out an inaudible sigh, his right hand reaching out to gingerly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear-

“-Don’t you dare touch her.”

Nash felt as if he was shocked on the spot, retracting his hand rapidly as he turned around, coming face to face with the source of the voice. Harry stood with his hands in his pants pockets, a glare present on his face as he watched his doppelganger with angry eyes. Clearly unamused that Nash was getting close to you. Harry’s words, precise and cold, had cut through the air like a sharpened knife, but you couldn’t hear him.

Nash swallowed, sending Harry a smile of mockery. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to steal her away from you. Unless-” Nash spoke with a raspy voice.

“-You can’t even if you tried,” Harry retorted without hesitation. Nash rolled his eyes taking a few steps closer to his doppelganger. Both men exuded confidence and intimidation towards one another. “Watch yourself, Nash. I have her heart, just as she has mine.”

“You can keep the little lady, for all I care. She’s just good company, you would know that all too well, wouldn’t you Harry? And what do you know, she still owes me a favor. A favor in exchange for my help. I could have easily said no and kept the both of you separated because why would I care if her little heart remains broken and she loses sleep every night over it?” Nash bit down on the inside of his cheek, ignoring that mental image.

Harry glowered at Nash’s cocky words. “When I get back, I’m going to make you regret those words.”

“Look, I’m not interested in her, Harry. Get over yourself and keep her, she’s not that special anyway.” The tension and malice were intoxicating, hanging heavy in the room.

“Are you kidding me? I’m literally in your mi-”

“-Zhe petit fluer ‘as been overworking ‘erself again.” Nash jumped slightly at the new voice, letting out a frustrated breath before turning his gaze towards the French-accented voice. “And you two are ‘ere arguing over ‘er like ‘igh school boys.” Sherloque stood on the other side of the bed as he examined the papers from his height. He was clearly annoyed at both Nash and Harry, narrowing his eyes with an icy look on his face. “Merde, if you want to ‘ash it out, at least ‘ave zhe decency to do it outside,” Sherloque pointedly spoke, crossing his arms.

Harry and Nash briefly looked at each other before moving their gazes back to Sherloque only to find an empty space beside you. Sherloque had retreated back into Nash’s mind in order to sort things out with Wolfgang and the others. J'ai parlé de mes deux cents à ces deux-là. Sherloque took off his fedora and weaved a hand through his dark locks, glancing at the Nexus of Nash’s mind. “Et ce n'est pas bon de se mentir à toi-même, Nash,” the Frenchmen whispered with a knowing glint in his eyes, a stoic smile on his face.

You scrunched your nose and shuffled into a different position on the bed, almost knocking off a binder stack. Harry ignored Nash’s existence, taking a seat on the chair beside your sleeping form and noticing something that anyone else would have missed if they had not been together with you. Nash watched his Earth-2 doppelganger, seeing a certain look cross through Harry’s eyes. Harry slowly reached a hand out only to drop it knowing that he wouldn’t be able to touch you in this state. His hand formed into a tight fist as he dropped it by his side. Harry heavily sighed, shutting his eyes and running a hand through his hair. Nash raked his teeth over his bottom lip, feeling a tiny shred of guilt at Harry’s inability to be here with you. Reopening his azure irises, Harry’s heart stung, and it reverberated throughout his entire being. Oh, how he yearned to hold you again. To be able to wrap his arms around you and pull you close for warmth.

“She’s still cold,” Harry commented his observation, a slightly sullen expression creeping on his face. He readjusted his glasses. Nash raised an eyebrow at Harry’s words. “Just remember what I said. She’s not a prize. After everything you’ve done, she’d never willingly choose you in any lifetime.”

Nash blinked and Harry was gone, the explorer immediately regained composure of himself and his surroundings. Nash felt the tension leave his body, stretching a bit to relieve his muscles. I swear if I roll my eyes hard enough, they’ll fall out of their sockets. With a sigh, Nash gave you one last look before reluctantly shedding off his jacket and pulling it over you. The dark-haired man left the room without sparing you another glance.

What is even considered a prize anymore?

***

It’s been a couple weeks since you had entered Nash’s mind and spoken to the Wells men. Since then they had collectively collaborated with Barry, Cisco, and Chester via Nash to make necessary modifications and electro-/neuro-magnetic adjustments. “I present to you attempt #29,” Cisco announces, sliding out from behind the machinery, with a tool in hand, “which coincidently is the same number of one of my favorite Pokémon from the original 151 of the benevolent Kanto region.”

“Female Nidoran?” You and Barry both questioned the looked at each other. Nidoran is a pretty decent Pokémon, not gonna lie. Poison capabilities that are deadly with a combination of ground-type moves can really have opponents running for the hills without the proper Pokémon to counter its abilities and possible move-sets.

“What? She’s literally a freaking queen in battle and her move-set has been improving tremendously with every generation.”

“To be honest, Cisco, you always struck me for a Poliwag kind of guy when I first met you,” you quipped up. “But I got to say (Insert Favorite Pokémon Type)-types are more my style.

“Nerds,” Nash snickered to himself lowly. You whipped your head back to him, not clearly hearing his exact murmured words, but hearing his voice. The others didn’t hear anything. Nash dropped his gaze away avoiding your look, but not before narrowing his eyes at you. You just continued on with a questioning look, this time your thoughts circulating on if you’d done anything to offend this Wells doppelganger.

He’s been avoiding you since you had entered his mind, which at first you respected because having someone else enter your mind and intrude is weird enough, so you gave him his space. But then it started to turn into him throwing annoyed looks at you when you spoke, gradually and fully ignoring your existence in the Labs as the days went by. Even to the point of not seeking you for medical attention like he normally did when he injured himself in some way. Instead, Nash went to see Caitlin.  

At first you thought nothing of it, Nash probably had his reasons for not wanting to speak to you and you had done nothing wrong in reality that you could recall. But then your anxiety continued to climb as one day passed after another. I’m not a bad physician, am I? I mean, I hope I not. I’ve been doing my best to suture and isolate every variable in order to make correct diagnostics. Nash even ignored you when you asked him if he wanted any coffee when you went on coffee runs. Was it the coffee pun I made? Everyone laughed at it.

“How are the modifications to the dimensional extrapolator coming along?” You asked turning your gaze back to the boys. You sort of regretted asking because you know that they’re going to start talking all quantum physics and math at you.

“Well, after analyzing the multiverse extrapolator and running diagnostics it’s… actually not fit to be modified,” Chester explained, holding up the piece of tech.

“Is that the bad news?” You raised an eyebrow at them, glancing back at Nash for any input, but were greeted with silence.

“I mean, this little baby over here may not be as functional as before, but it does still hold a variety of multiversal coordinates. In which we could cross reference those numbers with any pocket dimension coordinates that we happen to stumble across. Which I’ve got to say is so friggen cool! My world just keeps exploding, first there were multiple universes and doppelgangers, then black holes- but I created that on accident- my bad, by the way-” Chester continued in a quick ramble with a huge and excited grin on his face. If you didn’t know better, he seemed as eccentric as the energizer bunny, you just nodded along politely. “-And now we’ve got pocket dimensions! We really are breaking all the rules of physics-”

“-Chester, grab me the-”

Barry leaned in close, cutting off your focus from Chester’s hyper rant and Cisco’s shout, “We basically need to develop a new extrapolator.”

“That makes much more sense, but I was following Chester’s rant, thank-you-very-much. Sort of. ” you nodded sheepishly at your friend before sending him a teasing smile. Barry held his hands up in defeat. Barry let out a laugh. “How’s Iris?”

The speedster nodded, directing his gaze to the side so you two can side bar. “She’s doing ok, keeping an eye on Eva while running the Citizen. The headaches have receded, but she’s a bit disoriented at times. I’ve had Cisco and Chester install different meta security measures in case Black Hole decides to make a guest appearance.”

“But is she ok? Mentally?”

“She’s… jumpy at times. Iris told me she trusted Eva when she entered Joseph’s hidden lab. That Eva was the reason that she doubted herself in seeing the truth and her instinct that Iris’s always trusted. She told Kamilla the same thing. We’re trying to work through it.”

You patted Barry’s back, “Just let me know if I can do anything to help. If it means anything, Harry taught me how to use his pulse rifle for a worst-case scenario.” You grinned up at him, secretly always wanted to have a reason to put your sessions with Harry to the test.

Barry chuckled and shook his head, knowing that Harry would kill him if he had allowed you to be put in harm’s way. “I think we’ll be good, but thanks for the tip.” You pouted at your best friend before a small laugh leaves your lips.

Nash took a glimpse of you over his shoulder as you giggled at your best friend. He thanked the stars that he was able to reuse the tech from an older MAD produced by Harry and synthesized it to become a mental block between him and the other Wells so that they wouldn’t interfere with his thoughts or pop up randomly. Nash called it Psyche Block. All he had to was to make sure it was on whenever he was in the labs. She hasn’t been sleeping well. He could oddly tell with one look. That small moment of weakness allowed the sharpened tool in his hand to slip his grip and pierce the skin through his entire palm. The dark-haired Wells let out a sudden gasp, blood oozed out profusely. A few droplets had fallen onto the hard drive of the Neural Splicer, short-circuiting it. Your ears caught the noise somehow, frowning your eyes caught Nash leaving with quick steps.

“I-I gotta go…” you whipped your head back to Barry, who had watched the glances that you had thrown at the Wells doppelganger since you entered the room. You pointed to the Speed Lab’s exit, “Do this… this thing.” Barry nodded with a teasing grin at your awkward attempt to excuse yourself, gesturing towards to door.

You were already leaving as you spoke to the speedster. Entering the corridor with swift feet you slightly managed to catch up to Nash. Damn him and his long legs.

“Nash!”

Nash’s blood ran cold at the sound of your voice. He willed himself to not look back, instead to carry on his way to the Med Bay. You saw that he clearly ignored you, which caused an ache to echo throughout your body. With every fiber of your being, you sprinted forward as fast as you could to come to a stop right in front of him causing the geological myth-buster to stop as well, midway to the medical room with an irritated façade on his features. Nash remained silent as you caught your breath, he held a cautious hand out to put up distance between you both, to not have you come any closer.

You opened your mouth to question him instantly at his gesture, but your eyes quickly caught sight of his bloodied hand. Sharp instincts assessing that the wound had been the cause of his escape from the Speed Lab. “You’re hurt.” You ignored his eye roll, taking a step forward and snatching his hand gingerly to examine it. He hadn’t realized that he stopped you with his bloodied hand. The droplets of red had splattered onto the concrete floor, creating a puddled mess of crimson. “Nash this needs stitches. Immediately.” Looking up at him, Nash exhaled roughly side-glancing away in frustration before meeting you with cold eyes. But you did not yield under the coldness. “I can suture this. All we nee-”

“-I don’t need your help,” was his rapid and frosty response. He blinked at you, holding his ground.

“Then who’s help are you going to need, huh!? Caitlin? Last time I checked she was at her mother’s facility because of the bullet-light-energy shot that Black Hole gave her,” You frowned deeply at him with fiery eyes, you had never combusted like this in a really long time. “Can you suture this by yourself?” You asked rhetorically. “This cut is too deep to just put a band aid on it and call it a day.” Nash opened his mouth to retaliate, but you cut him off in a softer voice. “I know that you hate me,” Nash narrowed his eyes at those words, “but let me help you.”

Nash pursed his lips, looking into your pleading eyes and inwardly cursed himself. With a sigh, the older man followed you to the Med Bay, where you proceeded to stitch him up and fully sterilize the wound from the blood and bacteria/bacteriophages that could enter the cut.

“You’re only looking after me because of Harry.” You heart stopped at the sudden words, slicing the air of the room. “What? Nash, that’s not true.”

Nash let out a mirthless laugh. “Isn’t it?”

“It’s not, I can’t believe you would even think that.” You berated him with a serious look, but he just waved you off. You pursed your lips at the silence. “Why do you hate me?” You looked up as you finished your work, eyes meeting his light blue colored ones that you had stared into before. Nash licked his lips, eyes darting to anything else, avoiding the kicked puppy look on your face.

“I don’t hate you.”

“Was it the coffee pun?”

“No”

“The Pokémon nerd talk?”

“Unfortunately, no”

“Then, what is it?”

“It’s- I…” He started, taking a breath in. “Quae dicunt, facite vobis cor eius. Quod pertinet ad eum. Nusquam potuerunt alium, qui non pertinent ad quis enim concupíscit.” The dark-haired man raked an uninjured hand through his hair as he fisted his wounded one, feeling its stitching.

“What?” You raised an eyebrow in confusion. Nash stubbornly shook his head, not wanting to repeat his words.

“Nash, I don’t understand what foreign, dead language you just spoke, but you’re my friend. I’m always going to care for my friends, even and especially when I’m involved with Harry. They’ll always be in my heart, no matter what. And that includes you too, you stubborn idiot.” You grinned at him with sincere intention, placing a hand gently on his clenched fist. A reluctant smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Now, you need to let that heal. So, no tech tinkering or spontaneous adventures in the middle of the day until the stitches come off, doctor’s orders.” You winked, smiling widely at him. You moved to leave the room, throwing one last look back at him.

Don’t- Don’t fucking do that, Nash bittersweetly thought to himself as he rubbed his face when you left the room. Don’t give me that… that smile, saying things like that. He sighed for the nth time that day, unfurling his hand to observe your handiwork.

***

You entered Nash’s mindscape once more, searching for Harry to spend some time with him. Nash had opted to stay behind until you were ready to leave his mind, particularly moody about not wanting to see his doppelgangers because he sees enough of them. He had upgraded the MAD 2.0 so that Cecile’s presence and powers wouldn’t be required for today. Nash, the Wells, and the Team Flash boys have been working closely the past couple of days to ensure that the Psyche Segregator (that’s the current name for all the machines interwoven together) would be fully functional. The extrapolator was essentially finished, it just needed the proper orientation for dimensional coordinates that the Wells doppelgangers would need to report.

You walked down the rocky caves of Nash’s mind before hitting a modern looking corridor that similarly belonged to a level in STAR Labs. With a questioning look, your feet continued on as you decided the top floor would be the place that Harry should reside in with Sherloque and Wolfgang. Entering the vacant elevator and ascended each level, you soon found yourself in front of what looks to be Harry’s office from Earth-2.I guess you can change the layout of things if you’re the Mindscape’s master. You pushed the door open, the lights automatically illuminating the room before scanning the area to find it vacant. Your shoulders sagged a bit. Where is he? I thought Nash told Harry that I was coming. Glancing around a bit, you took a seat at the main desk, finding Harry’s glasses. You made the mistake of putting them on as Harry entered the room with a coffee mug in hand. Harry froze at the door as your gaze instantly locked onto his, glasses still on his face. You blinked at one another. It didn’t take long from a wicked grin to cross his handsomely rugged features at the sight of you.

“Don’t you know you shouldn’t take what’s not yours?” Harry shut the door and came around the desk. So he decided not to show up this time. Harry quickly dismissed the thought from his mind, shifting his focus more to you. He noted your exhaustion and would berate you regarding it later.

“Who said they couldn’t be mine?” You teased back as you stood up, slipping the black frames off you and folding them to clip the glasses onto the collar of your top. Harry let out a deep chuckle, a giggle leaving your own. Your boyfriend set down his cup of java on the upper corner of the desk and dipped down to kiss you. He nipped at your lips when you responded to his sweet kiss before pulling away. Harry enjoyed the slight flush on your cheeks, a reaction only he could elicit with his existence. “What was that for?”

“What? I can’t give my lady a kiss?”

This smooth fucker. The heat in your heart intensified at his words and adoring gaze. You were going to unclip his glasses and hand them to him, but his hand stopped you. To anyone observing the scene, they can literally see heart eyes happening between the two of you. “Your lady may want more than just a simple kiss,” You giggled, your voice lowly enticing before pulling him back in, cupping his face with steady hands as your lips collided. Harry let out a laugh against your mouth, bracing his arms around your waist only to maneuver you to sit atop the cool desk.

Gasping at the sudden movement, Harry pushed his tongue into your mouth. You allowed him to slot himself between your legs, pulling him closer and running feather-light touches through his untamed hair. He groaned against you at your touch. God, you missed this closeness! Every time his lips met yours in fervor his grip on your hips would tighten slightly, sending a small shiver to run down your spine. How is it that this all feels so real?

His name escaped your swollen lips when Harry decided to head south, nipping at the nape of your neck before sucking on your sweet spots. How could he forget where you’re most vulnerable to his touch? Your hands gripped onto his shirt. A small noise left your lips, tilting your head more to the side to give the Harry more access to continue his conquest. The room felt hot, your body on fire at every one of Harry’s kisses as he marked your skin. You breathed his name again and Harry could not think straight. One of his strong hands left your side and cradled your face as his lips re-connected with yours once more in a searing kiss. His thumb gently stroked your cheek. How can the way you simply utter his name allow Harrison Wells to abandon all self-control?

Sherloque strode into the room with his cup of tea only to almost drop it at the scandalous scene in front of him. “Mon Dieu! Ayez de la décence!” You and Harry had ripping apart from each other at the sudden outburst, both of your heads snapping towards him. Harry sent a glare at Sherloque, who responded with an annoyed eyeroll at the couple. “At least lock zhe door if you’re going to get all ‘andsy wizh each ozher,” the detective grumbled before leaving the room and shutting the door. Your cheeks were on fire at this point, opting to look at your folded hands that rest on your lap. But Harry did not look ashamed in the slightest, instead a smirk on his face at your sudden bashfulness. You soon snapped out of your embarrassment when a thought had crossed your mind.

“Harry?”

“Hm?”

“Did you say anything to Nash?”

“No,” he lied, glancing up towards the ceiling.

“Uh huh,” you looked at him dubiously with narrowed eyes, “you know that I can tell when you’re lying, right?” You spoke with crossed arms.

“…” Harry’s eyes met yours and you raised a questioning eyebrow at him for an answer. He briefly shut his eyes before reopening them, “I may have… warned him not to come near you and such.”

“Warned or seriously threatened to utterly destroy?”

“… maybe a bit of both…”

“Harry!”

“What?! Do you not see the way he looks at you?”

“The way he what!? Harry, he’s my friend. Just like Sherloque and HR.” You sighed as he pouted sheepishly at you. “Honestly, you know I only have eyes for you.”

“I know, it’s just…” Harry trailed off.

“It’s just?”

“I’m not here. Physically here, to be by your side. To go home with you at the end of the day. Especially at the labs when other versions of myself show up out of nowhere and seem to try to get all chummy with you.”

You blinked at Harry a few times. “Are you… jealous?” Harry didn’t respond, grumpily frowning at your words as he attempted to avoid your gaze. He didn’t like that word. “You are, aren’t you?” The butterflies in your stomach fluttered as you teased him, knowing that his silence was proof enough. Harry sighed, pulling you in a close hug and you felt his head nod in dejection. Harry didn’t want to admit it out loud, that’s just how he is. You rubbed his back, “You know it’s ok to be jealous, right?” Harry let out a sarcastic exhale, resting his chin on your shoulder. You kissed the side of his head, “How do you think I felt every time a young bachelorette sauntered her way towards you at all those galas that we attended? All those thirst cubes you kept receiving? I swear Jesse had to hold me back before I was about to throw some hands, verbally and politely, but effectively scathing.”

Harry snickered at how you’ve dubbed the cubes he’s received from various women ‘thirst cubes’. “Every night, you were the only thing that I would see.” You gave him a tight squeeze before pulling away to give him a soft kiss.

“And you’re the only Wells that my heart wants to be with.” You smiled up at him before it suddenly dropped.

“What?” Fear grappled Harry’s heart. “What is it?”

You swallowed your own fear that had climbed into your throat. “It’s just… this is the last time that I’ll see you before… we have the systems go online to-” You trailed off as you directed your gaze to the ground, gesturing to your theory going into action as you did so. Harry pursed his lips, tilting your head up to look at him. Your eyes glistened in the calm lighting of the office, your voice cracking, “I’m not going to be there when you wake up, Harry.” The realization struck him as well, his eyes glancing down for a split second before meeting yours again.

“I’ll still find you. I’ll still come for you on Earth-Prime.”

There was a sudden knock at the door that snapped yours and Harry’s attention towards it, followed by a clearing of the throat and a thick German accent. “If you bozh are done in zhere, I’d like for eine kleine assembly to ‘appen.”

***

Diese beiden schwöre ich. “I don’t… even vant to know vhat you two vere doing.” Wolfgang deadpanned, holding blueprints in one hand and adjusting his glasses. Sherloque stood beside him with a new cup of tea in hand, this time without a fedora.

“We would never-”

“-We were having fun.”

You stumbled over your own words while Harry had owned up to his. You failed to realize the light hickies still on your neck until Wolfgang narrowed his eyes at you and Sherloque rolled his eyes as he watched the exchange. Harry knew they were there; he just didn’t point out that they were visible arm’s length away. Damn it, Harry! Your cheeks heated up and now you’re wondering if your real body now has hickies on them because there’s about to be some words thrown your way by two or three particular members of Team Flash.

“Ah ah ah ah, nein. None of zhat,” the German waved you two off with his hand, “just keep your ‘ormones at a decent level until ve get our bodies back. Zhen you two idiotenliebhaber can do whatever it is you two do when not in a crisis.” You dipped your head down shyly, but that didn’t stop your boyfriend from nudging your side and giving you a smug-ass grin. You glowered at him as he wiggled his eyebrows at you before Wolfgang caught your attention again. “Anyvay, ve need to discuss somezhing else vizh you. Sherloque und I vill also be coming to Earzh-Eins.”

“Why?”

“In case,” Harry started, “I don’t make it in time to recalibrate the Multiversal Communications Projector before all the others. Earth-Prime will essentially give the green light to the others in the multiverse to send in their coordinates.”

“We’ve already figured out Earzh-Prime’s dimensionale coordinates,” Sherloque added in. “Une sécurité intégrée vaut mieux que rien.”

You nodded at their words. I mean it makes sense, but… Wolfgang took out a couple sheets of paper that had been rolled up and hidden in the rolled-up blueprint file, handing it to you. “What’s this?”

“Ein liste of names of all the present Vells who’s neurological vavelengths are entangled vith Nash’s,” Wolfgang stated nonchalantly. “It seems zhat some Earzh are either permanently vacant or do not ‘ave ein Vells.”

“Like Kara’s Earth, old Earth I guess,” You responded, holding the sheets. “She’s Supergirl, used to live on Earth-38. Barry had accidentally multiverse jumped to Earth-38, thanks to Harry. He said that no one from Team Flash’s doppelgangers were on Earth-38, unlike Earth-2 and Earth-19.” Earth-19 Your eyes scanned the list; Wolfgang had done you a great favor in numbering it in Earth order. Could he..? The thought was soon shut out as you looked through the list.

Harry watched as your shoulders sagged, knowing who you were looking for. He pocketed his hands as a fake smile plastered itself onto your face.

***

The day had finally come. It’s time for the boys to come back home. Everyone had gathered in the Speed Lab. The machinery interconnected to one another as if interwoven into one mechanical creature. Your heart pounded in your chest and those dubious thoughts returned, but you willed them back. You needed to believe that this can work. Chester and Cisco were calibrating the tablets and satellites, running newer and improved diagnostics for this moment.

“That favor, that you owe me,” Nash’s voice caught your attention, snapping you out of your trance. You looked up at him with a quizzical look.

“Yeah?”

“I’m cashing it in,” Nash’s voice rasped as he took your hand. You humored the geological explorer. “Protect Allegra,” he whispered, his eyes glancing in her direction as her was turned because she was added the finishing touches with Cisco. The simple wish had surprised you, yet at the same time it didn’t in the slightest. “Please.” He sounded like a dying man marching to his death. And in a way he was if this doesn’t work.

“Always,” you nodded at him. Leaning up, you kissed his forehead softly before placing the Psyche Segregator on his head. “Thank you.” Nash remained silent and only closed his eyes as he sat back down. Releasing a breath, he reopening those piercing blue eyes filled with determination, but you can see that behind it there was a form of fear. He nodded. You nodded back at him, taking a step backwards before looking at the others. It’s time. Cisco handed you the tablet that held the ignition keys. You took in a breath, the weight of the tablet seemingly heavier than ever before. A multiverse of lives held within the tips of your fingers, only fate will decide if they live or die.

Your eyes met Nash’s one last time. Doubt choked your heart, but there was no going back. “Here we go,” you spoke each word slowly before pressing the button to ignite the Psyche Segregator.

Translations (Via Google Translate):

French

J'ai parlé de mes deux cents à ces deux-là - I've spoken my two cents to those two

Et ce n'est pas bon de se mentir à toi-même, Nash - And it's not good to lie to yourself, Nash.

Mon Dieu! Ayez de la décence! - My god! Have some decency!

Une sécurité intégrée vaut mieux que rien - A failsafe is better than nothing

Latin

Quae dicunt, facite vobis cor eius - Your heart is its own treasure

Quod pertinet ad eum - It belongs to him

Nusquam potuerunt alium, qui non pertinent ad quis enim concupíscit. - It could never belong to anyone else who yearns for you.

German

Idiotenliebhaber - idiot lovers

Diese beiden schwöre ich - These two, I swear

[etherealluminescence]

Hellllloooo!!! Your work is really goood! May I request a little headcanon? I'm an My Hero Academia fan and this concept kind of humored me, I don't know if I should consider this an AU but how would the brothers react to an MC who is a hero in training student with a flashy quirk! You can choose what quirk she gets and feel free to choose any gender, Thank You!

Hey anon! I’m fine with AUs so don’t worry. I’m a major BNHA fan myself, having been a fan for around three years. This kind of excited me because I got to write about the two fandoms I really like together. I’m just gonna do GN! Sorry if the explaination to the quirk is a bit long;;

Retagging because it removed the tags for me**

| MHA!AU | Brothers react to a flashy quirk GN!MC

The quirk is one I’m using for my OC which is a pretty flashy one I would say!! I hope you don’t mind I reference my own OC’s quirk. But it’s :

Gale attraction

A subdivision of air manipulation. The user can suck air towards them, break it apart, send it forwards, all in small or large consistencies, but they have to have something as the center of gravitation, that makes the air get suck towards it, or apart from it. My OC uses a long sword that can curl and compact, and straighten out to become long, so that’s why I consider this quirk flashy, since he slams a large sword at people’s directions and suddenly sends them flying. The MC in here does the same. Ex of how it works : The user uses slams their sword forward facing the opponent, and sucks in the air around them by using the sword as the center of gravitation, and lets it out in one go forward, causing a large blast. It all happens in the span of a few seconds, so it’s hard to see.

Lucifer

Lucifer knew that you had a pretty powerful quirk since you attended UA, you were a third year in class A, according to his documents when he was picking a student. However he couldn’t tell what exactly was your quirk because Diavolo just said to pick your paper and Lucifer couldn’t be bothered anymore.

When you arrived in the devildom you were immediately confused. You thought it was a villain’s quirk, since you were just in a battle, and you began to use your quirk.

Why did the villain’s partner suddenly your their quirk? Did they want to run now? Where are the other heroes who were with you, or did they have other illusions?

You didn’t know who these people were in front of you, but you assumed it was an illusion so you kind of attacked Lucifer with your quirk.

The strong wind expelled out your blade at the speed of light as you swung in his direction. Lucifer managed to transform into his form and stop your quirk from doing damage to him with his wings, but it was just a barely able to.

He didn’t have much time to think, but he thought that you were going to be difficult, and your quirk was actually strong enough to cause him to be pushed back a few centimetres. Wow.

He tried not to be impressed with you, because you cannot act like that in devildom. You were lectured like crazy and Diavolo laughed it all off.

After a few hours Lucifer gave you a simple compliment of “You have a strong quirk, don’t disappoint.” And you were actually feeling pretty proud from that.

Lucifer actually acknowledged you, and told you that he did. He told you that you were strong, even thought he looked like he was going to murder you all day and throughout the meeting.

Mammon

Even though Mammon was your guide, he had no clue you were a quirk user. When he finally hears you say you wish to train your quirk he’s just like?? You have one?

After assuring him you do, he asks to see it. You say your quirk isn’t a toy you can fool around with, and can cause some serious damage.

He thinks about it during the night and finds a way to make money off of it. You want to train... and he can place bets.. he can register you in a tournament where demons fight each other using their power or weapons if that’s their style... and well you could well lose and he takes the money from betting on the demons!!

Mammon explained to you his idea, but left out which side he was betting on. He had zero faith in you since he didn’t know you attended UA, and didn’t know how strong your quirk actually was.

You happily agreed since you figured you could go all out against a demon, since they are tough.

When the first round came, the majority of people bet in the demon’s favor, rather than your’s. You couldn’t care less since you really wanted a good workout.

As soon as the “one” came out of the referee’s mouth, you pulled out your sword and twirled it straight in a matter of seconds, and immediately sent a blast towards the demon’s direction.

The demon formed an “X” shape with his hands and dug his heels into the ground thinking you couldn’t blast him too far if you were just hitting the ground. Maybe your quirk was making the ground shake or something weak.

But what he didn’t see was the giant gust approaching him till it was too late. His eyes were glued shut from the strong blast affect and he was sent flying. He was far out of the rings, and looked like he was bleeding.

Whoops-you-did-not-think-a-demon-would-injure-so-easily

You tried to play it off cool but it was obvious you were frantically worrying about the demon.

At that moment, Mammon was convince to always bet on you. He immediately yelled allowed “That’s my human!” despite not even betting on you at first.

He is overly proud especially when you win since no one can tell what exactly your quirk was, you working way too fast.

He’s always clinging to you now and if someone harasses him he will be like “My human can kick your ass!! Fight me (them) if you want to taste dirt.”

Leviathan

Oh my goodness oh my goodness oh my goodness is this happening.

Levi is internally freaking out when he firsts meets you because you’re a hero in training!! Heroes are literally so cool and you’re a person not only with a quirk but attending THE U.A. high.

He wants to immediately know your quirk and how it works so he can replicate any scenes and do cosplay stuff, or say he knew a pro hero before they were famous and people made merch of them.

As soon as you two were alone, curtesy of Mammon not wanting to pay his debt back, Levi told you to come with him.

He took you to his room and nervously asked you to show him your quirk, he was super excited and was nervous at the same time and tried not to show either of the emotions.

You happily agreed because you love showing your quirk to friends, family, and fans.

You proceeded to take off your large jacket, and he saw a sword on your belt’s side. He immediately thought it would be powerful because you had a weapon.

You tell him to enjoy and watch the show. You twist your blade and it goes from curly to a long straight and thin blade. He’s sort of in awe at what a cool concept it was for a weapon to hide and yet easily open.

The fun had only begun, you concentrated, closing your eyes, with the quiet surrounding you, you proceed to swing your blade forward, aimed towards one of his less filled up walls, and blast an air strike.

You open it up to see you damaged and broke the wall, and the furniture in the next room over from the amount of air you gathered and blasted. But Levi didn’t care about his broken room, he was gushing at how cool you were.

You run a hand through your hair and give him a smile, telling him that it’s your job. “A hero should always go all out for their fans.”

Levi now wants merchandise of you asap and will be your first fan in the club and will become the president of it because of how epic that was, and if that was just you showing him your quirk just how awesome would you be in an actual fight?

Needless to say Levi clung to you for your entire trip in devildom.

Satan

Satan had read about how humanity has slowly gained quirks, or strong powers. They were all unique, with some common ones, and they had all sorts of uses. Sometimes the human could even look non human or become a different state of matter.

He was a little bit interested in seeing your quirk, he wasn’t going to lie. During the council meeting they were told that you are a UA student, but never mentioned your quirk, so he could only think of what it could be in his head.

When you finally came, he tried to be discreet about watching you from afar to see if you would use your quirk.

You didn’t want to just randomly cause havoc, so you didn’t use your quirk at all for the first few days. If people asked you what it was you’d just reply with “Something flashy, I guess?”

What was that supposed to mean? Even detective Satan couldn’t figure it out considering the vast quantities of quirks there are in the world.

Finally, he approached you after school his curiosity getting the better of him. He asked you to show him your quirk, and he was pretty polite. He told you he was interested in how human bodies work these days after reading so much about quirks.

You obliged, but tell him you’ll have to go to your room to do it since you left your sword there, not wanting to destroy school property.

This led Satan to believe your quirk is sword based, and you can use the weapon to slice through anything. He felt pretty proud with that conclusion.

Boy was he wrong, standing in the aftermath of what you just did. You both went into your room and there, you picked up your sword and straightened it out, aiming at a wall, you slammed it down, bursting the air forward and broke the wall with it.

You were mentally cursing as you casually fixed your sword’s state, and brushed off your shirt, as if there were dust on it. You didn’t mean to break the wall, but it just happened. What on earth did you expect?

Satan was stunned, these walls were pretty sturdy, so he thought. Not only that, but his hypothesis was completely wrong. Your quirk wasn’t the sword, was it?

Satan’s ultimate reaction to it was that he’s curious to know what exactly your quirk is, and how it works.

He questions you all the night about how it affects your body, like do you have to concentrate energy to your fingertips to control what is your center of gravitation? Could you use yourself as a center of gravitation? Would it hurt if you did? Where did you get that sword? Could you-

The questions kept coming at you that the two of you spoke until dinner. No one could find you and Satan in any other rooms, so Lucifer checked your’s. He immediately noted you and Satan are together but WHY is there a broken wall.

Oh you forgot about that.

Not to worry, Satan takes the blame. He says his anger got the best of him and that you were calming him down. You have a friend in Satan.

Lucifer could tell it was you since you had a very long sword in your hands, and that it probably had something to do with your quirk, but let it slide since Satan insisted of taking the blame.

Asmodeous

Asmo had finally convinced you to come to a club with him. In insisted he would take care of you if you couldn’t take care of yourself, bugged you for days.

He really wanted to boost his popularity being with the first quirk user in devildom, while bragging about your achievements, it’s his way of saying he is fond of you.

After going to the club, you and Asmo seperate a bit because he got dragged off by succubi, so you ended staying in the corner.

Of course you can’t do that in a club, someone will always approach you. A tall demon tried to get you to dance with them. No matter how many times you rejected, they kept going.

They were probably thinking they could intimidate you into dancing at least and then try something, but you were not a pushover. Asmo finally spots you and is worried and tries to rush over through the dancing crowd.

After the demon tries to grab your wrist you reached behind your belt and pulled out a small curly sword.

The demon was laughing since he thought you were going to attack him with a small sword. That wouldn’t even leave a minor injury. Instead, you step to the side so he’s not directly in front of you, and slam the sword to the side.

As it straightened, you collected air towards it and slided it up then down in it’s direction. You released the air collected as you slammed and a strong gust of wind exploded.

Even the demon was sent flying, crashing into a now-damaged pillar. Sighing, you twisted your sword into it’s curly state again, and put it away.

Asmo was rushing to you in awe. You just defeated a tall and scary demon by yourself!! He knew you had a strong quirk, but not enough to take down a giant demon.

When he finally made it, he took your hands in his and asked the basic questions, like “What’s your quirk? How did you do that? Can I post a selfie of us on devilgram while you use your quirk right now?” And it progressively got to

“Are you wrists okay? Are they still beautiful? Do you want me to apply lotion?”

The entire club was also in awe and staring, but you couldn’t really tell over how dramatic Asmo was being. It was an everyday occurrence to swing your blade at someone, but maybe the demons don’t have epic fights like you thought.

Needless to say Asmo is impressed and wants to brag about you and your amazing quirk to the world and how you two are closer than best friends.

Beelzebub

“Ah, Your name was Beel, right? Would you minded if I trained with you?”

You were the one to approach him first. You really wanted to keep up your training schedule while in the devildom, and hoped that the gym he went was similar to humans, or at least had a practice space.

He was ecstatic to have a training buddy, so of course you can come. You asked him if the gym had a room with training dummies or something similar, and he said there’s a free practice room with dummies you can break if you want.

You were super excited to use the dummies especially if you can break them because you might have to stop after two or three blasts if you couldn’t break them.

While at the gym you two did regular things at first, benchpress, whatever fit people do. Then you came into the training room.

You were tiny compared to Beel so he didn’t think you could do that much damage. But oh buddy. He was wrong.

You brought out your sword and twisted it straight, and stood at a very far distance. Beel was confused to why, but watched regardless.

As you swung your sword down, you collected air and then released it forward, splitting the air into two different sides for a double blast, a new technique to dispel air you’ve gathered you’ve been working on.

Beel could only see it for a matter of seconds as the wind flew past him in milliseconds, before it reached the training dummies in around five to six seconds total.

He was amazed because the training dummies were broken. The one on the left and right, which you were aiming for.

You didn’t expect them to break easily, so you turn to Beel as if saying what now with your eyes. He’s immediately patting your head and telling you that you’re amazing, and keep going.

Such a tiny person can have so much power because of their training;; such amazement and respect for you.

Afterwards he treats you to a meal and you take become close friends and gym buddies, encouraging each other not to give up on your workouts or training.

Belphegor

Belphie had never once seen your quirk, even if he tried to kill you once. You didn’t have your weapon on you at that time and couldn’t do anything.

He also didn’t attend classes often, being asleep at home. But today was a rare day he attended, and he stuck to you like glue, claiming he needed to spend time with you since his brothers hog you.

It was all going well until a demon you knew approached you. He wanted a rematch for last time and claimed he was stronger now, after two months.

Belphie was confused and you explained that while you were at school here, you’ve been challenging the top demon delinquents to get the title of strongest.

He’s just like “wowww. you really don’t have a sense of danger, do you?” The answer is you don’t. You were fairly confident in your abilities.

He stops leaning and hugging you to lean against the wall as he watches the two of you fight. If anything happens to you, he will kill the demon.

He figures it’s gonna be long and drawn out since you’re just a small human, but was he wrong.

Before the demon could move, it was over in seconds. You swung your blade down and as it expanded, you collected the air around and then sliced it sideways in the demon’s direction, giving a horizontal blast of air that he couldn’t dodge.

You called yourself the champion and pat yourself on the back as Belphie is stunned. You really just defeated a delinquent demon with your quirk in seconds, huh?

Belphie tells you you’re alright for a human and rather than pry into what it is, asks if you can prank Lucifer with it.

He’s pretty nonchalant but knows that you can take care of yourself now, and feels a little better with that knowledge since he can’t be with you 24/7.

You’re both going to trip Lucifer on small bits of air occasionally when he’s super tired just to see him lose it.

[trillian-anders]

chambers - ii

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, Angst

Word Count: 4429

Description: Post-Endgame. Steve Rogers has passed away from old age. The one remarkable thing is that no one knew his heart would be in the condition it was. He was able to save one more life. After receiving his heart, strange things start happening. Including something that would change your life forever. (Very loosely based on the Netflix series of the same name.)

Frequent colds, high blood pressure, heart palpitations, asthma, anxiety, prior suffering of scarlet fever and rheumatic fever, and a family history of stroke, diabetes, cancer, and heart disease. Thanks Dad. 

The enlistment office was cold. The plastic chair they had him in was sticking against the backs of his thin thighs. You’ve never been this thin in your entire life. Your breathing--Steve’s breathing--was fine for now, but you could feel a rattling beginning in your chest. Just trying to get through this enlistment examination and then we can go home, light a fire, and eat the last tin of beans. 

“Rogers.” The man examined you, took a deep sigh and stamped your papers. 4F. Denied. 

This was the first one, in Brooklyn. The war has just started. Steve was trying to jump into the wagon early, trying against all odds to get his feet on the ground overseas. Do what he can, just like Dad did in the War to End All Wars. It’s too bad the war didn’t live up to its name. These memories came to you as you sat in a similar situation.

You were in grey shorts and a matching t shirt, Avengers logo in black on each in a lab, waiting for the man you had an appointment with. You jokingly thought to yourself about what it would have been like to fight in a war, lay your life on the line for a good noble cause, and you had to remind yourself that you truly hoped those memories never came to surface. 

You swallowed roughly, shifting on the sterile paper beneath you, waiting. There was a two way mirror here, you remembered. As you looked at it you wondered who would be watching on the other side. Coming to see the freak who possesses the heart of Captain America. You hadn’t seen Sam or Bucky yet, thank god. Two hours ago a car showed up in front of your building and brought you to a jet bringing you to the compound, no sign of the super soldier or his winged friend in sight. You supposed you couldn’t blame them. This is a really strange situation to say the least. 

It also didn’t hurt that you knew them in a severely intimate way whereas you were a complete stranger to them. It was also strange that you missed them, terribly. Your heart ached for them. Steve’s heart ached for them. 

“Miss Y/L/N?” Two people entered the room, Bruce and Wanda. Your heart ached a little more. It was almost like reuniting with an old friend, you wonder if things will be the same, pick up right where you left off, the closeness you felt. But that’s Steve talking, not you. “I’m Bruce Banner and this is Wanda Maximoff,” the gentle giant offered with a soft smile, “but I’m sure you already knew that.” 

“It’s so strange,” You expressed, “Feeling like I know all of you so well, but being a complete stranger.” You laughed nervously and wrapped your arms around your middle, swinging your feet slightly as they hung off the edge of the examining table. 

“I couldn’t imagine honestly,” Bruce moved closest to you, Wanda opting to stay by the door. “Okay so first I’m going to take some blood if that’s okay with you?” He pulled a tray out from a medical drawer, setting it up beside you. 

“Of course,” You smiled softly. The trust in Bruce was intense. You knew Steve fought beside him. You have distinct memories from the Battle of New York, but more than that the nights of eating take out at the kitchen counter and listening to him babble about isolating samples of Caps blood to synthesize cures for disease, but also how he couldn’t imagine creating a world of super soldiers so the idea was nixed as soon as he spat it out. Bruce Banner had a good moral compass. He can be trusted. 

He quickly worked, wrapping a medical tourniquet onto your arm and finding a vein, filling six vials of blood. He bandaged you and removed the tourniquet just as quickly. 

“So you have these flashbacks right?” Bruce asked as he labeled the vials, “You have seizures during?”

“Not always, but it always involves some sort of passing out.” He nods, scribbling notes on his notepad. 

“And the agents in the alley?”

“No clue,” You admitted honestly. “My body,” Looking down at your hands, “It moved on its own, I had no control.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

“Okay, well today is going to be strictly medical, but I would like to talk to you about some of the tests we would like to run, if you consent to them.” It was hard. The decision seemed so easy. Let them test so that you can figure out what the hell is going on and hopefully put a stop to it, but also you’d been poked and prodded your whole life. 

You were born with the heart condition. You’ve literally been having surgeries since the day you were born. What if it never ends? What if they never find out why you and Steve are so connected? What if they do and you can’t keep the heart? 

“Whatever outcome, we will not put your life at risk.” This was the first time Wanda has spoken during this entire visit. Your eyes flicked over to hers. A maternal instinct bloomed in your chest. Steve had a fond love for her, when she was parted from Ultron and her brother died she had leaned hard into Clint, but when Clint retired, Steve took his place. Making sure she was okay, making sure she practiced wielding her powers, making sure she ate everyday. That same affection could be found in you now, your eyes teared at the thought. “We will figure this out and keep you alive, even if it means getting you a new heart.” 

It was what you needed to hear and she knew it. Part of her powers, but also she knew you would trust her. You nodded your head, looking back to Bruce. “Let's do it.” 

You knew this memory. You HATED this memory. 

Bucky Barnes. The handsome, charismatic, Bucky Barnes. James the dames would sigh as he nibbled their ears. He was screaming and there was nothing you could do to stop it. These videos you were obsessed with looking for clues. Where would he go? How could you find him? Sam was looking, but every day that Bucky was gone was a day his trail grew colder and colder. 

He was strapped into a metal chair, skin damp, ice still trapped in his hair. They had just woken him up, strapping him into the chair, electrodes coming to lay over his face and he fucking screamed. It was horrifying, why were you torturing yourself like this. You should have gone back to that ravine and retrieved his body. You weren’t even sure where he fell, but you should have searched that whole fucking mountain to find him. He would have for you. 

You let him down.

You fucking let him down. 

A gasp and you were awake. Damp with sweat you swung your legs over the side of your bed, panting. The guilt. So consuming. Your stomach churned and you quickly found your way to the bathroom, dropping to your knees in order to wretch into the toilet. Body shivering from the cold. You placed a hand over your now racing heart, crying against the porcelain. You missed Bucky.

You didn’t even know Bucky. 

Your heart was aching for him. Fuck. It had been a week since your initial visit with Bruce other than taking your blood and giving you a normal checkup not much else was done. He wanted to go easy on you, give you a little time to adjust and come to terms with your newfound anomaly. And for whatever reason right now you really wanted to run. Like… for stress relief. When has that thought ever crossed your mind? Who even were you? 

Oh right, Steve was a runner. You could remember him lapping Sam Wilson on multiple occasions as they took their morning runs together. Your body burned with energy and you checked the time, it was 5 am. You had closed the bar last night and didn’t get home until one. 

“Four hours of sleep.” You groaned. “Fucking great.” This itch wouldn’t give up so you dusted off your old gym shoes and strapped yourself into a sports bra, jacket, and sweats and you were out the door. 

Running. At 5 am. Who would have fucking thought. 

Old City was close, and you found yourself finding it. Not many cars out this early, but they’d grow in number to gridlock during rush hour. As you pounded the pavement, passing building after building, block after block you found yourself not even close to being out of breath, the energy not even close to being diminished. If you couldn’t get rid of this massive rush of energy you had been feeling then a mid morning nap was out of the question, and you had to be back at work at four. 

You picked up the pace, passing Independence Hall, running the museum mile, before running back towards the direction of your apartment. You were flying. You’ve never run so fast in your life. You were running faster than the cars were driving on the still mildly empty streets. This was wild. 

You weren’t a runner, but Steve Rogers was. It was almost like in the alley, where your body just sorta went and your brain followed. It was Steve’s body right now, you were just along for the ride. 

Your legs felt like jelly as you walked up the steps, adrenaline wearing off. You just barely made it inside your door before you collapsed on the ground in extreme pain. It felt like you tore every muscle in your legs, you let out a silent scream trying not to wake your neighbors, fumbling for your phone. You couldn’t move your legs. 

So you did the only thing you knew to do, you called Bruce. 

Since Steve’s death Bucky Barnes liked doing one thing and one thing only. Staying busy. Anything that crossed Fury’s desk, big or small, he wanted it and he would fight every other agent in the compound in order to get it. You need some simple recon on a businessman you think might have connections to old Hydra sympathizers? He’s on it. You need someone to go in a diffuse a bomb? He’s on it. You need someone to come get your cat out of a tree, please stop him on the side of the road. He’s begging you. 

It hurt bad enough when Steve said he was going to stay with Peggy. He resigned to the fact that his very selfless friend deserves to do a very selfish thing. He wanted Steve to be happy, and when you love someone you’ll let them be happy no matter the personal cost. But when Steve returned as an old man, and he had to physically watch him waste and die. That was probably something he could never forgive Steve for. He just couldn’t.

The coffee in his cup was basically water. The cheap motel Sam got them a room in was a fucking joke. Two single beds, a coffee maker from the 70s, and he didn’t even want to think about what was embedded in the shag carpet. Shit thing was they were leaving today, mission was over, recon was successful, information on a new budding cartel trafficking humans overseas was obtained. Procedure had them going back to report to Fury, getting a stat on how many people they should bring and what approach and then they’ll be back on the field. 

He can’t wait. 

Sam threw the now full duffel on the floor by the front door, turning to his friend. “I need a fucking break Bucky.” He groaned, stretching out his back. Bucky scoffed, 

“Then take a fucking break Sam.” He finished off his coffee, tossing the cup in the trash and picking up his own duffel. Sam looked at him wearily. 

“You need a break too.” Sam told Bucky as they left the motel room. The small plane they had taken over here sat for them 2 km into the woods behind this dingy motel, and that’s where they were headed, ready to take a quick flight home. 

“I don’t need a break,” Bucky protested, “I know when I need to take a break.” 

Sam looked at Bucky incredulously, “You literally got stabbed last week and hours later went back out on another mission. You’re taking a break.” Two duffels thrown into chairs on the plane, Bucky sitting himself in the pilot’s seat. A red, silver, and blue shield sat between them as Sam took his own seat in copilot. 

“I don’t need a break, not yet.” Sam rolled his eyes, beginning take off procedure. 

“You’re gonna have to deal with it sometime my man.” Bucky rolled his eyes at that, “Holding things in-”

“Don’t go all VA on me right now birdbrain.” Sam stared at Bucky a moment longer, trying to pick his next words out carefully. 

“Buck-” Saved by the bell. A phone ringing in Sam’s pocket. He pulled the cell out looking at Bruce’s name flashing across the screen. “Bruce? What’s-” Bucky stared him down, heart jumping at the prospect of flying somewhere else, anywhere but home. Sam quickly hung up, buckling his seat belt. “We gotta go to Philly, pick Y/N up.” Bucky’s heart dropped. He didn’t want that. 

“You’ve torn every muscle in your legs.”  Bruce plainly stated. You were currently in the cradle created by Helen Cho. “Just by running?” Your mouth opened and quickly shut again, shrugging. 

“Fast, I was running so fast.” Your eyes scanned the ceiling as you felt the machine slowly repairing the muscles of your legs. Bucky Barnes scoffed beside you, grunting when Sam elbowed him in his ribs. 

“Like-”

“Like….,” You looked over to Sam and Bucky before turning your eyes back to Bruce, “Steve fast.” Bruce stared at you a moment before looking away. He walked over to the large glass windows on the opposite side of the room. Not speaking. Thinking. 

“How is that possible? Muscle memory sure, but your body shouldn’t be able to move that way. Steve’s top speed is 60 mph.” You looked at him wide eyed. 

“Maybe that’s why her legs are shredded.” Bucky said with some humor. He was being a dick. Why was he being a dick? Sam glared at him. 

“Go file the report Buck, I’ll catch you up later.” Bucky turned to his friend with a glare, 

“Why do I have to-”

“I’ll catch you up later.” He said sternly. Bucky called it his Captain’s voice. Like the one Steve would use when he knew something you didn’t and you just needed to follow him. Into battle or just to leave the room. Bucky acquiesced, but not before casting one more glance at you in the cradle, hands clasped over your belly, looking at him with wet eyes. 

“So your body has this muscle memory of the activities Steve used to do,” Bruce began to pace. “Running and fighting-”

“Steve was really good at art too.” Sam offered. He took a seat in a chair by Bruce’s pacing, between you and the green giant. “That would be a safe activity to see if you’d be just as good.” You nodded in agreement. 

“But for the more dangerous activities, your mind seems to think you’re able to do them. So the real issue are instances like this, where your mind goes and your body follows no matter the cost.” Bruce was looking at you now, thinking about how to proceed next. 

“And this is a pretty high cost.” You said. Both men agreed.

…

The report was on Fury’s desk an hour later. Bucky’s hands gripping the leather chair across from him as his eye scanned the pages. “So what’s next?” Bucky asked. Like an addict asking for a fix. Fury studied him for a moment. “I can be ready to go back in with a task force in four hours, quick nap, time to clean my guns-”

“You’re suspended from missions until further notice.” Fury threw the folder onto his desk, waiting for the backlash. 

“What?” Bucky’s heart started racing. Fucking Sam. 

“Sam recommended it, but I was already going to suspend you until you can get your head on straight. I just needed a second person to sign off.” Bucky studied him for a moment. Trying to detect the lie. 

“I’m fine, I need to be back out on the field.” Bucky gestured to the window behind him where recruits were running drills. “Who else are you going to use?” 

“We have agents other than you Barnes.” He sounds tired, “You haven’t been out of the field since Steve died and we have an issue that came up that I know you don’t want anything to do with. It’s not good for you.” 

“So this is about her?” Bucky thought back to your wet eyes, he felt guilty for being such an ass. It just sorta came out without thinking. He had a hard time doing that when he was in front of you, thinking. 

When they went to pick you up, Sam hadn’t given him any warning in what they were about to walk into. They found you where you had fallen, sobbing in pain, body going into shock. He felt himself stunned. Your legs were black and blue, every inch of skin bruised. Sam yelled something at him he couldn’t hear and he watched Sam pick you up from the floor, clearly hearing the whimpering of pain you were steadily released from your body.  

His heart fell to the floor as your half lidded eyes met his, unfocused. 

It was terrifying. At first he felt some anger well up, who had done this to you? How did this happen? But when it was revealed that you had done it to yourself, that your muddled mind and heart caused you to run 60 mph into complete muscle destruction he found himself angry at you. It’s not her fault, he tried to remind himself, how could it be her fault?

He found himself, not for the first time, angry with Steve. It left him confused and broken. Steve on his deathbed. In a hospital, doctors ready to take his heart as soon as he took his last breath. It was planned. Steve had been in the hospital for a month before he died, no one knew why he was getting EKG’s almost daily and why he was moved so closely to the operating wing. He didn’t tell anyone. He was leaving his heart to her. Without even knowing her. What a good fucking guy. Bucky hated him for it. Barely getting to mourn before they carted him out into the OR to cut him open and shift his bloody, healthy heart into a woman who had a weak and dying one. 

It was hard. This was hard. 

“This is about you Barnes.” Fury leaned over his desk, folding his hands in front of him. “You continue doing this and you’ll be liable for a mistake. We can’t afford mistakes. Not when we are finally gaining ground back. You’re suspended from field work effective immediately, if you want to make yourself useful around here train some recruits, organize some files, or maybe help Bruce in the lab. His hands are pretty full.” With that he was dismissed. Fists meeting a punching bag not soon after. 

“What am I going to do?” You cried softly. “I can’t keep my job if I have to take a month off.” Bruce looked up at her from his microscope, the cradle still working on the muscles in her legs. 

“You’re on your feet for 12 hours a day,” Bruce explained, “You’re basically getting a new pair of legs right now, you’re gonna have to take it easy for a while.” 

“I’m sure we can pick up your bills.” Sam offered, “If that’s what you’re worried about.” You shake your head, hands coming up to wipe the tears from your eyes. 

“I won’t have a job to go back to,” You explained, “They’ll replace me.” Sam sighed and put down the Sudoku book he had been working on. 

“I’m saying this because it’s what Steve would have wanted Y/N.” He looked at you, but you couldn’t meet his eyes. “We will do whatever it takes to make sure you are taken care of.” You knew Sam was a good guy. You knew he worked at the VA not because he needed the money but because he genuinely cared about the people there. And you knew he helped Steve when the whole world was against him. Twice. 

“I don’t want you to feel-” you started, being cut off by Bruce,

“This is not an obligation. We want to help you, all of us do.” Bruce offered, “Not just because it’s what Steve would have wanted but also because this is a terrifying situation and we want you to be able to live a long, healthy life with or without these life altering issues.” He stood from his chair, bringing papers over and adjusting his glasses. “You’ll need to rest. For a while. I’m still examining your blood and tomorrow I’d like to get a look at your heart for myself, would that be okay?” 

You sighed heavily before replying, “Yeah, that would be okay.” 

Your legs were still sore, even after spending 12 hours in the cradle. You weren’t able to walk yet. Wanda was kind enough to help you use the restroom and helped you into the room they were going to have you staying in temporarily. “Do you want to make a list of items and their locations in your apartment you’d like me to bring here?” She asked. 

“Am I not going home?” She turned to look at you like she was caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. 

“Well…” She had given you half chicken, 2 sweet potatoes, and  a bowl broccoli with a large pat of butter. Bruce said you needed nutrients and a lot of them. “We can’t risk you doing something to your body that we won't be able to repair. Just until the testing is done. I’m sorry.” She played with the ends of her hair. “I thought they already told you. I’m sure they’re going to ask you tomorrow.” You sighed, rubbing the scar on your chest gently before looking up at Wanda.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” You were starving. “I understand.” She gave you a soft look you couldn’t really read before turning the tv on, working with you to find something to watch as you ate your dinner. You were the hungriest you’d ever been in your life. While in the cradle you were given snacks, but it was hard to eat completely laying down. The work your body was put through by the cradle repairing your muscles caused a major calorie deficit, and the fatigue you’ve been feeling all day was the price you’d been paying. 

You almost choked halfway through eating, looking up from your plate to the television screen and seeing Steve Rogers staring back at you. He looked so real, the young Captain America, the person he was before the battle for the infinity stones. The Steve Rogers he was on every poster and war movie. What is happening?

Wanda’s hand began to pat your back as you tried to clear your airways, “Breathe, c’mon breathe.”

“Breathe, c’mon breathe.” Bucky’s hand was hard against your back, you couldn’t get air. “C’mon pal, that’s it.” It was a wet feeling in your throat, coughing the lard wad of mucus into the handkerchief held in Bucky’s palm. Gasping for breath Bucky was quick to toss the soiled napkin to the side, bringing your inhaler up to your mouth, thin weak hands coming up to grasp it as you inhaled the medicine, feeling your lungs expand and relax. “You okay?”

You could feel a rattle still in your chest. “Yeah I’m fine.” Steve was sick, which wasn’t anything new. You could feel the embarrassment. 

“I hate you being here alone.” Bucky stood from his chair next to the bed, getting up to turn the radio down a few decibels. “You could come move in with us? Ma loves you.” You could feel yourself shake your head. 

“I’ve lived in this apartment my whole life Buck.” 

“Then I’ll move in here! You can move into your Ma’s room and I’ll take your old room Stevie.” You sighed, resting your back against the pillows Bucky had so carefully propped against your back. “You won’t be able to afford this place forever doing sketches for funnies. You’ve barely got any food in the icebox.” 

“If you want to move in here Buck I’m not against it, but I’m staying right where I am.” Bucky nodded, hands on his hips turning to face his frail friend. 

“I make enough money at the canary that we should be just fine here Stevie.” This was a year before Bucky was sent off for war. A year and a half before Steve became Captain America. You wondered if either of them could sense what was coming. 

The piece of chicken that had been lodged in your throat was soon popped out and floated midair with a red energy surrounding it. Wanda had pulled it from your throat. Steve was gone. 

“Are you okay?” She asked, worry evident in her voice. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, losing your appetite. “I think I should go to bed.” You pushed the tray away from you and leaned back against your pillows. In that moment you could feel the Steve. Like a layer on top of your own body. His frail one, shivering with a chill he couldn’t shake, lungs rattling, weak. 

“If you need anything at all just alert FRIDAY.” You nodded, ignoring her worried eyes as she left the room. You needed to sleep.

You were exhausted and this day felt three days long. You just needed to sleep. So far away from everything that was going on here. And you were praying against all odds that Steve wouldn’t follow you there either. 

Those prayers went unanswered. 

.

.

.

@albinotigerpython​ @nutellakirb​ @witch-of-letters​ @torntaltos​

[scaredofheroin]

Captain N - Chapter 1: Who Are You?

School.

The highlight of no teenager's day.

Peter Lavancha was no different.

Another day in English 12, another day in Midnight Lights High School, another day in America, another day on Earth.

As Peter idly twiddled his pencil in his hand, deliberately ignoring the research assignment currently assigned to him, his eyes glanced around the classroom. Sitting to his right was Jeremiah Coleman, one of the star football players who carried the Midnight Lights High Phantoms to state victory last year. To his left was Kimberly Sparks, one of the most talented artists in the school, whose still-life of a potted plant and car gears won the gold ribbon at the county fair. In front of Peter was Scott Hudson, who won third place at the school's science fair a month ago. Behind him was a bookshelf containing a uniform row of well-worn English textbooks, each uniquely damaged and vandalized from each other. Ms. Kirk's aged, exhausted visage accompanied the slouched-over form currently occupying the large desk at the other end of the classroom, switching from eyeing the students to make sure they're working on the assignment, and reviewing emails or other faculty-only forms. But the Word document occupied only by Peter's name, Ms. Kirk's name, the class and today's date: March 12, 2019.

The assignment was simple: research and write about your college and career path. The problem was: Peter had no idea. After graduation, a whole new world opens up. Infinite possibilities make themselves present to him, both good and bad. Sure, he could major in Business and see where that gets him, or he could go into an apprenticeship as an electrician. Or he could burn out. Peter heaved a heavy sigh, hanging his head. His mind wandered to the exciting, escapist worlds contained within the books published by DC Comics. For all that they had going against them, at least Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent knew what they were going to do with their life. And it certainly wasn't working 9 to 5 as an accountant. They would don their specially-made suits and use their unique powers and abilities to defend the innocent and save lives as Batman and Superman, the greatest superheroes ever put to paper. Peter knew his path wouldn't be as exciting. He knew he'll never get bitten by a radioactive spider, or take part in a super-soldier experiment, or be revealed to be the last son of planet Krypton. Peter would always be Peter.

The final bell of the day snapped Peter out of his self-pity, bringing a mixture of relief to finally be going home, and disappointment that he wasted essentially the entire class period daydreaming. The other students showed no such emotion, and hastily darted out from their desk to escape school. "Be sure to return your Chromebooks to the appropriate slot on the cart." Ms. Kirk sighed, knowing there would be at least three students that would misplace the cheaply-produced laptops. Peter gathered his bag, carefully put his Chromebook back in the cart and exited the classroom. The commotion of students small and tall hurriedly making their way to one of the building's three exits. Finding a spot to slip into the current of trendy clothes and hormones, Peter quickly made his way through the familiar halls and out the familiar front doors. The fresh air and warm sunlight were as great an antidote to the stress of classwork as ever. Taking a deep, appreciative breath, Peter walked over to the school parking lot, where the 18th birthday gift that is his car sits, as intact as it was this morning. Normally, that wouldn't be worth mentioning, but certain football players have made themselves enemies of the school's punks, and commonly find their car windows broken and their car bodies dented. Something about a party in September that Peter was, of course, not invited to. Peter dusted off his red varsity jacket and slipped his phone in his pocket before continuing his walk.

Peter threw his backpack in the back seat of his well-worn sedan, started the engine, and after buckling his seat belt like a responsible driver, began his daily drive home. The town of Midnight Lights was bustling with both teenagers and adults, but the foot and road traffic thinned the further Peter drove away from town. His home was about 20 minutes away from school, and while it was nice to live in a more peaceful neighborhood, Peter often envied how busy his colleague's social lives were. The further he drove, the more he fell into his pit. Jeremiah, Kimberly, Scott and many, many more students distinguished themselves with their own circle of friends, their own after-school schedules, their own talents and achievements. Surely they would have no trouble researching and writing about what they're gonna do after high school. Sure, Peter had some friends, but his hobbies could be summarized with "movies and comic books". He wasted his previous three years in high school alone in his room, catching up on what his preferred superheroes had been up to. He didn't think much of it at the time, but looking back, he's filled with immense regret.

Oh well, can't change the past.

The more Peter drove, the more he felt... different. The road and trees remained the same, but he and the car he was driving felt light. Almost as if he's floating.

Then, in the blink of an eye, the car was engulfed in a brilliant white light, and both Peter and the car vanished without a trace.

ELSEWHERE...

Two figures shot across the sky. A young, winged young man armed with a bow, followed by a white and blue, single-occupant spaceship were rapidly approaching a heavily-armored Airship. As soon as the two were visible to the Airship's occupants, the ship's commander gave the order to open fire. The cannons beneath deck charged power and took aim at the two. The winged one quickly banked out of the way, but the spaceship was only barely able to avoid the particle beam that shot out of the cannon. Once the winged one flew over the deck, he quickly pulled back the string, and a magic arrow materialized in the bow. A blink of an eye later, he shot the arrow at the commander, but the commander was too quick, and used his own magic to deflect the arrow. The spaceship shot into the distance, making a turn around to shoot back at the airship. This time, the spaceship's pilot was more prepared, and swiftly dodged the following particle beams shooting from the airship's cannons. As it drew close enough to return fire, the pilot of the spaceship found that his energy shots were absorbed by the airship's energy shields. Despite the effectiveness of the airship's protection, the commander inside had concern painted across his face. Making his way below deck, he quickly made his way to the communications room. The particle cannons made the airship tremble with each shot, but the commander was able to open a channel to his superior. The large screen in the dark room lit up, and was immediately filled with the visage of a large, stern turtle-like creature.

"What is it, Kamek?" The creature on the screen asked, anger seeping from the corners of its mouth. Kamek gulped before answering. "W-Well, I'm just not sure this airship can handle much more of this. The particle cannons are causing extreme stress to the ship, and we fear continued use will end up doing more damage than those Mushroom Kingdom stooges could!" Kamek answered. The creature roared in anger, unsatisfied with the answer given. "We did not come this far to retreat because you're too cowardly to do what needs to be done!" The creature's anger made the camera on the other end shake, making Kamek intimidated further. "B-B-But Lord Bowser, sir, if we end up damaging the-" "SILENCE! Do as you're ordered! Continue the assault, wipe out those two imbecils in the sky and join K. Rool and Dedede's airships!" Bowser ordered, cutting the video before Kamek could respond again. Hearing the spaceship zoom over head once more, Kamek steeled his nerve and returned topside, confronting the two flying assailants.

Not too far away, a white castle with red roofing was facing an assault from two other airships. The two attempted to use their particle cannons to attack the castle, but the castle was protected by a magic shield. Two figures atop the roof stood, using their staffs to concentrate protection to where the particle cannons were being aimed. The male figure attempted to use his staff to direct lightning back at the airships, but to little avail. The female figure cast a spell around the castle, reinforcing the shield. Smaller castle-goers ran around the roof, distinguished by their mushroom-like head wear, desperately trying to maintain structural integrity in any way they can. One of the smaller ones ran up to the male with the staff, desperate for help. "Lord Raiden, how much longer do we have?" The small helper asked. "At this rate, not much longer." Raiden informed the little one, helping very little. "Get back inside and ensure the Princesses are safe!" The female one instructed the mushroom people. "Listen to Palutena, there is nothing more you can help with here." Raiden added. The mushroom people quickly obliged, disappearing back inside the castle, leaving Palutena and Raiden alone to face the airships. Not a word more was exchanged as the two continued their defense. The airships drew closer, their particle cannons causing more intense reverberations with each shot. With Raiden's lightning and Palutena's light barriers, it started to seem that defeat was inevitable.

Then, a flash of light suddenly erupted, and a wave of energy soon followed.

When the light dissipated, Palutena and Raiden saw that the airship's cannons were catastrophically damaged, and the ships themselves could only barely manage to stay in the air. Realizing their situation, the airships hastily made their retreat, disappearing into the clouds. The airship that troubled the spaceship and flying young man retreated as well, leaving them confused, but relieved. Out of the corner of his eyes, the flying young man noticed a car crashed against a stray tree. This was like no car he'd ever seen, so he got the attention of the spaceship's pilot, and the two quickly flew down to investigate.

The car's driver door opened, and Peter awkwardly staggered out. He hit his head pretty hard on impact, but he's dealt with worse. Assessing the damage, Peter groaned upon seeing how badly the tree damaged the front. The body's dented, the headlights are smashed, the grill's twisted out of shape, there's no way this is salvageable. "Great, dad's gonna kill... me..?" Peter sighed to himself, his frustration turning to confusion upon further looking around. Everything around him was a bit... off. The air tasted a bit different, the tree is colored a bit different, the grass is textured a bit different. It's as if Peter got stranded in the Uncanny Valley.

"Hey, are you okay?" Came a voice from behind Peter. "Yeah, my car's pretty much ruined, but I'm fine-" Peter answered, freezing in place upon seeing who he was talking to. One was a winged young man with short brown hair and adorned in white robes, and the other was an anthropomorphic blue falcon with a silver jacket and robot legs. Peter felt frozen in place, unable to respond. Did he die? Is he hallucinating? Is he in a coma? Why are these two strange people talking with him?

"Well, that's a relief! My name's Pit, and this is Falco Lombardi!" The young man beamed, introducing himself and motioning to the anthropomorphic bird beside him. Falco peered at Peter suspiciously, taking note of his unusual nature.

"...Who are you?" Falco asked, drawing closer to Peter.

[wooziuji]

The Slaying

Word Count: 1.5K

Genre: Angst? Idk it’s a Gang AU lmao

Fandom: Seventeen, Original Characters

“Hey, hey- Look at me. It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay, just look at Daddy.” 

His father’s pleading voice was the only thing registering in the boy’s ears; the chaos ensuing down the stairs falling deaf on their ears; the occasional gunshot causing him and his sister to jump. He was shaking, terrified, eyes wide as his gaze stayed trained on the sight before him.

A man had entered the room, powerful and demanding in presence, frightening. He stood impossibly tall, with a fire set ablaze in his eyes. Crass taunts left the man’s lips - foreign to the young boy’s ears but clear in their intentions thanks to his tone alone. With his father now restrained, the children were within the trained sights of the gun's barrel. Tears streamed down Minwoo’s cheeks; he understood far too much of what was happening for a boy barely past 5 years. Growing up in the ever-present dangers of gang life prepared everyone for situations like these, no matter how much his parents attempted to protect him from it. There was nothing he could do. Nothing his father could do. This was it; their finality was loaded into the barrel of a gun.

“Daddy--” his sister cried out beside him, Minwoo immediately tightening his grip on her hand. It all happened so fast…The door burst open, their mother appearing wild-eyed and panicked, autopilot carrying her full speed towards her children.

One shot - and she fell, blood pooling on the floor - his father screaming in protest and struggling in the man’s grip.

A second shot - his sister was ripped from the boy’s hold the second it sounded, crumpling to the ground.

A third shot - the boy’s hearing was nothing more than a shrill ringing, his father’s sobs and cries now deaf to him. A wet substance trickled down his cheek - and intense pain following immediately after. He wanted to cry out, but his mouth only became slack as he, too, fell to the floor. 

One last shot - or, the child was sure he had heard one more. His own mind was seizing up; succumbing to the darkness that was unconsciousness.

---

Memories presented themselves as never-ending torture. Memories plagued the boy nearly every waking and sleeping moment of the boy’s life - there was no escape. Perhaps, in retrospect, it was thanks to his father’s struggle that enabled Minwoo’s survival. He was so close to death...it was a miracle in and of itself that he still lived to breathe another day.

Jaw clenching, the boy - now aged 17 - pushed himself out of his bed, feet dragging as they carried him to the bathroom. A deep sigh sounded, deft fingers working to tie the cloth he kept securely over the taught and scarred flesh on the right side of his face.

His eye was gone, a thin layer of skin now covering the bone that had been exposed. His family...was dead, but he survived. Hands shifted, resting on the edge of the sink, gripping until knuckles turned a bright white. Minwoo had learned a lot in the last 12 years.

The man’s name, his family’s killer, was Park Sejin. He worked for a powerful entity known as Leeteuk, was his right hand man...and the whole reason Sejin came that night, was due to Seungcheol. From the information that he had obtained, Leeteuk ran an orphanage. Or, that was how he presented his ‘business’. The man produced super soldiers for the government, training young boys to become blood-thirsty emotionless husks. Seungcheol was Leeteuk’s strongest; his best...and one of the only two to ever escape. Leeteuk wanted him back, and if that involved a merciless killing of innocent lives, so be it.

Minwoo’s ���uncle’ - one of his father’s closest friends...and the leader of their family’s little gang. The size of the family was plenty - at least 18 including himself, if he remembered correctly, and he reigned the only survivor. Or, that’s what he assumed.

Pushing off the sink, he quickly turned on his heel. A look of determination etched itself onto the boy’s features as he moved to get himself ready. Gun slid comfortably in the holster on his thigh. Blade, nestled in a little sheath attached to the inside of his boot. A second gun, in the holster, strapped to his chest. Backpack pulled on over one shoulder; boots laced, leather jacket zipped.

Leaving the room, Minwoo remained quiet as ever; beginning his journey down the hall and through the headquarters to the exit.

“Min?” a curious voice rang out, calling for him. Stopping him in his tracks as he peered back over his shoulder. “Where are you going?” The concern in her voice was palpable.

It was Mina - his mom’s old friend. Minwoo had recalled hearing his mother mention The Elite several times to his father, before the night that he had lost everything. It was the ‘family’ she had come from; a clustered mix of humans and supernatural beings led by a despicable man...and it was where the boy went, that fateful night, for refuge. Things were different now, though, that the man was gone. If things were different...maybe he even would have liked it here. 

Mina was, essentially, the whole reason he was safe. She took him in, raised him with the help of her boyfriend. Their medic - a friendly young male witch - healed him. Different members of The Elite attempted to befriend him, tried to talk to him, but progress was never obtained. People told him stories of his mother, Aneni, and even what they knew of his father, Mingyu. The boy only ever listened, however...but the occasional hint of a smile did sometimes grace his lips. This only ever lasted a few seconds, however. Even the good intentions of these stories proved to be only a painful and grim reminder. 

Regardless of Mina’s concern, the boy stayed ever silent, prying his gaze away after a minute and returning to his own quest. She didn’t stop him; she never did. After all, he hadn’t spoken a word in 12 years. 

---

12 years. 

It had been 12 years since he last stepped foot in his childhood home. The simple action alone of placing his hand on the cool knob of the door caused his heart to race...but he pushed on, twisting the knob and pushing - relieved that it gave way and opened without force.

Overwhelming wasn’t quite the word for the feeling occurring at the moment. A lone eye looked over every last inch of the home that could be seen, but feet would not move. No dust...everything still perfectly in place...almost as if it was still lived in. Pictures hung neatly on the wall, the warmth from the heater licking at his skin. A house once so lively and full of life now silent, but standing as though it had secrets to tell. Brow furrowing, confusion quickly took over - lips pursing. 

Steps were forced, walking into the living room and slowly dragging a single finger along the wood of a shelf. Nothing. Not a single spec of dust. Did someone else make it? No...no, everyone was home that night? The boy recalled seeing their faces: Seungkwan, and Seokmin. Minghao, Soonyoung, Wonwoo. Taeyong and Chanwoo. If they had all been home, the rest must have been too.

Everyone...except for Seungcheol. That was why Sejin chose that night, he had thought to himself. Was his father’s superior, and friend, still alive? What had he felt, seeing the slain bodies? What did he do? Where did he go?

Why hadn’t he looked for him?

Confliction reigned true in the boy’s mind: Sadness, relief, anger. Frustration. Frustration was quickly becoming the strongest. 

Too much of his time was being spent thinking. Minwoo once more forced himself away. He needed to get to work; time was truly of the essence. Only 2 weeks ago, Sejin had been left a note: the address of this home, a date, and a time were all that was marked on it. Minwoo watched; hidden completely in the shadows and quiet as a dormouse, as the elder male read the scrap piece of paper. 

It would have been so easy to take the man out right then and there, but it wouldn’t nearly have been satisfying enough.

Slinging his backpack onto the couch, the boy worked quickly to unzip it and pull out his supplies: tripwire, a doorstop alarm, flash grenades, and a few other miscellaneous supplies. It took only a few minutes - the boy had practiced several times in his own room (sans testing the flashbangs - his stock was limited), and he waited now around the corner.

Anxieties grew as he checked his phone. 7 minutes. There still were 7 long minutes to spare. His posture shifted from one foot to the other when suddenly an ear-piercing sound rang from the hall from the door opening. A bright flash of light emitted as the tripwire was triggered as well and Minwoo moved fast.

Around the corner he went, pulling out his blade and pouncing on the man in one swift movement, knife pushed harshly against the other’s throat. 

Only, it wasn’t Sejin. The boy’s eyes widened as he quickly was shoved off with a strength that could only belong to one man, and his voice trembled as he righted himself and spoke the first word since the slaying:

“Uncle?”

[scribeofmorpheus]

As Fate Would Have It (part 18)

Paring: WinterSoldier!Bucky x Spy!Reader

Catch Up here | Masterlist | Words: 4k |

Taglist is open. Send an ask.

Warnings: Themes of contemplative murder… eh, some other stuff. Took a bit of a dark turn.

Note: Alexei Shostakov (Red Guardian) in this story is canon divergent and so will not share any similarities with the version we get in the BW movie. I also haven’t proofread. Comments and feedback is welcome.

Vocabulary: Snezhinka is russian for ‘Snowflake’ and Vot der'mo  roughly translates to ‘Shit’. Also, Voroshilov is a tank named after a military general.

Several Months Later…

The window was left the slightest bit open. The winter air crept in like an uninvited guest, blowing the cold onto your toes, making you shiver. You didn’t try to fight it. The cold kept you alert, awake, even if your body protested from lack of sleep and proper nutrition.

You stared over several maps, documents, newspaper cut-outs and conspiracy pamphlets, printed in English, Russian and French, scattered on your desk. The work lamp had taken on a yellowish hue as the bulb started to wane.

Your vision would blur and then snap back to focus as you read over the words that melded together in your brain to form nothing cohesive. No concrete leads, no possible hunches… just nothing. The Winter Soldier was a ghost, and your body felt like it hadn’t recovered from the shock of finding out Bucky was alive. But you had to find something to go on, some small clue you’d overlooked. You couldn’t lose him. Not again. Not like this.

The trail for the Winter Soldier had led you to a small town on the outskirts of Belarus. There was nothing there but chilly weather, suspicious locals and an entire culture of food steeped in fried potatoes and salted meats. Alexei had been reluctant to let you go along with your wild goose chase, but you insisted that you were going anyway, no matter where it led you, and he insisted on being backup.

The keys jingled before the lock to your rented hostel room click and turned. Alexei walked in with snow dusting the shoulders of his red leather jacket that strained at the seams against his large frame. Two paper cups were in his hands. It didn’t escape you that the earthy, dark aroma of coffee didn’t pervade from the steaming liquid.

“That better be coffee, Alexei,” you said with the panache of someone with a short fuse.

Alexei laughed as he balanced the paper cups and locked the door behind him, his neck and upper spine bending so he could pass through the doorway. “Any more coffee and you’ll get a heart attack.”

“At this point, it would be an improvement!” You slammed your fist in frustration, chasing loose leaflets to the floor.

“No new leads, I see,” Alexei handed you the cup of tea. A gentle smile on his face pulling his cheeks back and relaxing the age lines around his mismatched blue and brown eyes. He may have looked closer to fifty, but from his size and athletic ability, he was as formidable as a bodybuilder in his twenties. “You should rest, Snezhinka. You can’t help anybody if you can’t even stand straight.”

“I am standing straight!” you contested.

Alexei poked your upper-chest with his index finger lightly and you staggered like a piece of paper blown by the wind. The hot tea sloshed over the edges and just missed your shirt.

“Vot der'mo!” you swore as you steadied yourself.

“See?” Alexei cocked his head to the side with a proud smirk.

You frowned at him, peering your eyes like daggers. How did he not understand how important finding Bucky was to you? You had told him everything after that night in Versailles. Seeing Bucky alive, talking to him, having a piece of that life you thought was dead return from the grave only to be swept away, leaving you with more questions than answers, that messed with your head. You needed someone to talk to, someone to keep you from spiralling too far. And you trusted Alexei, with your life if need be. He had been the one who found you and offered you a job with the company. Working, keeping busy, it had saved you. It gave you something to distract yourself with while everyone around you aged and moved on with their lives.

“I can’t stop!”

Alexei sighed as he sat on a weak, wooden chair that creaked under his weight, “I’m not telling you to stop, Snezhinka. I’m telling you to rest.”

“I can’t. Every minute I waste is another minute that he’s out there, getting further and further away from my grasp!” You were being unfair and loud, and it was just like Alexei to let you go through the motions. He just took your tantrum with no judgement. “Don’t you see? I have to find him! I have to-- If you knew him like I did, if you saw how broken he was in that room…” You drank a sip of the tea with shaky hands to soothe the dryness growing in your throat.

Alexei sighed, his chin falling onto the sharp protruding joints of his shoulder bones as he stared at the spot where his ribs had been fractured by Bucky. “This Voroshilov really means that much to you, even after he tried to kill you?”

Voroshilov. That nickname never ceased to make your lips twitch upwards. Alexei had started referring to Bucky as Voroshilov because, as he put it, fighting the Winter Soldier was like going toe-to-toe with a Russian heavy tank.

“He does. When I was a child, I had nothing… No one, except…” The image of Yelena, young and scruffy around the edges popped into your head. You drowned the image out with another sip. “Then the Widow’s took us in. And they trained us to let go of everything that made us who we were, but a part of me kept dreaming. Kept hoping there was something better out there. He became that dream for me. He gave me my humanity back. The least I can do is do the same for him.”

Alexei set his cup down and nodded, “Okay.”

“Okay?” you repeated in confusion.

“Okay,” Alexei said as if you hadn’t heard him the first time. Then he sat up and left the room.

Alexei had been gone for days and the only thing you could do from going up the walls was focus on the outdated intel piling up in your small room. The files would range from ambiguous speculation about a shadow organisation that stole the homeless from the streets to experiment on them, to horror stories of a ruthless killer who was more machine than man. No matter which thread you tugged, it always ended up being a snipped end not tied to anything else.

When Alexei returned, he had a bruised nose, a black eye and raw knuckles.

“What the hell happened to you?” you asked.

“Broker double-crossed me.”

You rushed to his side with gauze and rubbing alcohol, but he simply shook his head and pulled out a thin, manila file stamped with Cyrillic letters obscuring the KGB seal. He swapped the file for the rubbing alcohol and walked over to the mirror to tend to his own wounds.

You huffed in amazement as you tentatively opened the manila jacket, heart pounding like a jackhammer. “You know, you could have just told me what your plan was before you barged out of here.”

“You needed to rest,” Alexei said simply, wincing when the alcohol-drenched gauze came in contact with several scrapes and cuts on his face.

You flipped through heavily redacted pages about a former Hydra operative who defected to the KGB once Hydra lost the war. In the legible areas of text, the operative was quoted as having mentioned a super-soldier with a metal arm. The report was over forty years old and the lead was flimsy at best, but it was still more than you had to go on a second ago.

“Can we trust this?” you asked.

Alexei had finished cleaning himself up and wiped his hands on a beige towel, “For the most part.”

“It’s not much to go on.”

He cracked a smile, “Your gratitude warms my heart, Snezhinka. As always.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, “My gratitude is always implied. I just can’t believe you went through all this trouble for another dead end.”

Alexei tossed a set of keys at you. You caught them effortlessly without looking away from the blacked-out pages. “What’re these?”

“Keys.”

“I can see that. Why are you giving me keys?”

Alexei pulled out your duffle bag from under the bed and started tossing what little extra clothing you had into it. “Because the broker mentioned where that operative is hiding.”

Your eyes grew large, a twinkle of excitement and hope bubbling to the surface of your weary face. “What?”

“I didn’t bloody my knuckles for an outdated file, little one.” He zipped up your duffle bag and flung it over one of his shoulders. “You’re driving. I need some sleep.”

“Where are we going?”

“Home.”

Reality hit you like a tonne of bricks. Russia. You hadn’t been back since that harrowing day in the mountains. Chills travelled up your spine like minute pinpricks, reminding you of the trail of scars and needle marks that never faded from your back. You instantly dropped the manila file onto the adjacent table, tied your hair with a hair tie banded around your wrist and pocketed the car keys.

 Your snowboots crunched into the sleet covered ground. The dissolving ice covering the driveway was slippery, sparkling with shards of rock salt. You looked up at the old, pre-war building with bars blocking the windows and layers of limescale turning the white of the walls to sloppy brown from years of rain.

You turned to look at Alexei as you slammed the car door shut, “Are you sure this is the place?”

Alexei took the final puff from his rolled cigarette and crushed it under his foot, pulling the collar of his thick jacket closer to his neck. “Trust me, this is the place. I put the fear of God himself into that weasley broker. He wouldn’t lie.”

You looked at the signpost dug into the earth next to the steps of the building. Reading the word ‘sanatorium’ made your stomach flip and turn in discomfort. In another life, you could have easily seen yourself being strapped to one of the many beds kept in that building. Shouting insane things like, “I don’t age,” and “I saw a dead man come back from the grave with a metal arm and no memories of me.”

You sighed, “Of course this is the place.”

Alexei chuckled dryly.

The two of you walked into the building looking like two fugitives afraid of being identified by someone in the right place at the wrong time. The large door creaked like an effect out of a horror movie, making you more on edge than before. You scanned the area in search of anything that stood out. There was nothing outwardly threatening besides the muffled moans of patients locked behind doors and spots of discolouration that could’ve been anything between vomit or dried blood. Your nose itched for no reason.

Alexei made his way with giant steps towards the receptionist that looked like a dried-out raisin smeared with red lipstick and wearing grey scrubs. He put on his most dashing smile and turned his charm up to eleven. The previously hostile and disinterested looking receptionist transformed into a model of etiquette and false politeness. You bit back a smile and tried to keep your gaze on the bare, undecorated walls of the institution. Alexei snuck some cash under his palm towards the receptionist who disappeared into a back office, and after a few minutes, another staff member with a baton strapped to his hip unlocked a metal door and nodded his head for you and Alexei to follow him.

The moans were louder now, and more blood-curling. You walked for a while, passing row after row of locked metal doors rusting at the hinges. The man stopped next to an open doorway that led to a pathetic looking recreational lounge filled with old board games and stacks of questionable books.

“Five minutes,” he said with no life on his face or in his voice.

You nodded and took a step, then the man pulled out his baton to act as a barricade between you and the doorway. “Only one.” He looked up at Alexei.

Alexei narrowed his eyes but took a step back. “I’ll wait here,” he said. “The patient’s number is 28.”

You shot Alexei an apologetic look and made your way into the rec-room. Your eyes bounced from one old and greying patient to the next, looking out for the one with the number 28 stitched onto their clothes. It was surreal, being here. You looked at each wrinkled, sagging face accompanied by thick, or thinning heads of silver hair and saw a little of yourself in each of those strangers faces. Had time been kind to you, you would have looked exactly like them. Several patients regarded you with curiosity and scepticism. Your white hair seemed to catch a lot of inquisitive eyes.

Feeling like a circus freak put on a pedestal, you swallowed your anxious thoughts and pushed forward. In the back, facing a window that looked out onto a walled fence, sat a frail, feminine form with long, oily greying hair. The number 28 was stitched onto her clothes.

“Can I join you?” you asked the old woman.

She stared blankly at the wall, head tilted at an uncomfortable angle, fully formed cataracts in her eyes. You realised then that she wasn’t staring out the window, she was blind.

“Your accent is different,” the old woman said with a knowing smile that made the hairs on your arms stand erect.

“Do I know you?”

“You’re voice is still young. How is that?”

You moved closer to her, trying to see past the age on her face, down to what she would’ve looked like had you known her in another time. And then, like a spark to gasoline, your brain caught on fire with years of unresolved anger.

“Kathy?” you said her name with utter disdain.

The old lady made a croaking noise that was intended to be a laugh, “In the flesh.”

You had dreamt about coming face to face with Kathy many times when you were in that Hydra facility. Your hatred toward her and Yelena was one of your five-a-day in that cramped prison cell. On coherent nights, you had imagined exacting vengeance on them both. Countless times, in countless ways. Driving a knife between her ribs until you punctured her heart. Poisoning her food. Snapping her neck. Burying her alive in a cold steel coffin like the one she had locked you in. In every one of those scenarios, Kathy was always the same age as the last time you saw her. Picturing this feeble, old woman with purpling veins and cloudy eyes in young Kathy’s stead somehow didn’t seem as satisfying. Time had dealt her a bad hand. She had had her comeuppance. And it angered you that it wasn’t by your hands.

“What, no hug?” she jabbed.

“Screw you,” your hands balled into fists, nails piercing through your tough skin.

“There she is,” Kathy let out another croaky laugh, her bony, crooked fingers reaching out for your face. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

You recoiled and took a step away, folding your arms to prevent yourself from doing something you’d regret, “I came here for answers.”

Kathy moved her head for the first time since you started talking, shifting it to crane up. Her eyes were directed nowhere near where you were standing. “So… you need something from me?”

You kept your jaw shut tight. Not giving her the satisfaction of an answer.

“Fine, but you have to do something for me first.”

“You must be nuttier than a nut-bar if you think I’ll do a thing to help you!” you whisper shouted to not upset the other patients.

“Trust me, this is something you won’t want to pass up.”

Begrudgingly, you took the bait, “Spit it out.”

“I need you to swear to me that after I tell you what you want to know, you’ll kill me.” Kathy’s face was stone-cold serious. No fluctuation in her voice or twitch of her facial muscles. She proceeded to try and explain herself, perhaps in an attempt to persuade you to feel empathetic to her current state. “You have no idea what it’s like for me here. The slop they force down my throat each day that they pass for food. The constant rotation of meds that makes me feel like a damned lab rat. The humiliation of needing someone to change my sheets when I piss myself. And I can’t even read a book to pass the time.”

“Even if I wanted to, it’s not like the security here is lax.”

“You’re a fucking spider. You and I both know the locks on those doors aren’t enough to stop you.”

You were conflicted, and a little bit surprised by her request, but you would say or do just about anything to find Bucky. Your soul was damned enough already. “Fine.”

“Swear it!” Her hand snatched onto yours, scaring you for a brief second. “And I’ll know if you’re lying.”

The patients were growing rowdy from the disruption caused by Kathy’s shout. You yanked your hand away and signalled for Alexei to relax his shoulders when he looked like he was about to charge through the much smaller guard beside him.

You stared into Kathy’s eyes, knowing full well she couldn’t see you and answered truthfully, “I swear.”

She smiled, pleased with your answer, then she placed her hand back on the armrest. “What do you want to know?”

You dragged a chair over and sat close enough so Kathy’s whispers wouldn’t be a problem but far enough so that she couldn’t reach for you again. “In a KGB report written in ’47, you mentioned you had come in contact with a man with a metal arm during your last mission as Hydra. I want to know what happened.”

“Der Wintersoldat,” she said. “I remember that mission like it were yesterday. Are you sure you want to hear this story? It may be hard to swallow.”

“I’ve been to hell and back. A damn story isn’t going to be the worst of it.”

Kathy licked her dry lips and cleared her throat so she could speak clearer, softer. “After the war ended and Schmidt was defeated, a power vacuum tore at the heart of Hydra. The allies were rooting us out all over Europe. I was part of a division tasked with finding and obtaining any samples of the Erskine’s serum and destroying any evidence.”

You frowned, “Why would Hydra ask you to destroy their own serum?”

“I wasn’t tasked with finding Hydra samples,” Kathy coughed a dry, raspy cough. “There were rumours of the Russian’s having a sample. Intelligence said they had already started testing the serum on viable candidates. So while the Allies hunted Hydra, I hunted the Russian’s –could you get me some water? My throat is dryer than my scheide.”

You took a long, pensive breath and then got up from your chair to grab one of the plastic cups staked next to a plastic jug of water. When you returned to your seat, you handed her the cup and watched impatiently as she sipped slowly. The guard tapped his wrist, his body language leaning more towards annoyed. You held up five fingers to ask for more time but he looked to be heading your way. Immediately, Alexei put one hand on the guard's shoulder, spun him around and clocked him hard enough to knock him out instantly. Alexei caught the guard before he could tumble, shrugged at you innocently before placing the guard on the floor gently.

“Your friend's got quite a way with the locals,” Kathy joked before handing you the cup and continuing: “I had managed to discover the whereabouts of the Widow’s main operations. To think, the Red Room was moonlighting as a group home for the displaced and orphaned youths of the war, much like yourself I gather.” She chuckled. “Smart. Hiding in plain sight. The only problem was, our numbers weren’t sufficient for an attack, and with the rumours circulating of potential super soldiers being trained by the dozen, we didn’t have the manpower. So Hydra sent one of their remaining assets to assist.”

You knew instantly who she was referring to, “The Winter Soldier.”

“Yes,” Kathy held back another cough. “Until that night, I had thought him to be nothing more than a ghost story, but he was very, very real. One of his arms was made entirely of impenetrable metal. I never saw his face, only his eyes. I had never seen such hollow, soulless eyes before. He single-handedly shifted the fight in our favour, and he was… unstoppable. The next thing I knew, smoke was rising from broken windows and screams were lost to the fires.”

You blinked repeatedly, trying to remind yourself that Bucky and the Winter Soldier weren’t the same person. They couldn’t be. Suddenly it was all making sense. That’s why he’d looked so broken, it’s because he was. Hydra had turned him into… a monster. Was he the reason Yelena was missing an eye? Did he really kill all the Widows?

You rubbed your face and eyes with the ends of your fingers and tried to keep calm. Despite the rise of bile in your gullet and the feeling of dread filling your empty stomach, you held strong. “What happened next?” your voice wavered.

Kathy’s eyelids grew heavy, her head slowly anchoring down. “Some of the Widows managed to escape, the Winter Soldier made it his priority to hunt every last one down. The ones we got talking revealed there wasn’t an army of super soldiers. Most of their experiments had failed. There was only one subject who survived. A boy.” She paused for a moment, the memory bearing too much emotional heft for her to cruise through apathetically. “I found him hiding in the woods. Scared, alone and young. So, so young. But I had my orders…”

Suddenly, Alexei snapped his fingers at the doorway to get your attention. A whistle blew as the sound of feet running your way echoed throughout the concrete walls. “Snezhinka, we are out of time!”

“Hold them off for a few minutes, please.”

Alexei nodded and barrelled down the hall like a gladiator of Rome. The sound of grunting and fighting made its way to your ears, and the ears of all the other patients, causing them to burst into hysterics. Several guards shouted in Russian before they met Alexei’s fists, but you blocked it all out, focusing only on Kathy.

“Kathy, we’re running out of time. What happened next?”

Kathy was lost in her memory, disassociating for a moment, “The boy, he looked at me with such childlike fear. Nothing had shaken me like those brown and blue eyes of his. So peculiar. So rare… So beautiful. I had to let him go. I had to. But my team wouldn’t listen to reason so I killed them. All of them. And then I ran. I changed my name, my hair… And my reward was this.”

The mention of a boy with brown and blue eyes shook you to your core. The thought was there, waiting to come to the surface, but it couldn’t be. The coincidence was too high. It couldn’t be the same person.

Kathy laughed maniacally as more of the patients burst into an uproar. You shook her at the collar of her clothes to try and get her to return to her senses, “Kathy, I need you to focus. The soldier, you must know something about him, anything!”

“Before he left –the soldier–he mentioned a place to one of his men.”

“What place?” you had to stop yourself from shaking her a second time.

Kathy whispered, “Siberia.”

You released your grip on Kathy just as Alexei stormed back into the room with a sweaty brow. “We’re leaving, now!” he urged.

“It’s fine, I got what I came for,” you looked at Kathy one more time before walking away.

“Our deal?” She shouted in anger, confusion visible on her weathered face. “I heard it on your voice. You didn’t lie. You swore!”

You smirked, a slithering darkness surrounding your next words, “I am killing you, Kathy. Just like I promised. I’m just giving you a chance to die slowly.”

Alexei stared at you as if you had turned into a stranger, and in turn, you looked at him the same way. The two of you made your way through the facility, taking down a few more guards along the way, and got back into your car. Police sirens bellowed out from down the road as you sped away in the opposite direction.

Chapter 19 coming soon!

[literarytrashcollection]

The New Recruit (4/?)

AN: This story is kind of slow moving, but there’s a reason for it all! It will all come together soon! I hope y’all are enjoying the snippets of Bucky as the Winter Soldier between Steve going down in the ice and Steve coming back up!

Thor shared his information with the rest of the Avengers. That brought on a whole new slew of questions, ranging from the ones I’d already asked (“Is she your niece then?”) to some questions that I hadn’t even thought to think (“Is it possible that she’s actually Loki in disguise?”). Tony and Bruce’s testing became even more in depth. Loki was supposedly dead, but if it really was his blood in my veins, it gave them something to look for, no matter the quantity.

Steve seemed to thaw a little the more time I spent at the tower. We reminisced about the war and the time before it. I helped fill him in on the time he missed between going down in the ice and coming back up, stuff that the Avengers were either too young to know. Bucky would never admit it, but we both knew he was always lurking, always listening.

It took me telling another story of one of his abduction attempts for him to finally come out of the shadows, stalking towards me slowly until he finally just sat down next to Steve quietly. He looked mortified as I told Steve about the different times the Winter Soldier had tried every different tactic in the world to get me to come home with him.

“Well, enough of this darkness for one night,” I laughed nervously. Bucky was all but physically restraining himself from breaking the arm of the chair he was in. Steve bid us a good night and I stood to head to my room when I fully took stock of Bucky. “Buck?”

He glanced up at me sheepishly. “I hurt you, so much.”

I nodded. “Yeah, the Winter Solider did. I hear he’s gone though. This new guy, Bucky, I hear he’s pretty nice.”

He looked back down at the floor. “I guess.”

I held my hand out, despite my monkey brain telling me that he was still dangerous. “Come on, where’s Steve’s Bucky? The ladies’ man, the adorable idiot who let me escape the SHIELD facility over a glass of water?”

“Wiped from my brain, thanks to HYDRA.” He chuckled darkly, ignoring my hand. I huffed a sigh and physically grabbed his hands, hauling him to his feet. “Who’s this? Just yesterday, you would’ve lit me on fire for shits.” It was meant as a joke, but there was nothing but sadness and self-loathing in his voice.

“Yeah, maybe I was a little callous with you.” I mumbled, pulling him with me to the kitchen. I sat him on one of the bar stools and started rummaging around in the cupboards and fridge until I had everything I need. I leaned over the counter with my back to him for a long moment before turning to him. “I told myself that you were still him. The Winter Solider, turned good. I didn’t stop to think that instead of them just changing your programming, they actually took it out. I wanted to believe that you were tangible evidence of the bad guys who hurt me. I was wrong, okay? And you don’t deserve that.

“Steve and I have been talking a lot and he talked to me a lot about your recovery. I should have been more understanding.” I said, holding his gaze. “I fell for you hard in the sixties, when you pretended like you left HYDRA. You were faking, or maybe they’d just programmed you to believe that you had and all of this other shit. They turned you into old Bucky. I harbor a lot of heartbreak from that.”

His face seemed to age in front of me, like this information took years off his life. Tentatively, like he still wasn’t sure of his own strength, he reached across the granite island and held my hand in his flesh one. “I remember. They would have gone to any measure to get you.”

“I…” I sucked in a deep breath and started mixing ingredients together for a pie crust. “I went a little crazy when you flipped a switch and were suddenly the Winter Solider again. That’s when I swore love off. That’s when I changed my identity, moved to some tiny Canadian mountain, just hid out. When you came out of hiding again, I had to see you for myself.

“That’s part of why I’m here. A big part is because I want to use my powers for good and the way things have been the last few years, it seems like the Avengers need all the help they can get, but a small part of me, a sliver of my heart, just wanted to see you.” My voice cracked a little on the last word, tears welling up in my eyes.

He pulled my hand across and pressed his lips to my knuckles lightly, despite the flour that dusted them. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. You deserved better.”

“We both did.” I sighed, taking my hand back so I could knead the pie crust to within an inch of its life.

He was quiet for a long time. “Do you bake when your stressed?”

I looked down at the flour coated counter and the rolling pin I’d rolled the crust out paper thin with. “Yeah, I do.” I huffed a hysteric laugh. “Raised when women belonged in the kitchen and all that.”

He stood slowly, stiffly, and walked to the fridge. He got out a bag of plums and started cutting. “Don’t tell the others, but I do too.” He smiled shyly, bumping my shoulder with his. “Therapist said that a non-violent form of stress relief could be right up my alley, might help get my head back on straight.”

I watched his fingers do the nimble work for a few moments before I went back to my own work. We made a spiced plum pie that we shared in the living room while we watched bad Lifetime movies.

 London, England. June, 1963.

I puttered around my apartment, tidying up. Dishes had begun to accumulate and laundry was starting to pile up. So I rolled my sleeves up and began to clean, no longer willing to live in the filth that my depression had allowed me to revel in. Each day, watching the mess build hurt me to the core, but I couldn’t physically make myself clean it. I would watch the flies circle half eaten sandwiches in disgust and yet never raise a finger.

Today, I finally fixed that.

Halfway through the dishes, the doorbell rang. I was happy to ignore it. It was probably just some door-to-door salesman or a missionary or something. I stopped only to turn my music up louder and continued my cleaning, singing along to the Beatles.

The doorbell continued to ring though. After the fifth chime of it, I dried my hands and opened the door, ready to level the annoying guest with a rant to end all rants. As soon as my eye settled on a neatly combed, nicely dressed Winter Soldier, my throat closed. I slammed the door on him before he had even said a word. I knew it wouldn’t help anything, if anything, just make him angrier. But it would buy me enough time to pack a go bag and get a head start.

“Y/N! I need your help, please!” His voice cried through the door and I hesitated, my hand freezing over the bra I was ready to shove into my bag. “I escaped. But they’re after me.” He sounded like he was leaning on the door now, his voice broken and tired.

I grabbed my gun, holding it behind my back as I slowly pulled the door open again. Upon secondary inspection, I realized that he had a fat black eye, his lip was split, and his suit jacket covered a growing red stain, centimeters from his heart.

“Y/N,” he breathed and I could see hurt in his eyes. Hurt and fear. I stepped back and waved him in slowly, tucking the gun into the waistband of my trousers. I closed the door behind him and stared, not speaking. “I promise, I’m not here to hurt you. I broke free. I…” he took a deep breath, head tipping back like he was trying to contain tears. “Yours was the only name I could remember, the only person I could think of who could help me.”

“Strip.” I spat. He blinked at me and a tear or two did fall down across his stubbly cheeks. Slowly, he removed his clothes until he was down to his underwear. I didn’t hear the heavy weight of a gun or any other weapon as he sat his clothes down. “Sit.” I was a little gentler this time, gesturing to the couch behind the coffee table.

I walked to the kitchen, retrieving the first aid kit I kept on hand. When I returned, he was leaned back against the seat cushions, eyes closed and mouth agape, snoring lightly. I heaved a big sigh and cleaned up the wound on his chest. He was still a super soldier and would still heal much faster than any human, but I sterilized what appeared to be a knife wound and dressed it. I threw his clothes in with mine to be washed and finished the dishes.

Bucky woke up as I finished preparing supper, meat loaf and mashed potatoes. He stumbled into the dining room in his underwear, plopped down in a chair and stared at me with bleary eyes. He didn’t speak through the meal, but by the end, his eyes had opened more and he was sitting up straight, rather than the slumped shape he took as he shoved food into his mouth without tasting it.

“How’d you escape?” I asked as he stood, rinsing his dish in the sink. I followed after him, mostly out of nerves. The kitchen held lots of weapons, weapons he could use to bring me back to HYDRA. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I poured us both a stiff drink.

“I was sent on a mission. Here in London. I saw you in town and all of… a lot of my memories came back. Trying to kidnap you nearly a decade ago. You, during the war. Steve. It was enough for me to get away, enough for me to remember all the bad that HYDRA has done and break their bond on me.

“So, I followed you. Made sure you were still uncompromised. One of their agents caught up to me and roughed me up, but I still beat him and then I came here.” He leaned against the counter like it was the only thing holding him up. His gaze out the window never faltered, he never even blinked, like the second his eyes closed, he was back in that hell he came from.

“What was your mission?” I asked, pushing the glass towards him. He accepted it gratefully and took a testing sip. He licked his lips, collecting the extra alcohol off them as he decided he liked it, then knocked the rest of it back in one swallow. “Well?”

“You. Again.” He mumbled, head falling in disappointment. I felt my muscles all tighten, flames erupting across my skin as I clenched my glass so hard, I felt it strain under my fingers. “But, I’m not him anymore,” he said quickly, eyes snapping to mine as he stepped closer to me. He was still in his underwear, still vulnerable and weaponless. Not that he needed a weapon. The glinting metal arm would be enough to grab me, hold me, kill me. “I’m not the new fist of HYDRA. I’m not their Winter Soldier. I’m just… I’m just Bucky again. It’s like waking up flipped a switch and now I’m myself again.”

“I want to believe you.” I mumbled, the flames receding slightly.

He took another step forward and I tried to step back, blocked by the pantry. This close, I could see that his black eye was completely gone. I could see the dark smudge of eyelashes that shadowed his icy blue eyes that were full of emotion and fear and loneliness. I could feel the air stir as he breathed, the warmth from his skin. He felt real again, not like the robot sent to abduct me from Berlin. “Then, please, Y/N, believe me.” He whimpered, his flesh hand coming up to touch my face.

My anger melted. My fear took a step back and I allowed Bucky to touch me. He stroked my cheek, caressed my hair, ran his fingers over the fabric of my blouse and then my trousers. He took another half step forward and wrapped his arms around me, hugging me against his bare chest. It took me a moment, but I slowly coiled my arms around him too. He broke down against me, sobbing pitifully about the sheer torture he was submitted to at HYDRAs hand.

He told me about the beatings and the eletro-shocks used to wipe his memory. He told me about how every day was a fight for his life, a fight to come out on top so he wouldn’t be killed. He wanted to live, he wanted to be a man again, not just a tool. We ended up on the floor of my kitchen, limbs tangled together as I comforted him.

“Your face kept me alive, Y/N.” He whispered after a long twenty minutes of him hiccuping through the last of his sobs. “I was… enamored by you during the war. You were a hero to me. Your face, the thought of you and your strength, it kept me alive.” His eyes were puffy and rimmed red from the tears, but I could see the truth in them.

“You can stay here, for the time being.” I finally told him, my fingers stroking his hair as he rested his head against my shoulder. “We’ll need to leave soon though. If you tracked me down here, if an agent found you, then they’ll find us both.”

He nodded slowly. “America. It’s mostly off their radar. They’ve got a few agents out there but it’s not enough to cover the whole country. I know where to go.” He spoke softly and my heart thumped brokenly in my chest for him.

“We’ll go to America.” I nodded, tucking his head under my chin. We would go to America and I would protect him from ever being hurt by them again.

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[sirius-archive]

Chaos Theory Part 5

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader, Harry Potter x Reader, Draco Malfoy x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 5380

A/N: Finally oh my gosh this took freaking ages to put together! YAYY for Cedric and Draco coming back, I love writing them (esp Draco :P) I’m finding that, the more I write this, the more pairings I add to the story. In the end, I think I’m going to make it so you can choose who you want to end up and write different endings for each potential love interest. Annnyway, here you go. P.S. I’m super proud of my giffing skills atm, see the above! a gif by yours truly. 

Chapter Five:

There’s something whimsically surreal about the Burrow.

It seems to glisten from the ground up as though someone had sprinkled gold dust over it. From where you’re standing, you begin to appreciate how beautiful it is in the light; standing tall against the backdrop of rolling hills and lush, green grass, inviting you in without having to use words.

You’re standing in the backyard, waiting for someone, though you’re not sure who. It’s more like a feeling like you’re anticipating something you’re not sure will happen. There is a faint buzz humming in the air, like the beating wings of a thousand butterflies. The sky is like a painter’s palette; a blend of soft blues and vibrant pinks, like those honey-glazed moments right before the sun sets.

It’s like a poet’s dream.  

“(Y/N)?” says a familiar voice. You’re smiling before you even turn around, knowing who is standing behind you without even looking.  

“Cedric,” you sigh, whirling around and throwing yourself into his arms.  

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he says, kissing your cheek, your neck, your collarbone, lips spilling over your skin like he can’t get enough of you.

“I know,” you whisper, softly, as his lips move against you like water, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he reassures, voice gentle in your ear as his hands card through your hair, “Besides, a mouse never trusts a hungry snake.”

You freeze as, suddenly, the voice in your ear trails off into a cold, sharp hiss, and the world around you plunges into darkness. Cedric untangles himself from your embrace, stepping back as his face distorts before you, revealing his true form.

You watch in horror as black bleeds into that deep, deep blue in his eyes, filling out every corner as though he were possessed by something sinister. His head distorts into a spade-like shape, neck elongating, his nose flattening into two thin slits and he sheds his bronze skin, a snake-like pattern stretched over his muscles and veins. His lips pull back into an insidious smile, cold and cruel like the edge of a scythe, revealing sharp fangs and a long, forked tongue that pokes out and curls in the air, testing, tasting for prey.

The fluttering noise gets louder, more insistent, like an orchestra of shrieking violins, warning you to run, run, run!

“You’d better wake up now, mouse” the snake monster hisses; it sounds like the blood-curdling shriek of nails scraping across a chalkboard, “Before you forget how to.”

You wake up to green eyes in the dark.

Belladonna Nightshade, better known as Nightshade, Bella, Belle or simply B, peers down at you curiously, blinking owlishly. She’s perched on your chest, her gaze now sharpening from curiosity to expectancy as she silently demands food, though there’s something in those green eyes that suggests that she had sensed your discomfort and pulled you from your nightmare as an act of mercy.

Sometimes, Belladonna Nightshade is more human than she is a cat.

Your hands tremble as you reach out and pat her, your fingers raking through her soft fur. She leans into your touch, purring in delight, and she does that adorable cat thing with her eyes where she closes them and eases into your roaming touch, as though she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here, on your chest, her paws pressed into your cheeks.

“Hey B,” you whisper, voice raspy and low. There’s a dry, scratchy sort of taste in the back of your mouth like you had just been stifling a scream. You swallow thickly and reach beneath your pillow, pulling out the photo that’s been buried underneath since it arrived one week ago.

You unfold it and stare at the symbol on the back. Why would someone send this? Why were they spying on you in the first place? Is it a threat or a warning? Has Cedric received one, too?  

“Oh, good! You’re awake,” Says a voice in the doorway, and your vision swims as you try to focus on the figure in front of you.

Hermione strides over and stands next to you, already showered and dressed, hair tackled and tamed into a bushy ponytail and an irrefutable air of anticipation buzzing around her. It’s such a startling contrast to your nightmare that you have to reassure yourself that, in reality, snakes don’t usually protrude from people’s necks.

Usually.

“Mrs Weasley said she’ll cook some blueberry pancakes for us if we all get ready in time.”

You nod curtly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and swallowing the imaginary cotton-ball stuck in your throat. Nightshade leaps from your chest and onto the floor, rubbing herself against Hermione. Hermione bends over and scratches Nightshade’s head.  

“Did you have another nightmare?” Hermione asks, but the look in her eye tells you that she already knows.

A knot forms in your stomach, like a strong, calloused fist is squeezing it into submission. You nod wordlessly, your thumb scraping across the corner of the photo as though you were deliberately trying to get a paper cut. Hermione places Nightshade on the floor and sits by your side. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, staring at the photo.

“Not really,” you murmur, fingers rubbing nervous circles on your wrist and feeling your pulse thump beneath the delicate skin, “I just want to forget about this stupid thing.”

You toss the photo to the ground and Hermione picks it up again, unfolding it. She studies it intensely, brown eyes dragging across every inch of the photo and the symbol on the back.

“It does seem odd that they’d send you a photo of you and Cedric,” Hermione muses, distantly, “and how does this symbol relate to Cedric? Do you think he got one as well?”

You shrug as you stare at your wrist. It’s red from where your nails have been furiously scratching away at the ache. 

“And what do they mean by ‘A mouse does not trust a hungry snake’? Are you the mouse in this scenario? Or are you the snake? Are they trying to warn you about something? Are they saying you can’t trust anyone?” Hermione sighs and slaps the photo on your bedside table, “The more I stare at it, the more questions come to mind.”  

“That’s why I want to pretend it doesn’t exist,” you mumble, climbing out of bed, “And, before you ask, no. We’re not telling Harry or Ron or anyone about this, okay?”

Hermione nods, opens her mouth to say something, but you can’t talk about it anymore right now, you just can’t. Being on edge for an entire week has turned your stomach into a mosh pit, nerves crashing and colliding and crackling like the frayed edges of tangled electrical wires, and you don’t think you can verbalize any of it without dissolving into an existential crisis.

“Thanks,” you give her a half smile, drawing a carefully guarded expression across your face. You smile at Nightshade and she saunters over, her tail curling into a question mark shape. She leaps into your arms and you rush out of the room, evading any more discussions on the topic.

Knowing Hermione, she will probably want to talk to you later. And that’s okay for now. But, at the moment, it’s best to leave some things unspoken, like seeing your crush transform into a horrid snake monster.

***

Breakfast is an awkward ordeal.

True to her word, Mrs Weasley did make some of the fluffiest pancakes you have ever tasted, and you enjoyed every bite, even if you did have to shovel in as many mouthfuls as you could. Still, you enjoy sitting with the Weasleys; they have this rare ability to make you feel like you’re one of them. 

It’s even better seeing Luke. You take a moment to study him, watching him carefully. He’s wearing his favourite, borg-lined denim jacket, black jeans, black converses and a broad grin as he challenged Bill Weasley to a quick game of Wizard Chess.

Over the course of the week, you had watched Luke slowly heal from your father’s surprise-turned-disaster visit. Now, he seems so different again. It makes you wonder how many masks he had for separate occasions. But this morning, he seemed so…unguarded. Happy, even.

“Come on, William,” Luke teases, grinning, “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

Bill snorts a laugh, “I’m not scared. I’m just not an idiot. You Arden’s are far too cunning for your own good.”

Luke shrugs, “I don’t know. Maybe I’m feeling lazy today…”

“I certainly hope not,” Percy Weasley snaps from the kitchen, “It’s the first day of school and all you’re concerned about is playing a game of Wizard chess! You need to sort out your priorities.”

“And you need to get laid, Percy Weasley,” Luke grins, watching as a deep red flush burns up Percy’s neck, “I can tell you’re suffering from a classic case of Blue Bludgers. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, we’ve all been there. Well, not all of us.”

Everyone bursts into a furious fit of laughter except Hermione and Percy, the former looking like she’s teetering along the edge of amusement and embarrassment, the latter looking as though he may explode.

Percy opens his mouth to scold Luke but is interrupted by Mr Weasley, who bursts into the kitchen, shrugging into his work robes, and swipes a piece of toast from the table and straightening his glasses.

“Morning kids,” he says as he passes, rushing into the study.  

While everyone is distracted, you turn to Harry, who sits next to you.

“Have you heard from Sirius?” you whisper, and Harry turns to you, green eyes tinged with a hint of worry.

“No, not yet,” Harry replies, “I’m not sure where he is, though, so it could take weeks before I get a response.”

You nod, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “You’re right. It’s probably better that he doesn’t reply straight away anyway.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods, “Why? Is something wrong?”

You think about telling Harry the truth, showing him the photo burning through the fabric of your mini denim overalls but you don’t really know where to begin. Plus, with everyone crowded in the kitchen…

“I’ll explain later,” you murmur, eying Ginny as she tries to lean into the conversation, “Now isn’t a good time.”

Harry nods, then fixes his eyes on your bottom lip. He stares as though he’s transfixed, an interesting shade of pink brushing against his cheeks as his pupils dilate ever-so-slightly. You freeze, feeling your own cheeks burn under the intensity of his gaze.

“What? What is it?”

“There’s–there’s something on…” He trails off and hesitantly raises his hand, swiping the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip, “There. Got it.”

His fingers hover over your skin, ghosting across your cheek as though he wants to cup it but some sort of invisible barrier is preventing him from breaking through. Something flares inside of you as you watch him, wondering what’s going on inside his brain. 

The sound of shattering glass shocks you from your trance, and you both nearly leap off your chairs. Ginny is grimacing, her face flushed as her eyes dart between you, Harry and something on the floor.

“You alright, Ginny?” Bill asks from across the table. Luke springs from his chair and walks around the table to Ginny’s side.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Ginny murmurs, her lashes fluttering as she blinks rapidly, “I just…dropped a glass. That’s all.”

Ginny glances between you and Harry and an expression of hurt flickers across her face, disappearing completely as she turns away from you and Harry.

Luke draws his wand, points it at the shards of glass scattered across the kitchen floor, and mutters ‘Reparo.’ Small pieces of glass trapeze through the air and piece themselves together like a jigsaw puzzle, forming a glass. He pats Ginny on the back and she smiles sheepishly up at him.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Fred continues as Luke sits back into his chair, “Mr Diggory – also known as (Y/N)’s father-in-law – was saying that Mad-Eye Moody’s put in another complaint. Apparently, someone tried to ambush him last night. Again.”

“He’s lost it,” Charlie mumbles through a mouthful of pancakes, “Also are we going to ignore the whole ‘(Y/N)’s father-in-law’ joke?” 

“Did he ever ‘have it’ in the first place?” Luke asks as he absentmindedly plays with his food, “Besides, why would anyone try to ‘kidnap’ him in the first place? His house is basically a burglar’s nightmare.”

“I guess we are going to ignore it,” Charlie shrugs and stabs his fork into another pancake. 

“I concur,” Percy chimes in, “Moody’s a raging lunatic and he shouldn’t harass Mr Crouch with his pathetic, baseless complaints. Mr Crouch is a very busy man, he shouldn’t have to put up with Moody.”

“Well, you would know,” George says, grinning wickedly, “You are Mr Crouch’s bitch boy.”

Percy scowls dangerously at George while Luke and Fred snicker. Luke even leans across the table and pumps his fist on George’s.

“Father is rather fond of Moody,” you interject, and Luke’s expression falters, his lips quirking ever-so-slightly, “He respects Moody, even if he is a little…. senile.”

“Yeah, well, fuck that,” Luke huffs, taking a swig of his pumpkin juice, “Adrien Arden only ever cares about people who look good on the front page of the Daily Prophet. If their faces sell copies, then he’s their best friend. He did the same thing to Sirius Black; he wasn’t afraid to drag Sirius’ name through the mud, even though there wasn’t even a trial for him.”

You, Hermione, Ron and Harry exchange a furtive look,

“You think he’s innocent?” Hermione asks, a faint tinge of pink staining her cheeks.

“I don’t know,” Luke shrugs, “I’ve looked into his case and I’ve just…I’ve seen a lot of inconsistencies. A lot of his case is sensationalized. Anyway, it’s a good thing that Sirius escaped. I wouldn’t wish the Dementors kiss on anyone.”

“A good thing?” Percy chides, hotly, “The whole ghastly ordeal has been a pain in the Ministry’s back, especially for–”

“–Mr Crouch,” Fred finishes, rolling his eyes, “Yes, Barty’s Bitch Boy, whatever you say.”

Everyone laughs, once again, including Hermione. Except, you think it might be out of relief rather than amusement.

***

You arrive at Platform 9 ¾ with a good ten minutes to spare.

Surprising, really, given that breakfast had been such a rushed ordeal and it felt like it had taken months to get ready. Still, after cramming into the Ministry-loaned car and uttering a string of silent prayers to gods you don’t even know, you managed to pull up to Kings Cross Station.

You and Ron had rushed through the barrier together and emerged on the other side grinning. It was always such a thrill, running through the barrier. Of course, Nightshade didn’t care for it, and as soon as you clambered onto the platform, she had meowed loudly, hoping to be released from her carrier.

“I know Belle,” you coo as you poke your finger into her carrier, stroking her fur. Nightshade nuzzles into your touch, rubbing her nose on your finger, “I’ll let you out as soon as we’re on the train.”

A burst of loud guffaws echoes across the station, and you turn to find Luke with his friends. Luke glances at you, his lopsided grin broadening.

“I’ll see you on the train,” you hear him say, “I’ll just be a sec.” They tease him as he shoulders past them and jogs toward you. You smile and cross your arms over your chest, cocking your head as you watch him.

“Aw, come to kiss your little sister goodbye?” you ask, cooing mockingly, as Luke pulls you into a one-armed hug.

“Actually, I came to say goodbye to Nightshade,” Luke jokes, scratching Nightshade through the bars of the car carrier, “And to tell you that I’ll be sitting with my freinds if you need me.”

“You better not let Caleb and the boys see you like this,” you tease, poking him in the ribs, “They’ll think you’ve gone all soft inside.”

“Maybe I was soft to begin with,” Luke suggests, planting a kiss on the crown of your head, “Seriously, though. You need me, come and find me and I’m yours.”

You roll your eyes as Luke gives you one last hug and stalks off to his friends, who wait for him patiently. Behind you, you hear hurried whispers engaging in a heated argument, and you turn to find Ron and Harry murmuring amongst themselves. Your ears strain to listen, but you can’t hear over the chatter of the crowd. You’re about to approach them when you someone nudges your shoulder with their own.  

“Looks like you’ve caught someones attention,” Hermione smiles, nodding toward someone in the distance, and you follow her gaze to Cedric Diggory, who smiles and waves cheerily at you.

You swallow, your chest fluttering. Even though you’ve seen him enough in your nightmares let alone your daydreams to recognize him from miles away, he still catches you off guard, like some invisible force has swept you off your feet. A strange, tingling knot forms in the pit of your stomach, tightening then slackening then tightening again and even though it should be painful, it’s not. It’s...peculiar, in a terrifying sort of way. Familiar, yet it surprises you every time.

You blame it on hormones.

Still, spotting Cedric Diggory amongst the bustling crowd has a way of reducing all your thunderous thoughts to mere whispers, chasing them into the base of your skull. You bite your lip, a calming, sanguine wave of relief washing over you, washing through you, trickling down your spine and filling the spaces between your ribs.

“You should talk to him,” Hermione gives an encouraging smile, “If the secret love letters are anything to go by, he’s really been missing you.”

“How did you find out about them?” You ask, incredulously, eyes wide and cheeks burning.

“I didn’t,” she laughs, “You just told me. Right now, actually.”

You glare at her, equal parts frustrated and impressed by her tactics, though you can’t fight the smile flirting around your lips. Knowing that he’s missed you and having someone verbally confirm it has two radically different effects on you, and both of them are good.

“What about you guys?” You ask, tossing a nervous glance at Harry. He’s stopped talking and is ignoring Ron as he watches you carefully, as though he’s trying to listen to your conversation. You think back to earlier that morning when he had grazed his thumb across your bottom lip, his touch meek and hesitant but at the same time curious and warm.

“(Y/N), we’ve just spent nearly two weeks together,” Hermione reassures you with a hand on your shoulder, “I’m sure Harry and Ron can forgive you for choosing to spend one train ride with Cedric. Besides, you might be able to ask him about the…” she trails off suggestively.

You turn back to Cedric, who is making his way through the crowd as you speak.

“Okay,” you smile, biting your lip, as you watch Cedric. He’s wearing a white v-neck beneath a denim aviators jacket and jeans. He’s even better than any fantasy you’ve ever seen of him. 

Several other girls seem to agree, because they giggle and whisper as he passes them, eyes following him until he’s standing in front of you. 

“Hello, (Y/N),” Cedric beams, blue eyes soaking you in warm, cerulean waters, “Hello Hermione.”

“Five minutes until boarding and departure,” a voice booms over the crowds, and you and Hermione glance at each other, an unspoken understanding passing between the two of you.

“I’ll go and get Ron and Harry,” Hermione murmurs, smiling, a silent suggestion dripping from her lips. She glances between you and Cedric one final time before flouncing away.

“So...” Cedric blurts, trailing off into an awkward silence.

“So,” You echo, grinning.

Cedric runs a hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck. He gazes at you, blue eyes twinkling as they bashfully sweep over you.

“So,” Cedric repeats, fiddling with his shirt, “I was thinking that – if you want – we could, maybe, sit together?”

“What about your friends?” You ask, glancing back at the group of Hufflepuff seventh-years watching your exchange from a distance and grinning teasingly.

“Oh they’ll be fine,” Cedric flaps a dismissive hand in their direction. He seems to know that they’re watching and no doubt joking amongst themselves, “They’re not babies.”

You nibble your smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and the folded photo in your pocket seems lighter already, “Okay.”

Cedric smiles, and it’s as though he’s been kissed by sunlight.

***

Somehow, you end up sitting crossed-leg on the floor, blindfolded and at Cedric’s mercy.

He shifts, leaning forward, and he’s so close, close enough for you to breathe in the scent of his shampoo and bottle it inside your ribcage like a fine wine. You inhale, trying to drink him in and you taste sunlight on your tongue; warm and reassuring and melting your fears away.

“Okay, I promise this one isn’t a gross one,” Cedric says, and you can almost hear the smile on his words. There’s a scratchy rustling of a cellophane plastic bags, and the scrape of thin, flimsy cardboard like it’s been ripped open, “Ready?”

You nod and part your lips. A moment later, Cedric pops the jelly bean between your lips and you bite down, strawberries and cream oozing onto your tongue.

“Mm,” you hum, smiling, “Strawberries and cream.”

“I love that one,” Cedric confesses, “You’re good at this game.” 

You shrug triumphantly, “I’m good at anything to do with food.” 

There is a brief moment of silence while you enjoy the jelly bean as the rich, creamy flavour melts down your throat. But the silence continues, lingering, stretching, and even though you’re blindfolded, you can still sense hesitation in the air.

“Is there something wrong?” you ask. A beat of silence passes, where you assume Cedric has just shaken his head because he gives a little laugh.

“No, nothing is wrong,” He murmurs, “I’m just…admiring how beautiful you are.”

You feel a blush creep up your neck and burn in your cheeks, the knot in your stomach tightening, but the feeling fades a little as you feel Cedric trace a finger down your jaw, his thumb dragging across your cheek. You lean into his touch, your entire body tingling with anticipation, as you sense him shift closer, closing the inches between you, and he’s so close, you can feel his lips ghosting over your own, testing, hesitating, and Merlin it’s happening, it’s really happening–

Shattering glass echoes down the corridor and you and Cedric jerk apart.

“What was that?” Cedric asks, and you push your blindfold over your head, climbing to your feet.

“I’m not sure,” you muse, sliding the compartment door open and stepping out of the compartment.

You immediately want to shrink back into the room.

Draco Malfoy is prowling the corridor with his goons, Crabble and Goyle in tow, following him loyally like a persistent shadow. They look as though they’ve just won a fight and they’re basking in their glory, snickering amongst themselves like scheming snakes. You start back toward your compartment, but you already know it’s too late; you can sense Draco’s pale-blue eyes roaming over you like a predator assessing its prey.

“Don’t suppose you’ve heard the news yet, Arden?” he asks, smugly, knowing that you have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

“I really don’t care,” you sigh, exasperated with the conversation, “Now excuse me–”

“–you’re excused,” he drawls, like he’s bored already, “Though I’d watch my back if I were you. Potter seems to be in a miserable mood lately. You ought to find yourself better friends.”

You glare at him, blood pulsing hot and red and burning the cushion of your veins, “Don’t tell me what I ought to do, Malfoy. I’ve always been patient with you, but that doesn’t mean you can push me.”

“I can do what I want, and you know it,” he scorns, an annoying, haughty glint in his eye, “I can get what I want, too.”

Crabble and Goyle, snigger trollishly.

“And what is it that you want, Malfoy?” you ask, a sharp brow raised indignantly as you stare at him.

Malfoy’s eyes glitter with shades of blue and silver as they study you, sweeping across every fine detail on your face, and there is something distinctly masked about his expression like he’s showing you something he shouldn’t be as he contemplates, hesitates, before scoffing,

“Just–watch yourself. You and Potter think that you’re invincible, prancing around like little lovers. But you shouldn’t trust anyone.”

Your scowl turns into mild interest as you narrow your eyes on him, recognizing his thinly-veiled threat.

“What is that supposed to mean, Malfoy? And why are you telling–” you trail off into a stutter, blinking in disbelief. 

Are they trying to warn you about something? Are they saying you can’t trust anyone?

The photo in your pocket itches. You wrench it out of your pocket and unfold it hastily, fingers fumbling around the edges.

“Do you know what this is?” you ask, thrusting the photo into his hands.

Draco sniffs as he stares down at it, flattening it out so he can get a better look. His expression shifts, rippling with more expressions you’ve ever seen before, before he settles on disdain.

“It’s a photo, Arden. I can’t believe I had to tell you that, Merlin.”

You roll your eyes, seething, as you snatch the photo from his grasp and shove it into your pocket. “I know that. I mean, did you have anything to do with it?”

Draco scoffs, narrowing his eyes on you with haughtily, “Do you really think the world is that obsessed with you? Of course not. Not everyone is in love with you.”

“That’s not what–you know what? It doesn’t matter. You don’t deserve another minute of my time,” You whirl around and storm off, reaching for the handle of the compartment door when Draco suddenly calls out.

“Underwood.”

You’re not sure if you heard him at first, until you turn around and notice that he had strode toward you to catch up. Draco’s eyes travel between you and the photo in your pocket.

You furrow your brows in confusion, “Excuse me?”

“Underwood,” Draco reiterates, “Noah Underwood. You know, the only person weirder than Potter? He’s in our year. It looks like one of his photos. He’s the only idiot I know who uses a stupid, muggle camera.”

You cock a single brow as your eyes scan Draco’s face, giving him an appraising look, “How do I know if what you’re telling me is the truth?”

“Just ask him,” Draco snips, coldly, “You’ll know then.”

“Is everything okay here?” someone asks from behind you, and you turn to find Cedric watching your exchange with Draco suspiciously.

Draco’s expression falters, something malicious flashing in his eyes, like a fork of lightning splitting the sky in half.

“Everything’s fine,” you say, soothingly, “This conversation is over.”

Draco shoves past you and disappears down the corridor, his eyes never leaving yours as he passes. You absentmindedly pat the photo in your pocket.

Noah Underwood. Draco was right about him being a little…odd. He was alone, a lot of the time, people were probably repelled by his standoffish personality. You didn’t really know well, having only spoken when it was absolutely necessary (for instance, in Potions you had once been paired with him and even then, the only words that he murmured were soft-spoken instructions that you could barely hear over the bubbling potion) but what you did know was that he is currently the only muggleborn in Slytherin and that his sister died last year in an unfortunate accident.

In a way, you pitied Noah Underwood.

You wait until Draco is out of earshot before turning to Cedric, peering up at him apologetically.

“I’m sorry to do this to you but I have to go and talk to Hermione,” you say, giving him a meek smile. Cedric smiles, understanding without verbalizing it, and drags a gentle finger up your jaw, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your heart swells at the affectionate gesture and, without even comprehending what you’re doing, you reach up and give him a quick peck on his cheek.

You breathe in the subtle notes of his cologne and savour them in your chest as your lips linger for a second longer than necessary. Cedric winds an arm around your waist, holding you to his chest for a brief moment, where you can hear the rhythmic beating of his heart. You have to muster every ounce of your willpower to tear away from his side and flash him a smile before flouncing away.

When you finally reach Hermione, Harry and Ron’s compartment, you wrench open the door and stumble inside, noticing the air shift around you.

There’s an undisguisable tension that weighs heavy in the air. Ron’s arms are crossed over his chest, Hermione is reading a book, and Harry is staring out of the window. It looks as though they’ve just had another argument.

Another argument that they’ve had without me

“Hey, (Y/N),” Hermione smiles, lowering her book. There is a faint brush of red over her cheeks, recognizable only to those who truly know her, “Is everything alright?”

“Can I speak to you for a second?” you ask, ignoring the penetrative stare that Harry’s eyes are drilling into you.

Hermione nods, standing, before following you out of the compartment. You pull her aside, enabling others to pass as you talk.

“I think I know who took the photo of me and Cedric,” you murmur, and Hermione’s brows shoot up toward her hairline as you continue, “Draco recognized the photo as one of Noah Underwood’s.”

“What?” Hermione breathes, brows creased in thought, “How can you trust that Draco is telling the truth?”

“I can’t,” you sigh, shrugging, “But I’ve got nothing to lose by asking him. I have to follow every lead I find.”

“But (Y/N)–”

“Hermione, Noah Underwood is the key to all of this,” you whisper, trying to convince yourself that it’s true, “I know it.”

And even if I’m wrong, I still have to get to the bottom of this

***

@marauderskeeper @weaselby418 @acciorinn @hervench @harrvjpotter @depressed-octopods-art @romanofftasha @moonpeachs @emi-loser @steph-fowlie @lilulo-12 @randomfangirl17 @asofslytherin @seunlight

if i’ve missed you, please send me an ask. Also, if you want to be added to the list, send me an ask as well. Sometimes, tumblr doesnt send me the notification when you guys reply ??? sorry :( 

[dr-astormylasthurrah]

questions and answers...

done over discord, collected here for archives!

(also, a reminder that the askbox is always open~)

“Does anyone like to collect or hoard things?”

CHIYO: I really, really like collecting headbands!! I’ve got a frankly embarrassing collection at home, from Hello Kitty styled ones to more “mature” looking ones. My grandma gave me a lot of my collection, so they’re really important to me! AMAL: I don’t really have time to collect things. Collecting postage stamps would be a nice hobby if it didn’t get so expensive with limited runs or whatever. TATSUMARU: ... Why would... why would I want to spend money on things I don’t need or want? SENTAROU: I collect interesting yarn. But you didn’t hear that from me and if you ever tell anyone I’m legally obligated to kill you. IRIS: Um... hair clips? I have a few sets depending on what I feel like doing! And I buy more every year for my birthday. It... might be a problem. ASTER: Bold of you to assume I know anything about myself, let alone what I have at home. Bold of you to assume I know where my home is, too. I hope past me collected rocks. Not gemstones or anything, just funky rocks. CLAUDE: If it exists in collectible form, I have a few. Don’t even ask me to pick a specific thing, ahaha. My room’s a mess. Wait, Kinder egg toys! Those are fun. HIRONO: I don’t really collect things, but I do keep a lot of physical photographs of places I’ve been to and people I like. Photography reminds me of Megumi, so I like doing it! ALEXEI: Feathers. Call me predictable, but I prefer “dedicated” or “has a very clear idea of what I want in life”. RIRIKA: I collect anime girl PNGs. Never, ever play gacha idol games. Don’t make my mistakes. TSUKINO: I have a TON of plane tickets!! Well, most of them aren’t mine, and sometimes I just beg them off people at airports and they look at me weird. It’s so neat knowing that these little papers can take you anywhere and that they’re from so many cool places, too! BRENDAN: I hoard anything I can fit in my toolbelt and save for later. So like, odds and ends. I, uh... may have a problem with never throwing things away. TIANA: A lot of my jewelry is from lot sales conducted by my aunt. I suppose most of the reason I have so much of it is to feel closer to my family, though I make some of it myself, too. RYOUJI: I collect... what do I collect, actually? I collect dust from sitting in one place for so long. Haha. I’m kidding, I’m always on my feet, please god send help I just want to sleep. TRISTAN: I don’t see the point in keeping so much stuff. Not to sound like a cleaning show host, but collecting things is such a waste of time, space, and money. No offense. KANEMORI: I don’t usually care about things but I got one of those little, what are they called, aquabead bracelets? From a sponsor? And suddenly my house is full of cheap bracelets. Especially those thin vinyl ones, those are the best. Why has my life come to this though.

“Do they dress for looks or comfort? What’s their fashion angle?”

CHIYO: I’d say looks are... most of it? I mean, of course I want to be comfortable, but ultimately I don’t think I’m ever going to stop worrying about passing. It does help that I genuinely like skirts and dresses and stuff, although I’m still kinda insecure about showing too much skin. I like the aesthetic of Howl’s Moving Castle, so I think that’s the kind of fashion I’d like to wear - something simple and crisp. AMAL: For me, fashion is definitely comfort over appearance. I haven’t really thought about what I wear in a while. Bates says I look like a wannabe TA who’s currently sucking up to the professor and I am ACTIVELY CHOOSING to view that as a compliment. Fuck you, Bates. TATSUMARU: In all honesty, what I wear every day is only a slight modification of what I wear onstage. I haven’t even thought about what I would wear if not this. Although this cloak is nice. SENTAROU: Are you kidding? Comfort all the way, but because of my stupid job I have to look at least somewhat professional. Hence, the tuxedo jacket. This is my life hack or whatever, I just toss it on if I need to look fancy. If I had my way, I’d be wearing T-shirts and jackets all the time. I’m not interested in looking nice for other people’s enjoyment, thank you very much. IRIS: As much as I’d love to dress up, I don’t leave my house very often, so there’s really no point in wearing anything fancy. I guess off the shoulder tops would be cute? I don’t really know. Oh, but if societal standards weren’t a thing, I’d love to have a pair of those kiddie butterfly wings! ASTER: ... I mean assuming what I’m wearing right now is close to my normal clothes, I guess this is looking a lot like function over form. But given the option, I think I’d wear more patterns. Like, yeah, I like simple clothing items, but I also want to wear some kind of personality, y’know? I’d keep this jacket, for example. But I want patterns on my pants. CLAUDE: It’s a mix of both for me! Just, y’know, my idea of “comfort” doesn’t exactly match with other people’s. I try to go for an approachable but fashionable vibe! Thin, large sweater tops, scarves, I’d basically be the poster child of every men’s fashion catalogue if I could be, ahaha. HIRONO: Definitely comfort. I’m used to being overlooked, so I may as well be comfortable. Though I’m told if I dress in a suit and fold my arms, my glare is impressive enough to melt holes in steel. I guess that’s kind of cool, but I’d still rather have people to talk to, y’know. ALEXEI: Comfort. Yes, this includes the cape. The cape is comfort. I am comfortable being dramatic and unknowable to man. Fuck off if you have a problem. RIRIKA: Looks, of course. It’s a little hard for me not to be detail oriented, considering my talent and everything, and besides, dressing nicely makes me feel more confident. I like layering things and using repetitive colors or patterns to tie outfits together. Sometimes I’ll focus all of my energy into an outfit in order to kill God or something. I don’t know. TSUKINO: I don’t know what this is! I wish I could be more punkish when I’m flying with like spikes and everything but noooo apparently that’s a “safety hazard” and “a distraction to the instructor”. Well, joke’s on you, safety instructor, but my normal flight clothes have studs on them ANYWAY. I’m gonna fight the establishment in every way, bitch! BRENDAN: It’s comfort. It’s absolutely just for comfort. I’ve had this jacket since I was 12, 13...? I bought it two sizes too big and it’s so worn out now that I’ve had to sew patches into it, but I hate throwing anything away so I just keep it. So I guess my fashion sense is just... “shabby”. I don’t mind, though! I think it gives me character. TIANA: Looks are MUCH more important than comfort when it comes to clothes. A good outfit can make or break someone’s perception of you. Though I don’t like to wear full business attire every day and I can’t imagine doing so at this time, I think it’s wise to at least have a decent collared shirt at all times. As for my shorts and socks... I think I just have a look going on here. Besides, gyaru fashion is quite cute. So roll with it. RYOUJI: Uh... At this point, imma keep it real with you, my fashion sense is a game of “how androgynous can I go without my parents suspecting anything”. I’m kind of dying in this, considering the heat of wearing two layers and a binder, but I also don’t care anymore. I guess I’m okay wearing T-shirts and stuff if I don’t have anywhere to be, but I’d like to at least LOOK competent, you know? TRISTAN: I’m wearing socks and sandals as we speak. So take a guess. I look exactly like a stereotypical gamer because it’s true. KANEMORI: Weird as this is to say, I favor both. I’m never far from a spotlight, between me and my parents and everything, so I have to look at least kind of presentable at all times. Which sucks, but it’s what I grew up with, so I guess that’s just how my life is. I’m used to just wearing T-shirts and stuff. If I had to wear a tie I guess I’d just choke or something.

For Hirono: What's your favorite genre of music?

EKYOU: Uh... anything, I guess? I have what’s described as “eclectic” taste. But I promise I’ll listen to anything people show me, and I’ll do my best to like it!

Uhmm for Iris: How would your ideal romantic date be?

SUMITAMA: E-eh?? This is super cheesy, but... I like the idea of a traditional date! A fancy dinner with candles and everything. SUMITAMA: Oh, but outside of that, I’d really enjoy a date where I can do things I love with someone I love! Walking around a botanical garden, or having a library day... As long as it’s free. I need to save money for textbooks. College courses are evil, don’t do them.

for ryouji: do you keep your room as clean as you keep the kitchen?

ATSUI: HAHAHAHAHA no I wish. ATSUI: The kitchen thing isn’t so much my rules as my parents’ rules, but it’s good to follow - if your kitchen is a mess you’re going to knock something over and regret everything. This may or may not be from personal experience. ATSUI: But my room?? That’s my HOME. That’s my PRIVATE AREA. I’m going to trip over everything in it and no one can say shit. ATSUI: I should probably start picking up all the laundry though.

Alexei, what is the most beautiful bird you have ever seen and why do you think is the most beautiful?

BAZHANOV: Pigeons are underrated. They have iridescent feathers and yet we as humans still consider them nuisances. It’s a shame. BAZHANOV: I would say something real deep about the nature of humanity to ignore beauty but I’m pretty sure that people hate them because they shit everywhere. Which is fair enough, I suppose.

For Chiyo: This is going to sound really dumb, but do you like to read? If so, what sorts of things do you like to read (genre-wise)?

CHIYO: I like kids books a lot more than young adult stuff. You know how young adult novels these days are always either “gritty sci-fi suspense” or “vaguely Eurocentric fantasy” or “heartwarming realistic fiction”? Kids stories are a lot more creative. And with a lot less pointless death. CHIYO: As for what kind of stories, I think fantasy/sci-fi is nice! Especially books that lean on fairytale elements and mythology, it’s like a history lesson and story at once! CHIYO: But, uh, I don’t understand that series with the talking cats. I tried to read it a few times but I think that’s just something you have to get into as a child.

(This is going off Western genres I don’t actually know shit abt Japanese novels)

Tsukino, do you have a celebrity crush?

CHISAKI: THE LEAD SINGER OF R3BELS OBVIOUSLY.

Does Alexei just have the one mask or does he have multiple for different outfits/occasions

BAZHANOV: Just the one. It’s surprisingly hard to track down decent and inexpensive masks for dramatic occasions. I wish I had more, but it’s also not as if I have the money to procure them. BAZHANOV: ... Unrelated, how feasible is it to break into a bank?

hirono, how did you start ōendan?

EKYOU: After... well, after some family things happened, my oldest brother Rousei thought that I needed something to do. He said ōendan would be good because I’m good at cheering for people, and he said it’s what he did in high school, too. So... I guess I gave it a shot? I’m glad I can encourage people to do their best!! But it’s just not something I’m super into for the sake of myself. But I’m at HPA now, so I shouldn’t be ungrateful, it’s just.... Yeah. EKYOU: Plus, I haven’t had time to pursue photography... It’s kind of driving me up the wall.

If tsukino could do anything other than her talent hat would she do?

CHISAKI: It would be my GOD GIVEN RIGHT as an individual to join some kind of band and go break some hearts and make like ten million dollars! But I’m kinda tone deaf! ... Not like that matters for the kind of music I’m into but hey!!

[kinsbin]

Don’t Go

Title: Don’t Go Ship: Alexys/Negan [Self Insert/Canon] Word Count: 2149 Summary: After the second war, Negan feels his presence is unwelcome in Alexandria. He decides to take Rick’s warning and leave, under the promise that Rick doesn’t tell Alexys. She finds out anyways, of course, and rushes to make sure he knows that he’s right were he belongs. With her. 

A/N: Third commission for @bad-blue-moon-rising! More good good Alexys/Negan because these two are gOOD TOGETHER AND DESERVE TO BE HAPPY -i say as i write more agnst-

Sometimes his existence in Alexandria was...awkward.

Super, super fucking awkward.

Not in the ‘you accidentally saw someone naked when walking by the bathroom’ type of awkward, no, that awkward was a superficial type of feeling that barely permeated the surface of the type of emotions Negan felt bubbling across his skin like a bad trip. This type of awkward was the type that made eyes feel like daggers burning the back of his skull. As if he had murdered his own mother and confessed without hesitance to the crows of matriarch’s before him. A deep, gut-wrenching awkward that had followed him from his time in prison to his exodus and back again. Rick Grimes was a man who understood what was necessary in war, and, for that Negan could only begrudgingly respect him.

It didn’t change the people’s feelings about him, however. No matter how much he had helped, they looked at him with those same, cold eyes. He was the man who was imprisoned. The man who had hurt their own people and, for that reason, wouldn’t be forgiven. He didn’t expect to be forgiven, of course, but the looks they gave only emphasized the fact of the knowledge tenfold, like a loudspeaker hissing their thoughts through his own mind. The aftermath of the second war had kept the group busy enough, certainly, but their vicious stares never seemed to cease.

That was what made it awkward, he supposed.

Rick had approached him, but, he didn’t need to say anything for Negan to know what he wanted. His presence had become something more of a trouble than a relief. He had, after all, only been wanted for his certain set of skills more than his personality. The war brought about desperation in all people, but, once it was over they had returned easily to their past selves. Negan had expected it. He had been ready for it. The look the other man gave him as he spoke his mind was neither startling nor unwelcome. Negan met his gaze with a steady one of his own, listening and inclining his head when he thought it appropriate. When the final words echoed from Rick’s lips, he had nothing to say to them in response:

“It’s time for you to go.”

The people had spoken.

As they watched one another with a slow build of distrust humming in the center of their core like an unpleasant cacophony, Negan could only think of one thing to say. It fell from between his mouth in a whisper, soft and almost pleading. A tone that surprised Rick enough to physically display it, his eyes widening and his jaw setting with a solid realization that, maybe the man before him was human too:

“Don’t tell Alexys.”

---

Alexys moved slow through the crowd of people, shifting her body so that she could easily fit between the small openings and spaces they had brought about in their own pursuit of the day. The basket of fruits in her hands nearly overflowed with every step she took, and she kept careful watch on each rounded orange and oblong lemon to ensure that none of them fell sneakily from her grasp before she arrived at the community center. She had been helping to grow these fruits for a few seasons now, their freshness providing an advantage to the otherwise vitamin c-less lifestyle the people in Alexandria may have lived without the decision to attempt to built a small grove of these trees with the scarce seeds she had been carrying around with her since she had stopped to loot a gardening supply store a year or so ago.

The looks they gave her as she moved down the street were vague to say the least. She felt each set of eyes on her like a burning in her skin as she maneuvered through each person in the crowd, humble excuse me’s leaving her lips as she caught the winds of their faded whispers.

‘...She watched him, didn’t she?’

‘Must be grateful….going away….’

‘...You think….manipulated her….and then…?’

‘....betray us…..i mean it could...think about it.’

She arrived at the community center confused, placing her basket down while looking around the groups of people already gathering together to work and teach in unison. She lifted her hand to play with strands of her hair, brows furrowing while her head tilted to the side in an effort to piece the words the others whispered beyond her together. Something was happening, that much was true, but what exactly was it? Someone she knew had done something...Someone she knew had been involved in something.

Negan?

“Hey,” Alexys called out softly to the woman at her side, who startled as she turned her head, “I haven’t seen Negan around here often…”

“Oh,” She averted her eyes back to her own container of foodstuffs, sifting through it absently as an excuse to find time for the words she was trying to say, lips pursed as she tilted her head, “You haven’t heard then?”

“Heard...what?”  A dread unlike any other filled Alexys to the brim as she pursed her lips, the inside of her cheek meeting her teeth as she chewed nervously.

The woman leaned in, afraid of being caught as she whispered, “I heard Rick asked him to leave, said there weren’t no place here for a man who didn’t make anyone comfortable….I thought you’d be the first to hear? You were his little keeper for a while, weren’t you? I’m sure Mr. Grimes would have told you first and-”

She broke off as Alexys turned and ran, dropping her basket of fruit in the process. Oranges and lemons splattered unceremoniously onto the floor, their juices leaking from their cracked skins and pouring down the dirty floor in a mess of citrus. The woman chuffed in surprise, watching the mess of brown hair and grey hoodie all but fly her way down the streets and exits of the area they were in.

Alexys ran as fast as her feet would allow her, the thundering of the soles of her shoes against the pavement echoing like the beat of her heart in her ears. Her chest heaved between the breaths she needed to take to maintain oxygen and the panic that dared to attempt and settle itself in the pit of her stomach. No, she had realized with terror the moment the woman had spoken, no she hadn’t known at all. She was, in fact, the last to know. The rumors had evaded her. The observations she normally made were not astute enough. Somehow it had been kept under wraps for the time being, but, now there was fear. A terror as her head whirled around to search for him. The form of the man she had watched for so long. Who she had talked to and, eventually, learned to tolerate. Which grew to learning to enjoy. That grew to learning to love.

Love…

She practically skidded to a halt when she found Rick, his hat tilted back as he observed some papers one of his friends had handed to him to read over. It’s information was not important to her, though, and she stood before them with ragged breaths. Rick paled momentarily, his gaze communicating his fear of what he was sure had just happened to make the normally relaxed quiet woman practically run into him without a moment’s hesitation.

“Alexys…” His voice was a slow and patient tone, a familiar voice he used when negotiating with others. Hesitant and with an edge of tension to its vocal chords. It’s very existence made Alexys bristle.

“Did he leave yet?”

“Alexys, let me explain my-”

“Did he leave yet, Rick?”

The pause between them was thick, a heavy sort of mood that painted their atmosphere like laquer. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Rick could feel that phrase ring true in the pit of his stomach as he accepted the fact that he was caught with a soft sigh.

“No,” Rick murmured, “He’s leaving when the sun sets...He...said not to tell you, Alexys. I’m sorry, we thought it would be easier if-”

He stopped speaking and watched as she turned to run again, this time in the direction of Negan’s home.

---

Negan had packed the last of his items when his door opened, the final zip of the bag before him echoing against the click of the lock as it swung itself open. Turning his head, Negan’s eyes widened to see the familiar form of Alexys as she blocked the doorway, her eyes widening with disbelief at the sight he had displayed before her. His jacket was thrown across his shoulders, a thin layer of dust resting on the shoulders from the effort of pulling out his once buried traveling packs. They held a majority of his items, tucked between neat rows of clothes and some weapons to keep the journey easy as it could go.

They were abandoned now as he faced her fully, she deserved that much, and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Guess you heard the news then, huh?”

“Why?”

“This place isn’t my home. I don’t...fit in here. It’s better if-”

“No not-” She waved her hands up as tears threatened the corners of her eyes, “Not why...are you leaving...why didn’t you tell me?”

He hesitated then, his heart in his throat as he stared down at the woman before him. She had stormed closer now, entering his home and standing a mere feet away from him as she watched him. Her eyes held his own, searching desperately for any sign of reasoning or sincerity in the center. All he saw mirrored in her gaze was fear and hurt and...something he dared not hope he would ever see in her gaze. Negan tore his eyes away from hers.

“I knew you’d try to stop me.”

With that he turned to face his bags again, busying himself with packing up. He hoped she would get the message. He hoped he would hear her leave the home and slam the door behind her, never to come back. Hell, even her yelling at him, telling him he’s an asshole and then vanishing to never come near him again...He was ready for all of it, accepting of whatever her choice was in the end.

What he wasn’t ready for was the feeling of her arms coming around him, embracing him from behind. He felt the wetness of her eyes where she leaned on him while crying, the shake of her body nearly palpable as she bit back sobs.

“You belong here, Negan,” She murmured out with a whisper, “Even if it doesn’t feel like it you...we...I want you here. Please...If no one else does, I do.”

He touched the hand around him, his rough fingers a contrast to her otherwise soft hands as he chuckled, “You don’t want me here, Angel. Promise, there are people who better deserve that cinnamon-sugar heart of yours. Don’t bother giving it to me.”

“You idiot,” She laughed weakly against him, “It was yours from the start, you know that? It always will be, no matter how far away you go...If I can’t come with you, then at least let me...Let me talk with Rick, okay? Let me try, I can-”

“Why do you want me to stay so badly?” The question came out more accusatory than he wanted it to. He had turned to face her now, their eyes locked as his gaze held hers again, this time it was his who was hurt. His eyes shone with a surprise and unknown amalgamation of emotions that brewed behind his face like a storm, lifting Alexy’s heart and dropping it all at once. Her fingers reached out, away from his torso to touch at his cheeks and hold his face close in her fingers. His skin was cold, her touch gentle as he leaned into it without thinking about it.

“Because I…” She swallowed, “I love you.”

He stared. So did she. His heart fluttered in awe and euphoria at the words from her mouth, the twitch of his smile covering up the tears that wanted to fall. They eventually did though, down his cheeks and across his face as he reached out to hug her and bring her close, the kiss they shared wet and salty through both of their eyes.

He said it back only when they parted, the soft “i love yous’ punctuated with kisses as they held one another there for a long moment.

Their plan to convince Rick could be formed later, for now the two relished in their new found mutual adoration. For now, they were the only two people in the world.

For now, there was no awkwardness. Only hope.

[seraph-novak]

Thinking of You

Summary ~ When Cyrus is stood up by his date, TJ finds him alone in The Spoon and tries to cheer him up.

Also available on AO3 ♥

With every jingle of the bell above the door, Cyrus could feel his excitement for his date with Matthew dwindling more and more. He peered out the window and stared down the street, searching for any signs of the handsome 9th grader Andi had set him up with.

She’d met the older boy through Walker, who knew Matthew from his art class, and had insisted they were perfect for each other. All Cyrus knew about the mysterious Matthew was that he was a talented sculptor who’d come out as bisexual last year. It wasn’t much to go on, but at least he finally had a date – his very first with another boy.

A quick glance at his phone told him that Matthew was almost fifteen minutes late. Cyrus spread his hands across the table and blew out a breath, a single bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face. If his date didn’t turn up soon, his embarrassment would quickly snowball into panic, and he didn’t particularly like the idea of having an attack in the middle of The Spoon.

He was about to send Matthew another text when the bell jingled yet again, and a familiar body dropped into the seat across from him.

“Hey, Underdog,” TJ greeted him with a smile. “What’re you up to?”

Cyrus shoved his phone into his jacket and shrugged. “I’m supposed to be on a date, but he’s running late.”

“A date? I didn’t know you had a date.”

“Yeah, well... Andi arranged it for me. It’s with this guy who goes to Walker’s school.” He grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and started tearing it to shreds, his eyes focussed on the tiny scraps of white paper dancing across the table. “I didn’t wanna tell anyone until after I’d met him, but I guess I didn’t consider the possibility of him not turning up at all.”

TJ winced. “I’m sorry, Cy.”

“It’s not your fault.” He attempted a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “I’m just a little embarrassed.”

“Why the hell are you embarrassed? It’s your date who should feel like an idiot for standing you up!”

Cyrus chuckled. “That’s sweet, but... I don’t blame the guy. He’s like, ridiculously attractive. I was surprised he agreed to go on a date with me in the first place.”

“Now you’re talking crazy.” TJ shot him a sharp look. He waved at Cyrus’ jacket pocket and said, “Show me a picture of him. I wanna see the jerk who thinks he’s too good to go on a date with the greatest guy in town.”

Cyrus ducked his head to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks, taking out his phone and scrolling through the pictures Andi had sent him a few days ago. He selected the most appealing one – a black and white selfie taken next to one of his sculptures – and slid the phone across the table.

TJ studied the photo for a few moments, then scoffed. “Am I supposed to think this asshole is out of your league?”

“It’s a fact, TJ.”

“Are you kidding me? He takes a crappy, self-inflated photo of himself in front of a mediocre sculpture, and suddenly he’s the next Brad Pitt? You’re ten times more gorgeous than this joker, Cy!”

Cyrus blinked in surprise. “You... You think I’m gorgeous?”

“It’s a fact.”

“Now I know you’re messing with me.”

“Okay, I’ll prove it.” TJ switched the phone into camera mode and snapped a quick photo of Cyrus, barely giving him a moment to respond, let alone smile.

“What was that for?” he asked.

TJ passed him back his phone. “I just wanted to prove a point.”

Cyrus looked at the photo in his hands. It was slightly blurry, and the flash had created a starburst of white light next to his head. He was staring at the camera with a slightly bewildered expression, his lips pursed and his eyebrows drawn together, and the thin layer of sweat on his brow was shining beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of The Spoon. All in all, he looked a mess.

“What was the point you were trying to prove?”

TJ shrugged. “That you can take a better photo without even having to try. No filters, no bragging, no stupid pose... You don’t need any of that.” He gave him a crooked smile and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re perfect the way you are.”

Cyrus’ breath hitched. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course I do,” TJ said, his eyes practically gleaming as he looked up at Cyrus. “You’re beautiful.”

The jingling of the bell shattered the heated silence between them. A familiar boy stepped through the door and ran a hand through his perfectly tousled hair, his eyes flicking over the other customers in The Spoon before landing on Cyrus. A smile tugged at his lips as he made his way across the room and offered his hand in greeting.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he said. “My mom’s car broke down on the way here, and I couldn’t get any signal on my phone...”

TJ snorted. “That’s a pretty lame excuse.”

“And who are you?” Matthew asked, his hand slipping from Cyrus’ grasp.

“I’m his best friend,” TJ said, phrasing his words as a warning.

Matthew gave him a tight smile. “I didn’t realise we were supposed to bring a plus one.”

“He was just passing through,” Cyrus explained in a placating tone of voice. “I didn’t think you were gonna show, so TJ was keeping me company.”

“Well, I’m here now.”

“Is that your way of asking me to leave?” TJ asked.

Matthew puffed out his chest. “Yeah, actually. It would probably be best if you gave us some privacy.”

“Fair enough.” TJ got to his feet and stepped out the booth, making way for Matthew to get past. He gave the other boy a dirty look when his back was turned, then placed a hand on Cyrus’ shoulder. “I meant what I said,” he whispered, a sad smile softening his face. “Call me later, okay?”

Cyrus swallowed thickly. “Okay.”

TJ didn’t bother saying goodbye to Matthew as he walked out The Spoon, and Cyrus couldn’t take his eyes off him until he’d disappeared down the sidewalk. Even after he’d gone, he could barely register what Matthew was saying to him.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Matthew sighed through his nose. “I asked if you’re ready to order yet.”

“Oh. Um... Sure.”

“Is everything okay?”

Cyrus pinched himself beneath the table and forced a smile. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

~~~~~

TJ couldn’t focus on the textbook opened on his bed. He’d been studying the same chapter for the past three hours, and nothing was sinking in. What was the purpose of solving simultaneous equations anyway? How was that going to help him in life? He’d much rather be learning about something useful, like History or Geography... But if he wanted to scrape by with anything above a D in his test tomorrow, he’d have to at least give Math a chance.

He was half way through one of the practice equations when Amber shouted his name up the stairs and told him he had a visitor.

TJ froze. There was only one person that could be, and the thought of seeing him so soon after their earlier conversation made his skin itch with nervous energy. He jumped off the bed, sending the textbook flying across the room, and checked himself in the mirror, groaning at the sight of his limp hair and baggy clothes.

There was no time to make any adjustments though, because Cyrus was suddenly knocking on his door.

“TJ?” he asked, his voice slightly muffled. “Can I come in?”

TJ swore at his reflection, then opened the door.

“Hey, Cy,” he said, extra casual as he leaned against the doorway. “What’s up?”

Cyrus was wringing his hands together, and his hair was damp with sweat. “I, um... Can I talk to you? It’s important.”

“Is this about your date?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

TJ scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about being such an ass to what’s-his-face. I was just being protective, you know? That’s how best friends are supposed to act.”

“This isn’t about Matthew.”

“But you just said –”

“This is about you and me,” Cyrus said, gently shouldering past TJ and sitting on the edge of his bed. He tucked his knees against his chest and started rocking back and forth, his eyes fixed on the basketball rug on the floor. He almost looked demented.

“Um. Cy?” TJ closed the door and approached his friend slowly, trying his best not to startle him. “Are you okay, Underdog?”

Cyrus sucked in a deep breath and shook his head.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I don’t think I’m gonna see Matthew again,” Cyrus admitted, taking TJ by surprise. “Our date didn’t go very well. It’s my fault, really. I was distracted the whole time.”

“What d’you mean?”

Cyrus stopped his rocking and looked up at TJ, his bottom lip starting to tremble as tears welled in his eyes. “I tried so hard not to fall for you, but you made it impossible.”

TJ balked. “What’re you talking about?”

“Please don’t play dumb, TJ.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“I’m in love with you!” Cyrus growled, pushing TJ off-balance as he leapt to his feet and started pacing around the room. “And I’m trying my best to get over you, but you’re making it really difficult! Especially when you call me beautiful and tell me I’m perfect... It’s like you want me to be in love with you!”

TJ shook his head in confusion, completely speechless as Cyrus’ words sank in.

“And I know you’re straight, and you probably have a crush on some gorgeous cheerleader or something, but I just couldn’t keep this to myself anymore. I needed you to know the truth.”

“You think I’m straight?” TJ asked, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. “Are you being serious?”

Cyrus frowned. “You’ve never told me otherwise...”

“So? I thought I’d made it pretty obvious.”

“I’m confused.”

“I’m not straight,” TJ clarified, a goofy smile creeping onto his face as Cyrus’ confession finally registered in his brain. “I’m super gay, and I’m super in love with you.”

Cyrus squeaked. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I’m gay,” TJ repeated, slowly getting to his feet and crossing the room to where Cyrus was plastered against the wall, his eyes practically bugging out of his skull. “And I love you, Underdog. So, so, so much...”

“Is this a joke? Are you messing with me?”

“I’d never do that.” TJ reached out to touch Cyrus’ face, his fingers tracing the startled blush dusting the other boy’s nose. Even now, with his jaw hanging open and his hair soaked in sweat, he was gorgeous. “I didn’t know you felt the same way. That’s the only reason I never told you. I didn’t wanna ruin our friendship.”

Cyrus leaned into TJ’s touch. “Is that why you were so hard on Matthew? Were you... jealous?”

TJ bit his lip and shrugged, his mouth twitching with a guilty smile. “He was the first guy you’d ever been on a date with. Seeing you with him made me wanna punch a wall, I’m not gonna lie.”

“Don’t do that,” Cyrus said, taking TJ’s hand and cradling it in his own. “I can’t hold your hand if it’s broken.”

TJ laughed. “That’s a very good point.”

Cyrus smiled as he played with TJ’s fingers, the warm brush of his skin sending tingles up TJ’s arm. When they dared to meet each other’s eyes again, they both erupted into fits of nervous laughter. It was almost hilarious how wrong they’d both been, how the past few months of mutually pining for each other could’ve easily been avoided if they’d simply been honest with each other. But there was no point in dwelling on the past, not when they had so much lost time to make up for.

“I wanna take you on a date,” TJ said, leaning their foreheads together. “Right now.”

Cyrus stared at his lips for a moment, then sighed, nodding his head towards the textbook lying face down in the middle of the room. “As much as I’d love to go out with you tonight,” he said, “you need to study for your big test tomorrow.”

TJ buried his face in Cyrus’ shoulder with a pitiful whine. The thought of focussing on Math for the rest of the night when he could be spending time with his boyfriend (were they boyfriends now?) felt like a kick in the stomach. How was he supposed to concentrate when he and Cyrus had so much left to talk about?

“I’ve got an idea,” Cyrus said, apparently noticing TJ’s dismay. “How about you invite me to stay for dinner, and I can help you study?”

TJ grinned. “Would you like to stay for dinner, Underdog?”

“I’d like that very much.”

Before TJ could respond, Cyrus gave him a quick peck on the lips and ducked underneath his arm, smiling smugly as TJ touched his mouth in stunned silence, his mind replaying the soft sensation of Cyrus’ lips against his own.

“Which chapter do you wanna study first?”

TJ blinked. “Huh?”

“For your test,” Cyrus said, waving the textbook in the air with a knowing smirk. “Which chapter should we start on?”

“Oh. Um... I was stuck on simultaneous equations.”

“Okay.” Cyrus patted the space on the bed beside him, and TJ sat down in a daze, his heart rate spiking as their knees bumped together.

Cyrus squeezed his hand and smiled. “Relax, TJ. I won’t kiss you again without warning.”

“I liked it!”

“So did I,” Cyrus said, “but now it’s time for studying. We can get back to the interesting stuff afterwards.”

TJ chuckled. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? It’s not the most exciting way to spend our first night as...” He trailed off, his cheeks turning warm. “Am I allowed to call you my boyfriend, or is it too soon?”

“If anything, it’s too late,” Cyrus pointed out. He moved closer to TJ and spread the textbook across their laps, resting his head against TJ’s shoulder with a contented sigh. “And I’m definitely okay with this. All I wanna do is spend time together.”

TJ allowed himself to relax. “Me too.”

They spent the rest of the night alternating between studying and cuddling. For every question TJ answered correctly, Cyrus rewarded him with a kiss – an incentive that resulted in TJ working extra hard – and every time TJ got stuck, Cyrus was there to keep him calm and help him through the problem. It was a studying method he could definitely get behind.

And when his test was returned with a shiny C+ on the top of the page a few days later, the first person TJ raced to tell was his boyfriend.

[ghoulboyboos]

Could you write angel!ryan healing Shane after he got a bit scraped up from a demon attacking him from all his taunting (Ryan had to reveal his angelic nature to protect him before he got actually hurt) and just the conversation that would happen after now that Shane has, not only conformation that the supernatural exists, but that Ryan himself is actually and angel

That was a super interesting prompt, Anon! Hope you like it :D

“Comeon, demon! Rip out our spines! Burn us! Scratch us! My…” Shanethinks for a second, trying to pick an appropriate body part. “Myliver is yours for the taking!” Sure, why not.

It stays quiet for a moment. Next to him, Ryan scoffs loudly.

“You’re insane.” He states and Shane could laugh at it. “Youreally do want to die, do you?”

Shanesmiles over at his ghost-hunting companion. Of course he doesn’t.When it comes to the real world, Shane is easily scared. He can thinkof many unlikely but deadly scenarios he might be afraid of, anddespite Ryan’s jokes, that includes getting injected with heroinagainst his will, choking on an avocado pit and getting decapitatedby a cannonball. But ghostsand demons aren’t real, so taunting them will have no effect on hiswell-being, of course. Ryan might believe they are and while Shanethinks that’s definitely wrong, he respects Ryan’s beliefs. Andusually, he doesn’t quite go too farwith taunting thin air, at least in his book. By the end of the day,he does it to help Ryan, to make him laugh or distract him from hisown panic. Anything that makes Ryan either laugh or snap at him helpswith the terror he sometimes sees in his friend’s eyes.

Speaking of which, Ryan looks pretty worried this time. His eyes aredarting from side to side and he seems… on edge. 

Shane blows a raspberry into the air and shines his flashlightaround, looking for the next room.

“Come on, this room is boring.”

Ryan doesn’t protest at first, but when Shane starts walkingtowards the kitchen, Ryan quickly scampers after him.

“Wait! Shane let me-”

“Really?” Shane turns around, shining his flashlight sort of overRyan’s shoulder so he doesn’t blind him or flash the GoProstrapped to his chest. “You’re really doing this!” He huffs.“What you think- Elinor is gonna shove me into the oven like shedid with her kids? Hansel and Gretel style?”

Ryan opens his mouth as if to say something, but then he pauses andsnarls for a moment.

“No that isn’t my concern, you’d never fit in there. Butwatch out, the door-”

“Yeah yeah the door’s haunted the floor’s haunted the dust ishaunted, the toilet paper is probably haunted. Everything is hauntedto Ryan Steven Bergara.”

He rolls his eyes as he turns and steps right through the doorwaywithout letting Ryan answer or retort. For a moment, he could swearhe hears his friend shout a warning-

Something hits him in the side. A flicker of confusion hits him,because at first he assumes Ryan shoved him or something, but then hehears the tear of fabric and feels the burning pulse of pain in hisside and he gasps and drops to one knee, his flashlight falling outof his fingers and clattering to the ground where it goes dark. Shanebrings a hand to his ribs and feels something wet and the skin burnsand throbs even more. Did he get caught on something? But he hadn’teven reached the door, yet. This made no sense-

He looks up. Ryan is standing next to him and Shane, despite the lowlight can see his face set into an angry grimace.

“I fucking told you, Shane. I told you to wait, for fuck’s sake.”

Shane wants to retort something but Ryan holds up a finger towardshim as if shushing him. Under normal circumstances Shane would laughincredulously and get even louder, but Ryan holds up his other hand,palm forward and fingers splayed wide as he faces the doorway.

Something scrambles around in the dark, like a rat rushing overwooden floorboards and then Shane sees the shadows in the doorway…move. That makes no sense. They aren’t moving, the film team isn’tmoving. Their lights are all in one place and yet the shadows slipover the floor and merge.

And then a shape bursts out of the ground where the shadows tightenedand Shane catches a glimpse of a pale face in the darkness andburning eyes before two clawed hands reach out towards them. Heinstinctively cowers down and thrusts out his hand to grab Ryan andpull him down, get him out of the way but Ryan actually steps forwardand Shane hears another shriek. It’s ear piercing and he brings hishands up to press the palms to his ears. He hears the crew behindthem groan and yelp in pain and something falls to the ground overthere. The shadow thing however stops in its tracks, shuddersand then the darkness tears apart and they are left with the room asit was before, empty and with all the shadows in place.

Shane’s mouth stands open and he slowly looks over at Ryan only tosee the man glowing. Not as he sometimes does when thesunlight catches his skin in the right way, no. Ryan’s eyes arebright and shine golden, there is a corona of gleams around his headand face and Shane thinks he might pass out so he closes his eyes andtries to steady himself.

It doesn’t really work.

His eyes are closed but despite everything, he sees the light. Notthe way a person sees light with their eyes closed: Red and tinted bythe capillaries in their eyelids. He only sees bright, golden light.It should sting in his eyes, the way looking into the sun does, butinstead, it feels soothing. Even welcoming. He can hear Ryan abovehim muttering words. Shane tries to listen in, but he doesn’tunderstand. His first thought is that Ryan might be speaking Spanish,but while Shane doesn’t know Spanish, he heard enough to be able totell that that’s not it. He wrecks his brain about what languagesRyan speaks. Japanese, maybe? Whatever people speak on thePhilippines? Does Ryan even know these languages? Shane isn’tsure. However, while he has been worrying about languages, the painins his body is lessening.

Shane opens his eyes and looks down. His shirt is still ripped andthere is quite a bit of blood caked there, but while he is stilllooking, warmth spreads through his sides and he can see thedeep scratches knitting together again until they close, not evenleaving a small scar. He looks up and notices that Ryan has placedhis fingertips against his temple. His face is focused and Shaneswallows under the scrutinizing glare.

When Ryan pulls away, Shane realizes that he is still on his knees,looking up at Ryan with a stunned expression. He glances around realquick and notices that he isn’t the only one. TJ, Mark and Devonare all on their knees, some of them still with their hands hoveringover their ears. Mark has a shaking camera pointed at both of themand his mouth is standing open, eyes fixed on Ryan. Devon makes anoise that sounds a little like a sob and Shane can absolutelyunderstand the sentiment. He glances at Ryan again, suddenly afraidto meet his eyes. Ryan looks pained, eyes flicking from one person tothe other.

“I… I can explain…”

He takes a step towards the others and stops when Mark scrambles tohis feet and backs away a little.

“I’m not gonna- guys it’s still me, I won’t hurt you!”

Going by the expressions of the team, they seem to want tobelieve him. However, what he said doesn’t erase the fearcompletely.

Shane finally gives himself a push and slowly gets up. His knees hurtfrom the hard floor and even though the pain in his side is gone, heis still shaken up about the sudden, tearing scratches. Ryan turns ashe notices Shane stand and looks at him guiltily, almost as if inpain. Shane swallows and decides to take initiative.

“I don’t even want to pretend I know what exactlyhappened.” He starts. “But this episode is over. We’re leaving.Any questions can be answered later, I’m not staying here.” Hebites his bottom lip. “Just blame it on me in the cut. Tell them Ilost it and ran. I’ll play that all you want for the camera, later.But for now, let’s leave.”

For a second, nobody moves, but then TJ nods. Mark lowers the cameraand Devon slowly gets up from the floor. Shane looks over at Ryan andRyan tries to give him the tiniest of smiles and nods.

Thankyou, hemouthes at Shane and Shane grits his teeth and just walks out. Hecan’t right now, he needs a moment.

Theypile in the two cars and Shane wordlessly takes the driver’s seat.Usually it’s Ryan driving, but he can’t let him right now,because when Shane drives, he can focus on the road instead offreaking out and he also can call a stop to the conversation andpretend he needs to concentrate on driving. Ryan doesn’t protest.He sits down next to him and buckles in, looking miserable anddistracted. Shane suddenly feels guilty. Whatever exactly happened,the one thing he is sure about is that Ryan saved him. Maybe all ofthem, even. He also has no other explanation for the injury goingaway than Ryan making it go away.He can’t push it on a hallucination because his shirt is stillripped and blood stained while his skin underneath is fine.

He pulls out of the driveway of the house and shuts his mouth tight.He doesn’t look at Ryan, doesn’t turn on the radio, barely movesin his seat when his bunched up jacket starts to dig in his bag. Inthe rearview mirror, he can see Mark driving and from what he canspot, the faces of their crew are pale and confused. They stay closeto the other car, as if afraid that Shane and Ryan would suddenlyvanish. Shane sighs. There is no reason to push it away any longer.

“So.” He finally breaks the silence and out of the corner of hiseye he sees Ryan flinch and sit up very straight. “Congratulations,I guess.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Then Ryan speaks.

“What do you mean?” His voice is quiet, as if scared.

“I finally saw some hard evidence with my own two eyes. Whateverway I want to explain it, I just… can’t. We’re all drug-free,we all saw it, I felt it. This isn’t a lie or manipulatedfootage or some radio frequency. As long as you are not a secrethypnotist who made all of us believe we saw a demon andthis here is-” he lets go of the steering wheel for a second togesture to his ruined shirt- “just in my head…” He lets thesentence run out without really finishing it. Shane tries to start anew one.

“I guess I saw that demon I always wanted. You were right, Ryan.Congratulations. I just want to mention, though, that it seems to meyou had an unfair advantage.”

Ryan is silent for the next mile. Then he begins to speak.

“I’m sorry I lied to you, Shane. I never wanted to, but I had to.Part because… you shouldn’t know these things about me. And partbecause…” he huffs a laugh. “You wouldn’t have believed meanyway.”

“I do believe you.” Shane says softly. “I never said I didn’tbelieve you that you think ghosts are real.”

“I know that.” Ryan’s voice sounds flat now. “But I still wasafraid. And bound to a couple of rules on top of that. Despite all ofthat, I’m sorry.”

Shane hums.

“So, what exactly… are you. An angel?”

He looks over and Ryan stares wistfully out of the front window.

“You could say that, yes. It’s a bit more complicated, with therebeing different… ranks if you will. I’m not exactly a strongwarrior of the heavens. I’m just here to… help, I guess.”

Shane frowns.

“Please tell me you’re not my guardian angel.”

Ryan laughs. It sounds a little more relaxed.

“No. I would work overtime for that. I’m just here to seek outevil spirits and seal them.”

“That’s why you started Unsolved, I get it.”

The car is quiet for a second.

“Ryan…” Shane says slowly. “That is why you startedUnsolved, right?”

“Well… nooo? This is going to sound strange but… I just reallylove True Crime and the Supernatural. It’s fascinating.”

Shane thinks about stopping the car.

“You’re shitting me.”

“I’m really not! I mean I won’t tell you I can’t lie becausetechnically, I can. But I’m telling the truth! I just find theHuman view on all of this even more fascinating. And … I’m notomniscient, you know. I really try to find out about thesemysteries…”

Shane groans.

“Great. A nerd angel.”

“Shut up, Shane.”

Something warm and happy rolls through him at the familiar“comeback”.

“But why the fuck are you afraid of ghosts if you can just… Idon’t know, smite them?”

Ryan sighs.

“I told you. I’m not exactly powerful. And just because I’m nothuman doesn’t mean I am incapable of fear. I … when I’m out onlocation I sometimes forget what I really am. I just like spendingtime there, with you… So I allow myself to pretend I’m human. Andas a human, I get scared of spirits trying to interact. But I’malso curious. By the end of the day, the ghosts are creepy, butalright.”

He takes a deep breath.

“It’s the demons that worry me. That’s why I didn’t want todo anything demonic more than once per season.” Shane can hear himswallow.

“So.” The taller man says again, thinking about how to continue.“When I taunted the demons, you were afraid they would attack you?”

Ryan’s no is so soft that Shane turns down the AC tounderstand him better.

“Shane, when you taunt the demons I get so afraid… so scared. Imean, I’m always afraid of them. They taunt me all the time aboutme not being able to control my powers as well here. They tell methey are going to kill you and make me watch. That is whatreally scares me.”

“Then why did it… this time…”

“I guess, I was too focused on protecting you. The others, too, ofcourse. Just- You got injured and for a second I was scared that shewould take you up on your taunting and actually kill you. I couldhave never forgiven myself just standing there and not helping.”

Shane is so stunned that he almost misses the exit to their hotel. Herucks the steering wheel around a little too harshly and feels thejostle as they hit the dirt road. The next minute they spend incomplete silence as Shane finds a spot and puts the car in park. Thenhe leans back and flexes his fingers that feel stiff after beingclutched around the wheel for too long.

“You saved my life, Ryan. I can’t imagine what a demon could do,because until earlier I thought it was all bullshit. But I assume, itwouldn’t have been pretty. Even if… even if all she could do wasscratch me… You still protected all of us. And you fixed me up.”

He looks over at Ryan.

“I don’t know how much that means from a lowly human but I thinkyou’re doing a really good job as an angel… And, as embarrassingas it sounds: I’m glad you were the one who presented me with thatevidence of the Supernatural. I sure hope you don’t have to wipeour minds now and leave because that would suck really bad.”

Ryan laughs. It’s his usual laugh, head thrown back and a happy,wide grin on his face.

“I don’t know where you get that idea. No, I will not do that. Imight have to wipe the tape, however. Not quite the evidencebut… the aftermath.”

Shane swallows.

“Will you… Leave? Now that we know, I mean.”

Ryan meets his eyes.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” That came out a little too quickly, but Shane is shakenenough from the night to ignore possible shyness. “I would muchprefer you stay. Despite this shit…” he lays a hand on his ribs.“I want to keep doing Unsolved. I want to stay friends with you.Not… sure if that does anything for angels but-”

“Shane. I told you, we are not incapable of emotions. I’m veryhappy you’re here with me. I’m also glad you know now… becauseI hated lying to you.”

Shane stares at the other man.

“Would it be blasphemy to tell you that I’ve been kind of intoyou for a while?”

Ryan blinks.

“What?”

Shane shrugs.

“I can’t help it. You’re handsome and funny and… well, we gota lot in common. And today you saved my life by being a total badassand my entire world view got sort of flipped on its head.” Hesighs. “I guess I just want all the cards on the table, now that Iknow all of this about you.” Shane feels his mouth turn down in anunhappy grimace. “I wont mention it again, so don’t worry. Butyou have the right to know and I thought that- maybe-” He breaksoff.

“You think that maybe I could have feelings for you as well?”

Shane winces and curls up in the car seat.

“I know it’s stupid, you don’t have to point it out. All Iwanted was to be honest with you, because you answered all myquestions.”

A warm hand settles on his shoulder and he looks over. Ryan’s eyesand face seem to be glowing again, but not in the bright, heavenlysunlight Shane saw earlier. It’s the kind of warm and openexpression Shane has been hoping to see directed at him for more thana year, now. Ryan smiles widely as he reaches up and cups Shane’sface into his hands.

“For the record: There is nothing blasphemous about love, Shane.”

Shane freezes as Ryan leans up and gives him a soft kiss.

“Oh… That’s… good. Very good.”

Ryan chuckles.

“But I would suggest that we talk about this later. I still owe theothers an apology and explanation.”

Shane nods slowly and when Ryan’s hands slip from his face, hecatches and holds them.

“I’ll come with you. I’ll help if I have to. Demons, Iapparently can’t handle. But I’m okay with humans.”

Ryan laughs again.

“Alright. Then let’s go.”

Shane nods. He lets go of Ryan so they can leave the car, but hishands carry a lingering warmth that just won’t quite fade.

It’s soothing.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

imagine tony removing bucky's metal arm because it's hurting him and bucky being really insecure about his shoulder and being armless so tony does his best to show bucky how sexy and handsome and beautiful he thinks bucky is, with or without the arm

Between Pains (1 of 3)

Also on AO3

"Bucky! Sunshine! Love of my life, how is my favorite super-soldier doing?" Tony strolled into the room, flopped onto the couch and latched onto Bucky's arm, the tiny wince his boyfriend made didn't escape him. "Something wrong?" He rubbed his face against Bucky's shoulder feeling the cool and smooth metal on his cheek.

"Nah, babe just got startled. How is my favorite genius?" Bucky leaned down and pecked Tony's lips, then went back to the science magazine he was reading.

"My head is feeling like it's about to explode, finished the new repulsors though, and I added the handles to the suit I've been talking about, so you can hang on more easily when you fly with me." Tony snuggled closer and tried to wrap his entire body around the cold metal appendage and Bucky tensed slightly. He did stretch the arm out though so Tony could cling on to it better. It really was no secret that Tony loved the arm and maybe he displayed that love a little too often, to Bucky's annoyance.

Tony sneaked a hand up to Bucky's neck and started tangling the small hairs there around his finger. "Why are you reading about possible black holes produced in the Large Hadron Collider?"

Bucky chuckled. "Because not everybody is a fucking genius who magically knows about every possible subject on earth."

"Excuse me, it's called research, not magic. I'm offended." Tony huffed and crawled over his boyfriend like a clingy spider, causing Bucky to put down the magazine. A paper magazine of all things, like he didn't have a perfectly fine tablet with subscriptions to every science magazine on earth. Where did he even get that from? He cupped Bucky's face with both of his hands and smooshed his cheeks, looking him deep into the eyes. "You take that back! My genius got nothing to do with magic, those three PhDs didn't write themselves."

Bucky didn't take back anything and just stuck out his tongue between his squished cheeks looking absolutely adorable. Tony couldn't hold the stare for long while looking at that face, he burst into laughter, then proceeded to ravish his boyfriend until they were just a bundle of limbs and covers.

----

Robots were on the loose again, as they were about once a week. This time they were coming from the sewers and Bucky and Clint had little to no sniping to do so they joined the ground crew this time. Tony was in the air, tracking the robots under the surface and predicting their next exit point. They had split into teams to cover more ground and Tony gave the closest team - Bucky and Steve - a warning when he saw another five robots approaching their location.

The fight was going well, the robot herds were thinning and collateral damage was being kept to a minimum for once. Tony was flying another round, checking on the teams and it was pure luck that he witnessed how Bucky was hit by one of the robots. He blocked the punch with his metal arm, standing his ground for a moment but then was thrown back against a parked car. He crumbled to the ground as Steve swooped in and decapitated the robot with his shield.

Bucky wasn't unconscious, that much Tony could see, but he wasn't getting up as fast as Tony would have liked either, he was holding his left shoulder. After a moment Steve was at his side and pulled him up and he seemed alright again after dusting himself off. Tony decided to open a private com channel.

"You alright, sunshine?"

Bucky looked up and they made eye contact, as good as one could make eye contact when one was wearing a metal helmet and the other opaque goggles and a mask. "Yeah, fucker was tougher than I thought, don't worry."

Tony did worry though and when everybody was rounded up after the fight and back in the Quinjet he approached Bucky, who was absentmindedly rubbing his shoulder, having taking off his armored jacket. He looked up when he noticed Tony and smiled.

"Hey, babe."

"Everything alright? Is the arm okay?" Tony had left the suit in the back of the jet and let himself drop into Bucky's lap when the other opened his arms for him, he didn't miss how Bucky's smile faltered a little when he mentioned the arm. Something was definitely not right.

"Arm's working perfectly, just a couple of bruises on the fleshy bits." Bucky's chuckle sounded a bit forced to Tony, but it might have been Tony's imagination. To appease his paranoia he would have to run a few tests the next couple of days, just to make sure the arm was fine. It was still mostly HYDRA tech with a few of Tony's upgrades. Tony knew the arm inside and out, knew there was nothing that could harm Bucky in any way, no hidden switches or poison or anything, but technology could fail no matter how advanced it was and some of the pieces in Bucky's arm were certainly several decades old by this point.

-----

"Okay, stop."

Bucky flinched and quickly pulled his sweater over his left shoulder. "Stop what?" He was sitting cross-legged on the bed and had been poking at his shoulder where the metal arm attached until Tony had come in.

"Stop pretending everything is okay." Tony swept into the room and built himself up in front of Bucky

"What?" Bucky looked, for what it's worth, like a puppy that got caught with his nose in the treat bag.

"The arm's hurting you," Tony said matter-of-factly and Bucky looked away.

"No, it's fine."

"I said stop! I can clearly see it, the way you flinch when you do an unexpected movement, you barely use it when you think nobody is looking and you keep holding your shoulder. You're hurting."

Bucky squared his jaw, looking defiant. "The arm is fine, you ran tests last week."

"I know the arm is fine." Tony sat down next to Bucky's right, placing an arm around his boyfriend. "But you are not. I've seen what this thing is doing to you, I see the bruises aren't fading. Your improved healing can't keep up with the damage the arm is causing to your system. At this point, the damage might be permanent. I think it's time we replace it."

"No." Bucky stood up so fast Tony almost lost his balance and toppled off the bed. "I couldn't do any more missions! I'd be useless, no, I don't... I can't, Tony, I can't!" Bucky turned away, breathing heavily, he had wrapped his good arm around himself, holding the metal arm awkwardly. The first admission to the pain he was in.

Tony stood up and approached his boyfriend slowly. "It would only be for a few weeks until I can finish the replacement."

Bucky sucked in a shaky breath. "Can't you finish the replacement first?"

"Not like this. Maybe if you told me when this first started, but now... This is hurting you too much, Bucky." Tony carefully placed a calming hand on Bucky's shoulder who still didn't look at him. "Besides, I need the arm in the lab with me to get the fitting perfect anyway, certain parts I can't replace. The entire artificial nervous system that translates your nerve signals into movement would take months to develop. Even if I had an entire new arm ready to go now, and trust me, I'd rather I did, I could kick my ass for not noticing sooner, you'd be without it for a couple of days minimum." Tony felt soft tremors running through Bucky's body under his palm and he moved closer, enveloping him in a hug.

As soon as his arms surrounded Bucky, the other man broke. He buried his face against Tony's shoulder, shaking his head vigorously. Tony stayed were he was, holding his boyfriend and riding out the waves of the break down that followed. He could not let this go any further, he could not stand seeing Bucky in pain, Bucky needed to heal.

In the end, Bucky agreed and they scheduled the surgery for the next week.

[artificialqueens]

A Long December (Shalaska) - jazz

Summary: A story about how Sharon and Alaska (probably) met, inspired by this old quote from Alaska:

“We met almost four years ago. We were both drag queens and knew each other from Myspace. We’d comment on each other’s pictures and check each other out that way, but it wasn’t until I came back [to Pittsburgh] from L.A. to visit for Christmas that I met him out of drag. I was just like, “This person is so fun and so funny… and he has a really nice ass.” That was it. So I went back to L.A. to close up all my affairs and I moved into his house in Pittsburgh and never left.”

A/N: So, this is pretty canon. Getting back to my roots with 4.k words of some non-AU Shalaska! Many thanks to Rosie for reassuring me that I did their meeting story justice <3

The thing Alaska loved most about the holidays was the Christmas lights.

He loved the sheer abundance of them: loved them when they sparkled, loved how they illuminated his neighbors’ front yards, loved even the ones that were so hideously ugly they hurt his eyeballs.

It reminded him of home, of dragging the worn cardboard box up from the basement as a child and attempting for hours to untangle the mess of rainbow string lights that’d been collecting dust for nearly a year. He’d cry when one of the little bulbs went out, as if there weren’t hundreds of other twinkling bulbs to make up for it.

He used to drive around aimlessly for hours just to look at them, not that there was much else to do in northwestern Pennsylvania.

Los Angeles winters – less glittery, distinctly lonelier, and a hell of a lot more chintzy – just didn’t have the same appeal. So, with Christmas quickly approaching, Alaska packed his bags and hopped on a connecting flight back home to Erie, away from the blown auditions and the callbacks that never came, the late rent checks and the overpriced headshots that he couldn’t reallyafford.

But Alaska wasn’t about to worry about any of that tonight. Tonight, he’d made the short two-hour drive from Erie to Pittsburgh. He had some old friends that lived in the city, and they’d gotten him an invite to a house party that a certain someone was rumored to attend.

Alaska smiled in spite of himself. Sharon Needles.

He kept a mental catalogue of all the things he knew about Sharon so far.

He did drag, first of all, something that he and Sharon had bonded over almost instantly. Sharon’s drag was edgy and hideous and horrifying and beautiful, and Alaska was in awe of it. He thought that Sharon might be the smartest person he knew, probably.

He was from middle-of-nowhere, meth-addled Iowa. Alaska had never been to the Midwest, but he’d heard that there was a lot of corn there. Alaska shook his head. Yeah, no, don’t talk about corn tonight, he chided himself.

Besides, Sharon was a total Pittsburgher now, adopting the city’s strange dialect and practically bleeding its colors, black and gold. It suited him well, Alaska thought.

He knew that Sharon had blue eyes – sky blue, he could make out from his profile photos and their select Skype conversations – and a tattoo of Tammy Faye Baker on his upper arm, and that he was perfect, potentially.

Alaska knew better than to get his hopes up, though. Sharon might not even be interested. They’d been exchanging messages online for a few weeks now, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Alaska cringed at the possibility.

It meant something on his end, at least.

Alaska trudged on down the sidewalk, a thin layer of packed snow crunching satisfyingly underneath his feet. He was getting ahead of himself. First, he’d have to show up to the party – a half hour late, obviously, so he didn’t seem over-eager. He’d have a drink – or two or three – to calm his nerves a bit.

Then, he’d ask around for Sharon, all buzzed and aloof, and they’d embrace, and it’d be magical. Or something like that.

He clutched onto the brown-paper-bagged bottle of whiskey he’d decided to buy last-minute.  Bringing a gift felt like the polite thing to do, but now he just felt clumsy and awkward as he approached the small house, alcohol in one hand and a dumb Santa hat in the other.

Alaska wiped his boots on the doormat, mentally preparing himself for the night ahead, before letting himself in.

The place smelled strongly of burnt sugar cookies and hard liquor, and he didn’t recognize many faces. Someone was singing along to a Mariah Carey cover in the other room, and Alaska found himself wishing he were already a little tipsy.

He made his way through the throngs of guests, all clad in varying shades of red and green, and tossed his winter jacket onto a nearby armchair. His heart sank at the possibility that maybe Sharon had decided to skip the party altogether.

Alaska was about to question why Sharon’s attendance even mattered to him at all when he spotted him from across the room, in an oversized Christmas sweater that had definitely seen better days, cigarette burns garnishing the sleeves he’d cuffed twice around his wrists.

Suddenly, Alaska couldn’t have cared less about his surroundings.

His chest expanded as Sharon’s eyes locked with his own, an expression of pleasant surprise washing over his features, before striding over to Alaska purposefully. Alaska watched him approach in slow motion, his vision tunneling in to focus only on Sharon.

“For me? You shouldn’t have, Alaska.” Sharon smiled, his dimple on full display, as he grabbed the bottle of whiskey from Alaska’s hand and took an emphatic swig.

Alaska’s jaw dropped, his breath catching at the way Sharon said his name, how it rolled off his tongue with ease. “I, uh… you’re welcome, I guess?”

It was hardly the reception Alaska had envisioned for their first meeting. He racked his brain for a proper conversation-starter, something that said, I can be super fun and flirty, but also interesting and smart, and I think you’re really great, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he found himself staring at Sharon’s ass, forgetting why he’d cared so much about talking in the first place.

Sharon turned on his heel to walk away then, a signal that, to Alaska, meant their interaction was over. He frowned, until Sharon looked back and extended his free hand.

“You coming, or not?” he asked, lips pursed. “Let’s get you a beverage.”

Alaska placed his hand in Sharon’s without thinking, felt his universe crumbling and rebuilding itself in that instant.

He let Sharon lead him into the kitchen, too-small and dark, bumping his hip awkwardly against the counter in the process. His fingers were tingling and Sharon’s hand was cool against his own and he hoped Sharon wouldn’t let go any time soon.  

“Oh, by the way,” Sharon said flatly, “don’t drink the eggnog.” He made a face over his shoulder.

“Noted,” Alaska laughed.

Sharon disappeared into the refrigerator for a moment, allowing Alaska just enough time to try to compose himself, unsuccessfully. If Sharon backed up a few inches, he’d be pressed right against him, and Alaska felt dizzy at the thought. He hopped up to sit on the counter behind him for something to do, shimmying backwards so that his legs didn’t touch the ground.

“Here.” Sharon turned and handed Alaska a plastic cup half-full of red liquid, eyes wandering over Alaska as he inspected the concoction. “I’m not gonna poison you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“How romantic,” Alaska deadpanned, the corners of his mouth curling upwards.

“I can be.”

Sharon lowered his voice, taking a step closer toward Alaska and parking himself in between his legs. His tone was playful, but Alaska couldn’t be sure – not when he could practically feel Sharon’s body heat radiating off of him in waves, sending the butterflies in his stomach into a frenzy. Alaska brought the cup to his lips in an effort to distract himself.

“So you’re liking Pittsburgh?” Alaska asked abruptly, hating how his first instinct was to make small talk, and how Sharon’s eyes glinted at it, like he thrived on Alaska’s jitters and nervous energy.

“America’s filthiest-kept secret,” Sharon said with a flourish of his hand. “You’re out in L.A., yeah?”

“Yeah, but…” Alaska trailed off. “I dunno, it’s not really working out for me there.”

He was conscious of Sharon’s middle finger tracing the rim of his cup that he held in his lap, his eyes flicking up to meet Alaska’s when he noticed him watching.

“Noted,” Sharon repeated, smiling slightly.

“What?” Alaska drawled, blushing. “What’s that face for?”

“You’re cuter in person, is all.”

Alaska grinned into his drink.

Guests filtered in and out of the kitchen as they chatted, and Alaska hardly noticed any of them, too caught up in how easy it was to talk to Sharon. He told Alaska that he’d been following his drag career out in California for a while now, that Alaska’s style of drag impressed him and reminded him a bit of his own, and when it got too crowded for their liking, Sharon pulled Alaska outside onto the patio that connected to the kitchen.

Sharon lowered himself onto a bench and grabbed a cigarette from his pocket, let it hang from his lips as he brought a lighter to the butt end. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked.

“Oh, no – not at all,” Alaska sputtered.

“Some people don’t like the smell of it,” Sharon said, taking a long, contemplative drag. “But not me.”

Alaska stared at him, watched the smoke leave his lips and dance above his head, forming a carbon monoxide halo around his mop of bleached blonde hair, sticking up in every which direction. His nose was pink from the cold and Alaska wanted to kiss it, just once.

“Addiction’s a funny thing, y’know,” Sharon mused.

Alaska nodded solemnly. He had a feeling he’d agree to just about anything that came out of Sharon’s mouth, if he were being honest.

“What’re you addicted to, Alaska?”

The question hung in the air, cool and heavy.

You, his heart was screaming, threatening to burst right out of his chest. I’m addicted to you.

Alaska gulped down the rest of his drink to avoid Sharon’s intense gaze, felt the liquid travel through his body and warm his limbs almost instantly.  

“Should we head back in soon, see what everyone else is up to?” Alaska tried. “It’s getting kinda cold out here.”

“Sit with me, then.” Sharon patted the cushioned spot next to him on the bench, and Alaska’s pulse quickened. He didn’t know how much longer he could handle being that close to Sharon without doing something dumb and impulsive, breathing in his smell and scanning his face and hearing his voice – not behind a computer screen, but right here, close enough to touch.

And Alaska wanted to touch him, badly.Sharon was so real that it hurt, and Alaska’s bones ached from it.

He thought that, maybe, Sharon was the realest thing he’d ever known in his life. When Sharon looked at him, it was inquisitive and sharp, and Alaska felt fully seen, like Sharon had him all figured out without saying a word. Alaska didn’t know what to do with that, wasn’t used to feeling so exposed.

He gravitated toward Sharon, settling into the space under the arm that he’d draped casually over the top of the bench. They sat there like that, in comfortable silence, for what felt like minutes.

“I like you, Alaska,” Sharon said, matter-of-fact, snubbing his cigarette out on an ashtray. “A lot, actually.”

His boldness caught Alaska off guard, and he half-considered that maybe the nicotine, or the alcohol, or some combination of the two, had damaged Sharon’s better judgment.

“You’re special, I think,” he continued.

“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” Alaska drawled. He hiccupped, likely from chugging the remains of his drink too quickly, and giggled nervously at the possibility that Sharon really meant it.

—–

Over the course of the night, Alaska learned that Sharon was nothing like he’d expected – but somehow, even better than he’d hoped.

He was fun, and he was hilarious, and, when Alaska caught himself staring at him for far too long as Sharon danced to a pop remix of “Last Christmas” on top of an old couch, mouthing all the words at Alaska like he was singing it just for him, Alaska knew he needed a moment to collect his racing thoughts.

He shot Sharon an apologetic smile as he ducked away and disappeared into the sea of partygoers, darting toward the staircase in hopes that it might be a little quieter upstairs, that he could freshen up and maybe get it together.

He wandered into the room at the end of the carpeted hallway, expecting a bathroom but instead finding a spare bedroom. He sighed, dragging his hands over his face. Alaska was in too deep, he could feel it, didn’t know whether he wanted to be sick or if he wanted to run straight into Sharon’s arms.

It’s just a crush, Alaska told himself, unconvincingly. He pictured the way Sharon’s lips had closed around his bottle of whiskey, how delicate his hands had looked as he balanced a cigarette between his fingers, and wondered how those same lips and hands might feel running over his own body tonight, and tomorrow, and maybe the next day after that.

“What, I didn’t scare you away down there, did I?” Sharon asked.

Alaska jumped, spinning around at hearing Sharon’s voice from behind him. He looked almost sheepish, arms hanging at his sides, and Alaska could see his veins from where he’d pushed up his sleeves.

“Oh, no, this is just… a lot,” Alaska tried, licking his lips absentmindedly. “It’s a lot.”

Somehow, Sharon seemed to understand. He closed the door, traveled the rest of the distance between them and took Alaska’s hands in his own. “Look at me,” he said.

Alaska hesitantly locked eyes with him, fully aware of how close they were standing now, how alone they were, and his heartbeat thudded in his ears.

Sharon reached up and tucked a finger underneath Alaska’s chin, made sure he couldn’t look away. “You feel this, too, right?” Sharon asked, quietly.

Alaska wasn’t breathing. He thought he gave a small nod, but his knees were shaking and he knew that if he leaned in, right now, he’d be done.

Luckily for him, Sharon was the first to fall.

He shoved Alaska against the dresser, hands cradling his face as he kissed him, hard and impatient. Alaska was putty underneath Sharon’s grip, and it took a moment for his brain to catch up with his body.

Sharon was kissing him.

Sharon was kissing him firmly like he’d been starving, and Alaska was his remedy – and maybe he was, as Alaska instinctively wrapped his own hands around Sharon’s thin wrists, willed with his tongue for Sharon to understand that he felt it, too.

It wasn’t long before kissing wasn’t enough. Sharon had a thigh rutted between Alaska’s bowed legs and he pressed down on it greedily. Alaska moved his fingers to coil in Sharon’s blonde hair, and when he tugged gently, he felt Sharon audibly whimper into his mouth, the sound shooting straight to his abdomen.  

Alaska had been with plenty of guys before, but not like this – Sharon was clinging to him like he was afraid Alaska might slip through his fingers otherwise.

“Sharon, I…” Alaska began, and then trailed off, lips ghosting over Sharon’s cheek, his nose. He realized all at once that he didn’t have the words to articulate what exactly was taking place, just that it felt distinctly important.

“Yeah,” Sharon breathed, in between kisses. “Me too.”

Alaska sunk to his knees at that, shoving Sharon’s jeans down to his ankles as he went. Sharon’s pupils were blown out black as he watched Alaska, who was palming Sharon’s already-hard cock over the fabric of his underwear. Alaska didn’t think about what he was doing, not really – didn’t dwell on the fact that he wanted to please Sharon more than he’d wanted to please anybody, or that he’d been semi-hard, seeing stars as soon as Sharon’s lips touched his.

He just hollowed his cheeks, tried to take as much of Sharon as he possibly could into his mouth.

Sharon clutched onto the edge of the dresser for support, lips parted. Alaska developed a steady rhythm, used one hand to move in tandem with his tongue as he bobbed his head to suck at Sharon’s hardness.

When Alaska moaned, so did Sharon.

Alaska flattened his tongue against the underside of Sharon’s length, hummed around him. Sharon began to rock his hips forward, hitting the back of Alaska’s throat with each thrust, before abruptly pulling out.

He tugged Alaska back to his feet, smattering kisses along the curve of his neck. “Wanna make this last,” Sharon explained hoarsely.

Alaska could tell that Sharon was leaving marks, and was glad for it: he wanted to wake up tomorrow and remember where Sharon had been, see and feel where he’d paid special attention.

And then Sharon was spinning him around and maneuvering him towards the bed, yanking Alaska’s shirt up and over his head impatiently as Alaska kicked off his own pants, a clumsy dance of flying fabric and tangled limbs. Alaska’s hands flew to Sharon’s bare shoulder blades, his chest, warm and soft underneath his fingertips.  

It felt surreal, that they were doing this – and yet, it didn’t surprise Alaska in the slightest. He felt surprisingly comfortable, safe, even as Sharon pushed him backward onto the bed, pinning him underneath his body.

Sharon hovered over Alaska for a few moments, scanning him with those eyes again, before Alaska pulled him down by the back of the neck, cocks rutting together as Alaska’s tongue traced the shell of Sharon’s ear.

“Please,” Alaska begged, breathless. “Sharon, fuck – I need you. I really, really need you.”

Sharon closed his eyes and let out a huge breath, like the sound of Alaska’s voice, whiny and broken, did things to him. Alaska looked up at him, his hair falling into his face, tried to scoot his hips closer towards Sharon’s lap.

Sharon didn’t need much more encouragement than that.

He flipped Alaska onto his stomach, and Alaska wiggled his ass out for Sharon, who soothed his hands over the smooth skin. He felt delirious, how badly he wanted Sharon to fill him up, make him muffle his screams into the pillow.

And he knew that Sharon would be good to him – he could tell from the way Sharon made sure to kiss every notch on his spine, open-mouthed and careful. Alaska frantically reached over to the bedside table, ransacking two separate drawers before finding a small bottle of lube and a box of condoms, and he said a silent prayer.

Sharon’s hands were trembling as he slicked up his fingers, uttering a hoarse, “You sure, Lasky?”

Alaska had never been more sure of anything, nodding feverishly at the headboard, trying to remember how to breathe.

He didn’t know what any of this might mean moving forward for him and Sharon – if there even was such a thing as a “him and Sharon” – but he refused to worry about that now, not when Sharon eased one finger into him and then two, reducing Alaska to a moaning mess as he arched his back at the contact.

Sharon bowed his head and pressed his lips to Alaska’s shoulder blade, and when he finally entered him, it was with a slow roll of his hips, breath still dancing on Alaska’s back.

Alaska’s jaw went slack, his mouth falling open in a silent scream.

Then Sharon began to move: small and shallow thrusts at first, clearly restraining himself. “Oh, shit, Lasky, you feel so… so good.”

“Sharon, I need… move, Shar, please…”

“W-wait, hold on,” Sharon said, pulling out of Alaska decidedly. Alaska whined at the loss, until Sharon turned him over, scanned his face. “I wanna see you.”

Sharon appraised Alaska’s features: his cheeks, flushed pink, and his kiss-swollen lips, which Sharon leaned down to kiss again, quick and sloppy. Alaska drew his knees up, reaching down to guide Sharon back inside him.

Alaska watched as Sharon’s forehead crinkled, lips parted to let out a breathy exhale. Alaska couldn’t keep from staring, from committing his facial expression to memory – until Sharon shifted his hips the tiniest bit, reminding Alaska of his own throbbing cock, the desire welling up in the pit of his stomach.

He tilted his head back and moaned, exposing his throat for Sharon to nip at as he slammed into him, skin slapping against skin.

Alaska fell apart beneath him, grabbing Sharon’s ass to urge him on, lifting his legs so Sharon could go deeper, harder – a frenzy of clawing hands and salty kisses, more lips brushing against lips than anything else. When Sharon reached for Alaska’s neglected cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts, Alaska spilled into his hand, sobbing Sharon’s name almost incoherently, over and over again, the only word that mattered.

Sharon followed suit, shuddering into Alaska before letting his head drop to Alaska’s collarbone.

“God,” was all he murmured, and it was as good as I love you.

“I know,” Alaska breathed.

Alaska slid out of bed on shaky legs after Sharon cleaned them both up, bent down to grab the first article of clothing he could find on the floor – Sharon’s Christmas sweater. He tugged it over his head, smiling at the feeling of Sharon’s eyes glued to him, his body.

“You’re so pretty, baby.”

Alaska giggled, crawling back into bed with Sharon eagerly, nuzzling against him like they’d done this countless times before. In some ways, it felt like they had.

“Tell me how much you like me again,” Alaska purred.

“More than I know what to do with,” Sharon replied, and the honesty in his voice was jarring. “Probably too much.”

Alaska stared at the adjacent wall in silence, considering the full weight of Sharon’s words, realizing all at once that he felt the same way – and remembering suddenly that they lived on opposite sides of the country. It hit him like a punch in the gut.

“I don’t think I can do long-distance right now,” Alaska choked out. “I just can’t.”

Sharon rolled onto his side to face Alaska, propping his head up with his hand. “I wasn’t expecting you to, Lasky,” he said, his voice quiet.

Alaska squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel himself ruining the moment, and wished he could’ve just left good enough alone. Sharon probably thought that he was clingy beyond belief, and embarrassment burned hot in his cheeks.

“So what now, then?” Alaska asked, bracing himself for what was sure to be a letdown.

There was a pregnant pause before Sharon replied.

“So, move in with me.”

“What?” Alaska stammered, rolling over hurriedly and getting tangled in the sheets. He searched Sharon’s face, looked for any sign that he might be kidding, but instead only found a set of blue eyes, locked with his own.

“It could be like this, all the time,” Sharon said softly.

“You… you hardly know me.”

“I know enough.”

Alaska swallowed the lump in his throat, fought the urge to smatter kisses all over Sharon’s dumb face, which was sporting a small, hopeful smile now.

Alaska wanted it – he wanted all of it. He wanted to share a closet and take up too much space in the bathroom, wanted to wake up on Christmas morning next to Sharon and watch Bette Davis documentaries in bed. He wanted to feel Sharon pressed against him when he fell asleep at night, wouldn’t even care if Sharon ran hot or snored lightly into his neck. He’d let Sharon show him around town, too; they’d go out and make fools of themselves on stage and Sharon would take Alaska home at the end of their gigs, fuck him hard into the mattress and kiss him on the lips afterward.

Alaska knew he’d say yes before the words were even out of his mouth. This was right. This felt right.

He threw his body on top of Sharon’s, bare legs straddling his torso, and repeated yes against his lips until he was forced to come up for air, Sharon’s eyes twinkling like the Christmas lights lining the snow-covered street outside.

[notdeadjack]

How do i take care od my shoes so they last?

CARING FOR YOUR SHOES 101

source: me. i'm a reparative cobbler. i literally do this for a living.ok so you have a pair of shoes of decent quality that fits (or crappy quality shoes that you wanna eek out every last bit of mileage out of in pure spite) and now you have to care for them like a doting parent, but how the fuck are you supposed to do that?? it's not as much of a production as most online how-to's makes it seem:

regular leather: if you're a dirty bitch or one of them people who likes running around in mud for no real reason, remove the excess dirt with a cloth or a soft brush. only use a little water as a last resort. if there's only regular dust and wear, just give them a quick wipe down with a cloth or something idk.apply a thin layer of cream shoe polish (Saphir creme surfine/deluxe is an excellent shoe polish and i highly recommend it. use incolore which has no colour pigments if you can't find the right shade, the shoes have multiple colours or a patina that you wanna keep or if they're brand spanking new and haven't lost any colour). allow it to dry in for like ten minutes before you polish with a cotton cloth (or an old t-shirt or a sock. it's not that important really).

suede/nubuck: remove dust and dirt gently with a suede brush (or one of them nail brushes), spray with waterproofing spray. done. use spray with colour pigments if they look sad and faded. 

do these simple steps as often as you can stand, but try to do it at the very least once a month, preferably every other week. you can never do it too often tbh.

more shoe care tips, materials and products underneath the cut!

other materials:  

spray textile with waterproofing spray. won't actually proof anything but will makes them easier to keep clean. 

syntethic materials won’t accept any help from no shoe care products and will crack or break whenever it damn well feel like it. you can put shoe polish on the fake leather tho, just to make them look nice.

patent leather and such won't absorb any products cause the leather is covered with a thin layer of plastic, but there's special products for keeping them clean and shiny. a moist cloth tends to leave spots bc mineral residues and stuff in the water. do NOT use sour milk or other dairy products on your patent leather

white rubber soles can be maintained by simply wiping them off with a moist cloth when you get home. if really dirty, wash or take to a cobbler to wash.

rubber boots can do with some grease or oil tbh. will help prevent them from drying out. 

oiled leather/nubuck tho. there's special products for these. check the labels but grease or oil spray usually does the trick.

but what about all the other stuff? like, the grease/fat/oil, the waterproofing, the washing and The Removal of The Laces™ that all the how-to's talk about?honestly, those things are often excessive and here's why:

washing: unless your shoes are actually dirty (partied too hard and spilled a drink or olive oil on them, large amounts of mud that can't be wiped off, water or salt stains etc), you don't have to wash them. water isn't good for the leather, dries it out so... only do it if you absolutely have to? preferably, take them to a professional and have them do it.

leather grease/fat/oil: honestly, this stuff IS good for the leather and you should use it. but there is such a thing as too much and y'all have no idea how many times i've had to wash a pair of shoes because the owner used too much too often and now there's clogging and fat and dust piled up at the seams like an abandoned butter factory and the shoes just look miserable. apply a thin layer and allow to dry before you apply shoe polish a few times a year. before and after putting your shoes into storage for the season, if they look and feel dry or if you wear them year round, put some on every other or third month. always BEFORE the polish.

waterproofing aka the thing every single shoe store employee tells you to do and it makes me wanna scream every time i hear it: only necessary for suede and nubuck shoes (and usable on textile, as mentioned above). seriously.  

a)waterproofing your shoes won't actually make them waterproof, will only help suede to repel the stray water droplet so that it doesn't soak in. won’t help when it’s pouring down.b) proper shoe polish contains wax (is what makes shine when polished) that will protect the leather from water in the same way. adding the spray on top of that is pointless.c) can actually ruin your polish work, make it all matte and occasionally even leave stains, discolour or trap dust.d) is sold as a “fix all” for lazy people to use on all of their shoes regardless of material. fixes nothing. don’t bother unless suede.

removing the laces before polishing: ??? you don't have to? you can work around them. i mean, if you're doing a full care with grease and stuff, it might be easier to remove them but that's up to you. you might get some polish on them but unless you have light or brightly coloured laces it doesn’t hurt them. do exchange them if they break tho. (if they break easily, there might be a sharp edge that rubs at them or, and this is the most likely, you don't unlace properly before forcing your feet into your shoes. the laces take a lot of stress, be nice to them!)

other shoe care products:

wax: such as Kiwi Parade Gloss, Saphir Mirror Gloss etc. a hard-ish bit of wax product that comes in a flat tin. is used to acquire high shine on leather shoes (think spit shine). doesn't actually do that much for the shoe except shine and repel some water. a must for dress shoes but should preferably only be used on the toe cap since it can build up in seams and, if applied the bits that moves a lot, can "crack". it's not damaging to the leather but looks scruffy af. apply with one of them tiny brushes you see in shoe care stores or with a sponge/cloth. polish with a cloth, lamb wool polish glove or a horse hair brush.

fisherman grease: are you a fisherman? no? then don't use it.

quick shine or self shine: do not. contains silicone and shit that won't be absorbed by the leather and won't dry. looks amazing when fresh but will attract dust and turn matte within minutes. shit product designed to appeal to your laziness and take your money while giving you a false sense of accomplishment. seriously, if you're good with the shoe polish, all you need is a a quick rub with a cloth (or the sleeve of your shirt, back of your pant leg) to revive the shine. yes i am a little bitter about the existence of quick shine products,

mink oil: mostly used by old people and hipsters who buy into the whole "the old way is the best way". i highly advice you not to. mink oil is too good at keeping the leather soft. can easily make your shoe leather yucky soft and floppy, the shoe loses shape and turn into a sad, sagging lump. can also discolour the leather (usually into an unsightly green). only use a little if the shoe is drier than the sahara desert.

leather balm/renovateur: technically not the same but has the same usage area. generally too light for shoes but is excellent for other leather goods like jackets, bags and gloves. used the same as shoe polish: apply thin layer, let dry, polish with cloth. redo as often as you can be arsed but at least once or twice a year i mean come on, give your favourite leather bag or jacket some love!

shoe trees: please? do use. preferably made out of cedar. can be expensive but will last you a life time. they will absorb the moisture from your shoes after wear and help them retain their shape (see those creases right at the bend behind your toes? yeah, those will always show up but shoe trees will help minimize them). you can get buy with just one pair, just stick them into which ever pair you wore last. it's highly recommended that you let your shoes dry completely and rest between each use. having two pairs of shoes that you alternate between is good enough.

if you're gonna store your shoes and can't afford buying shoe trees to all your pairs, you can just stuff them with paper or bits of a foam mattress or something, just to help them keep their shape. the ones that has a metal spring in the middle and a ball at the end should be used with caution and only for a day or so at the time, since the spring loaded ball (heh) puts constant pressure on the back piece of the shoe and can actually push it out which is bad and also ugly.oh! and if your knee high boots have zippers, do make sure that zipper is straight when not worn. use a boot tree, a rolled up news paper or a stick a plastic bottle in them. just so that they don’t fold over and put stress on the zipper.

shoe deodorizer: if your shoes are leather with a leather lining and leather inner sole (AND YOU WEAR SOCKS! seriously, please always wear socks or hose or something inside your shoes at all times. or your foot sweat, dead skin and dirt will build up inside your shoes and it is Gross™), they honestly won't smell much at all. deo is unnecessary (unless you have some kind of affliction which makes your foot sweat super powered, which some people actually have and i feel for them). synthetic and fabric shoes are satan when it comes to foot odour and all you can do really is make sure to wear clean socks and change the inner sole as often as possible.

the washing machine: PLEASE. DO NOT PUT YOUR SHOES IN THE WASHING MACHINE! no, not even your converse hi-tops. seriously. all shoes are glued more or less excessively, and the heat and water will make the glue unstick and your shoes will fall apart quicker. take them to a cobbler for a wash if they're really dirty.

and finally: inspect your shoes. if you spot a seam coming out, or the sole unsticking on the inner left or the heel piece is worn down: take them to a reparative cobbler asap. do NOT try to fix it yourself (you can actually make them ten times harder or even impossible to fix). most things that breaks on leather products can actually be fixed, but the longer you let it go without addressing the damage, the worse it will get and the more expensive it will be to fix. expect to spend about half the purchase price on maintaining your shoes at a cobbler. more if they're your favourites and fit like a dream. 

do try to find a good cobbler, some are absolute hacks that can ruin your shoes. if you live in a big city, go to the finer parts of town and accost a rich person and ask what cobbler shop they go to. they usually have a favourite cobbler that they remain loyal to/cling to desperately. instagram and/or facebook can also be a good place to check.

craftsmen in europe has journeyman or master "letters" (basically diplomas) that they can only acquire after they've worked in the profession for a certain amount of time and can prove that they're skilled in various parts of the job. you can ask if they have one and if they do, they're probably not completely unskilled.

rule of thumb is if the cobbler also does dry cleaning, seamstress work, plumbing and a hundred other vaguely connected things, chance is high that they aren't as good. this is largely dependent on country tho so... use your common sense.

also, don't bother with chains (such as mr minit) and those that offer quick jobs. doing a job properly takes time and care. rushing generally leads to lower quality work, as with everything. it’s up to you tho.

aaand i think that's about it!

i'll post a guide on how to buy good quality shoes that fit later, but until then, if you have any further questions, or want specific shoe or leather care advice my ask is always open and i'm happy to help :D