#they should let me have water in museums i get thirsty

[c-a-r-0-l-i-n-e]

Octopus Goblet !!

also?

this guy

[ramp-it-up]

Christmas Time to Me

Pairing: Duke! Henry Cavill x Reader

Word Count: Less than the last one, ok?

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT, Explicit description of graphic sex. Read at your own risk.  All errors my own. Pining, angst, young pregnancy, Henry is someone’s father, I am writing about British nobility and I am not British, jet lag, reader has a slight inferiority complex, definite ‘Sir’ kink,  Dom thoughts, bratty behavior. Oral (both receiving) nipple, play, rough sex, size kink, cow girl, face sitting, p in v (wrap that up). Whew, this was quite different than the tender scene I thought to write.

A/N: This is for #DJ’sAllIWant4KChristmas and based on this ask from @ysmmsy found here. Let me know if you liked it, love. ❤️

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I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

Good afternoon my Dear Professor. What do you think about the latest hullabaloo about the British Museum. Do you think they should return all artifacts? It would empty everything out.

Your alarm went off and you yawned and stretched, then reached for your phone, trying not to have any expectations. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you saw a text waiting there from 12 minutes ago, 6:48 am Houston time.

Good morning, Sir. You know very well what I think about that. I could give a rat’s ass about the BU’s inventory.

Lol, I agree, just wanted to get your blood flowing on this beautiful chilly noon day, mate.

You squirmed at the innocent words. He sure did get your blood flowing, to interesting places. And from just a friendly text.

Thank you, Sir. But it’s a nice balmy morning here in Houston. Now go eat lunch!

Henry grinned.

I will. I am looking forward to seeing you and Junie in a couple of days.

Somehow, you could see Henry’s smile through the phone.

I’m excited. I will do professor stuff while you and Junie are hanging out.

Thank you for the consideration, but there is no question that I will leave you alone for a second.

The authoritative tone reached you over 5,000 miles. You shivered, then shook it off.

🙄 Okay, Sir. I have to shower. See you in a couple of days.

You put your phone back on your charger as you shook your head, knowing that you would think of him while you were getting clean.

Henry stared at the text for a long time, his lunch stuck in his throat. He needed to take a drink of water, suddenly very thirsty. His pants got tighter at his desk as he imagined you all wet in the shower. And you calling him ‘Sir’ did things to him. You affected him in a myriad of ways with one text.

“Christ, Y/N,” growled Henry to himself as he rubbed the bulge in his now tighter pants. 

He ran his hand through his curls, trying to think of how he would both be appropriate with you in front of Juniper-Rose, and get beyond this friend zone you’d put him in.

Your ‘friend’ was actually a member of British nobility, Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill, the 12th Duke of Jersey, but one who worked at a non-profit for climate change. Your research on Britain’s role on colonialism and world oppression and his activist heart connected you on an intellectual level. He was tall, hot, and a little bit nerdy, just your type. 

Too bad that he was your best friend’s baby daddy.

The first time you saw Henry, there was an instant attraction, at least on your side. He was gorgeous, bright blue eyes happy and full of kindness. He looked at you with an appreciation that you recognized from a man, but there was nothing offensive in his gaze.

Junie was literally bouncing in his arms, and his smile was ear to ear for his toddler. He seemed full of girl-dad joy and it was obvious that he was wrapped around her tiny little finger. Of course that made him even more alluring. 

You tried to keep from swooning every time you saw Henry, as he grew up from slim-thick twenty something to grown and sexy hunk of a thirty something. Every time you saw him, he got sexier. And your body reacted more.

But girl code, and the fact that you were sure that he was still in love with Jasmine even though they were not together, prevented you from sharing your feelings.

You settled for debates whenever he was in town, which morphed into emails, which changed into friendly texts. He spent all of his available time in Houston with Junie, your goddaughter (christened Marion Eleanor Juniper-Rose Cavill), so the talk was light and passing, and you didn’t want to intrude on Daddy/Daughter time. Smiles and electronic chatter was the entirety of your relationship with Henry. Or so you thought.

You couldn’t, and shouldn’t want for anything more.

Jasmine was always the brightest star in your friend group. To you, she was always just a little bit cuter, prettier, popular and brighter than you, becoming a Rhodes Scholar and jetting off to Britain at 17, while you only earned a National Merit and stayed at home in Houston to attend Rice University. 

You two stayed close, communicating every day, you reveling in her adventures studying Economics at Oxford during the week and partying in London on the weekends. You lived vicariously, internalizing the stories Jazz told you as you lived your quiet academic life at Rice with your quiet boring boyfriends. 

She casually dropped the news about Henry and the fact that he was a Duke, stating that he was bored of his life of duty and privilege. They kept it fun and casual. Until Jasmine turned up pregnant during her senior year. 

Even though they were young starting out, Jasmine and Henry were wonderful co-parents. The only difficulty in the arrangement was that neither Henry nor Jasmine would, or could, give up their lives 5,000 miles apart. Despite his obligations, distance was no barrier for Henry. He would fly over at the drop of a hat for his daughter. 

One memorable occasion was when Junie broke her arm playing soccer at eight years old and had to have surgery. You almost hyperventilated when you ran into Henry, who was on Jasmine’s doorstep a day later looking tired and worried. He was very, very handsome, but he was not checking for you. It was all about Juniper-Rose, as he called her. And probably Jasmine too. 

The next years of Junie’s life were filled with regular visits to Britain and from her father. Henry came to the States every summer for Junie’s birthday and took her back to Britain for a few weeks. Jasmine took her to London every Christmas, using the opportunity for her work in Economics and to catch up with her European friends. 

So here it was, Junie’s 14th Christmas, and you were recruited (by Jasmine of course) to escort her to visit her father on her yearly holiday visit to Britain. Except Junie refused to go this year. Something about wanting to be with her friends who were going to Mexico. And so you wound up being convinced (by Jasmine of course) to go alone. For the entire eight hour flight, you lamented the fact that you did something that you normally don’t: go with the flow

When you landed at Heathrow on December 23rd, you expected a driver to be waiting for you, but what actually happened was surprising. There was Henry, with a small smile, holding up a placard with your name.

You stopped for a moment, heart beating erratically, not expecting this at all. Henry gazed at you as you collected yourself and moved toward him. His smile grew incrementally as you got closer.

“Hullo.”

His baritone held early morning gruffness and was making you feel some kind of way.

“Hello Henry, I mean Sir…I mean Mr. Cavill…Your Grace...” 

You felt like you had to curtsey, and you were tongue tied. Meeting Henry in England was different from talking to him on the phone, or texting. Then, you could pretend that he was a regular person, not British nobility and the real-life embodiment of your fantasies.

Henry’s eyes dilated when you called him ‘Sir,” but then he blushed and looked down, then back up at you to correct you quietly, but firmly.

“Henry is fine. Welcome to London.”

God, you were wet.

“Thank you. I.. I didn’t think that you would meet me personally, I mean, knowing that Junie wasn’t here.”

Henry’s smile dropped.

“Juniper-Rose and I spoke, and I am disappointed, but hopeful that she will join us. But I had to come greet you. To thank you for… for everything that you do for my daughter. And for me.”

Henry held your gaze for as long as you would allow before you flushed and turned your eyes to the floor. He was so god damned beautiful.

“No… no.. problem. I love that little girl.”

Henry reached for your carryon, brushing your fingers with his. You felt electricity down your spine as he started walking toward the exit. 

“My driver, Benjamim, will get your other bags.”

You chuckled. 

“So you do have a driver…” Henry cocked his head at the comment, wondering what was going on in that head of yours.

“Of course. I told you. I wanted to meet you myself. You are a very special person to me.”

You did not, for a moment, believe that he really meant that. It was simply British politeness.

“And I told you. What I do for Junie, I will do forever. She is like my own.”

You did not want Henry to be nice to you out of obligation.

“And that is part of why I… That is why I have to thank you.”

You were quiet, wondering what this outpouring of communication and sentiment was owed to. You zoned out as you were waiting for the car, staring off into space as you bit your lip. Was Henry trying to get back with Jasmine? Is that why he met you at the airport? What was the reason? 

You sighed when you realized that you were giving yourself a headache overthinking, and you realized that you hadn’t had any caffeine yet this day.

Henry interrupted your thoughts with a chuckle.

“You’re overworking that mind of yours, Professor.”

You made a face as he laughed again.

“Come, we’ll get you settled and get you some tea and allow you to rest. Then, tonight, we’ll go out and witness Christmas Time in London.”

“That is just the ticket. Thank you again, Sir Cavill.”

You gave Henry your full smile and a little curtsey this time, and you could see Henry’s smile falter. He cleared his throat and opened the door of the SUV for you. You got in, relaxed in the luxurious seats, and was asleep before Henry and Benjamin got your bags in the car.

As the car rolled along into London, Henry watched you sleeping. You were beautiful, unguarded and soft. He knew that you didn’t know how gorgeous you were and that you constantly compared yourself to Jasmine. For him, there was no comparison. The first time he saw you, it was like he was struck by lightning. At that time, he thought it was unlucky. Only with time and maturity did he realize that he could make his own luck. With you.

You awoke as the car pulled into a drive of a beautiful, large white building. It was almost like a castle. Henry was staring and you stared back, disoriented at first. You looked around.

“Is this the hotel?”

Henry smiled at you.

“It’s my home.”

You smiled back at him.

“It’s beautiful. Will Benjamin be taking me to my hotel after this?”

“I was hoping you would stay here… those were the plans when Juniper- Rose was coming and I… “

Your mouth was hanging open and Henry’s heart sank.

“Of course, I’ll get you a hotel…”

You felt bad. Henry had done an awful lot for you.

“No need! I’d love to stay here. You are too kind.”

Henry looked troubled.

“Y/N, I…”

 “Yes?”

“Never mind. Let’s get you settled.”

Your suite of rooms were gorgeous. It was basically a little flat, with a sitting room, en suite and a huge four poster bed, and roaring fireplace. 

As soon as you were in your suite, tea was delivered. You are something, took a shower and then rested, letting everyone know you had landed. You were due to get dinner with Henry at 7 PM London time. You decided to nap some more to get over your jet lag. You needed to clear your head of all of your anxious thoughts, and sleep always helped.

It seemed your dreams were filled with thoughts of Henry as well. You woke up warm and wet, as well as dismayed that you were going to be with him in England for so long with this yearning need and no way to satisfy it. You were glad that you had packed your small toy. You needed some relief before you saw him again, or you were liable to jump his bones.

When you came down the stairs at 6 pm, you took Henry’s breath away. You were dressed in a bright red sweater which showcased your cleavage and form fitting black pants that showed all of your curves. Your face was slightly flushed and your smile was shier than this morning. He just wanted to take you in his arms when you reached the bottom stair.

“You look Lovely, Y/N.”

Henry’s eyes shone at you. Damn, he was being so nice.

“How do you feel?”

“Well. I think I’ve done my best to fast forward my body to Londont time. Ready to go!”

You moved to put your coat on, and Henry took it, his fingers brushing your neck as you were getting it settled. He felt your slight shiver as he let his fingers linger just a moment. He had a little bit of hope.

You took him in. Henry had changed from his pullover and joggers that he had on in the morning to a broadcloth shirt unbuttoned at the neck and with sleeves rolled up. He was in dress pants and shoes, and his hair looked combed but run through with fingers. You wished you could play in those curls. You stared for what seemed like forever until Henry cleared his throat and offered his arm. 

“Are you ready to see the sights?”

“I sure am, Your Grace.”

Henry rolled his eyes and shook his head

“Stop. If anything, I should be on my knees for you.”

“What?”

You didn’t quite believe that you heard him correctly. He smiled.

“Nothing, let’s go.”

——

You were absolutely charmed all night. Henry showed you around London sights at sunset and a dinner at Cafe Cecilia. You talked with Henry like you were old friends, and you were, in your way.

Any anxiety you had about Jasmine was erased from your mind with the good food, good wine, and good conversation, mostly about you. If you didn’t know any better, you would think this was a date.

When you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, you didn’t see Henry checking out your ass in your slacks, you just saw how happy you were in the mirror when you washed your hands, you tried to tell yourself to calm down, that he wasn’t into you at all.

Meanwhile, Henry was wiping his hands on his slacks, trying to quiet his own nerves. Your conversations over the years stuck with Henry, and he played them over and over in his mind. When it got to the point that he was replaying how your mouth looked, your curves that his eyes couldn’t help but trace, and the erotic dreams he had about you, Henry had to admit to himself that he had more than just friendly feelings for you.

When he looked up and saw you coming back to the table, his erratic heartbeat and the fact that he could swear that your nipples were erect and pointing right at him, made him decide to tell you how he felt. That night.

An hour and a half later, you were looking over the night skyline with Henry in the private London Eye pod he rented when he spoke to you, barely above a whisper. His voice was hesitant and gruff. And sexy as hell.

“Y/N. I think I… I do.. I feel for you very deeply.”

You turned to him, butterflies loose in your belly.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Come on, Y/N. Exactly how much more hinting do I have to do? I am absolutely besotted with you. I told Jasmine how I felt months ago.”

Henry was looking at you, with those beautiful blue eyes determinedly fixed upon you as you paced before him inside the capsule. It was not lost upon you the fact that his eyes were taking in the entirety of your figure. The backdrop of the lights of the city surrounding you from atop the Eye made the scene that much more romantic.

But you didn’t feel romantic. You felt incredulous. 

Henry stood up from the bench in the middle of the pod.

“Y/N. I text you every morning..”

“But that’s just your lunch time.”

“I call you my Dear Professor..”

“That’s… that’s just a British thing, like Sherlock Holmes..”

Henry raised his eyebrow at you and looked stern.

“Y/N. I think about you all the time. I am constantly thinking of how to tell you how I feel and now that you are here, in front of me, I’ve decided to just say it.”

You stared at him.

“Well.”

Henry sighed, frustrated.

“Well. I have deep feelings for you.”

“I can’t believe… you did all this. For me?You hardly know me.”

“Don’t start this again. I want to get to know you.”

“Are you trying to get next to Jasmine again?”

Henry threw his hands up.

“What has this got to do with her?”

“Everything has to do with her!”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does.”

Henry was mad.

“Tell you what. Forget I said anything.”

“Fine.”

“Great.”

You two sat in the pod in silence for the next 15 minutes until the ride was done. Henry was texting on his phone and by the time you disembarked, Benjamin was waiting with the car. 

You were despondent as you drove back to Henry’s place. You watched him glaring out of the window and thought you’d certainly blew your chance.

“Good night, Y/N.”

Henry breezed by you as you entered the house. You said goodnight to his back as he went up the stairs. 

Yep. You blew it.

30 minutes later, Henry was tossing and turning, fighting the urge to go to your rooms and fuck you into submission. You needed to be tied up and… Needless to say that Henry was not getting a good sleep thinking of all the ways he could try and make you understand.

You were nowhere near sleep. The nap earlier and the time difference had you wide awake. As well as thoughts of Henry.

After an hour and a half, you found yourself in the hallways looking for Henry’s rooms. As you crept down a passageway, a door opened on your right.

Henry, sexy as hell in pajama bottoms and curly chest hair, glared down at you.

“What are you doing?”

The question was terse, and you felt the chill. He was still mad.

“I was thinking…” 

You bit your lip as you looked up at him, and Henry melted a bit. But just a bit.

“That’s the problem. You think too much.”

“I know…”

You found yourself playing the brat and moving closer to him as he guarded his doorway.

“But I wanna know what you think.”

Henry sighed.

“What I think about what?”

His raised eyebrow indicated that he was about done with you. You feared a spanking. And that made you smile.

“What do you think about when you think of me…”

Henry blinked and pursed his lips. But he didn’t hesitate for long.

“I think about how smart you are, how funny. I think about how our conversations make me think. And I wonder what goes on in that head of yours.”

You lifted your chin to look him in the eye. Henry returned your gaze, then allowed his eyes to follow the form of your body in your thin t-shirt and short shorts.

Henry’s jaw clenched and he seemed to take a step back. You pursued him, stepping forward.

“Is that all?”

You felt more confident now, and your sultry voice was barely above a whisper. Henry had to concentrate not just to listen, but to hold himself back.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Don’t I?” 

You kept moving forward until you were toe to toe with Henry.

“Tell me all your thoughts. Even the naughty ones. Especially the naughty ones. I wanna know what goes on in that head…”

You reached up on tip toes and ran your fingers through his hair, brushing the curls back that had fallen into his face.

Henry grabbed you by the waist and pulled you flush to him, so that you could feel his burgeoning erection.

“I’ve got to kiss you first.”

And he did.

His lips pressed against yours, lightly, rubbing across yours, then he opened his mouth and his tongue tipped out and traced your cupid’s bow. Then he took your bottom lip and nipped lightly, causing you to gasp and as you did so, he claimed your mouth. He suckled your tongue, ruining your panties as his hands slipped down and grabbed your ass. You were breathless as he pulled away. 

You looked up into his hungry eyes as they blazed blue fire.

“I think about that. Kissing those lips, feeling this beautiful body. I think about your breasts, what color your areolas, how they would taste. I dream about how your ass would feel. I think about lying between these thighs and having you sit on my face. God, Y/N…”

His long fingers squeezed your bottom and pulled your cheeks apart. The sound and feel of your wetness set Henry’s soul on fire. You whimpered in his clutches.

“Is it possible that you want me as much as I want you?”

Henry tried to peer into your soul.

“If not, tell me now, and I will not bother you again. But if there is some chance…. by God, I want you, Y/N….”

“Henry I…” 

He was waiting for word from you. You moved your hands from Henry’s chest down to his cock, which was large and throbbing between you.

“Henry, I want you too.”

“So you want to do this? With me?”

“Exactly how much more hinting do I have to do? Fuck me, Sir.”

Henry smiled as he hauled you backward into his room. He sat down on the bed and you climbed up onto his lap, grinding together through your night clothes as he pulled your hair back and attacked your neck with kisses and bites. His other hand went up your shirt to weigh your breast and roll and pinch your nipple.

He bared his teeth in enjoyment as you squirmed on him.

���So so reactive for me, does that feel good, yeah?”

You panted and nodded yes, caught up in the energy of the moment.

He slapped your nipple hard. You keened and shouted, “Yes, oh yesssss.”

You felt his cock throb.

“Just as I thought. You’re a naughty little girl. My naughty little girl now…”

Henry dipped below your t-shirt and started sucking your nipple hard and nipping at it as you desperately tried to find friction on your clit. You hastily pulled off your shirt, then tried to put your hand down your pants.

“Ah ah ah. Don’t touch.”

Henry captured your hand and bent it behind your back, bending you backward as he turned around and deposited you on your back. 

“So so beautiful.”

He bent over you and ran first his hands, then his lips and then his tongue over your areolas, grinding into you again. Your legs bent around him, trying to lock him into the friction against your nub. Your whines got to him and you watched as he took off his shirt.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

“Need you, Henry.”

“Need you too, love. I’ve been waiting for this for years.”

You reached for his pants.

“Give it to me, Sir. Please Sir, Please.”

“Fuck. You sure you want it?”

You started rolling your own nipples and you arched your back as you let your legs fall apart.

“Most definitely. Sir.”

Henry’s eyes were mesmerized, drawn to your core and your weeping, wet cunt. He automatically pulled down his pants and his huge thick cock slapped him on his stomach.

“I am so weak for you.”

You wanted him even weaker so you sat up and tested his weight in your palm. You looked up at him as you wet your lips.

“Wanna taste you. Can I, Your Grace?”

You pecked his dripping tip and let the string of precum stretch to your lips from the head of him as you gently played with his balls. Henry’s voice was impossibly deeper now.

“You may…ughhhhhhhh.”

You slipped your lips around him and drew him into your mouth, using your tongue to circumnavigate him. You had to hinge your mouth open wide to take his girth. You knew your jaw was going to be sore in the morning.

“Naughty, sweet naughty girl. Do you like to get your face fucked? Oooohhh, fuuuck!”

Henry’s hips started moving as his fingers pulled your nipples.

“I wanted the first time to be sweet and tender, but you… you are better than my wildest dreams. And I do mean wild.” 

Henry fisted your hair and held you to him, forcing your throat open with his thick member and causing you to gag. After a few seconds, he let go, but you stayed down, causing him to curse.

“Bloody hell, you’re going to make me cum down your throat.”

“Ummmm hmmmm.” 

You answered as you pulled off, messy with spit and pre cum. Henry’s eyes were alight as he bent down to grab your thighs and toss you back on the bed.

“You’re trying to get properly fucked, but I need to taste you first.”

He lay down beside you and grabbed you again, palming your ass in his hands as he maneuvered your legs around his shoulders. His hands were your seat as he prepared to eat you like some decadent fruit. He brought you to his mouth and his eyes watched you as he tasted you. They rolled back as if in rapture and he dove in, fully suckling and laving you.

Henry stopped long enough to say, “Sit down!” because you were trying not to put your full weight on him.

When he pulled you down on his face, his tongue went deep inside you as he nibbled at your clit. His tongue was so skillful that your legs drew up around his head and your thighs started shaking. 

You pulled at his hair and started begging.

“Stop, please stop. Henry. Sir. I’m gonna… I’m… ahhhhh!”

When you came, and released into his mouth, you tried to climb off of him, but he held you fast, eyes dark with warning.

When he came up for air, Henry grinned at you.

“Now’s the time to split you open, Love.”

He literally grabbed you and positioned you above his pelvis. You knew what to do from there and you watched as he positioned himself so that you could slide down around him. You looked up at him as you bend your thighs so that his tip could breach your entrance.

“You feel as good as you taste.” 

Licked his lips as you slid down around him slowly, his thick cock difficult to take. The stretch almost took you out, but your wetness helped you out. You felt unimaginably filled to the brim with Sir Henry Cavill.

“So fucking tiny, Love. You feel so good, my naughty little girl.”

You whimpered as you stayed still to adjust to him, and as you grabbed his hand to feel himself inside your abdomen. His eyes got wide.

“Such a tight fit. D’you feel me? Feel me inside there?”

His cock throbbed and he started to move a little, eyes dilating as you winced.

“Does it hurt, Love?”

“Y-y-es Sir. Only a little.” 

You bit your lip as Henry spit on his thumb and started working your clit.

“Don’t worry, Love. I’ll make it feel better.’

“Hnnnghhhh. Ohhhh!”

Your back bowed as Henry pistoned inside you, and the pain turned to pure pleasure. Henry sat up and held your arms behind your back with one hand, and man handled your breast with the other. He suckled your nipple through his fingers and then gave you a filthy kiss.

“Do you want to be mine?”

“Hnnnhhh. Yes. Yes. Sir.”

“Good girl. You know what to say already.” 

He gave you a sweet peck on your lips as he pinches your nipple. Hard. That caused you to shatter, and you came around his cock.

Henry looked down.

“Look at that cunt. Pulling me in so greedily.”

He looked back up at you.

“Look at your face. So Lovely with it all fucked out.”

You were lost in his eyes as he rotated so that your back was on the bed.

“Need you to cum Sir. Job’s not done.”

“Your wish is my command. Tonight. But I will demonstrate to you who your Lord is later on.”

And Henry started to pull out, stopping just in time to save your sanity as you were ready to fight if he left you right now. He hiked your leg around his waist as he delivered powerful thrusts to seat himself deep inside you.

“I wanted to be gentle, but no. You pull this primal nature out of me. I can’t be polite.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be, Sir. Be yourself. Give me yourself. Take me.”

Henry grunted and suckled your collarbone, sure to leave a mark as he pumped sloppily into you.

“Cum again…”

You obeyed his command as he reached between you and thrummed your clit. You detonated just before he did and you both came back together in each other’s arms, sweaty and out of breath.

You stared at him as if he weren’t real.

“What’s wrong, Love?”

“I now know the meaning of Happy Christmas.”

Henry smiled and kissed your forehead.

“It is a happy Christmas, indeed.”

Reblog = Love

[baroquebucky]

lover is a day

a/n: hi pals !! here is a sort of angsty but fluffy fic inspired by another cuco song ! i cant believe tfaws is over i miss them already :[ lyrics in bold ! srry for any typos </3

buckys mind is racing all the time, you’re there to slow him down

word count: 3.1k

masterlist

will you love this part of me?

Bucky tried his damn best to keep you out of the avenging part of his love. He never introduced you to the team, only telling Steve about you and Sam finding out because he stole Buckys phone and you just so happened to call him.

You saw the trends on Twitter, seeing the videos of your boyfriend easily take down seven men in a bar in madripoor. You tried your best to not watch it, knowing he wouldn’t want you to. Curiosity getting the best of you, you clicked the trend, mouth dropping as you saw the way he fought.

His eyes were cold, he moved like it was second nature to him, it was frightening to see how easy it came to him.

You jumped as your phone vibrated, an incoming call from bucky pausing the video. You hesitated before answering, putting on a bright smile and trying to forget what you had just seen.

“hi doll face” Bucky smiled, you heard the thumping of music in the background.

“hi buck, are you at a club?” You questioned, a smile on your face as he let out a sigh, rolling onto his back on the couch he was on.

“I’m at Sharon’s place, she has this whole museum club thing going on” he explained, your eyes wide at the mention of the agent.

“Sharon? like Steve Sharon? Sharon from shield?” You questioned, bucky smiled at your interest, nodding along to your words, quickly replying when he realized you weren’t on FaceTime.

Bucky kept you in the loop, not wanting you to get caught off guard if anything were to happen. He just made sure you were never in danger and no one knew about you, as much as he’d want to shout from the roof just how much he loved you.

“that’s the one, I’ll explain when i get back” he spoke calmly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands as he put you on speaker.

Bucky talked about some movie he wanted to watch, your mind drifting back to the video, your heart thumping in your ears.

“doll?” He asked, his voice echoing in you room.

“what, sorry i got distracted” you replied, trying to play it off. Bucky frowned, his heart sinking at the realization.

“you saw it” he spoke simply, moving to sit up on the couch again, his eyes focusing on the floor.

You wanted to lie, say you had no idea what he was talking about. But you couldn’t, mouth opening only to close seconds later.

“I never wanted you to see that part of me” he spoke, you stayed quiet, letting him talk.

“Doll, I’m not him anymore i promise” he hesisted, “Zemo made me do it and i didn’t think i would- i just im gonna go” he spoke, hanging up quickly, heart heavy.

Furthering my distance from you

Bucky was never the best at speaking his mind, always too caught up in his own thoughts to say what he felt, thinking it never mattered and he should keep to himself.

You texted him right after, telling him to please take care, that you loved him. He didn’t reply.

It wasn’t for another couple days when he came home, entering quietly trying to not wake you up in case you were asleep already.

He set his bags down softly, entering the room and expecting to find you curled up. Buckys heart raced as he looked up to see you staring at him with a smile on your face, getting off the bed quickly and throwing yourself onto him.

“i missed you so much james” you whispered, squeezing him slightly as your arms wrapped around him.

“y/n i-” he began, pushing you back softly. You let go reluctantly, knowing he wanted his space.

I’m okay as long as you keep me from going crazy

“Bucky, it’s okay” you replied, stopping him from going down a rabbit hole if you didn’t. You looked at him, the light from your bedside lamp only slightly illuminating the room.

“i know thats not you anymore, sometimes you have to do something’s to get stuff and i get that angel” you spoke, looking at him softly, slowly grabbing his hand and squeezing.

“i still love you bucky, with all my heart” you smiled, wishing you could see the way his cheeks flushed at your words.

He looked up from the floor, you could barely making out the way his lips turned up in a small smile.

“do you really?” He whispered, stepping closer so that your faces were only inches apart. You nodded, eyes flickering to his lips after a couple of seconds.

“I love you more doll” he replied, ears burning as you pulled him in for a kiss, holding the collar of his shirt to pull him closer.

You pulled away with a smile on your face, looking at him for a second before throwing your arms around him, holding him tightly. Bucky wrapped his arms around after a second, placing a kiss ontop of your head, never wanting to let you go.

You can’t get by with a lie

Bucky shot up, sweating and breathing heavy, looking over to see you stirring slightly at his movement.

“buck?” You mumbled, eyes still closed as you turned opening them slightly to reach for the super soldier. You placed a gentle hand on his vibranium one, looking at him with your fuzzy vision.

“nightmare?” you mumbled, sitting up and looking at him, his chest still heaving as he shook his head.

“no it- I’m fine” he spoke, “Cmon let’s get back to sleep” he smiled tightly but you shook your head, looking at him sternly.

“James we talked about this, please, talk to me angel” you looked at him, now fully awake and wanting to help bucky through his nightmares. He hesitated, sighing and fiddling with the edge of the blanket.

“okay” he nodded, heart racing as you helped him through his nightmare. You reminded him how he had changed, how he was a new person and he was trying his best to make amends.

“You’re okay, you’re here and you’re free” you spoke, hugging him tightly and stroking his arm soothingly. Bucky nodded, closing his eyes and focusing on your beating heart.

Funny thing about you is you read me pretty well

You clenched your fist, wanting to throw your laptop across the room as your work frustrated you once again. Your breathing was heavier and you let out a small sigh, not wanting to alert bucky.

After a couple more minutes you felt the tears pricking your eyes, squeezing them shut in hopes they would go away.

You got up quickly, heading toward the kitchen to get a drink of water, leaving bucky alone in the room. He turned to look at you, noting how fast you were walking and the way you were breathing shakily.

Bucky gave you a minute, waiting to see if you’d come back. When you didn’t return he followed you, seeing you staring out the cup in your hand with intense focus.

“doll, what’s wrong?” You looked at him, putting a smile on your face and shaking your head.

“I’m fine buck, just thirsty” he frowned, walking towards you and pulling you into his arms.

“i know you too well for that to work on me doll” he sighed, stroking your back softly as you but back tears, finally letting a sob out. “let it out doll I’m here.”

Me and Mr. Heart we say the cutest things about you

Bucky smiled at the way you jumped for joy when you saw a dog in the park, immediately talking his ear off about how you had always wanted your own.

“don’t you think we should adopt? I think we’re at that point y’know?” You smiled, starry eyes as you turned to look at him.

Never in his life had he felt more in love, he thought of how perfect you looked, with slightly messy hair from the wind and a stain on your shirt from the time he accidentally splashed paint on you.

He felt the world around him fade away, focusing only on you and your words, rattling off some facts about people with pets being happier in an effort to convince him.

Bucky thought of the way you had always cared for him, living him with all you were. He thought of how you were the most caring person in the world to him, how you were the most radiant person in the room no matter what.

He loved you so much and all he wanted was to make you happy.

“I’ve always been a cat person” he teased, loving the way you rolled your eyes with a playful smile on your face.

“we could get a cat, they’re calm and sweet” you nodded, taking his hand and pulling him towards the parking lot.

How could bucky say no when you looked so excited?

You held the white cat in your arms a few weeks later, a huge smile on your face as he purred into your touch.

“welcome home alpine” you smiled, setting the cat down and letting him explore.

Buckys heart grew in his chest, you seemed so unreal. You were everything he ever wanted and everything he ever needed. And you were all his.

You looked at bucky, a smile on your face as he picked up the cat, setting him gently on his lap.

“thought you were gonna get us a dog the whole time we were there” he spoke, looking at you as you stared at the pair, standing across the room and putting away some cat food and toys.

“you said you were a cat person” you replied, “plus you’re happy right?” You questioned, walking over and sitting down next to him, reaching out to scratch the back of Alpines ears.

“very happy doll” he smiled, eyes settling on the cat in his lap, wanting to place kisses all over the now sleeping feline.

“then I’m happy that you’re happy” you smiled, kissing his cheek softly, letting your head rest on his shoulder and enjoy the company of your now two favorite boys.

My lover is a day I can’t forget

“Do you remember how we met?” You asked suddenly, bucky smiled as he recalled the memory.

“doll it’s 3 am” he chuckled, the streetlight sneaking in through the curtains as you two lay in bed.

“so you don’t” you huffed, turning so your back would face him. Bucky smiled at your reaction, quickly turning you back around to face him.

“of course i do doll” he replied, a soft smile still on his face, “why?”

“what did you think of me?” You wondered, wiggling a bit to get more comfortable. You had a small smile on your face as he began talking.

“i thought you were too nice, they got your whole order wrong and you still ate the whole thing” he smiled.

Buckys eyes had immediately landed on you when he entered the small diner, seeing you smiling with a couple of your friends.

Steve was insistent on getting him to go to more places and this was #1 on his list.

“so those are my favorites you can always look through the menu though i guess” steve smiled, noticing his friends focus on you.

“thank you!” You smiled at the waitress, taking the dish from her, turning to your friends as soon as she left.

“i didn’t order this” you grumbled, your friends insisting you send it back.

“but what if she’s having a bad day already? and this is the last straw? It’s fine i can just eat it it’ll be fine” you shook your head, taking a bite and making a face.

“send it back y/n!” Your friend persisted and you shook your head, you were so stubborn.

“it’s not that bad!” You smiled, eating the whole thing, “wish it was the other one though” you giggled as your friends rolled their eyes.

Bucky kept glancing over at you, trying to not make it obvious. Steve decided against saying anything, making easy conversation with his best friend.

You hit your friend gently, a blush on your face when your eyes had landed on the two super soldiers.

“okay don’t be obvious” you began, “that’s steve rogers and bucky barnes?” You whispered, your friends all turning and looking at the table.

Bucky had just so happened the be glancing over, making eye contact with you, his face went red as he saw your whole table staring at the pair.

“You were so shy, you didn’t even have the guts to say hi” he teased and you punched him softly.

“you didn’t say anything either in my defense” you smiled, fiddling with his dog tags.

You turned back quickly, slapping a hand on your face as your friends laughed. “I said don’t be obvious did i not!”

“didn’t you say you would die for him? You talk about him almost everyday” your friend teased and you hit her, face burning.

“shut up! they’re super soldiers what if they hear you” you snuck a glance at their table, seeing the way bucky had a small smirk on his face and Steve was holding back a laugh.

“i hate you guys, i really do” you mumbled, “should i say sorry? I feel like i should say sorry right?”

“You just want an excuse to give that man sex eyes” another one of your friends spoke up and you rolled your eyes.

You snuck a glance at bucky making eye contact, you gave a small smile which he happily returned, waving slightly. You waved back, quickly turning back to your friends as your heart raced.

You and your friends paid and left not long after, Steve and bucky following a couple minutes after. You said your goodbyes in the parking lot, giving them tight hugs.

“you sure you don’t want a ride?” They had asked and you shook your head, waving her off as you walked to the bus stop down the street, sitting on the bench and scrolling through your social media mindlessly.

You looked up as someone sat next to you, giving them a small smile before realizing it was bucky. Your eyes went wide and you froze, eyes focused on your now locked phone. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

You glanced at bucky, face flushing when you made eye contact.

“you were so charming, i still don’t understand how you could be so calm” you spoke, looking at him as he let out a snort.

“i was shitting myself the whole time doll” he laughed, “I’m surprised i didn’t fuck up the moment i opened my mouth.”

“I’m bucky” he smiled, extending his had for you to shake. You smiled back, shaking his hand before replying, “I’m y/n.”

You were quiet for a second before turning to face him again, “I’m sorry for my friends in the diner, they can be a bit much” you chuckled, fiddling with your phone in your hands.

“don’t worry ‘bout it, I’m flattered honestly” he replied and you cocked your head.

“oh?” You replied, confused at his response.

“I mean to have a pretty girl like you thinking about me? An honor really” he spoke smoothly, a charming smile on his face as he looked at you.

“i- well- uh, thank you?” You let out a breathy laugh, and he smiled at you, moving onto another topic of conversation.

Next thing you knew the two of you were sat together on the bus, laughing as you two exchanged stories and talked about your interests.

“this is my stop” you frowned, not wanting to end the conversation yet. Buckys heart raced, debating on wether or not he should make a move or not. Steve would surely have his head on a spike if he didn’t.

“i- well, if you want i can walk you, it’s dark and i don’t want you in any danger” he spoke, stumbling in his words.

“I’d love that buck” you smiled and he looked at you with a grin on his face, following you out of the bus.

The evening air was cool, it felt nice against your flushed skin, a smile on both of your faces as you walked towards your apartment. The sound of your laughter filling the open air.

You arrived at your apartment building, exchanging numbers and saying goodbye, already looking forward to see each other next time.

“can’t believe you walked me back” you giggled, butterflies in your stomach as you remembered how flirty he was that night.

“i never told you but i had actually driven to the place” bucky blushed, “Steve had been busy earlier so we met up there” he laughed as your mouth flew open.

“so you had to go all the way back to get your car?!” Bucky smiled bashfully, “you even paid to take the bus!” You squealed, sitting up quickly and leaning against the headboard.

“I wasn’t gonna let public transportation stand between me and the love of my life!” Bucky replied quickly, sitting up next to you.

“you barely knew me!”

“i wanted to get to know you! that was the whole point” he shot back, a smile on his face when he noticed how flustered you were.

“you did all that for me” you looked at him fondly and he nodded.

“and I’d do so much more for you now” Bucky smiled, kissing your cheek softly before moving to your jaw and then your lips.

“I love you so much doll” he whispered, pulling you into his arms. You let him wrap himself around you, holding you closely to his chest.

“i love you more lovely” you replied, placing a soft kiss on his bicep. He held you for a couple more moments before letting go, letting you move back to his side and lay on his chest.

“you do so much for me doll, you keep me grounded, you make me happy, you keep me from going crazy, wish i could do the same” he mumbled, his fingers scratching at your scalp and making your eyes flutter shut.

“you do all that and more for me too james, you just never realize” you whispered, yawning as he continued his movements.

“how about we go to sleep, and I’ll tell you all tomorrow just how much you do for me, yeah?” You mumbled, opening your eyes slightly. Bucky nodded, laying down and getting comfortable, moving so that he could spoon you, draping an arm around your waist and pulling you to his chest.

“goodnight lover boy” you mumbled, he smiled at the nickname.

“goodnight dollface” he whispered, kissing your neck softly before closing his eyes, hearing alpines soft purring from across the room.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One Night🌙4

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (to be warned later in series)

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: One night changes your entire life.

for @kittykatlow​‘s 200 Follower Celebration

Note: Well, at long last you get another chapter of Andy Barber and I’m just as impatient all y’all!

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Masterlist

Andy's perfect suburban neighbourhood was enough to make you feel out of place. His house only added to that boiling insecurity as he pulled into the wide driveway. He kept his calm but taunting silence up as classic rock continued to blare from the radio, interrupted by jarring jingles and ridiculous radio jockey banter.

As he killed the engine, the sudden silence hit you like a wall. You opened the car door but found it hard to go much further. The door shut and you planted your hand against it. 

Andy startled you as he came up beside you, your suitcase rolling behind him as your large tote was slung over his shoulder. You made to grab the bag and he waved you away.

"Come on," He nodded to the house, "You said you were tired. I'll get you settled and you can rest."

You frowned but said nothing. You walked ahead of him around the front of his car and up the mosaic path that led to his front door. He fished around in his pocket and brushed against you as he reached to unlock the front door. He pushed it open and waited for you to enter.

The place looked straight out of a catalogue. White furniture!? Who in their right mind lived like this. It would be like living in a museum. You inched inside and stopped short in front of Andy as a photo of his wife and kid met you on the small side table just beside the couch. He barely kept from colliding with you.

He dropped your bag against the wall and let your suitcase go. He reached around you and took the picture. He cleared his throat and stepped away. You watched him through the wide archway that opened up on the other side of the staircase. You could barely see him as he went to the kitchen and shoved the frame in a drawer.

He returned, his eyes avoiding you and gathered up your bags. He edged past you, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to look back at you.

"Well, you coming?" He asked and started up the staircase.

You followed a few feet back as his footfalls echoed around you. He led you down the hallway and pulled closed a door as he passed. You glanced the posters on the wall and a seemingly interrupted scene still set up within. The snap of the clasp kept you going.

He turned back at the next doorway and sighed. He shrugged and nodded to it.

"I'm just across the hall," He said. "And you'll have... space."

His tone was sour and you didn't miss the tic in his jaw. He waited until you stepped ahead of him and opened the door yourself. He pushed your suitcase just inside and set your bag on the bed. A floral quilt was pulled across the top as similar flowers hung in oval frame along the wall.

"Never really had many guests," He said as he pushed back his jacket and gripped his hips. "Don't even know if anyone but me ever slept in here. You know, had a beer too many and... well, you take a nap and we'll talk when you get up."

"I can find somewhere else," You said.

"You won't," He insisted. "Not now. Talk later." He went to the door and grabbed the handle, pausing before he could pull it shut behind him. "I've got some work to finish up. I'll be in my office. Downstairs, just off the front room. Just by the Sox banner."

"Sure," You turned away in resignation. "I guess I'll find you."

A long exale came from him just before he slowly pulled the door closed. You listened for the click then hung your head. How did this man expect to start a new family when his old one still lived here? It didn't matter how many pictures he hid, he couldn't just push them out.

🌙

Once you laid down, it wasn't hard to fall asleep. The days had piled atop your eyelids and dragged you down into a heavy doze. You awoke on your side, your arm trapped beneath you and tingling. You groaned and sat up, your head ached with each move.

You yawned and looked out the window. It was dark. You rubbed your eyes and did your best to rouse yourself. The house was silent. You inched the door open and listened. You crept out and headed down the hall to the stairs. Again, you listened and heard nothing.

You descended and went to the kitchen. You found a tall glass from the cupboard and filled it from the tap. As you turned around, the rim just before your lips, you jumped at the shadow that appeared in the archway. 

Andy flicked the light on. He leaned on the wooden frame and crossed his arms. His button up was rolled up past his elbows and his hair was mussed as if he'd been running his fingers through it over and over. You choked on the water and steadied yourself.

"Hey," You coughed. "What's, uh, I was just... thirsty."

"It's fine. By all means," He uncrossed his arms and stood straight. 

He neared the end of the island that stood parallel to the sink. You set your glass down on it nervously. 

"I... just woke up. I thought maybe you were already... sleeping." You said. You were hoping, actually.

"No, not yet. You hungry?" He asked.

"Not really," You replied. "Thanks."

"You should eat. What did you have today?"

"I... um," You tried to think. You'd had half a club sandwich at the diner. "I had a sandwich and um, a cookie on the way home."

"That's hardly enough for two," He neared the corner of the island. "I'm not a bad cook. I could make you something. Or order something?"

"Really, it's fine--"

"It's not--" He raised his hand to calm himself. "It's not fine. You're carrying my child. You starve myself, you starve them. So... eat." He turned and opened the fridge. "I've got some hummus and veggies you can munch on and uh, thin crust pizza I can toss in."

He turned and set down a tupperware of celery, carrots, and cauliflower along with a container of hummus. He closed the fridge and opened the freezer with a puff of cool air. He took out a thin crust cheese and spinach pizza.

He went to the stove and held down the temperature button. He turned back and opened the box as he waited for the over to preheat. He took out the pizza and peeled away the plastic. He left it on the counter and came closer again. He pulled the lid off the tupperware and the smaller container.

"Eat," He said. "Is everything gonna be this difficult?"

You scowled and grabbed a carrot stick. You scooped up a glob of hummus and bit into with zeal, all the while staring him down. You smiled at him with mouth full and chewed.

"So, can we talk or are you going to continue to act like a child?" He asked.

"I don't know, are you going to keep acting like my dad," You huffed.

He blinked and shook his head.

"I'm open to compromise but if you're gonna be like this, I won't be so understanding," He hissed. "So sit," He pushed a tall stool towards you. "And eat."

"Yes, father," You climbed up on the stool and grabbed some celery.

"I always thought it was 'daddy'," He raised his brow. You scoffed at his bad joke.

The oven dinged and he shoved the pizza inside. He set the time and stood across the island from you. He put one hand on his hip as his other gripped the edge of the marble.

"Tomorrow, you make an appointment." He said.

"Sure," You picked out a piece of cauliflower. 

"And you can't keep working two jobs. You gotta drop one." He stated. "It's not good for you or the baby."

"You can't just make me give up my livelihood." You argued.

"Livelihood? How much do you think you make in a year? Probably no where close to twenty grand. I make at least five times. We can afford for you not to kill yourself--"

"'We'?!" You exclaimed. "Andy, there is no we."

He slapped the countertop suddenly and swore.

"Fuck's sake. You know for someone so damn helpless you sure do hate help!" He snarled. "It's like you want... you want this to go wrong. Everything has to go wrong so you can keep being the innocent little victim of your own life."

You recoiled and swallowed your mouthful. You threw the carrot stick in your hand at him. He batted it away easily.

"You don't fucking know me," You spat. "So don't you judge me."

"I know you fucked me in the toilet after about twenty minutes," He snickered.

You took the hummus and wipped it at him too. It splattered across his front and the container bounced across the counter.

"After three drinks, on top of several before," You snapped. "I don't have to explain myself to you." You got off the stool. "I don't want your fucking pity or whatever you're doing. I'm not going to be your little project."

You swept around the island but he caught your arm and pulled you back. The garlic from the hummus filled your nostrils and woke your hormonal hunger.

"Where are you going to go? You think I want you sleeping with my baby on the street?" He squeezed, hard. "And whatever you want to call it, my pity is better than the alternative."

"Let go," You wriggled in his grasp.

"You really wanna be a little bitch over a cafe gig?" He lowered his voice. "You walk out, I'll find you. I will not stop," He sneered. "You got it?"

"You're hurting me," You gritted through your teeth.

"Tomorrow you tender your resignation," He growled as his other hand came up to frame your chin. "Right?"

"Stop--"

"To-mor-row," He said decisively.

"Tomorrow," You uttered softly. "Okay?"

He smiled and nodded, slowly releasing you. He pulled loose his tie and slipped it over his head and unbuttoned his short. He slid it back down his shoulders and bared his chest. He approached the broad archway as he shed the shirt entirely. He stopped and turned to glance over his shoulder.

"I gotta clean myself up," He said. "I expect you to clean up the rest."

He left you and you squinted at the doorway. What an asshole. You took several deep breaths then took several sheets of papertowel from above the sink. You wiped the hummus from the counter and the floor and tossed the towel. You picked up the errant carrot stick as well and the oven beeped.

Everything about this kitchen was idyllic. It was the perfect suburban haven. The oven mitts, printed with an image of cheese and grapes, hung from the cupboard just beside the stacked ovens. You took them and pulled out the rack. You eased the pizza onto a plate and set it on the counter. You snapped the oven shut and turned it off after a brief struggle with the buttons.

Andy reappeared as you turned back, he wore a grey tee a some plaid pajama pants. Even in the bar, having done what you'd done, you'd never seen him without his suit. He was always the staunch lawyer man, even with a belly full of whiskey. Now he just looked like some guy.

"Two bulletpoints down," He said as he went to the drawer and searched for the pizza cutter. "I'd like to sort this out tonight. I have a long day tomorrow."

"Fine," You took the cutter from him and sliced the pizza into triangles. "What else can I do to appease you, your majesty?"

"For one, you will not be working beyond six months," He stated. "Can't risk it. Especially with those heavy trays."

"Six months? You know, they would accomodate me--"

"I'm a lawyer. You know how many workplaces are dragged into court for not accomodating employees?" He interjected.

"I'm a lawyer," You mimicked. "I get it. Six months."

"House rules," He raised his index, "Home before nine when you're not closing, but I'd prefer it if you stuck to day shifts," He instructed, "I'm pretty good about housework." He went tot he fridge and took down a notepad that had been pre-printed with a roster of chores. "We can switch off with dishes. I do laundry on Sundays but I take my dry-cleaning in on Friday. Sweeping and mopping, about once a week. I can take care of that if you can do a bit of dusting and tidying in the living room."

You stared at him. Was everything about his life so ordained? Well, surely not fucking a stranger ins a bar.

"I think I can clean up after myself," You sniffed. "Curfew, cleaning, good, got it."

"Right," He said gruffly, "And in regards to your care, you will inform me of all your appointments and medical concerns."

"Okay."

"And, I don't mind if you have friends over but let me know ahead of time," He continued. "No guys."

"What?" You chuckled dryly. "What are they gonna do? Knock me up again?"

"No guys," He snarled. "I mean it." You stared at him. You shook your head and he shoved the plate at you. "Eat."

You took a piece, the cheese stringy as it clung to the next. You bit into it and swallowed before you found your voice.

"Andy, this isn't-- we fucked in a bathroom," You muttered. "You can't think--"

"My house, my rules," He warned. "Now, you have your own room and freedom to anything inside this house. That's it. Fair trade. This isn't a negotiation."

"Fucking lawyer," You rolled your eyes. "You know, we get you in the diner all the time. You complain about the fucking food yet you're barely paying pocket change for a damn omelet then you don't even leave a tip. Write something on the receipt like 'resilience is more valuable than any bill'."

He laughed and ran his tongue along his bottom lip.

"Well, with an attitude like that, I can't imagine you ever getting stiffed..." He said. "...on a tip."

"Alright, I play by your stupid rules until this damn thing is out of me," You sneered. "That's it."

"Good girl," He smiled. "Now have a few more slices and you're free for the night."

[fredweesleyismyslut]

Just a Kiss part 2 - Draco Malfoy x Reader

A/N:  Hey guys!  This took me quite a bit to write because I had writers block and I literally rewrote it like three times and I like this one the best, so hopefully you guys do too!  Anyways, thank you so much for liking the first one.  Also, really random but I’m so excited for Christmas not just for presents but me and my friend have planned a Harry Potter marathon together for Christmas and I’m so excited to rewatch all the movies and we’re making snacks as well, so I’m so excited ahhhhh!  Hehe anyways, hope you guys enjoy and stay healthy!  Love you, forehead kisses mwah.

Arriving at the Malfoy manor you gaped in awe, staring at the house as you walked in.  “Wow, it’s been forever since I’ve been here.  Every time it feels bigger.”  Draco chuckled softly as he walked ahead to open the door for you.  Lucious walked in first as Narcissa came from the side of the room, having just walked down the flight of stairs.  “Y/n, I’ve been waiting for you.  I had dinner prepared and your room.  I hope you like everything.”  You smiled, going in for a hug, as you noticed the dinner table filled with food, “Wow, I think you prepared a feast, not a dinner.  I’m about to not fit into my pants tomorrow.”  Narcissa let out a soft laugh as she smiled down at you, “I wasn’t sure what you liked.”  “Oh, don’t worry Mrs. Malfoy I’ll love everything.  Thank you so much for the dinner and for letting me intrude on your Christmas.”  She smiled again, moving the hair away from your face, “Thank you for coming, I’m sure Draco will enjoy your company around here.”  You looked over at Draco, meeting his eyes as you quickly looked away, “Yeah…”  you said softly, as Narcissa looked over at Draco.  “Why don’t you show her to her room, darling so she can set her bags down.”  Draco nodded, leading the way as he grabbed your bags from you.  “No it’s..” you tried to protest, “I’m sure they’re quite heavy.  I can get one of them at least.”  Draco shook his head, “I’m not a scoundrel.  Besides they’re not heavy.”  he answered, as he easily lifted both bags up as he walked up the stairs.  “Okayyy, pack it up Hercules.”  you murmured under your breath as you followed.  Leading you to a room at the end of the hall Draco set your bags down, “My mother had the room decorated.” he said, motioning at the white frills on the bed and princess drapes hanging from them.  “Wow, ummm well just wow.  It’s gorgeous.”  He smirked softly as he walked to the edge of the room, “You can go ahead and change into something more comfortable, we’re having dinner soon.”  He closed the door behind him, as you heard soft footsteps reside down the hallway.  Changing into a set of pajamas you walked down the stairs, sitting at the full dinner table.  You were sat next to Draco, heart pounding softly as you glanced to your left.  You could see his soft cheekbones lead down to his jawline, skin pale as...you looked away quickly, noticing his icy blue eyes turn towards you.  Staring down at your food you tried to calm your breath, as Narcissa spoke up, “Do you two have any classes together?”  You looked up at her, “Well, we have potions together, nothing else really.”  She nodded, as she continued, “You’ve grown so much since I last saw you.  You’re really a grown woman now.”  She glanced between you and Draco softly, almost unnoticeable as she smiled softly.  “Well, I’m quite full.  I’ll see you two in the morning.”  You nodded as Lucious excused himself from the table as well, “Thank you again for the dinner.” you said, quickly as they walked up the flight of stairs.  You sat awkwardly for a few moments staring at your empty plate before you started to gather the plates together.  “What are you doing?”  Draco asked as he watched you gather the plates together.  “Ummmm cleaning?”  “That’s what the house elves are for isn’t it,” Draco stated matter of factly.  “Well, it’ll make the job easier for them if I at least get the plates gathered.”  You retorted, trying to keep from losing your temper at his rudeness.  Draco seemed truly confused as he looked up at you before he stood up as well, “It’s their job isn’t it?” he asked, as he grabbed your wrist to stop you.  Pulling your wrist from him you huffed, “That doesn’t mean you have to be a dick about it, Malfoy.  If you’re not going to help then go away.”  Draco stood for a few seconds before he went to the other side, gathering the rest of the plates before he quietly walked off.  “What a prick,” you muttered under your breath.  

Later that night you awoke in the middle of the night, a soft pressure gathering on your bladder as you laid in bed.  Groaning, you tried to ignore the feeling not wanting to leave the comfortable position you had made for yourself.  Finally not being able to handle it you sighed as you got out of bed, walking out of the room to go to the bathroom.  After relieving your bladder, you sighed in content, “Finally I can sleep again.”  you murmured softly, quietly padding your feet down the hallway till you heard a muffled sniffle from downstairs.  You silently gathered yourself, as you walked halfway down, just enough so you could take a peek.  As you peeked around the corner you saw Draco, sitting near the fireplace with red, swollen eyes.  You heard one phrase leave his mouth, “I can’t do this anymore.”  You wondered if you should move closer, feet faltering as you decided to go back to your room.  The staircase creaked softly under the weight of your foot as you quickly stopped, frozen in place as you thought, Of course, it fucking creaks now.  Just my luck isn’t it?  “Who’s there?” said Draco’s muffled voice, a slight strain in it.  Heart dropping, your stomach clenched as you peeked around the corner again, “Just me….I was just ummm thirsty haha.  I’m not anymore though so…”  He glared softly, as he replied, “Go ahead and get your water.”  Gulping softly, feeling as if there were rocks in your throat you nodded walking towards the kitchen to prepare a glass of water.  Footsteps pounded softly behind you as a hand put itself in front of you on the counter, “Don’t even think about speaking a word of this, y/l/n.”  His breath tickled your neck slightly as you nodded heart thumping as you waited for his footsteps to retreat, as you finally released the breath you didn’t know you had been holding.  The next day was just as awkward if not more as you avoided eye contact with Draco all day, scared to speak of last night.  In the middle of the night, you walked downstairs, deciding that the bedroom was too stuffy.  Who knew big houses could feel just as stuffy, even though there’s so much space, maybe it’s because although the Malfoy manor was huge it wasn’t lively.  It felt more like a museum than a house as if they were always ready to be their best selves.  A voice broke you from your thoughts, “You’re awake.”  Draco stated.  You chuckled softly, “Yeah, thanks for telling me captain obvious.”  You quickly closed your mouth, chastising yourself in your head at your sarcasm until you heard a soft chuckle break the silence.  As you peeked from under your lashes at Draco, catching a glimpse of his blue robs staring at you.  Clearing your throat you whispered softly, “Draco?”  “Hmmm?”  You swallowed, gathering courage as you continued, “Can I ask you something?”  “As long as it’s not stupid.”  Letting out a nervous giggle you asked, “Why were you...crying last night?  I heard you say something about how you couldn’t do something?”  You saw darkness flash in his eyes, as his body language visibly turned away from you, turning rigid as a rock as he replied, “None of your business, y/l/n.”  You cringed at the use of your last name coming so harshly from his mouth,  “Draco, please?  I’m worried for you.”  “And why would you be?  It’s not like you’re my friend.”  Sighing you gathered your breath, “Because I care, Draco.  I know it seems like no one noticed, Draco, but I see you.  The real you.  I don’t care about your house, your status, I care about you.  And you want to know what I see when I look at you?”  He cocked his head towards you, raising his eyebrows in question, “What?”  “I see a boy who’s terrified.  I don’t know what you’re so scared of Draco, but I want you to know I’m here, and just in case you didn’t know I passed DADA with flying colors.”  That earned a chuckle from him as he looked down at the hardwood table, “I don’t think that’s going to help me, besides you wouldn’t understand.”  You glared up at him, standing you ground, “Try me, Malfoy.”  His green orbs met yours as if he were searching for a safe place, as his stare faltered.  He sat down, talking about the expectations his father wanted from him and that it was too much, and how he feels as if he has to have a mask on all the time to seem as if he had his shit together.  You could tell he was holding something back, something even he was too afraid to admit out loud, but you didn’t push, instead slowly moving your hand forward, placing it on his wrist.  His arm tensed as his hand fidgeted with his sleeve, you noticed it but didn’t say anything as you moved your hand to his chin.  “It’ll be okay...I promise, Draco.”  Those words seemed to be exactly what he needed that pushed him over the edge, suddenly the cold, hard exterior of his washed away.  Instead, there was the scared boy sitting in front of you as he let out a soft sob.  Leaning into your hand, his lips trembled as he tried to hold back tears.  You sat silently as you moved closer, holding him to your chest as you rubbed small circles on his back, humming a melody your mother used to sing to you at night.  “I think I should go”  he whispered out, as he pulled away,, choking at the end as he abruptly stood up, “See you tomorrow night?” you asked, as Draco looked down, nodding softly before heading up the stairs. 

 Days had passed with you and Draco meeting every night, talking about anything and everything that nobody else knew.  It was your secret meeting, just the two of you in the world as you spilled your secrets as if the two of you had been friends for ages.  Christmas had approached just as quickly, you hadn’t even noticed the time passing.  You had wished Lucious and Narcissa a Merry Christmas as you gathered at the tree in the morning.  After passing gifts around, you smiled as Lucious and Narcissa exchanged gifts with you.  “Ummm I got something for you two as well”, you handed them gifts that Draco has helped you pick out and order as you had been talking one night.  After the exchanges they got up to leave as you got up, gathering all the wrapping paper left behind.  Draco stayed and helped, finishing up gathering the wrapping paper and taking it to the trash. You smiled at him as you looked out the window as Draco opened his mouth, “I-”  You cut him off, a childish giggle coming from you, “Draco, look it’s snowing!”  You ran towards the window, staring outside watching the snow gather on the ground.  Footsteps resounded from behind you as a hand placed itself on your waist, surprised you turned around.  “What are you-”  Draco’s lips found yours as he closed his eyes, cutting you off.  Closing your eyes you let yourself sink into the abrupt kiss, his soft, clod lips moving in sync with yours.  Finally, losing breath you pulled away as Draco gathered his breath before saying, “I’ve been waiting to do that.  Merry Christmas, y/n.”  You gaped in awe as you looked up at him, “I-I...Draco, I’m sorry-”  Draco’s eyes glanced at yours as you tried to gather your thoughts coherently enough to respond before he let out quickly, ‘Sorry”.  Before walking off.  “No, Draco, I-”  Staring at the snow you hit your head softly against the window, “I’m not sorry, though.”  as you chastised yourself softly at your response to his kiss, “Merlin, you’re stupid, y/n freaking y/l/n.” 

Tagged: @lord-byron​, @lonely-kermit​, @candycornmgg​ (btw love your pfp I love mgg), @potatothingsz​

[prettywordsyouleft]

What A Tease: Unprofessional [M]

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: smut / museum au / boss x worker

Warnings: semi-public space (museum office) / tension-filled and mutual pining finally given into / smut

Word count: 1232

Thank you to everyone who supported this series.

Series Index: Seated Position | Pulse | Symphony | Helping Hand | Fifteen | Entree | Unprofessional

You looked insatiable today and Jinyoung couldn’t concentrate. 

As head curator of the museum, you spent a lot of time in his office and he was certain today would be another frustrating session of him asking you to repeat yourself multiple times because his mind couldn’t stop fantasising over you to take in the information you were sharing. He’d never met someone before who could so easily unravel him from the modest man he strived to maintain being, straining to control himself whenever you were in the same room as him.

“Did you manage to secure that final eighteenth-century guard for the upcoming exhibit?” he asked and you smiled politely.

“Mr Park, I just mentioned I had.”

“Right. Of course. You did” he answered brokenly, unbuttoning the cuff to both of his sleeves so he could roll them up his forearms. You watched the action quietly, and with his distracted gaze, Jinyoung managed to catch you staring.

It didn’t help that he was aware you held some attraction for him either. Unlike him, you never completely showed how it affected you, merely pausing for a moment before blinking the desire away. He, however, was attempting to cool off physically from his embarrassment of not catching what you had said yet again, and the one too many glances at your curves that had been extenuated by your pencil skirt. Popping open the buttons at his collar, he hardened his gaze onto the paperwork between you, determined to take control of himself and the situation once again. 

“Would you like me to get you some water?” you offered and he waved you off silently, not wanting to answer that he was indeed thirsty. 

It was ridiculous how you made him this way. 

Jinyoung managed to finish the meeting without any further mishaps, smiling weakly at your final suggestions at the door to his office before he shut it behind your departure, letting out what felt like his first proper breath since being in your company. 

He was exhausted by the time he rounded his desk and sat down in his chair again, leaning back into the leather seat and closed his eyes. His energy was spent from controlling himself so much, and despite the internal scolding he was logically giving himself, it didn’t stop you from appearing behind his eyelids, tantalising him further. 

“Why do you make me feel like a teenage boy in heat, Y/N?” he murmured aloud, his eyes snapping open when he heard something drop.

You had somehow made it back inside the office unheard, the file you had been holding now scattered all over the floor. Your eyes darted between that and him, your mouth somewhat ajar at his statement. 

“Y/N… I uh-”

“You’re not exactly one to play fair either, Mr Park,” you confessed, stepping over the mess you had created, pointing at him accusingly. “Must you be so difficult to deal with?!”

“Me? Difficult?! I’ve never heard-”

“One look from you has me grappling onto all remaining sense of decency,” you admitted, your eyes falling to his forearms in distaste. “You roll up your sleeves and expose your arms at the most inopportune times and I’m certain whenever you laugh, it’s in attempts to ensure I’m thinking of you long into the night.”

“Really?”

You rolled your eyes in annoyance. “You make it hard for me to maintain my professionalism, Mr Park.”

A small part of him wondered if he had fallen asleep and this was all a dream. And yet, he pushed back his seat and stood up, rounding the desk to where you had stopped, unsure if he should come any closer in the wake of your confession. Your eyes were round, swirling with vulnerability and lust. Even if you were hesitant right now, you were liberated from expressing yourself.

He had never found you more attractive than now. 

Slowly, he moved into your space and you smiled, stepping back. “What are you thinking right now, Mr Park?”

“I’m thinking that a beautiful woman who drives me insane every day just confessed that I do much in the same to her and I want to know what she tastes like,” he stated, moistening his lips and parting them in anticipation. 

Your eyes filled with desire further. “Right now?”

“Mm.”

“Shouldn’t we go somewhere more private?”

“No one else comes into this office nearly as much as you do, Y/N,” he reminded, still walking into your moving form. Eventually, your back hit the wall behind you right as his hand came up to balance on it. Jinyoung could tell the idea of being trapped here excited you and he smirked, placing the other hand upon the opposite side of you.

After a shaky inhale, you angled your head towards his. “Well, do you plan on taking forever?”

It was enough to cross the line, Jinyoung’s lips finding yours, the heat within him soaring. His palms pressed into the wall as he craved more connection with you, his body now against yours. Your hands slid up his chest and linked behind his head, arching away from the wall and further into him. Tongues collided, stars formed behind his eyes and he was certain the coiled tension between you had snapped. He couldn’t think straight, all he wanted was to have more of you and he wasn’t prepared to wait for it. 

His lips moved onto your neck, trailing down to your collar bone as his fingers moved to blindly tug at the buttons of your blouse. You moaned into his ear when his teeth came out to graze over your skin, throwing your hips forward into his, unsettling him from his intended pathway. Jinyoung’s head shot up and he looked at your dishevelled state, blinking softly.

“Is everything alright, Mr Park?” you breathed, your hands now smoothing over the bare skin you had exposed from undoing his own shirt. 

“Shit, Y/N, just call me Jinyoung.”

“Well, Jinyoung, as much as I can appreciate that this is going to end me and my ability to maintain my cool around you in the future, I have to admit, we don’t have all the time to remain just exploring one another. I suggest we either accept that this needs to stop now, or…” you trailed off as your hand slipped south, cupping over the outside of his evident struggle for you. You smiled smugly. “Or we tend to this growing need between us before someone walks in on us. I know you have a meeting in Dinosaur World for an inspection of the exhibit in twenty minutes. Will that be enough?”

Hastily hiking up your skirt and bunching it around your waist, Jinyoung cursed. “Even if it’s not, I hope you don’t think this will end just here.”

“On the contrary, I’m hoping that you plan on doing things more appropriately from here on out. One act of being unprofessional is more than enough, don’t you think?”

Jinyoung exposed himself just enough to have clear access to enter you and after applying protection with the condom he thankfully carried in his wallet, he did just that. Smirking as you both adjusted to the internal connection he had just made, he ran a hand tenderly over your jawline. “I very much doubt that this will be the last time I have you pinned up against this wall moaning out my name, Y/N.” 

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[lovequartz]

gardenias & bloodroot

₊˚. pairing: sailor!vernon x fairy!reader

₊˚. genre: fairy + post-dystopia au, fluff, angst

₊˚. warnings: self-mutulation, brief mentions of violence

₊˚. word count: 3.7k+

₊˚. we are both salt water mixed with air 

₊˚. notes: im so very excited to be posting here and i hope you all enjoy this little word souffle my tinie brain whipped up

The first time Chwe Hansol lays eyes on you he’s staring more so at the peach in your hand than your face. He’d agreed to watch over Joshua’s peach stall while the latter ran off to run an errand. “I’ll be back soon, it’ll be like I never even left.” His friend promised him with that signature Joshua Hong twinkle in his eye. Vernon didn’t believe him, of course, he knew Joshua. He had zoned out and now realized that you were here to buy peaches, obviously. 

“Joshua isn’t here today?” Your voice is warm, like honey on just toasted bread. It takes him a moment to register your question and the tip of his ears burns as he gives you a delayed answer. “Joshua went to run an errand, he’ll be back soon if you want to wait for him?” You give him a sweet smile. “I see,” you set down the peach in your hand, “and..you are?” Vernon wipes his palms against the denim of his jeans, and offers his hand to you. “Vernon, friend of Joshua.” You let out a small laugh as you take his larger hand in your smaller one, shaking it. “It’s very nice to meet you Vernon, friend of Joshua.” Your eyes are teasing. 

He moves to take his hand out of yours but instead you turn it over, now both your hands are holding his one. You brush your thumb across his palm and suddenly he feels heat rush to his face. He’s not sure why but he feels as though he should be embarrassed. “What do you do for work? Farming like Joshua?” Your eyes leave his hand and meet his as you finish your question. “No,” Vernon pauses to center his thoughts, “I work on a ship. I’m a sailor.” You nod, seemingly happy to have your answer. You release his hand and put yours in the pockets of your dress. “You have a working man’s hands, I should’ve guessed sailor.” He opens his mouth to reply but Joshua appears behind you. 

The peach farmer pats your shoulders and you turn to give him a grin. “Good afternoon favorite customer.” He says cheerily, releasing you to stand behind his fruits with Vernon. “Hello Joshua,” you reply, “I think playing hooky is frowned upon in the business world.” Joshua rolls his eyes playfully and reaches down to grab something from behind the stall. He presents you with a bag. “5 of my best just for you.” You take the bag from him and open it to take a peek. They’re perfectly round and that beautiful red-yellow, just about ripe. “You spoil me.” 

You set the bag of peaches down to reach into the tote hanging on your shoulder, pulling out the amount you owe and a little bit extra. You’ve worn Joshua down into accepting the few more bills you always give him a long time ago and he knows not to argue with you. “Well I’ll be going then, can’t be taking up too much of your time.” You say as you tuck the peaches into your tote and slip it back on your shoulder. Your eyes flit to Vernon, who’s been silently watching your exchange with his friend. “It was very nice to meet you, again. Take care.” The sweet smile returns for a moment before you turn to walk away, disappearing into the crowd. 

“You don’t usually chat up people like that.” The twinkle is back in the older man’s eyes and Vernon can’t help but roll his. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, I”m serious! I saw the hand-holding Mr. Chwe.” “It wasn’t hand-holding.” Vernon replies, bumping Joshua’s shoulder with his own. “Well whatever it was it seemed pretty intimate to me.” The coy look on the strawberry blonde’s face is nothing short of irritating but Vernon just sighs and pulls the apron he’s wearing off. “Goodbye Joshua.” 

The next time Vernon sees you is on the docks, his ship just coming in from a long morning but a successful catch. Once they anchor and he ties the ship up the rest of the crew unloads, taking the morning’s haul to the market. “Good work today gentlemen.” The booming voice of his captain, Choi Seungcheol, exclaims. “Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Vernon, you’re free to go. Rest up, I’ll see you three next week.” The men exchange farewells, and as he turns to make his way back into town he sees you. You’re crouched enticing one of the dock kittens to play by waving your shoelaces at it, the small animal pounces back and forth trying to swat at them. Your tinkling laughter and the joy in your eyes pulls at his heartstrings. 

“What brings you here?” He manages to walk up to you without startling you or the kitten playing at your feet. Your eyes snap up to meet his, and a smile blooms on your face at the sight of him, he wants to live in that smile he thinks. “Hello yourself sailor Vernon.” You reply, patting the kitten on its small head before standing. “Spying on me now, are you?” He teases, taking in you in your striped shirt and patterned socks that aren’t quite a pair. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” you tease him right back, and he grins. “Actually, I was harvesting,” you continue, motioning to the purple flowers sticking out of your ever present tote, “but my curiosity got the best of me so here I am.” 

“Are you a florist?” Vernon asks, trying to match the flowers you’re carrying to a name. You shake your head, “I wish. I’m an herbalist, nothing as elegant as a florist.” He nods, “Well what did you manage to pick today? I don’t think I know what plant that is.” You pluck one of them out of your bag and lay it flat in your palms. “It’s sea lavender, I’m using it to treat this little girl. She gets terrible mouth ulcers, and I can’t get this where I live so I have to come down here.” Vernon drinks your words up like a man thirsty, he might truly be enamored with you. 

At some point in your conversation the two of you take a seat on the docks, kicking your feet above the surface water below. Vernon tells you about his ship crew, his captain Seungcheol is a fierce and compassionate leader. Second mate Wonwoo, a navigational specialist, can direct the correct path even in the most ruthless of sea storms. Mingyu, who can cook a mean meal, oversees the ship’s supplies and maintenance. 

“I think you’ve talked about just everyone on your crew except yourself. What’s your specialty, sailor Vernon?” Your eyes twinkle, and his ears redden at the nickname. “I wouldn’t say I have a specialty, but I’m in charge of the ropes and sails.” He says, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. You listen intently as Vernon explains the details of his role, and he itches to hold your face in his hands. 

“I should probably get going.” You sigh as you glance at the sun and how far it has sunken in the sky. “Me too.” Vernon agrees, standing and holds his hands out for you to take. Your fingers wrap around his as he gently pulls you to your feet. Smiling, you give his hands a thankful squeeze before releasing them. “I-I could walk you home? If you want me to, that is.” His sincerity is enough to make you swoon. “Well, I don’t know if Joshua told you, but I actually live in the next town over. You can walk me to the trolley though, if you don’t mind.” Vernon nods eagerly at your suggestion which pulls a giggle out of you. He really was too cute for his own good. 

The trolley hasn’t left yet, thankfully. It seems you and Vernon had arrived just on time. “This is me,” You motion to the vehicle, “thanks for the wonderful conversation and everything that followed. You’re very kind, sailor Vernon.” He gives you a boyish grin. “You’re welcome. Stay safe on your way home.” 

There are dates with Vernon after that. He brings you to the ocean and splashes you with seawater, as if you’re two children without a care in the world. You take him to the forest, teaching him about plants and their healing abilities. There’s hand-holding and shy laughter. Cheek kisses and two people brimming with joy and fondness. 

“He has eyes like a doe, they’re so gentle and filled with kindness.” You practically coo to Jun, who merely listens as the two of you enjoy the sunlight on the stone steps of your small cottage home. “I’ve never heard you talk about anyone like this before.” Jun muses in response. You offer hima grinin response. “Vernon isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met before.” The man next to you shrugs. “Will you tell him?” The question makes a shiver go down your spine and you look away. “I don’t know.” “Well if you do decide to, just,” Jun pauses, “be careful. There are still people out there who would pay a pretty penny for fairy wings.” 

Jun’s words throb inside your head hours after your conversation with him. He’s right, of course, there could be disastrous not to mention dangerous consequences to telling Vernon the truth about yourself. You have to see your mother. 

The museum of fairy wings is a peculiar building, white with gothic style architecture. It sits on a hill and overlooks the sea. You take a seat on one of the small benches scattered throughout the building, facing the wall in which the wings are displayed. Your eyes search before finding the pair of wings you’re looking for.

The wings encased are rounded at the tips, orange fades into yellow, top to bottom. Their translucent shine brightens under the fluorescents and gardenias surround them half-circled. The little plaque under the glass frame reads ‘Gardenia’ etched into bronze. The smaller text is a name, Hong Jiyu, the procurer. 

Hong Jiyu is Joshua’s paternal grandmother, the procurer of the fairy wings behind the glass, the wings that were once attached to a wife and a mother. Your mother. 

The first time you saw Joshua hate rushed through you so red-hot you thought your skin was burning. You watched him for days, wondering how you would hurt him. How you’d cause his family the same pain and suffering they’d caused you. But Joshua wasn’t his grandmother. 

He was softhearted and good-natured. A farmer with broad shoulders and strawberry blonde hair. He knows everything there is to know about peaches and children revel in his presence. He has a smile that makes the butterflies in your stomach frenzy. 

So you forgave. Your mother wasn’t coming back, and hurting Joshua wouldn’t change that. You went to his stall in the market one day and bought a peach, took it home and sliced it up. You ate it outside, in the grass of your yard and cried like the day you were born. You never stopped buying peaches from Joshua after that. 

Vernon didn’t know why you wanted to meet him inside the museum. He also didn’t expect it to be a place you frequented. The only experience he had with it really was when Joshua’s grandma would take them when they were little, showing them her 'trophies’. He shudders at the memory. 

You were seated, on a bench, staring at the green-yellow wings Joshua’s grandma loved to show off. Her favorite. 

Vernon quietly made his way behind you, careful not to alert you of his presence. Hands slide in front of your eyes effectively obscuring your vision, and your lips curl into a smile. "Well hello to you too.” You say, your fingers hooking around his to pull them from your face. “Hi.”

He takes the spot next to you, hand taking yours to link your fingers. “One of your regular haunts?” You let out a chuckle. “Something like that.” The two of you sit in comfortable silence and Vernon’s thumb traces the back of your hand. 

“Why are you really here?” If Vernon is one thing it is observant. You sigh before training your eyes on your mother’s wings. “Do you ever think about the people these wings were attached to?” You shift your gaze to his face. “Were they mothers? Daughters? Brothers? Uncles? Did they like to dance or sing? Maybe their favorite color was blue because it matched the ocean in their lover’s eyes?" 

Vernon’s free hand comes up to cup your cheek and you lean into his touch. "Are you okay?” He asks, voice soft. You shake your head slightly. “I think I need some air." 

The air outside is cool and crisp, and your lungs breath it in gratefully. Vernon’s thumb is still rubbing circles on the back of your hand, keeping you grounded. "I’m alright.” You assure him when you see the unsure glaze his hazel eyes carry. “I promise, I’m okay.” He nods, squeezing your hand gently. His other hand reaches into his front pocket, fingers grazing the worn photo tucked there. “I was gonna wait a bit to give this to you, but I’m going to sea tomorrow. There’s an area Seungcheol wants to explore and it’s quite aways away. We’ll probably be gone for 10 days or more. So, I wanted you to have this.” He pulls the photo out, and presents it to you. 

You release his hand to take the photograph from him, turning it over in your hands gingerly. The subject of the picture is Vernon himself, and it was probably taken a few years ago. He looks a little younger, but there’s that same boyish grin of his. His black hair is in his eyes and the ocean sparkles behind him. The back reads 'Yours, for better or for worse - Vernon Chwe’ And tears brim in your eyes. 

“Wouldn’t want you to forget my face while I’m away.” He says with a chuckle. You don’t respond and instead wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his neck. Vernon smiles as his arms encircle you, content to hold you. You pull away to look at him after a few moments, your eyes tracing his features. “As if I could ever forget a face like yours.” You say, holding his jaw in your hand, your thumb tracing it’s line. 

Vernon walks you down to the trolley, like he did all those weeks ago when the relationship between the two of you was just blooming.

“So I suppose I’ll see you when you get back, sailor Vernon.” You jest, your smile not really reaching your eyes. “You will.” He assures with a smile of his own. “Don’t go falling in love with any mermaids while you’re gone. They may be pretty at first glance, but they’re really quite ruthless.” Vernon laughs, and leans down to press a kiss against the smooth skin of your cheek. “I’ll try my very hardest.”

“We’re due west a little more.” Wonwoo says, staring at the pieces of parchment in his hands. He always hand drew his charts and maps, citing that they just helped him navigate better. Vernon complies with Wonwoo’s concern and shits the sails so the wind can catch them and steer the ship in the right direction. 

After a sufficient amount of sailing, six hours give or take, the crew was released. Dinner was still warm in his stomach while he got ready to sleep. Mingyu was brushing his teeth in the adjacent bathroom, the sound of the sink running filling the silence of the lower deck. Vernon is folding his pants when he finds it. Tucked in his back pocket is a photograph. At first he thinks you slipped the one he gave you back to him, not wanting to take it, but it’s you in the picture. Your pretty eyes and shy smile. On the back in crooked writing it says 'Keep this safe for me until you return’, a small heart is drawn just under the words. He imagines you drawing it, that sparkle in your eyes. 

Vernon has been gone for a few days, and you think now would be the perfect time. Jun usually helps you, but you’ve done it enough times alone as well. You shuffle through your kitchen, searching for one of your knives, the one with the knotted handle. Jun had sharpened it for you earlier that week, the sunlight filtering through your home makes the white blade gleam. Experience leads you quietly to the mirror hung on the wall of your living room. You had stuck the photo Vernon gave you between the frame and the glass, so you could see his grin before you left and when you arrived home. You wonder what he’d think if he could see you now as you shed your shirt. There are short stubs protruding out of your back where you once had full-grown fluttering wings. They used to be such a vibrant red-violet, now the short pieces were a dull maroon, the life had drained from them a long time ago. Every time seems to hurt less than the last. You remember the first time you cut them yourself, before you had Jun’s help. The pain was so excruciating, you felt like some had twisted a blade into your heart. You cried yourself to sleep that night and didn’t move at all in the days following. Now you feel like you’d gotten used to the pain, what used to be unbearable now felt like a mildly uncomfortable pinch. 

Not many people knew that a fairy’s wings grew back, like the skin of a wound. You kill the fairy, you kill the wings. You and Jun, and all the other fairies you knew had been cutting your wings off as a protective measure ever since your mother had died. Having no wings seemed to be a fair trade for living in peace. 

The blade slides cleanly between your wing stump and the skin of your back, and you grimace at the feeling of the hot blood sliding down your skin. The pain was bearable though, and you moved on to the other one, giving it the same treatment. Your eyes meet the photo of Vernon once again, and as your blood drips down to the wooden floor you feel a sick sense of relief. 

Your sunkissed sailor returns even more sunkissed than the last time you saw him. You’re awaiting his arrival when his ship anchors and the crew files off, chatter and laughter filling the air as the men set foot on the docks. Vernon’s grin widens as he spots you, and you can’t help but give him one in return. It’s much too crowded to offer him the affection you want to, so instead you take his hand and follow the path into town.

Convincing Vernon to ride the trolley with you back to your cottage takes no effort at all, he even seems a bit excited to be invited. He tells you all about the places he’d seen on the expedition and the beautiful coves the crew got to swim in when they weren’t on the job. “Sounds like it was more of a vacation than a work trip.” You tease, a bit envious. “I think that might’ve been Seungcheol’s plan from the beginning.” 

Getting Vernon acquainted to your small home is ridiculously easy. It’s like he belonged there in your living area, sitting comfortably on the bronze corduroy chair as he sipped on some of the cold tea you’d brewed earlier. 

“What did you occupy yourself with while I was away. Can’t imagine you’d be sitting still for long.” His eyes are curious and you shrug. “Jun kept me company and of course Joshua & I had pleasant conversation whenever I would see him at the market. I mostly worked, it’s getting closer to autumn so I’ve had a lot of people to treat.” You muse as you tap your fingers against your chin. “I was surprised to find this as I was getting ready to sleep my first night on the ship.” He pulls out the picture of yourself you’d slipped into his pocket that day you’d said goodbye to him. Your face flushes with heat. “Well I see you’ve held onto it.” “Just like you’ve held onto mine.” He teases, pointing at his own picture tucked in your mirror. 

As the afternoon winds on the desire to tell Vernon your true nature gnaws at you. You call his name softly and suck in a breath when his eyes meet yours. “I have to tell you something.” He raises his brows and offers you a look you can’t quite decipher. “Okay.” You move to sit next to him and take his hands in yours. “You remember that day you met me at the museum? And I was sitting in front of those wings with the gardenias, the yellow green ones?” He nods in response to your questions, not wanting to interrupt. “Those wings,” you pause collecting yourself, “they belonged to someone I knew. Someone who took care of me and loved me, my mother.” Your voice is shaky as you finish and your admission feels like a punch to the gut. Suddenly Vernon is overcome with a feeling of dread. “You mean- All this time-” He struggles to make a complete sentence but after a bit of silence he finally says; “Joshua’s grandma did that to your mom?” There’s sadness and guilt swimming in his eyes, and you can barely bring yourself to speak so you just shake your head in confirmation, hot tears staining your cheeks.

“I had them too,” you rasp, “wings. But we couldn’t have them anymore because people like Joshua’s grandma still wanted them.” You stand, sliding your hands from his grasp, and turn your back to him. Slowly, surely, you slide your top over your head. Jun had healed your open wounds with the bit of healing magic he knew, so they were closed up. “So, we do this.” You can’t see Vernon, but you can imagine the disgust on his face. You tense when you feel his presence behind you, and shiver when he lays his head against your neck. “I’m sorry,” his voice is shaky, “I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with this all alone.” His fingers brush the scarred skin delicately. “I’ll protect you.” His voice is more sure now and he presses a soft kiss to your nape. “I promise I’ll protect you.”

₊˚. notes: thank you for making it here if you did! there was a lot of imagery in this as im working on my writing style and tweaking things here or there but if you enjoyed let me know and if you hated it also let me know !! my ask box is open

[bibliocratic]

Soulmate au for jm prompts? Any kind you want

soul-identifying marks, jonmartin, episodes 158-160 spoilers

(this prompt came into my home and beat me over the brain.)(it might not be exactly what you were after, hope it’s ok!)

–

Martin’s waging a passive-aggressive one-man war against an excel spreadsheet when the temperature, risen to bearable by the grunting old radiator in the corner, swan-dives into shivery.

“Peter,” Martin says, not exactly a greeting, as frayingly cordial as he can manage. Not absolving Peter’s intrusion with his attention, triple-pressing the right mouse button and hissing an irate oh come on when the computer refuses to bend to his will and instead freezes again.

Peter will say whatever mysterious bollocks he’s come to imply and hint at and implicate, scattering his bloody breadcrumbs. Martin will be left just as pissed off and in the dark as he was before, so he might as well get it over with so Martin can actually get some work done.

Surprisingly, Peter doesn’t say anything. That’s actually what makes Martin turn round.

Peter’s slate-shingle eyes are observing Martin’s exposed lower arms. Sleeves rolled up haphazard out of his way, folded over in messy and unmatching bunches at his elbow.

He’s studying the designs that blemish the sun-ditched pale of his freckled arm with an interest Martin baulks at. Traces with his eyes the blocky wood-cut patterns in precise and abrupt black lines that start at the line of his watch, sprout up and under his clothes. Idly, he takes his time to let his gaze traverse over the open pages of tomes unfilled with words and unbroken by ink; the landscape of woodland and tree lines and shadowy hollows of roads mysterious or untaken that mar the faint curve of his lower arm. The lantern swinging on the bough of a wintry tree, its candle recently blown out.

The eye, thick and wide, staring out at the crease of his elbow.

Peter flicks a glance up, and Martin reads something like pity there. His face heats.

“The Archivist?” Peter Lukas asks. His voice isn’t mocking. Martin isn’t sure what it it.

He hates the tone of it.

“Do you want something?” Martin responds curtly. Frosty. Tugging his sleeves back down pointedly.

Peter’s expression is ever so proud.

–

When Jon wakes up, he charts the changes death has wrought on him. Sitting on the small bed he’s set up in document storage, swaddled in the uncomforting comfort of his archives, he chronicles the new damages done. The rough tissue of scars on his arms, upper legs, chest. Pitted marks from shrapnel and debris and being in the radius blast of an explosion.  He supposes it could be worse.

He thumbs at the faded, almost unrecognisable nazar just below his shoulder, the crossed compass and ruler nearby in the same state. The colour bleeding out of them like they’ve been left too long in the dark. He doesn’t think about his parents much. Not in a long time. His memories sanded down to an uncertain rote recollection that his brain is equally as likely to have invented as not. He doesn’t recall enough to miss them, but there must be something there for him to still bear them on his skin.

There’s a bleary shape splotched on his inner wrist. Forming like the build-up of sediment, the slow grind of tide, and it has been doing so for months, since before he died.

It’s almost fully realised now. He rubs at the shape of it tentatively  as though the colour might run if he’s too rough with it. The delicate fawn-brown of its wings, the beaded black circle of its eyes.

He knows who it represents. Impossible not to, really. It’s his representation after all. The complex understanding of a human being realised as imagery and flowering on his skin.

He stares at the nightingale for the longest time.

–

When Martin was nine, struck by the well-echo hollow in his chest, unable to articulate the shamed and hot tears his mother would scold with a cluck of disappointment, he tried to clean the clock off his right leg. Sitting in the bath with the water gagging with too many bubbles, he scrubbed at the cogs and mechanical intestines of the thing, seeing the lies of his father in how it was wound, not wanting it, because surely if his dad had loved him then he wouldn’t have left, and if he didn’t then why should Martin boast his love so obviously. He held and scrubbed until his skin was pink and scalded and he’d started to wince. But connection doesn’t work like that, and so the clock never disappeared, and Martin tried to ignore it every time he took a shower.

Turns out the Forsaken was good for something after all.

–

“How’s the poetry?” Jon stammers at him, so obviously, earnestly angling to drag out their impromptu meeting. Martin wants to be anywhere else but here.

“Jon, I really need to – ”

“Oh. Yeah. I – sorry, I-I know you’ve got… your thing with Peter Lukas.”

“It’s not like that – ”

“I-I know, I know, sorry, I didn’t mean…” Jon stops. His eyes – and were they always so gaunt, so hungry in his face? – have stopped trying to both catch and avoid Martin’s gaze apparently simultaneously, and they’ve snagged instead on Martin’s collar. For a moment, something too thirsty catalogues the pale and vacant skin of his throat, where the purple hooded bells of monkshood usually thronged. Their leaves had grown spikier as he’d aged, stretching out to his Adam’s apple in a bid to form a collar of choking vines.

“Martin…” Jon stares at empty skin, and his expression blooms into something comprehending and distraught.

“I have to go, Jon,” Martin says forcefully.  He doesn’t give Jon much of a chance to reply.

He doesn’t want Jon’s sorries. Doesn’t need his worries or his understanding.

He just wants him to be safe.

–

The nightingale sings entangled by coarse and insidious brambles. Jon’s taken to holding his hand over the pattern, like shielding with a careful hand a wind-tossed, guttering flame, when the hunger starts to gnaw though him like frostbite.

It doesn’t stop there. The emblems grow into iconography, twist into tableau. The pictures grow and spread simply as moss, and Jon doesn’t despair because he doesn’t have the space for it any more.

Jon’s evidence has always been discrete. The stamped shapes for his parents like memorial images were all he held for the longest time. Something started to flourish for his grandmother, when she took him in, and he tried to show her the blotched shape in a childish effort to bring them closer. She hadn’t needed to stay anything. She pursed her lip and strained an apologetic glance and he knew even at that age that there was nothing, would be nothing in kind, decorating her skin for him. That choked the image like weeds, and it faded quickly as the passing of inclement weather.

The space, at his jutting hip-bone, was only later taken up by Georgie’s mark. That one never faded quite like the image for his grandmother or for his parents, but it went sun-stained and overexposed long before they broke up.

Martin’s imagery is not so subtle.

It swallows up his arm, roils over his shoulder-blades, infects the untouched skin over his collar bone.

Jon takes to wearing longer sleeves.

–

Martin’s skin has always taken easily to marking. Some people do, he guesses. Wear their hearts on their sleeves, on their throat, on their stomach. Martin’s a scattered museum of loves that he’s tended to over the years, unrequited affections or spluttered out romances.

He’s pleased, in those early days, that nothing ever bruises on his skin for Jon. He likes Jon, even fancies him, for a long time. And it’s annoying, because Jon can be a real arse, but it’s manageable. Jon doesn’t make him go hot at the nape of his neck or make him stumble over his words. His presence encourages harmless daydreams and flights of fancy, but Martin’s under no illusions.

And then Jon listens to his statement. Sits him down, and believes him, and doesn’t break eye contact the whole time.

And Martin had felt, dazedly, Seen. For the first time in a long time.

The first eye had opened up around then like an unclenching fist under his ribs. He’d seen it a week later. Had thought oh and had quickly dressed to cover it.

It’s not the first mark this love leaves him. In time, it scores him with tooth marks and sailor’s knots of worry, and eyes, always eyes, blinking open over his flesh.

He loses the one on his ankle first. Scratches at the space where it was, touching the crease where his sock has dug a band around his skin, right where the line used to bisect the thick and dark pupil.

Then the one on his lower back. His upper thigh. His left wrist.

It’s for the best, Martin, Peter says when he catches him looking at the undamaged patch of skin these absences leave behind.

Martin doesn’t disagree.

By the time Lukas banishes him to the mercy of Forsaken, thwarted and cheated and feeling something almost human, Martin’s skin has already been entirely washed clean.

–

There’s a nightingale on Jon’s wrist. It’s one of the first things that catches his vision, that refocuses from blurry in this undemanding nothing. The colour is too vivid, lurid in this desaturated landscape.

The bird is nestled, or maybe caught, in a twisting of brambles but its beak is open in song.

“Look at me, and tell me what you See,” Jon asks him, and Martin wonders if maybe Jon’s been carrying around his own heart on his sleeve for a while now.

–

His mother’s flowers don’t grow back when he vacates the Lonely. His father’s clockwork finally cleansed from him. The leaves and keys and umbrellas of the numerous small loves and connections he’s now lost the taste of.

Martin’s skin remains unblemished and clear, and he wonders if the Lonely took this capacity from him.

Jon’s hand is dry in his. And nothing blooms on Martin’s arms but a sensation like prickling, like pins and needles, settles under his skin, and Martin holds on just as tightly.

–

There was a downpour on the way back to the safehouse. The sky splitting with a cascade of rain, sheets moving in waves and quickly transforming dewy grass into boggy swamp-land. Their waterproofs, such as they are, have done a poor job and failed to live up to their name, and Jon is dripping a cloud’s-worth of rainfall from his hair alone as he crosses the threshold. Martin, no different, water draining off him like guttering, tuts. Helps him strip the sucking, soaking outer layers off, frigid fingers fumbling with the pull of the zip. Jon awkwardly gets in the way in his efforts to return the gesture, making a face at the sodden slump of Martin’s waterlogged woollen jumper as it hits the floor. Martin catches his t-shirt on his nose as he tries to pull it over his head, trying to unbutton and kick off his clinging trousers in one motion. 

He doesn’t feel embarrassed. Doesn’t cross his mind to be. It’s hard, when Jon’s snickering as he nearly trips over his own legs in his efforts to shake his legs free, when they’ve been clung to each other like tethered buoys each night, coddled by the unbroken dark.

“I’ll get dry clothes,” Martin says, the first to have divested himself of most of his clothes, and he bounds upstairs, damp feet squeaking and slipping, longing for a hot shower as he trails puddles into the bedroom. He throws on thick pyjama bottoms, is half wrenching on an errant t-shirt before he realises it’s Jon’s and has to rifle around for a spare one of his own before he slips it on. He collects some clothes for Jon and rushes back.

Jon’s managed to get off his own trousers, slopped in a pile of fabric by his feet, the skin goosepimpling and dark hair standing stark from the chill. He’s pulling his sticking vest off over his head as Martin returns.

Martin sucks in a gasp. Jon blinks, confused for a moment before a reddening mark stripes across the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, splotches at the dip of his neckline.

“What…?” Martin starts, staring at the tapestry on his skin, and he can’t help it.

Before, Tim would joke that Jon loved his job more than he loved people. Was probably conservatively decorated in little stylisations of his perpetually present tape-recorders, probably had a library over his heart. It was something he said as a joke at the beginning and hissed as a recrimination by the end, and Martin and Sasha (and later only Martin) would tell him off, tell him to keep it down, that it wasn’t fair, that it wasn’t his business. But if Jon had been marked, they wouldn’t have known. They were hidden under crisp shirt sleeves and well-placed collars even in summer.

The nightingale, wings scratched by thorns, was the first image Martin had ever seen Jon wear. He’d expected that to be it, had hoped such an emblem was meant for him, but it, well, it is dwarfed in comparison to the harmony of colour struck over Jon’s body like a collage.

Every piece of skin that is not torn up and jagged with scars has been brought into the striking shock of deep blues and blacks that slide and ring over dark skin. A choir of imagery that Martin can’t decipher immediately, like a jigsaw he has to step back from, the artworks all wrapped up in each other, each feeding off the other. There are nightingales, some grounded on thin wind-touched branches, some held mid-flight; these become a stylised compass pointing north. There’s the solid structure of a lighthouse taking up most of his gangly upper arm, its lower levels painted in a sea bound mist, or it could be the curling wisps of inviting steam. His stomach, curving concave, is overwhelmed by the imperious crags of icy cliffs, the rocks dashed by high foaming waves, above which hangs the ribboning line of northern lights.  On the sea, a sturdy boat tipping on the water, its spinnaker puffed out and billowing in defiance.

There is so much, so much of Jon taken up, painted in testament, and for a long moment, Martin doesn’t understand.

Jon looks at his feet, and then glances, almost shyly, at Martin’s unpainted throat, his blank arms. Visibly steels himself, moves his gaze up to meet Martin’s.

“It…” he begins, before he breathes in, sets his spine straight. “You. It’s – it’s you. In case, in case you didn’t know.”

“Can – ?” Martin asks, and his fingers are twitching, yearning to trace the lines, to memorise their shapes, and Jon blinks again and then makes a nervy nodding motion.

Martin’s about to reach out before he remembers that Jon’s half-naked and dripping wet in the hallway, that the stone flags will be frozen on his feet, that now is perhaps not the ideal time.

Later. After they warm up, after they shower and the gas boiler grunts and complains and then near-burns them with hot water, after they dress in pyjamas warmed on the radiators, after they go upstairs. Martin runs his hand reverently, shakily over the lighthouse, the compass, the boat, the birds, wonders if this is how Jon sees him, how Jon understands him, wonders why he’s taken up so much space. Looks at all the pictures that are both isolation and sanctuary, song and sorrow and strength, tries to decipher what Jon sees in him.

“There’s so much,” he marvels softly, scarcely believing, hovering the pads of his fingers over the horizon line of a lightening sky, the peaking gleam of a sunrise at Jon’s lower back, the anchor bound in twisting rope around his ankle bone, the up shoots of snow-drops and lily-of-the-valley not far away. Most people get one image, maybe two or three, as proof of meaning to another person, as a tangible reflection of connection. Martin has an entire gallery exhibited across Jon’s body.

“You mean so much,” Jon says softly in response, like that explains it. Maybe for him, it does.

He charts the other bold designs he finds. Realising that for all his earlier pretences, Jon has not, and never has been an island. There’s Daisy’s faintly rusted golden chain caked in mud and blood around his other ankle, Gerard Keay’s thick leather-bound book, its open pages wreathed in fire, the near-vanished marks for his parents, for Georgie, the scant others who came into his life and left their mark.

There might have been an eye, wide and open and unyielding, and it would stare out at the bottom of Jon’s throat if it wasn’t for the rush of wild-flowers also grown there, snow-drops and holly-berries obscuring its vision.

Jon asks him, falteringly, as though unsure of forming the question in his mouth, what Martin had. Before the sea-salt wash of Forsaken cleaned them from him.

And Martin points to where his mum, his dad, his old loves left their remembrances on him. Carefully, honestly, he tells Jon about the tooth marks clamped around limbs like he’d been bitten, because it was not always a kind love Jon made him feel. The eyes that near the end had swarmed like frog-spawn around his middle, slashed across his back like a constellation. The forbidding forest on his arm, the lantern.

Jon strokes the places where he would have seen these things.

“If they don’t come back….” Martin says, and Jon hums.

“They might not,” he says. “That’s… that’s OK.”

“But…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jon says, and he touches at the space where he would have marked Martin ever so kindly. “Something new might show up. In time.”

“Yeah?” Martin croaks, and it’s not a question of if it will or not. Jon’s looking up at him, a smile on his face, his whole body inked with how much he feels, all the words he finds so difficult to express writ large on his body. Martin’s heart feels too big for his chest. And he wonders what meaning they might make of each other together.

[martykatewrites]

The Mummy: Chptr 3 The White Skies of the Desert

Early the next morning, she found Ardeth-Bey sitting at the table eating breakfast. When she sat down, he poured her a cup of coffee and pushed the basket of flatbread towards her.

"Eat," he commanded and took another strip of lamp from a platter and took a bite. She shook her head, having no desire for anything but coffee.

He looked at her, studying her, "I saw your father this morning carrying a strong box. I told him 'good morning' but either he did not hear me or he did not know I was here."

"You mean he seemed preoccupied, don't you? I told him good night and he acted as if I wasn't even there. Today's the day we pay the workers, I wonder if he carried their wages?" She paused, then said, "I am going to call the bank and ask if he made the withdrawal, if not, I must do it for the workers must be paid."

"I think that is wise," he said as she got up from the table, "I am afraid your father is not himself."

She dialed the number of their bank and Luxor and asked if the month's withdrawal had been made. "I see," she said, "I will be in there shortly and do it myself. My father has obvously forgotten." She hung up the phone then put her hands over her eyes as she began to cry.

He left his seat and put his arm around her waist. "I am sorry this is happening," he said, "I want you to know I will do everything I can to help."

"I have to go to the bank and get the money. I cannot believe Father did this to his workers. I must make sure that things are packed up and ready to be delivered to the museum. The tents must be taken down and the equipment readied for storage until the next season. And I must see if Father is sincere regarding this mad scheme to transport part of the artifacts by camel, if it is true he must have taken leave of his senses."

"I will meet you at the site and try to find out from the workers what is going on." Ardeth tried to soothe her, "They may be willing to tell me things they would not say to you for one reason or another. If we are truly meant follow through with this madness, I will find us some good camels and supplies. The first half of the journey we will be mostly on our own, there are several small towns after that where we can acquire what we need. Please do not worry, it will be all right."

She allowed herself a quick bath, then dressed and drove the truck she kept in Luxor to the bank. She was half afraid that her father may have withdrawn their funds—for whatever reason she did not know—but the account contained not only the workers' wages, but the bonuses they handed out at the end of every season.

She took a felucca to the opposite bank and allowed one of the camel drivers to escort her to Deir El Medina. For a small fee, and food and drink, he was willing to wait for her and escort her back to the landing where she would return to Luxor.

Her father had returned to Deir El Medina and seemed his old self, slightly surprised that he had forgotten the workmen's wages, but laughing it off, saying he must be going soft in the head. And of course, he knew that if he had forgotten, he could depend on her to remember for him.

This disturbed her but she said nothing. She supervised the final packing, the load she would take with Ardeth remaining in a small supply tent. She paid the workers, making sure that each received his bonus, and asked them if they would be willing to come back the next digging season. Though some seemed apprehensive, most were more than eager for the professor would pay them better than any other archaeologist. Carter-Bey provided work but his wages were stingy, they would rather work for the professor.

Ardeth-Bey rode up, leading four sturdy and well-fed camels. "We can load them up today and I will leave them with my father overnight. He is willing to tarry for one day, but the valley is barren and the herds need to be fed. You must be ready to leave tomorrow morning—I will come and fetch you. He is also willing to supply us with enough food to make it through the desert. We can fill the waterskins and hopefully they will supply us with enough water."

"Tell your father 'thank you', or better still, I will tell him myself tomorrow. That is very kind of him."

"He is worried, he feels that this is not good. He admires your father and wonders why he does this. He is sending word out to the tribes to let them know we are coming. If any Bedouin are in the area they will be on the lookout for us."

"Ardeth, is it true that your people claim they are descended from the Medjay?'

He laughed, breaking the tension, "There are some who like to tell that story. If so that would make us rather ruthless and cruel, don't you think? After all, we guarded the village to keep the inhabitants from stealing from the pharaoh's grave goods. No, and you should know this, we are more Arab than Egyptian now, with maybe a little Turkish and Greek thrown in. If we were the Medjay, it was a very long time ago."

She did not sleep well that night. Nightmares haunted her sleep with images of the old Egyptian gods, long-dead pharaohs, and monsters. Taking a bath helped refresh her, somewhat, and it would be the last she'd have for a while she reminded herself.

She was finishing her breakfast when Busa led Ardeth into the room.

"Did you eat well?" he asked, "I want to cover as many miles as we can before the weather gets too hot." He peered closely at her, "You did not sleep well?"

"No, I did not," she would not tell him why, "But it is probably because I am uneasy about this. We probably should have left last night while the air was still cool. I will sleep after we stop—if not, please make sure I do not fall off my camel."

Some of the Medjay—how funny it was that they named themselves after the guards of the Valley—were waiting for them at the site of her father's camp. Her father was supervising the loading of the pack camels they would use, his truck had been loaded the night before.

She could hear Ardeth and his father arguing about the folly of the trip to Minya through the desert, she was surprised to hear Ardeth defending it. The necessity of protecting her was the priority, he told his father, it was only the first part that would be hazardous, but he had heard that there might be Bedouin roaming in area so if they needed trouble there would be help.

Sandstorm season was a month away, Ardeth argued, their route would follow the Nile and if one did occur there were caves and old tombs in the cliffs that they could take refuge in. The camels could be brought in, too, so their would be no danger of losing them.

She agreed with Ardeth's father, this trip was folly. Something must have possessed her father for had he been in his right mind he never would have suggested it.

He came over to her and hugged her, "Be careful daughter, don't let the camels out of your sight. I am sure that Ardeth Bey will protect you. I will see you when you arrive in Cairo." He kissed the top of her blond head and went to his car.

"How is he?" Ardeth asked her.

"I don't know," she replied, "He is acting too normal and it bothers me. For once I am eager to leave the village. Let us travel as far as we can in the heat, then make the camp—I could certainly use some sleep."

"Well, the camels are packed and loaded with supplies. The goatskin tent I brought will be easy for two people to assemble and give us some progection from the heat during the day. My father brought along a generous supply of food, some dried lamb and dates, along with lots of bread that we must eat before it grows stale or moldy. The water skins are full and placed where we will have easy access. Is there anything else you need?"

"I was hoping to make one last trip to the village before we left but there is no time. Let us leave, Ardeth, if I linger too long here I will lose my courage."

The pack camels were tied to their saddles. Roma had long ago learned how to make the camel kneel so she could mount and had learned how to ride them like a Bedouin. She would have preferred taking horses, but these "ships of the desert" were better suited to their needs and she had long ago learned to tolerate their cantankerous natures.

The sun had already started its ascent into the clear blue sky of the desert. The day would grow from hot to unbearably hot in a few hours. She cursed herself for making such a slow start, hoping that they could at least make their way past the valleys of the kings and queens before they halted.

The relentless sun was growing hotter and even Ardeth, son of the desert that he was, decided he wished to go no further. "There is not much to shelter us here," he said apologetically, "But let us pitch the tent and try to get some sleep through the hottest part of the day. When the sun begins to go down it will start to cool a little."

She would have objected, she felt as if eyes were watching her back but she was tired from lack of sleep and needed to rest. They pitched the tent, a curious affair of black goatskin and a little awning to provide shelter for cooking and allowed the camels a bit of shade.

Though it was hot, she collapsed on her cot without the precaution of drinking water first and woke with a terrible thirst. She got up, careful not to wake Ardeth, and found of of the waterskins and drank deeply.

It was so hot now that the sky seemed to have lost its blue color and turned a ghostly white. She was familiar with this phenomenon having spent a good deal of time in the desert herself, but it never failed to catch her off guard. Now it seemed like an evil omen to her, like a sign that nothing good would come of what she was trying to do. The desert would win and she would lose and whatever it was that the baggage hid on the camel, the evil it carried would doom her.

"What are you doing?" asked Ardeth and she held up the waterskin, "I was thirsty, I forgot to drink before I lay down."

"That was my fault," he took the container from her and replaced it on the camel, "I should have made sure that you did. Come inside and rest, it will be some time before we leave in the evening."

She didn't move but stared at the ghostly white sky, "Do you something is going to happen to us, something bad, I mean?"

"Of course not, why are you letting your imagination run away with you? I could hide you safely in the desert for weeks and no one would find you and that is what I will do if I have to. Come inside and rest, you are anxious for your father, that is all."

She lay down once more and went back to sleep, a deep sleep empty of dreams. She did not see Ardeth watching her, not falling asleep himself until he was sure she was all right.

[quant-um-fizzx]

Swept Away

Synopsis: Bucky feels strangely drawn to a woman at a Halloween party thrown at the Avengers compound. 

Bucky Barnes x Reader. Except - not? There’s really no way to explain this upfront without giving the whole thing away. It is a nameless female character but it’s also not “fictional you” as a reader because I could not get that to work within this mystery concept. 

Warnings:  Smut, I’m calling this Dub-Con (but only in the sense that things might not be what they seem) Language, mild Angst, an attempt to be eerie. 

Word Count:  about 3000

This is for @sherrybaby14‘s Fall Into You writing challenge from the prompt: “Halloween Party”  

It’s loud like parties always are and Bucky welcomes a reason not to join in their bickering, no matter how playful. 

“It’s the principle, really.” Steve says, sniffs whatever Thor tipped into his glass this time. 

“Yes, that’s my point. Thank you. Don’t make a rule and then break it.” Rhodey gripes, adjusting the gold construction paper shooting star taped to the center of his shirt.

“I believe the rule as stated was ‘don’t spend more than $10 on a superhero costume.’ I spent zero dollars on this ensemble.” Tony gestures at the Mark 5 armor he’s wearing. “What we need is a neutral party analysis, who will then concur I am winning at not spending.”

Clint twirls an empty beer bottle between his fingers. “Look, I’m not saying that it’s cheating to come as yourself...”

“I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” Nat says.

“I sense a butt right here,” Rocket chimes in. He’s dressed no differently, having openly complained he didn’t see the point and costumes sound more like some of the stupid shit Quill would be into. 

Steve flicks the deep red bed sheet pinned to the back of his shirt, making it swoosh around his feet, casually flipping what no one needs to know is Thor’s actual hammer. The group chatters on as he surveys the room, pausing when he spies Bucky in a far corner, his arm slipping artfully around the waist of a very pretty woman in a white post-Edwardian nightdress. She seems familiar but he can’t really get a good look at her and, considering Bucky’s clearly enthralled with her, he doesn’t think he should be trying to get a better look. They appear deep in conversation, the woman’s hair falling across her face like a curtain. It’s intimate, the way they lean in, and suddenly Steve feels like he’s intruding. He coughs and returns his attention back to the current debate. 

***

She curls further into his side, burrows her chilled shoulder down where he’s warm and snug. Her head falls back to look up at him with doe-eyes. He gets lost in them, irises so peaceful and deep, dark like still waters, like starless night sky. She runs her hand over the blue near-ancient canvas stretched across his chest, traces the white star with an elegant digit.

He leans in, almost captures her lips.  Forgets it’s not private. Like there’s no one else. Like there shouldn’t ever be. She offers her neck, bends so far back that it’s a bit unnatural, but he brushes the thought away. He shakes his head, tries to recall something. It seems important. Scratching at his brain. 

He stops, pulls back. His eyes pinch. He doesn’t know this woman. Doesn’t know anything about her. But he wants to. He wants to know her. Maybe that’s what he couldn’t remember. “What’s…” Runs his nose along her cheek. “What’s your name, Darlin’?”

Did she already tell him that? Did he already ask?

***

“Tell me again, how is coming as yourself and wearing your actual multi-million dollar suit not breaking the rules?” Nat saunters across the circle, grabbing a drink off the bar.

“I’m just saying, that since you were the guy who made the rule, it’s kinda weird that you’re the one breaking it.” Clint sets his bottle down with a clink that sounds a bit more irritated than he appears. 

“Point of order: Cap lent his costume to two people.” Tony feigns deep offense, gestures toward Scott.

“What? This? Nah, I hand-sewed this baby myself for Comic-Con years ago.” Scott stands proudly, hands heroically on his hips. 

Tony’s eyes roll back into his brain. “That still leaves Barnes and his circa WW2 Star-Spangled-ness? Care to explain the museum piece over there and the clothes he’s wearing while you’re at it?”

***

She smiles softly, delicate. Her features unbothered despite that it seems he’s forgotten her. Goes up on her toes and places cool fingertips on his fevered lips. Pushes her own together in a silent hush and he feels it in his gut - feels himself give in to something more than gravity pulling him down, twisting. He leans in toward those lotus-petal painted lips, almost...almost. 

She pulls back just a little. Smile shy, but somehow not. A little knowing. Knows a secret she’s going to show him. He doesn’t like secrets; he’s kept too many, he’s been too many. Doesn’t trust them. 

But he wants to know hers. Wants her. Needs to see where this leads. 

Her fingers entwine with his, pull him fluidly toward the exit door. 

And he forgets. Forgets they are leaving a brightly lit room, forgets there are people who might miss him, forgets everyone, everything but the promise of losing himself in her. 

***

Steve shrugs. “Bucky asked how much trouble it would be to borrow it. Turns out it wasn’t much trouble,” he says, pulling his eyes away from the door Bucky had disappeared through. 

“Excellent!” Tony claps. “Now that we can all agree the utilization of old suits is not a budget factor, let’s discuss what I am sure is a fascinating reason why Wilson here jumped on the opportunity to dress as a defunct Russian asset.”

Sam scoffs and pretends to smooth the aluminum foil wrapped around his left arm. “The Winter Soldier? Nah, my arm’s just dressed as a baked potato.” 

***

Her fingers swim up under his shirt and along each rib like organ keys. He’s draped over her, touching every inch, body covering her like a blanket, a pall. Their kisses swell and he dives when her mouth parts for him. At first a shallow exploration, his warm pink tongue skimming inside until she, impatient and sudden, curls into his mouth and catches it. 

The party and the lights feel a million leagues away. The sounds muffled and distant as if they’ve sneaked off to skinnydip not go necking in a backseat.

Lips and teeth banging, urgent. She’s under and around him all at once. Calling him to claim her like the open sea. 

Hot breath rushes from him as he pulls away and she floats up to follow but then settles back flat along the seat, smiling up at him. Hair splayed out around her face in waves and her face glowing like the moon. 

It registers with him that they’re in a parking lot, in the back of a car. It seems like new information, as if he had just realized. Must have been too busy kissing her, touching her because he doesn't know how they got here. Doesn’t remember clambering into the car. It’s large and old. A Studebaker? A Streamliner?

No, that can’t be right. 

***

“Hey, Mr. Stark. Cool Costume. Ned dressed as Mark 5 in 3rd grade.” Peter scurries up, acting slightly winded, as most of the crowd shoots daggers at him. “It, uh, it looks way better on you though.” He looks hopefully around, checking if that fixed whatever he’d said wrong. 

Shuddering, as if he’s just recalled what he’d come to say, Peter looks back quickly over his shoulder at the doorway Bucky and the woman walked out. “That’s all kinds of creepy. Just like that urban legend, right?”

“When it comes to questionable bed partners, I am spectacularly aware that I have no room to talk. But what is the deal with Steve’s pal and Coraline?” Tony gestures over his shoulder. “There’s a line between cute and creepy. But that one just runs a bit too realistic as The Woman in White.”

Steve looks between them and the door again. “The what?”

***

He presses his lips to her neck. Runs his tongue up a long trail to the shell of her ear.

Soft. He’s never felt anything so soft in his hands. Breasts like silt, spilling under his palms.  Soft every place he’s hard. He’s so hard, aching with it. Cock straining, reducing him down to that near-pain desire. He wants to bury himself between her thighs, drown himself inside her.

She pulls the gown free from her shoulders and it pools around her. She arches up to him. Offers. Urges. 

Insists. 

He licks his lips and wants more. Already can’t remember what she tastes like, saltwater or sweetened honey? He kisses her again, soft press against his tongue and he’s thirsty. Parched. Dives in for more but each touch leaves him wanting more. More heat. More water. More...air.

She’s under him and begging him. 

“Take me.”

Rouge tongue runs over chapped lips as he comes up for a breath. “You don’t have to ask me twice, Sugar.” He rasps, lungs seized up in want. 

Her hands dig into blue shoulders and her legs wrap around red and white stripes, clasping behind the small of his back. Pulling him down to her, pulling him under. 

Fog coats the windows. Their want dripping in rivulets down the glass. The air is thick with it, clings to his lungs, each breath heavy, laboring. 

“Hang on babe,” he pulls back, heart racing gulping down air. “Whew. Huh. Wow.” He looks around, squints, trying to get his bearings. “Gimme a sec, okay?”

She smiles again, sweet as rain. Shakes her head slowly, hair swirling around, a tangle of moss on the seat. Locks her hands behind his neck and digs her heels into his thighs.

She reaches down inside his pants and draws him out, a whisper caress on his length. Barely there, but possessive. Hers.

“Take me.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he gasps, breathless. Gasps as strokes him. “I’ll make it good, so good for you.” 

He wants her. Wants her like air. “Can’t wait. Gotta have you - now.”

She flips him over, deft like he weighs nothing and he floats beneath her. Straddles his hips and anchors him, grinding onto his cock. Her head falls back again, does that deep swoon to expose the marble column of her neck. And he feels again like he needs to stop her, to catch her head and stop her. To cradle her skull.

***

“I can tell you, Cap,” Sam says, leaning in conspiratorially, “but you and I are going to have a long chat later about how you manage to interact with other humans every day and still stay so damned isolated.”

Steve gives Sam a withering look but motions for him to continue. 

“The story goes, there’s a ghost that wanders the area. She fell for a guy years ago and got abandoned. The story changes in the details. Sometimes she died in childbirth, jumped off a bridge, whatever.  But one detail is always the same: heartbreaker was shipping off to war the next day. So, she, you know, ‘did it for her country.’ But the guy never comes back and she dies, waiting for him. Wandering the road leading to where they were last together.”

“Huh, that’s super weird,” Scott says, throwing back what he immediately learns is heavily-spiked cider, his eyes going wide on the burn. 

“Ghost stories are weird by definition, Scott” Nat says, licking the rim of her glass. 

“No,” Scott coughs, throwing back two more cider shots in quick succession. “I mean it’s weird because I picked her up on the road coming here. She asked all slow and dramatic about her soldier - I guess she is just super into Halloween - and I was gonna call her an Uber but then she said she was looking for Stark’s thing.”

Steve is incredibly done with this entire conversation. Peter, the exact opposite, presses for more info. “Which road?”

Sam shrugs dismissively. “The one by the old fairgrounds.”

Scott chokes on a fourth shot.  “Down in Queens.”

“You mean the fairgrounds where Stark held the first Expo?” Steve say, unblinking. All fun gone. 

Suddenly, Steve knows where he’s seen her. It’s just been a very, very long time since 1943.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Tony says, eyes locked on Steve. 

“Are you saying that I picked up a...a... ghost and rode with her for an hour? Guys...guys, I need to sit down.” Scott wobbles, hand shooting out to steady himself on Rocket. Rocket steps aside. 

Before Scott’s ass hits the floor, everyone else is out the door. 

***

She sinks down around him, fluid and silk. Her hands press into his chest. His warm muscles tense and brown nipples pebble in her touch’s wake. 

As she rides him, the night’s light behind her makes her hair look like a halo floating out around her. A thought breaks through that she looks familiar - he does know her - but she’s just one more thing he lost along the way. 

He wants to tell her they can make this new, start over, whatever went wrong before, he can fix it and it wasn’t his fault and didn’t mean to leave her and please forgive him because he didn’t mean to toss her away.

Wait.

Wait...

He recalls a flash of her face, dry and bright. She’s looking up at him in his brown uniform. Red car hovering on a stage behind her. Then, as suddenly as it came, the picture’s gone, popped like a burst bubble.

***

Steve and Sam are first out the back, toward the dock. Peter has a legit meltdown but still manages to check every car. They’re all empty.

“Cap! There!” Clint shouts, pointing out at the water. 

The middle of the goddamn lake.

In the goddamn, deathly still, dark lake.

***

She glides over him and it’s so desperate and slippery. Everything urgent when all he’d really wanted is to take his time. To do this right. Bring her some daisies  - or, no, she'd like lilies he thinks dumbly and runs his hands up to cup her face. He wants to show her a good time before his ships out in the morning and see if she has a different friend for Steve. 

The guilt is raw and burrowing in his heart he can’t shake it but he doesn’t quite know why. 

Maybe that’s her secret. What she wanted to show him. 

Maybe it’s that she deserves better than this back seat in a parked car outside Stark’s expo. He starts to say sorry but is silenced with another watery kiss.

Burning starts low in his back, the building pull low in his spine, and he wants to come. Desperate for his end. 

 Maybe it’s too much because she can have it all she can have him and he’s not scared - but a small spark fires some forgotten place in his mind, that he is scared - that maybe he should be.

Sliding over him, bend and rock. Tight. He surges up into her again and again. His release looms, vision tunneled down to her. Nothing but her and the sweet hold, the way she’s anchored him down after so many years adrift. 

He thinks blindly that he should warn her. Opens his mouth but she swallows his words. 

Then he’s coming, pulsing out of him like lifeblood. Breathless and drained. And he’s so tired. 

Peaceful. Serene. 

“Take me,” she sings.

He can’t hold on. Body aches for rest. 

Her brow furrows. “Take me home.”  

His eyes flutter. He starts to form the words, but just...can’t. 

He would’ve taken her home and not left. He didn’t mean to make it seem like it must have seemed. He didn’t just throw her away. But it was war and he wasn’t expecting the hell it brought or the hell that came after. It had all seemed so innocent in that old back seat, with his promises he didn’t mean to break.

She grinds down, damned serum refractory period kicking in. He swells against all reason and moves with her until she shakes and clenches, nails digging into his skin, a mournful wail spiraling out of her as he feels himself spill again. 

She touches his neck, feels his pulse stutter out, slow.  Her face is confused. Head shaking. 

He takes her hand, holds it to his heart. An apology. 

Then, she rails back, wretches and twists. She slips through his fingers like time, like silk, like thread.  

What was once solid, warm like new sun on a cold sill, now shifts. Contorts and writhes, skin viscus and pooling around his fingers like so much rancid dough. 

He wants to care but he wants to sleep. Just rest his eyes. Just for a second. It doesn’t feel right but he can’t make himself care. It’s so quiet and peaceful, down here where she used to be solid, where he used to be warm.

***

Then, when he’s almost gone, when peace has fired off in nearly every cell, he’s yanked free. 

Colder than he’s ever been. Night air like a fire burning, like he is nothing but frostbite dropped in a boiling pot.

Sam drags him up onto the dock and collapses beside him. Sam’s face is drawn and terrified and their clothes soggy and weighted, water running off between the wooden planks.

“The Hell Barnes? Party full of perfectly available, alive folk and that’s the strange you go for.”

[royalcordelia]

Summary: Anne and Gilbert embark on their journeys, but stay close to each other at heart. Courting across 1000 miles isn't easy, but they're more than willing to step up to the task. (A post s3 story).

Notes: Hope you all are staying safe and healthy out there. As always, tag list is down at the bottom. ♥

---*---

Chapter 7 ~ Oh My Heart, How Can I Face You Now?

Anne fit in so well at the Sunset House that it was easy to forget she’d only been there less than a day. With a keen intuition, she knew exactly where to find things in the odd drawers and shelves around the kitchen as Ron held out his non-cooking hand. 

“Three eggs! The milk jug! A serving spoon!” 

“Aye aye, Captain,” Anne replied each time, dutifully helping her new friend prepare their first breakfast together. “I still wish you would’ve let me make breakfast. It’s the least I can do after I showed up entirely unannounced. Besides, Gilbert has had my cooking before, but I’ve never cooked for him.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” shot Ron. “If anything, Gil should be the one cooking for you . After all, it’s only polite to make a woman a meal after she’s spent a night in your bed. Especially when he snores.” 

“Ron! I didn’t-...He doesn’t snore! ”

“But alas, Gilbert’s breakfast skills leave so much to be desired, even if they are improving. Poor man makes the same recipes over and over again - his sister-in-law’s from this tiny notebook he’s copied them down in. If it wasn’t for her, he’d still be eating bland vegetables and overcooked pork.”

 Even Anne’s laughter sounded familiar bouncing off the cream walls and brightening the quiet Saturday morning. Above their heads, the running water of Gilbert’s bath kept the room from becoming completely silent. 

Ron found that it wasn’t a lack of things to say that caused his own stillness, but rather, a strange desire to open his entire heart to her. He supposed that was the danger with people who were so easy to like, so easy to talk to. The words fizzed in his throat, and if he moved even an inch, they’d pour out. This is silly, he thought. What’s there to lose?

“Anne,” he began out of the blue. She snapped the gaze away from the autumn-crowned tree outside the window she’d been daydreaming with, joining reality once more and smiling her encouragement. “I’m absolutely, without a doubt one to make assumptions.” 

Having read as much, and more, in Gilbert’s letters, she replied, “I’m not sure that’s always a bad thing. Your assumptions have to be correct some of the time.” 

Ron shifted in his seat, making sure he could hear Gilbert still in the bath upstairs. 

“And if I were to assume you’re a nonjudgmental sort of person, would I be correct then?” 

“I very much try to be,” she offered. 

Ron’s gaze fell to the wall where a small sized portrait of him and Christine was hung across the room. Why would it be easier to say this Anne than it ever would be to say to Chris?  

“There’s this tradition,” he began slowly. “Whenever the science department hosts its autumn banquet at the Meryton Hotel, it empties the basement of all its ornate tables and chairs, leaving it completely empty. That’s not the tradition part - what I mean is, the students who aren’t smart or rich enough to go to the banquet ultimately end up working the event, but then they sneak away to host their own party in the basement. Their own dancing, their own music, their own drinks.” 

“That sounds like fun,” Anne responded honestly.

“The only reason I know about it is because, um, Adam told me about it.” 

“Who’s Adam?” 

Ron couldn’t bring himself to say it. Either that, or he couldn’t find the words to articulate everything it meant. Every ounce of shame and every speechless moment of awe that being with Adam brought was caught in his throat waiting to be spoken. His eyes had glazed over, focused on a patch of flour spilled on the counter, though his mind was miles away. Nudging his arm with hers, she leaned over and drew a smile face into the flour. 

“It’s always been women and men for me. I don’t know why,” he admitted aloud. The words loved the air they took, and Anne didn’t reject them. Instead, she only smiled. 

“A secret for a secret, Ron Stuart,” she replied just as quietly. “I’m the same way.” 

Anne was much shorter than him, and when she met his gaze head on, he saw the gold of her eyelashes. 

“Does Gilbert know?” 

She shrugged. “He might, but I’ve never said it. I don’t suppose it would make much of a difference to him. I can tell there isn’t a bit of me he doesn’t love, even the parts of me that he doesn’t know yet.” Wiping a bit of flour off of his sleeve, she added, “And he’s not the only one out there who loves unconditionally.”

“You think there’s hope for me yet?” Ron said, half teasing. 

“Ron, I have every hope for you,” Anne said seriously. The man’s protective smile fell and his eyes turned glassy.

Gilbert chose this moment to come leaping down the stairs two at a time in a way that was so distinctly Gilbert, that a warm smile lifted on Anne’s cheeks. He heaved a blissful sigh upon entering the kitchen, carrying with him the smell of freshness and soap. The tips of his hair were still damp, but it didn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around Anne’s waist from behind and leaning his chin on her shoulder.

“Good morning, Anne-girl.” 

“Good morning to you too...again.” He smiled against her cheek. “That soap smells familiar,” she commented off handedly, laughing when he kissed her blush. 

“That’s because Marilla sent it.” 

“Marilla?”

“Along with fresh socks, a ream of paper, and some of her preserves.” 

“She never sends me anything!” 

“Sweetheart, you live less than an hour away from Avonlea! You probably live right next door to the post office she mailed the parcel from!” 

He was right, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. 

“Besides, it was only once,” he added. Then, taking in the atmosphere of the room, he released Anne and sat down at the table. “Did I miss something important?” 

Ron schooled his features, looking for something useful to say but coming up flat. 

“A very important, very serious debate on adequate breakfast food,” Anne filled in. “Gilbert, you’re a medical student. Tell Ron that plain toast is not nearly adequate enough sustenance for breakfast. Omelets aren’t just for when guests are around.” 

“I could tell him that, but then I’d be a hypocrite.” 

“Toast is one of the only breakfast foods he can make, poor lad,” Ron interjected. “And even then, he burns it half of the time.” 

“Hmm, kind of like that?” Gilbert said slyly, pointing down to the pan where a piece of brown bread was burnt black and smoking against the skillet. Ron rolled his eyes, sticking his spatula under the bread and flinging it at his roommate. Gilbert caught the bread and hissed at how hot it was, flinging it onto the counter where it promptly slid into the sink. 

“I’m starting to get a sense of what daily life is like with you two,” Anne laughed. “Ron, something tells me you’d get along swimmingly with Bash.” 

*

Toronto had more wonders than Anne could count. In one short afternoon, Gilbert had taken her to roam the histories of the art museum and smell the sweetness of the botanical garden, but not excluded from these marvels was the Stuart Estate. Ron led the way as dirt streets became pristine brick, and small houses turned into domineering manors of stateliness. The working class of Toronto was but a mile away, but Anne felt like she’d stepped into another country - a wealthier, more outstanding country.

“His parents live here? Have you ever been to his their home before?” Anne whispered to Gilbert as Roy said a passing hello to someone on the street. Gilbert shook his head, just as awed by the grandeur around them. 

“I knew he was wealthy, but not this wealthy.” 

“My apologies,” Ron said, returning to the group. “You were saying, Anne?”

“Oh! Well, the conservatory botanist was actually watching the child tear off the flowers from the corner of the room, and when he came roaring over, I thought the mother would perish on the spot.” 

“So Anne, being Anne, rushes over to them,” Gilbert added. 

“And I picked up all the flowers from the ground while the man was getting ready to whip the poor child. A few moments later, I was placing a flower crown atop his head. All I said to him was, ‘Forgive this imaginative child, oh king of the gardens’, and his anger died away.”

“You’ve an odd way with people, Anne. I doubt you’ve ever had a single enemy in all your days," Ron decided, shaking his head.

Anne’s mind flashed all the unpleasant faces she’d encountered over her short lifetime, each bringing a sour taste to her mouth. Her gaze fell to her dress, a bit plain on this side of town, and she remembered the enemy she might be meeting at her destination. 

Oh, Gilbert didn’t know Christine despised Anne, much less the reasons why, and Anne had done her best to stay optimistic inwardly and outwardly. She hoped Christine wouldn’t think her cruel, that she was only borrowing a dress to rub it in that she was the one Gilbert loved. In fact, a person Gilbert held in such high esteem had to have redeeming qualities. Were it not for the barrier between them, Anne suspected her and Christine could be kindred spirits. 

“Home sweet home,” Ron muttered, swinging open an iron gate. 

The Stuart estate was built three stories tall of sand colored stones and sun-thirsty windows. Some of the gabled windows had their own balcony where a person could gaze out over the city for miles. Rounded hedges and a thousand blooms framed the home, though the flowers had started to brown in the autumn chill. As the group crossed onto the terrace, Ron’s mood dropped further and further into the dirt. He knocked on the front door, only to be greeted by a small, mousy servant girl. She eyed Ron first, then Anne, both with disapproval. Her gaze crossed over Gilbert with interest, so she spoke directly to him.

“How can I help you?” she said in a saccharine. Ron frowned.

“Are you new?” he asked. The young woman blinked and her brows furrowed as she decided whether to answer truthfully or scold him for his rudeness. “Nevermind that. Please tell Mr. Stuart that Ron is home.” 

The maid was unsure, but she did what she was told, making way so that the guests could file in behind her. 

“Why don’t you live here?” Anne asked quietly. 

“Remember that thing we talked about this morning?” 

Anne nodded.

“That ,” Ron answered, just as a man a mere inch taller than Ron appeared from the side room. 

“Ronald, I’m surprised to see you.” The man’s voice bore a deep timbre, one only men of class seemed to possess. 

“Well, father, I do favor a visit every now and again.” 

Mr. Stuart’s hard brow softened, but only by a fraction. His hard stare fell on Anne and the kind smile on her lips.

“I’ve brought my friends with me. This is my roommate Gilbert Blythe, and his young lady, Anne Shirley Cuthbert. Anne surprised Gilbert with a visit all the way from Prince Edward Island, but she needs a dress to wear for tonight’s banquet.” 

“And you’ve come to ask for money?” Mr. Stuart deadpanned.

“Oh, not at all, sir!” Anne interjected. “Christine was ever so kind as to say that she might let me borrow one of her dresses. Personally I’d be comfortable in anything, but good appearances help maintain Gilbert’s reputation, and I’m only here for the weekend. If it suits you, I can wash and press the dress before I leave on the morning train.” Mr. Stuart was speechless, so Anne charged. “Your home is magnificent! I’ve only ever dreamed up such places, but being here now, please allow me to compliment your exquisite taste. Did much of the furniture come from overseas or is it purely Canadian?” 

Mr. Stuart cleared his throat when she was finished speaking and turned to Gilbert. 

“Mr. Blythe, are you quite sure about this one?” 

The smile which had arisen on Gilbert’s face listening to Anne be so unashamedly herself fell almost an imperceptible amount.

“Quite certain,” Gilbert assured, perhaps a bit harder than he intended. “Anne is PEI’s treasure.” 

Christine appeared at that moment, descending the stairs with the elegance of a fairy tale heroine. 

“I can entertain our company from here, father. You needn’t trouble yourself.” 

Anne steadied her face, desperately fighting off a bad feeling in her gut. She fell back at Gilbert’s side, sliding her arm through his and relaxing only a little when his other hand reached over to take the one on his arm. 

“Nonsense. I’d like an opportunity to catch up with my son and meet his friend. You may take the young lady up to your room and find her something adequate to wear,” declared Mr. Stuart. Gilbert and Anne exchanged a look that only they could decipher, but Anne bravely let go of Gilbert’s arm and followed Christine up the stairs. 

Out of the autumn wind that blew when she first met Christine, Anne was able to smell the lilac perfume Christine had sprayed about her neck and hair. She vaguely wondered if she should invest in some of her own, if Gilbert might like the sweetness of it.

“I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your help. I’m all but a stranger to you, and yet you’ve been so gracious,” Anne began. Christine did not turn around. “Um, if there’s anything I could do to repay you, don’t hesitate to name it. Truly, anything.” 

Christine tossed a bitter glance over her shoulder. 

“Your silence will be payment enough,” Christine hissed so sharply that Anne nearly spun on her heels to fly down the stairs, yank Gilbert by the collar, and make for the Sunset house. But instead, she nodded politely and complied. 

When Christine opened the door to her room, Anne decided that if Christine was Cordelia, then this was the perfect bed chambers befitting her childhood ideal. A four post bed was pressed against the wall, silken pillows resting atop its lush quilts. A tall wardrobe was nearby, in addition to a walnut desk and a loveseat for reading. 

Christine threw open the doors of her wardrobe, eyeing the various gowns hanging within. Each one she pulled out made Anne’s heart soar with excitement. They were the most glorious dresses she’d ever seen, each just as breathtaking as the last. 

“I won’t look nearly as lovely as you do in any of those dresses,” Anne offered quietly.  

“No, you won’t,” Christine agreed. Anne’s lips snapped shut. She paused a moment before venturing out again.

“You know, Miss Stuart-” 

She didn’t have a chance to finish because Christine had yanked a dress off the rack and spun around, holding it out to Anne. It was a gown of raven black velvet with a modest bit of beaded detail around the high collar. 

“It’s positively lovely, just as lovely as the others,” Anne began slowly. “But I think I’d much rather wear what I’ve brought.” 

Christine still held out the dress, and Anne wondered if she ought to accept out of politeness.

“It’s just that I would hate to wear a mourning gown and disrespect the person it was meant to honor. If people asked who I lost, I’m afraid I wouldn’t have an answer. I’m blessed enough to have no one to mourn," Anne continued.

“But you do have something to mourn,” Christine said. 

“I do?” 

What Christine said next, she stated with such a matter-of-fact air that Anne was frozen in place: “Gilbert’s good prospects.” 

Anne had lived through a thousand different types of ridicules, and even more harsher verbal attacks. But this...This was so calculated, and petty that Anne’s surprise drowned out the growing flame of anger at being ridiculed. In fact, the silence in which a triumphant Christine was smirking was broken by Anne’s roar of laughter. 

Christine doubled back, but Anne laughed on. 

“Because of… me? ...Gilbert’s prospe-” Anne tried to speak through her hilarity, but another wave would come on. Christine was positively horrified. Of all the ways she had expected Anne to react, this was not one of them. But Anne feared if she stopped, there’d be no preventing whatever real reaction she was holding back to such viciousness.

Anne was still laughing when Ron poked his head through the door. His eyes moved from the black dress in Christine’s hand to Anne wiping tears from her eyes. Be it the connection between siblings or Ron’s own cleverness, but horror dawned on his face. He looked over his shoulder before coming in and closing the door behind him.

“Christine!” Ron scolded on a sharp hiss. “Of all your dresses, why is this is the one you-”

“Oh, Ron, it’s alright,” Anne interrupted, her voice finally even. “She’s not serious.”

“I am!” Christine spat venomously. She spun around to face Anne, whose smile drained away at Christine’s brutal loathing. The inky haired woman continued, stepping closer to Anne. “What did you expect? You’re a child from the blemish of society pretending to be a high society woman and you want me to help you?” 

Anne stuttered, helplessly looking for a way to stop her, but finding no words. Christine trudged on. 

“You’re going to make a country hick out of Gilbert. You’ll take the person who could be the best doctor in Canada and bring him back with you to tumble around in the mud for sport. What’s worse is he doesn’t even realize it because he’s such a bumbling fool, happily shoveling every bit of his promise into a grave, and it’s entirely you’re doing. You’ve made him a simpleton.”

Anne’s mind broke away from all its restraints. Christine had doused gasoline on her rage, and if she wanted to see Anne burn, so be it. Ron watched in horror as Anne took another step into Christine’s space.

“I won’t stop you, Christine. Say what you want to me. Give me every insult you can sneer between your teeth, and make every petty move under the guise of propriety you want. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, believe me.” Anne clenched her jaw and her stormy gray eyes flashed lightning, making Christine stiffen her back. “But don’t you dare speak of Gilbert that way again.”

“Come on, Anne, let’s just go,” Ron called from the doorway. She ignored him, and eventually, he turned around and closed the door behind him. Alone with Christine, Anne liberated hersel to speak her mind.

“Miss Stuart, I know you’re in love with Gilbert and that fact in and of itself didn’t make me jealous or worried. I know unrequited love well and I wouldn’t wish that type of heartache on my worst enemy, much less you.” Losing her control, she snagged the black dress from Christine’s hands and tossed it on the bed. “But I know a thing or two more about the world than you think. This viciousness is going to get you nowhere fast. You think Gilbert is going nowhere in life, but he’s going everywhere. And I intend to go with him, wherever that is.”

“You say you’re not worried, but you should be,” Christine replied. “You really should be. He’s here in Toronto and you’re on another island. Even if it’s not me, someone is bound to steal him away eventually.” 

“If you think that’s how love works, then you’re the simpleton.” Anne hummed low and serious. “But I don’t think you are, and I’m not either. I may look like I’m worth nothing in your eyes, but I know my mind is rich and my heart is kind and strong. And it loves Gilbert. So you can give it all you’ve got and waste your time, Christine. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Anne’s gaze fell to the mourning dress she’d thrown onto the bed. “The fact that you even needed one of these makes my heart hurt for you,” Anne commented. “It’s so finely made. I’m sure it honored whomever it was made for. But you, Miss Stuart...this behavior? It doesn’t even honor yourself.” 

Christine was red and quiet. 

“I’m not...” she began finally, but then shook her head. The crease between Anne softened as she watched a battle rage in Christine - the same one she’d once watched in Josie Pye.

“No, please, go ahead,” Anne encouraged softly. Christine ran her fingers down an emerald green gown, avoiding Anne’s gaze. Whatever she was about to say had been locked up deep in the catacombs of her truth, and Anne wondered if she’d ever manage to unlock it, if it was even worth trying. 

Then, as if she’d said nothing at all, Christine spun back to the wardrobe and  grabbed one of the gowns that Anne had been drawn to from the moment she’d seen it. Christine saw Anne’s uneasiness and said, “You should wear this tonight.” 

“Are you sure? I really wouldn’t want to-” 

“Wear it. I’ll do your hair and embellishments, as well.” 

“Embellishments…? One minute ago we were fighting and now you want to do my embellishments? I don’t even know what that means.” 

Christine didn’t elaborate. She only pulled a gold colored gown from the wardrobe and began to undo the laces of her day dress. Anne looked down at her own ensemble, its silky emerald fabric and what seemed like a million shimmering jewels embroidered on. The neckline was modest by usual standards but lower than anything Anne had worn before,  and the sleeves billowed at her shoulders in an attractive fashion. She stepped into the dress, surprised when Christine came up behind her and began to clasp the buttons at the back. When she was finished, she turned her own back to Anne, where the redhead quietly returned the favor. 

Anne turned to the mirror, her reflection causing a short gasp to escape her lips. She couldn’t remember the last time her own appearance had left her speechless. Not even in her best daydreams could she imagine herself this way.

“I’m not usually a cruel person,” Christine murmured, eyes still locked on her reflection. 

“I believe that,” Anne replied truthfully. “When I was in the depths of despair, so heartbroken that I thought I would never breathe easily again, I was horribly hateful to Gilbert.”

“But the things I’ve said to you, even thought about you...Ron probably thinks I’ve lost my mind.”

“Is that an apology?” They met eyes in the mirror reflection.

“I suppose in a way it is.” 

“Then consider us even.” Christine didn’t look convinced, so Anne shrugged. “Historically, I hold dreadful drudges, but I’m working on that.”

Uncomfortable under Anne’s increasingly compassionate expression, Christine turned to her vanity, where she finished adding the final pearl pins to her dark hair. 

“It’s hard to imagine you heartbroken,” she confessed.

A wound on the surface of Anne’s heart tugged, like the scar was trying to break open, but the dull pain was nothing to her trust in Gilbert. 

“Would you believe me if I told you that just six months ago, Gilbert was courting someone else? Not just that - he was planning to propose to Winifred, move with her to France, and achieve his greatest dream by attend the Sorbonne in Paris?” 

Christine’s frown deepened in disbelief. 

“What happened?” 

“He realized he loved me too much to be with anyone else.” Anne sighed, sitting beside Christine, close enough that her genuineness was palpable, but not so close as to snuff out the fragile understanding between them. “I’m not telling you this to rub salt in what I know is a painful wound. I’m telling you because it would be unfair of me not to tell you that your time is better invested finding someone who would turn down the Sorbonne if it meant being with you. And you’re very beautiful, Christine. You won’t have to look hard.” 

They sat in silence for another few moments as Christine began to run a brush through Anne’s loosened hair. Finally, she wondered, “What was Winifred like?” 

“Astoundingly beautiful - easily just as lovely as you are - and so sweet and refined,” “There was nothing I could fault her for. She just wouldn’t give me reason to dislike her, much to my frustration. I almost hated her for being so perfect.” 

“I know the feeling,” Christine murmured. Then, a bit lighter, “How did you meet Gilbert?” 

“Oh, I saw him galloping on a chestnut steed between our two houses and I knew immediately that I must marry him, and if I didn’t, I would certainly perish of consumption within the year.” 

Christine stopped brushing. “...Really?” 

“No, of course not, though can you imagine? ” Anne laughed. “Gilbert saw me getting picked on in the woods shortly after I arrived in Avonlea and diffused the situation. After that, I refused to speak with him and eventually broke my slate over his head.”

“Now you’re just playing around.” 

“It’s the truth! Ask him, he’ll tell you. I did leave out the part when he tugged my braid and called me carrots, but it’s so unpleasant to think about. Truly, little boys have the most barbaric behavior.” 

“Then how did you fall in love? When? ”

Anne shrugged. “I think the whole time, something in the depths of my soul - the part that knows the way of things - had been nudging me for years saying ‘Anne! What are you hiding from? Let him see you! Open your eyes and see him!’ One day it yelled and I listened. I began to see how kind and admirable he is. He was all I wanted to watch and learn about.” She paused. “I’m sorry, this is probably incredibly unpleasant.” 

“Only a little,” was Christine’s answer. “I want to know...in case it ever happens to me, that is.” 

Meeting Christine’s eyes through the reflection in the vanity mirror, Anne smiled. 

“It will,” she promised. “Besides, I’ve learned that nice young men have equally nice friends. Have you considered Fred Wright?” 

“Fred’s not nearly as handsome as Gilbert,” chuckled Christine. 

Anne let out an overly dramatic sigh of resignation. “Alas, no one is.” 

Somehow, strangely and unbelievably Anne’s mind corrected, they managed to pass the next bit of time in easy company with one another. Anne could still see the lingering traces of heartache in Christine’s eyes whenever they met hers, but the icy wall between them had melted enough that they could speak like friendly acquaintances. Their bitter fight, which had raged like a wildfire and scalded the wallpaper, seemed like ages ago. Much to Anne’s relief, Christine had Ron’s sense of humor - a bit dry, but quick to wit. The interaction was a peace offering - Christine offering Anne a bit of rouging on her cheeks and lips (“These are embellishments, Anne” Christine had informed her, darkening her auburn lashes), Anne offering embarrassing stories she’d known about Gilbert.

“His brother says his singing was so earsplitting that they made him clean the latrines!” 

Christine bit back an amused smile, spraying some perfume over Anne’s hair. 

“He likes to sing on his way to class, did you know?” 

“No! I have to tell Bash immediately. Where’s the nearest telegram office?” The laughter on her lips died out as Christine finished her handiwork and stood back so Anne could see her reflection. 

“How’s that for your Princess Veronica?” Christine said, a hesitant, but pleased smile on her lips. 

“Cordelia,” Anne corrected on a murmur. “I think there’s a very unloved, very homely eleven-year-old orphan out there who will be so happy she lived to today.” She turned to Christine, unable to help a toothy grin from brightening her face. “Thank you, truly.”

It seemed that was the final piece for Christine - the part of the story that she hadn’t asked for, but the part that made her able to look upon Anne’s face without feeling sick with bitterness. All at once, Christine realized she’d been dreadfully wrong in her initial judgements of Anne. She wondered that she hadn’t seen the truth of it right away.

“I didn’t mean those things I said,” she said softly. “Well, I did, but I don’t anymore.”

Anne wanted to say something , to apologize for appearing out of the blue and for being the source of Christine’s failed hopes, but she struggled for the right way to articulate it. Before she could, Christine had taken off, leaving Anne alone to wonder how much time had passed - an hour, a day? 

As she made her way down the stairs, she heard Gilbert debating with Ron about something - the philosophical meaning of healing - to pass the time near the front door. Ron saw her first, giving Gilbert a knowing glance and a nod towards the steps. 

For all her imaginings about Princess Cordelia, Anne decided the moment Gilbert settled his molten gaze on her that she didn’t mind being the Anne Shirley-Cuthbert to his Gilbert Blythe. His gaze held multitudes - dreams, submissions, prayers. Each of them were wordless and inexpressible, each only for her. As if by instinct, he reached out a hand to help her off the last stair, though they both knew she didn’t need it, and used the opportunity to pull her close enough that he could smell her perfume.

“If you’re all ready to go, Chris and I ought to go say goodbye to our father,” Ron said. 

Gilbert didn’t watch them go, he couldn’t look anywhere except on Anne’s freckled neckline and rosy cheeks, but he knew the second they’d disappeared into the other room. 

Before she could tease him for his speechlessness, he tangled their fingers together and said in a soft tone, “You’re beautiful, Anne.” It made her want to drag his face into the nape of her throat so that he could compliment how sweet she smelled, how soft her skin was. Though she suspected Gilbert wouldn’t object in the least, they were far from romance heroes who had no sense of decorum, and if she wanted to engage in chancy embraces with him, she’d have to wait until after the banquet. 

For now, she settled on a small kiss against his lips and a wink. 

“What can I say, Christine works miracles.” 

Soon, Ron and Christine had joined them in the front entryway. Much to Anne’s surprise, she found herself being shuffled alongside Gilbert to the family carriage. Ron and Christine sat across from them as if they’d done it a hundred times over. Peering out the curtained window, Anne watched the neighbor pass along. 

“You know, Gil,” Anne began, letting her thumb graze over his knuckles. “I doubt we’ll ever be terribly rich in wealth, and I don’t mind a mite. But to be sincere, I also haven’t minded trying it out for a day.”

*****

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Anaticula Pt 63

On the wake of exams came Draco’s birthday celebration you helped him sneak home for the mini party with his parents an your uncles and father to see him into adulthood. It almost was time as there really was no excuse to put off the plan any more since the vanishing cabinet had its first seven successful runs. Now the only issue was how to get Dumbledore to go along with the plans when he still refused to talk to you. So a plan had to be made and Minerva would lure him into a meeting. And if worst came to it and he still avoided you Peeves and the Bloody Baron had agreed to assist in trapping him in diluting some argument of theirs until you could steal just a moment of his time even if you crumbled it up and threw it at him in passing.

Soon June would be over and you were running out of time. The big day came and nerves seemed to split through the school on the early Saturday morning while you and the other Professors saw no sign of Dumbledore even after several notes and tries to uncover where he had gone. Sundown was when it was planned and there was no turning back.

.

In his office Harry found Dumbledore after sending off a note that he had sent for him. “Oh, Harry. You need a shave, my friend. You know, at times, I forget how much you've grown. At times, I still see the small boy from the cupboard. Forgive my mawkishness, Harry. I'm an old man.”

“You still look the same to me, sir. But-,”

“Just like your mother, you're unfailingly kind. A trait people never fail to undervalue, I'm afraid.”

“Sir, Jaqi has been looking for you. It’s important.”

“That can wait. The place to which we journey tonight is extremely dangerous. I promised you could accompany me, and I stand by that promise. But there is one condition. You must obey every command I give you, without question.”

“Yes, sir. But, couldn’t we get Jaqi? It won’t take-,”

“You do understand what I'm saying? Should I tell you to hide, you hide. Should I tell you to run, you run. Should I tell you to abandon me and save yourself, you must do so. Your word, Harry.”

“My word. But-,”

“No! We must go now, while the tide is with us.” His arm was offered and Harry wet his lips and reluctantly grabbed his arm and joined him in apparating off while floors below you were in your office confirming with Minerva to issue the curfew early.

The joint names in the office vanished and you punched the table, “Fuck!”

Standing up you squeaked clutching your hand and Minerva hurried around the table to cradle your hands saying, “You punched my Quill stand.”

Again you squeaked and Snape took a moment to stop chuckling to himself to aid you in popping your dislocated finger back into place on the hand he coated with numbing and creams and wrapped in bandages. “Where the fuck did they go?”

Peeves popped into your office and cleared his throat saying, “As the Baron requested I have been sleuthing again, I overheard Dumbledore mentioning something about the tide being in their favor.”

Softly you repeated, “Tide?” Then your head fell back in a groan, “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me!”

Snape looked to you asking, “Tide? You know where he is?”

“I have a hunch.” After a huff you said, “K?”

At your side he appeared and you crouched saying, “I would like to apologize for this, however, I need you to go to the cave where Regulus found Slytherin’s locket.” His lips parted and you shook your head, “Dumbledore may be taking Harry there. Signal me when they get to how Regulus was, you remember?” And he nodded, your hand pressed to his shoulder bolstering his courage, “I am so sorry. Signal me when he gets thirsty and I’ll call them here.”

“Of course Mistress. No harm shall come to young Harry on my watch.” And he popped off.

As you stood Minerva asked, “When he gets thirsty?”

“There’s a potion you have to drink to get to the locket, it makes you thirsty, and you have to keep drinking it through the pain it inflicts on you. When you touch the lake Inferi come to kill you.” Parting her lips, “It almost killed Regulus. Dumbledore is going to nearly kill my cousin for a decoy.”

Overhead as she strolled to the hall Minerva’s voice echoed through the speakers, “A strict curfew is being enforced, all students return to your dormitories at once, all Professors ensure that your quadrants are cleared.”

On your left Draco entered the room with Barty beside him, “Professor,” he nodded his head to Minerva in passing her and she patted his shoulder in a consoling way.

Snape, “We will give you a cushion to get Harry and Albus back again. I am certain Bellatrix won’t mind a few questions.”

You nodded, “I’ll let you know when they’re back.”

Exiting the halls they left to head for the cabinet while you clapped summoning your draconic spell book and traced the only allowed pathway the visitors would be allowed to take, from the Room of Requirement to Dumbledore’s office and then out the front exit spreading impenetrable barriers around each hall and room around it. The shimmering barriers vanishing made Barty smirk widely at you saying, “Have I told you how spectacular you are today?”

An exasperated chuckle left you and you closed the book sending it off home again, peering up at him you couldn’t talk as he leaned in to steal a quick peck on your lips making you shake your head keeping from tugging him closer for another and say in his knowing chuckle, “We need to find that ghoul.” Turning back to Minerva’s class peering into each hall along the way until you found it lurking around an empty classroom banging books together in some grunt filled song. Up to Dumbledore’s office he was led and Minerva ensured all Professors were keeping guard over the dorms they had been assigned while you stood watch over the enchanted map in Dumbledore’s office.

Up on your right however Phineas stated, “He will see reason you know.” Peering up at him he continued at your locked gaze on him, “It’s all fear. We all face it. Some worse than others. You have not led him astray.”

“How could I possibly lead him astray when he won’t even answer my letters let alone stay in a room with me?”

Phineas huffed, “I was not aware of that. I will speak with him, encouraging him to stop running from your aid.”

All at once K popped back saying, “They have the fake locket, Mistress.” A snap of your fingers later the pair appeared in the office and a blast of yellow from your hand coated Albus, who was writhing in pain on his knees latching onto Harry’s leg.

Harry wide eyed said frantically, “I don’t know what’s wrong, he drank-,”

With a huff you said, “I know what he drank.” Gripping Albus’ hair you tilted his head back summoning a stream of water from the swirling ball of water in front of your palm into his open mouth he drank until sated when you ceased it. Looking at the calming Professor who you helped to his feet you asked, “Are you quite done killing yourself to confirm I am not lying to you?!”

With a huff he snatched the locket from Harry’s shirt pocket saying, “We got the locket horcrux!”

With a nod you spoke ‘open’ in Parseltongue and he scrambled to catch the note and you said, “Read it.” Opening the note his lips parted in reading it and he looked from it to you in shock, “This mission of yours is going to kill my cousin. From now on leave him out of your plans if you have anymore foolish ideas. Now, if you will kindly behave, it’s time to kill you.”

Harry’s lips parted only to see you snatch his bleeding hand you held over the mouth of the Ghoul, who lapped up the blood and morphed into Albus. Cradling his cut hand in your release of it you raised your hand calling his wand to your palm you aimed at him shrinking him into a salt and pepper Scottish Terrier with a bowtie collar on. You magically nudged up to a dog bed you summoned before looking to the Ghoul Dumbledore and said, “The moon is lovely tonight Professor.”

With a nod he grinned and turned to inspect it closer on the balcony, “Why yes, yes it is.”

In a look at Harry you said, “I’m going to have to turn you into a cat again.”

With a nod Harry pocketed the locket you had held hovering in the air and the note with it for him to read later and drew in a deep breath as your warning ball of light was sent off to Draco that everything was in line. Barty entered the room when you opened the door to see Harry, in cat form strolling over to lay next to the real Dumbledore on his massive cushion hearing his huffs and mutterings. Both uncertain of what was coming.

.

“That one is the Big Bear, Mum’s favorite when she was little. Aunt Lilly had these big posters of them from a trip to the museum trip their primary school took them on. Even Petunia loved to stare at them twinkling when they bewitched them to cover their walls.”

The opening door turned your heads and with your hands behind your back hiding the Elder wand in your grip you stepped back with Barty’s arm draping around your middle seeing Bellatrix’s gaze shifting over you both in her usual sneer. Behind her Rudolphus stood beside Snape and Draco.

Ghoul Albus looked Draco over in his approach, “Good evening, Draco. What brings you here on this fine spring evening?”

“I heard you talking.”

“Yes, we were discussing the stars. Even when alone, I often talk aloud to myself. I find it extraordinarily useful. Have you been whispering to yourself, Draco?” The teen’s eyes narrowed then flinched to you only to see you lean more into Barty’s chest in the tightening of his grip well out of the way from the opening behind the fake Headmaster. “Draco...you are no assassin.”

Hastily Draco blurted out, “How do you know what I am? I've done things that would shock you.”

“A cursed necklace, poisoned mead? Forgive me, Draco. I cannot help feeling these actions are so weak...that you had no connection to them. You have far darker alleys open to you if you were in fact willing to harm. Why even a slip of a vial from your cousin’s venom collection could have fared better.”

“He trusts me. I was chosen.”

Albus, “Then I shall make it easy for you.” His hand reached into his pocket where his wand would be to draw an ordinary twig charmed to look like the Elder wand.

Draco, “Expelliarmus!” The fake wand flew off to the far wall on his left.

Albus, “Very good. Very good. You're not alone.” His eyes searching over the shadows hearing snickers.

Draco, “There are others.”

“How?”

“The vanishing cabinet in the Room of Requirement. I've been mending it.” Harry’s eyes popped open and his claws flexed only to feel a charm from you holding the pair on the cushion.

Albus, “Let me guess. It has a sister. A twin.”

“In a secure location. They form a passage.”

Lowly the fake Professor mumbled to himself, “Ingenious.” Then he wet his lips and said a bit louder, “Draco... years ago, I knew a boy who made all the wrong choices. Please let me help you.”

Draco, “I don't want your help! Why would I need your help when you’re too afraid to see what’s in front of your own face! Who’s really on your side!” The words meant more for the hiding Professor laying his head down in shame as they sank in.

Bellatrix strolled forward smirking, “Well, look what we have here.” Resting her chin on his shoulder, “Well done, Draco.”

Albus, “Good evening, Bellatrix. I think introductions are in order, don't you?”

Bellatrix, “Love to, Albus, but I'm afraid we're all on a bit of a tight schedule. Do it.” She smirked pulling back.

Rudolphus smirked stating, “He doesn't have the stomach, just like his father.” Rudolphus’ finger reached out to stroke Draco’s arm teasingly making him flinch it away from him making him step forward saying, “Let me finish him in my own way.”

Snape stated drawing attention away from you in your silver eyed gaze at Fawkes, who nodded in return at your plan he agreed to, “No! The Dark Lord was clear, the boy is to do it.” His hand patted Draco’s back nudging him back into his mark and raise his wand, “This is your moment. Do it.”

Barty stated, “Go on, Draco.”

Bellatrix shouted, “Now!”

Fake Albus muttered, “Severus. Please."

Fawkes at once took flight screeching as he grabbed Draco mid faked swish of his wand and aparated off to your classroom where Minerva let out a relieved chuckle and gave him an eager hug relaxing him in her hold far from the scene taking place far above.

A flash of green from Snape’s wand before Bella or Rudolphus could and the Ghoul went flying down to the cobbled path below while the fleeing pair of Death Eaters fled through the school smashing all items you had doubled in the means of allowing them some feigned display of destruction. Muffled crashes and booms had the students both above and below hiding from the windows they ensured to be shuttered and they huddled together in the common rooms waiting to be told it was safe again.

Down you went to the courtyard with cat Harry and dog Dumbledore behind you, a wave of your hand had Harry shifted back again to steady at Barty’s side. The double of Hagrid’s hut now burned to cinders just like in your dream from the night before, while the man owning it slunk from his hiding place to join your growing group. Another had under the light of the green Dark Mark in the sky lit up on the glass coffin you were constructing around Dumbledore’s body.

In a stolen glance from one of the windows the Puffs were first to see there was a body and they rushed out coming to find you all. Steadily all students were out in the night air peering at the rising glass coffin settling on the wheeled golden cart that sealed shut with the lid that Fawkes flew out of the castle to peer at in landing on your shoulder. Softly your hand glowed and you raised it pointing upwards with Minerva next to you with her wand raised with its glowing tip stirring a ripple of students after until the glowing mark was blown away revealing the stars again.

Minerva firmly spoke, “All students to the Great Hall now.”

In lowering your hand a swipe of it had the coffin rolling off you inhaled sharply seeing the depressed students all peering between you and Minerva on their way to the Great Hall. Silently they took their seats and you were among the last to enter with Dumbledore in dog form trotting beside your feet stirring the students to climb higher on their benches to get a glimpse at him. A sudden shift of your hand and it folded around the Elder Wand in your back pocket while gasps and whispers grew at the formerly protected Professor, with powers unblocked, shifting back to his natural form.

Trotting up the steps he stole a glance of you and Barty moving to stand in front of your usual spots at the table by Snape on his right while he stood at the podium. “All of this, is quite unusual. Though I must regrettably inform you, that until Voldemort is destroyed, I must remain publicly deceased.” Whispers and gasps continued and he said, “It is regrettable, but for things to progress Hogwarts must seem weakened. I must go into hiding, though, not out of sight.”

In his own sudden thought he added, “From this day forward you will see my other form, a Scottish Terrior, the class mascot if you will, a stray allowed to remain on grounds as a sort of joint pet. I will remain within these walls. Watching over you all to aid whenever possible. Professor McGonagall will be my successor of course, and when this news breaks, no doubt your families will attempt to keep you from returning next year. If you choose to return or if not, we will do all in our power to ensure you are safe.”

A muggle born boy called out, “What about our families?!”

His brother nodded, “Ya! What about ‘em?!”

Albus turned to you and you felt the eyes of the room follow suit making you state plainly, “Any student, muggle born or pureblood alike shall be granted housing should they feel unsafe,” at the boys’ opening their mouths again you raised your hand, “Your families included. Like this body we will bury the day after tomorrow doubles can be made and minds warped to erase those in hiding. There are still two weeks before we go home, write home, for any but you to know Dumbledore is dead. If your families are scared, if you need a place to hide let us know, we will make arrangements and by July we will enact those plans.”

A girl from Gryffindor asked, “How did the, double, die?”

Albus, “Murder.” Lips parted.

Another girl from Ravenclaw asked, “How did the Death Eaters get in?”

Albus, “That is not important,” in the chatter afterwards he added silencing them, “There is a greater plan in play. Kindly head back to your dormitories and write home to your families.” Slowly each student got up and began to file out chattering about what had happened while a trio of Slytherin girls drew you from Barty’s side to theirs in their continued gaze at you.

Lowly when you reached them the tallest whispered in concern, “What am I supposed to do? I can’t go home after this?! Now he’s gone no telling what we’ll be made to do!” The girl on her right said, “Our parent’s can’t-,”

Cutting them off you said, “We have a place for you to stay. Write home, say you will be staying with me.” They nodded and you said, “Anyone else saying the same you tell them write me a note, you do the same, I’ll make a full tally of who all I’m taking watch over and in July you’re coming with me. I told you before, everyone has a choice. Now go write home and don’t worry everything will be taken care of by summer break.” They nodded and thanked you hurrying off to join their house as you turned to join the Professors spotting Harry and Draco joining the others to try and sleep themselves.

Looking up to Albus you asked, “Your plan now?”

Exhaling softly he stated, “I clearly owe you an apology. Several. However past planning my funeral I shall leave my part in any plans to you deem me fit for.”

*

“I did nothing.” Harry stated slightly stunned that he watched you lead that fake Dumbledore into that trap so calmly, clearly having benefited from those acting roles. In Ron’s glance at the locket he passed it over, “It's fake.”

Hermione, “Open it.”

Harry wet his lips after unfolding the note he had pocketed with the locket,

‘To the Dark Lord.

I know I will be dead long before you read this...but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match...you will be mortal once more.’

Ron, “Who wrote it?”

Harry, “I think it was Regulus, years back before Jaqi joined him in searching. Which means it was all a waste. All of it. I almost died for nothing.”

Hermione, “Not for nothing, for him to finally trust Jaqi again.”

Ron bumped his shoulder, “The dads’ll be proud. You keeping to the plan, not interfering.”

“I'm not coming back, Hermione. I've got to finish whatever Dumbledore started. And I don't know where that'll lead me...”

Hermione, “I've always admired your courage, Harry. But sometimes, you can be really thick.”

Ron, “You don't really think you're going to be able...to even figure out what to do by yourself, do you?”

Hermione, “You need us, Harry.”

Watching Idris and Fawkes with the giant Phoenix and his hatchlings soaring in the night sky he stated, “I never realized how beautiful this place was. And we’re almost leaving it for good.”

Hermione’s head met his shoulder, and Ron said, “You can only wonder what the triplets had found and missed before Jaqi got asked along to teach. No telling how even they managed to find that cabinet in that mess of a room.”

Harry, “Wonder who put it there.”

Ron, “Maybe it was like Dad said, they used it to escape, maybe that’s how they planned on evacuating back then.”

Hermione, “Can’t be very big.”

Harry, “So it was just, someone…Maybe that was Riddle’s door, maybe when he tried to work here he thought he could come and go as he pleased since the Headmaster’s the only one who can aparate on the grounds.”

Ron, “Riddle must have worked there, at Borgin’s. Dad said it was reserved for years back when Riddle was young. Maybe he did come and go. Looked for things to hide Horcruxes in maybe?”

Hermione, “No wonder Jaqi found them so quickly then. If he hid them in the school.”

Harry, “She was so calm, through it all-,”

Ron’s shoulder bumped his, “You know Jaqi just like we do. She’s an iceberg, no telling what’s going on below the surface. She’s had to face worse than we have since our first year.”

Unable to help it Hermione yawned and the trio slumped together in front of the fire, unwilling to head off separately to sleep in their dorms.

*

Mandrake roots, not the screaming plants themselves but their roots. A simple and efficient yet highly illegal way to create a double of yourself while also being impossibly dangerous. Like ghouls all it takes is a few drops of blood and then your body will drop as the double forms up. Though that is only where the differences begin. Your body drops because as the mandrake is shifting to become you your consciousness is pulled into the shell. This bond can only be severed by you and also leaves you in a sticky situation, while your new double can be blasted and blasted unaffected by various dark curses your body, the real one, is very much vulnerable, so if someone were to destroy it your soul would be trapped in some ageless limbo for all eternity.

Highly, highly illegal, but root by root you doubled the Muggle population while moving their real bodies to one of the colonies on your island specifically for the Muggle born families with heavy enchantments on each home just in case. Each day they would relax in the resort like place and then ‘sleep’ in the designated way to rest their real bodies while their doubles in their old homes went to work and went about their usual routines as to not draw up suspicions. Street by street and soon nearly a full city had been doubled as you realized they had all moved there to be in a like minded community for their children.

You had already broken the law, so why stop now. RoR club took a turn, all students were mandated to attend and with special help from Moody you stood across from him in front of the students saying, “Today, I am going to be teaching you a special spell I created to both defend and attack. In effect it rebounds the unthinkable curses, at least two of them back into the castor.” With the incantations clearly stated and repeated by the students they watched as Moody cast a Imperius curse at you and you rebounded it and made him curtsy.

With the twins here to help you instruct each of them you would cast the curses and the teens with Moody’s guidance until each of them could easily use the rubber spell and send you flying back to the ground or into a joking action to stir up laughs. The other effect of having so many attacks not unnoticed by you was that after a while they stopped effecting you as much, and by the last you had barely flinched at all. But still each day the classes would delve into more serious protection charms and defenses one could lay around houses or family members on jewelry or clothing to repel certain people or to make them unseen by any foe.

.

Still the summer came and the day when you would divide the students into groups the help send them either off to the safe islands or back homes to see their families. Once again you had left early and beat the returning students to your store fully stocked with more recordings of this latest Quidditch season. One by one fans trickled in to see four of the winning team and out again to head home as the time ticked on and Diagon Alley reached its usual emptying time slots. Soon you would have to ready yourself for the nerve wracking task of going back to the manor, but thankfully it wouldn’t be today.

.

Screams filled your home and jolted you from bed only to find Ginny in the empty ballroom hurling glass balls she’d charmed not to break at a mattress stood on its end between muttered sentences no doubt from the crumbled letter at her feet. In the doorway you, Draco, Neville, Percy and the twins stood watching her until she turned and huffed. “I thought I muffled he room, sorry.”

Draco pointed at the ball on he floor, “I take it that’s from Harry?”

She growled out another huff and floated the ball higher and it flattened itself out, “It would be safer for us to remain apart. I wish things were different however it’s not safe for you to be in a relationship with me!”

Lowering your head your hand rubbed over your face and you grumbled, “What an idiot..”

Raising your head you caught her gaze and she said, “When you go to Dudley’s party you give him a whack for me!”

You nodded. “Will do.”

In another huff she said, “Sorry I woke you. I’ll muffle the room. Just need a few more throws and I will write the most scathing reply it’ll turn his hair pink!”

Holding back your chortle you turned the head back to your rooms after telling her your doors are open if she needs you. Clearly Harry was being stupid, and clearly Ginny had all the ammo she needed to make him realize this fact.

.

Around the table at Privet drive after you had whacked Harry in the back of the head you glanced at Dudley who flashed you a grin saying, “Thanks for the concert tickets, how’d you even get them? Been sold out for months.”

With a grin you replied, “I know one of their roadies.” Parting his lips, “Went to school together.”

Vernon, “Hogwarts? They worked at Hogwarts and work as a roadie?”

With a chuckle you said, “There is a great deal of monotony in our world too. Though he’s saving up cash while his own band is on hiatus for their pregnant drummer.” Making them nod in understanding.

Dudley sighed, “Wish I knew how to play an instrument.”

With a smirk you replied, “Never too late to learn.”

He shrugged, “Might pick up a lesson in University. Got into X.”

With brows raised in Vernon and Petunia’s glance your way you asked, “That’s, a good school? Like top tier?”

Dudley’s cheeks turned pink a bit and he mumbled looking away, “Well, not the top. Twelfth overall.”

“Well done, Dudley.” His eyes met yours seeing your grin easing his out again, “I’m not up to date on Muggle schools, but well done. I am certain you will be marvelous.”

Dudley, “Mainly got in cuz Dad went there.”

Your hand waved in front of you, “Legacies are nothing to scoff at. Families aside I’m certain if they thought you wouldn’t fit or do well they wouldn’t have accepted you.”

Vernon, “Exactly.”

Petunia, “Are you continuing to teach next year?”

“I believe so, unless Dumbledore changes his mind again.”

Harry chortled, “Not likely him being technically dead and all.”

Petunia looked at you and you shook your head, “He’s gone underground, not dead.”

Petunia gravely asked, “Has it come to that? Again?”

“Afraid so, ya.”

Dudley, “Are there going to be more bridge attacks?”

“We’re going to try to keep that from happening again.”

Petunia, “Should we move?”

With a grin you shook your head, “Trust me, when it comes to that I’ll come get you, pack it all up and keep you safe.”

*

“Have that scrubbed!” Through each room the teens tasked to join Riddle’s ranks by their families were ushered into the task of scrubbing the Manor while Riddle worked himself into a frenzy for your visit the following day. A sighting of Barty both infuriated him and lit up his darkened gaze, “Crouch, how is our Queen faring today?” He wasn’t certain where he had first heard the title but once he had it was insisted upon that each Death Eater referring to you used the title.

“Bit tired. Got roped into another family event on her Mum’s side.”

Riddle nodded then turned his head with brow ridges furrowed in a snarling path to the teen moving a tall decorative vase you had complimented once allowing Bellatrix to stroll up to Barty with a wide grin as her hands settled on her greatly rounded stomach. “Barty, I see, again, our Queen has neglected to pay her respects to our Dark Lord.”

Barty flashed her a smirk, “Jaqi is otherwise detained and will be here next week. Did you do something with your hair?” The second question asked in his move past her to head for the sitting room where Narcissa usually sat.

Huffing in a waddle after him she stated, “I happen to be pregnant!”

In a glance back Barty smirked, “So no to the hair then?”

“This happens to be our Dark Lord’s child!” She said in his entering the sitting room.

“Well you certainly haven’t been showing Rudolphus any affection, so who else could it belong to?” Plopping down in the chair beside Narcissa’s he flashed her another smirk.

Bellatrix huffed and said, “Rudolphus understands our Dark Lord needs as many pure blood women of notable lines to breed him an army. Part of why our, Queen, should be here showing her allegiance, properly, on her knees.”

Inhaling sharply Barty spoke before he could think about it he blurted out, “Well that’d be difficult being as she’s due in a matter of weeks with our own.” That made Bellatrix shift on her feet with her smirk dropping as Riddle entered the room and drew closer to the group.

“Jaqi is with child?” Riddle asked in a move to sit down.

Barty exhaled in a pointed glare at Bellatrix ignoring Narcissa’s confused gaze his way she was reigning back as he said, “She wished, to tell you herself, next week at the dinner.”

Riddle, “Is she managing well? She has not written to me of this.” His eyes narrowed. 

“Apparently there was some faulty supply of ingredients for the home tests she had been taking through the season, and with the regimens she’s been able to keep quite slender, but she has picked up some weight lately and we noticed the supply blunder and, positive. We were going to get married before the baby but she wanted to wait, something about her great grandparents and a traditional dress.”

Riddle, “Of course, of course. If she is unwell to travel here next week surely she can rest until after the birth.”

Barty shook his head, “She’s calmed down to the summer schedule. Taking it all in stride, Regulus is fawning over her when we’re apart.”

Riddle nodded, “Of course, of course. Yes, he saw to her upbringing, no doubt she would ask for his assistance.” His eyes scanning over the floor in thought muttering, “She must be protected and seen to always.” Making Bellatrix scowl deeper.

Pt 64

[pope-francis-quotes]

26th March >> (@ZenitEnglish By Deborah Castellano Lubov) #PopeFrancis #Pope Francis’ Homily during the celebration of Holy Mass At Casa Santa Marta, on Thursday, Fourth Week of Lent: ‘Trust in God to Conquer Your Fear’ – #PopeFrancis’ Advice at Frightening Times (Full Text of Morning Homily)

At Casa Santa Marta, Also Warns Against Idolatry Which Leaves Us Empty & Yearning for God

As the news of what is going on in the world, leaves us sad and scared, Pope Francis says we must turn to God to help us conquer our fear.

Pope Francis gave this reminder today, March 26, as he offered his private daily Mass at his residence Casa Santa Marta for the victims of Coronavirus, which so far has claimed over 7500 lives in Italy.

In today’s homily, the Holy Father reflected on today’s first reading from Exodus 32:7-14, in order to demonstrate how idols can disrupt our lives, especially when our trust and priorities should instead be with God, reported Vatican News.

As the Pontiff acknowledged a sad reality, Francis observed: “In these days there’s so much suffering. There’s a lot of fear.”

This fear, he recognized, includes that “of the elderly who are alone in nursing homes, or hospitals, or in their own homes, and don’t know what will happen. The fear of those who don’t have regular jobs and are thinking about how to feed their children. They foresee they may go hungry. The fear of many civil servants. At this moment they’re working to keep society functioning and they might get sick.”

Francis then recognized “there’s also the fear, the fears, of each one of us.”

“Each one,” he said, “knows what their own fears are.”

After also in his homily warning against idols which only further distance us from God and His help and closeness, he prayed: “We pray to the Lord that He might help us to trust, and to tolerate and conquer these fears.”

Before concluding the Mass, the Pope exhorted faithful to partake in Spiritual Communion in this difficult time, and ended the celebration with Eucharistic Adoration and Benediction.

Here are the Holy Father’s words, followed by the prayer for Spiritual Communion:

I prostrate myself at your feet, O my Jesus, and I offer you the repentance of my contrite heart, which abases itself in its nothingness in Your Holy Presence. I adore you in the Sacrament of Your Love; I desire to receive You in the poor abode that my heart offers You. While waiting for the happiness of a Sacramental Communion, I want to possess You in spirit. Come to me, O my Jesus, that I may come to You. May Your Love inflame my whole being, in life and in death. I believe in You, I hope in You, I love You. Amen.

The Masses in Francis’ chapel normally welcome a small group of faithful, but due to recent measures’ taken by the Vatican, are now being kept private, without their participation.

It was announced in recent days that the Pope would have these Masses, in this period, be available to all the world’s faithful, via streaming on Vatican Media, on weekdays, at 7 am Rome time.

This comes at a time too when the Italian bishops’ conference has canceled public Masses throughout the nation, until at least April 3rd, following guidelines put out by Italian authorities.

In addition to Santa Marta, the Vatican has taken other steps to keep people safe and to stay close to the Pope, even if from a distance. They are televising the Pope giving privately, from the papal library, his weekly Angelus and General Audience addresses.

The Vatican Museums are now closed, along with the Vatican’s other similar museums. There have also been various guidelines implemented throughout the Vatican, to prevent the spread of the virus.

To date, the Vatican has confirmed that four people have been tested positive for Coronavirus in the Vatican, and those who were in close contact with them are all being quarantined at home. Recent reports, not confirmed yet by the Holy See, note there is an Italian monsignor who works at the Italian section of the Vatican Secretariat for State, and lives the Pope’s residence, Santa Marta, has also tested positive and is being hospitalized for COVID19.

The Vatican has neither confirmed nor denied reports which say the Pope was tested since then for COVID19.

By this evening in Rome, Italy’s civil protection agency will confirm that more than 7,000 Italians have died from the virus.

For anyone interested, the Pope’s Masses at Santa Marta can be watched live and can be watched afterward on Vatican YouTube. Below is a link to today’s Mass. Also, a ZENIT English translation of the Pope’s full homily can be read below:

***

FULL HOMILY

In the first Reading is the scene of the people’s mutiny. Moses had gone up to the mountain to receive the Law, which God gave to him in stone, written by His finger. But the people got bored and gathered themselves together to Aaron and said to him: “But this Moses, for sometime we haven’t known where he is, where he has gone and we are without a guide. Make us a god that will help us to go on.” And Aaron, who later would be a priest of God, but there he was the priest of the stupidity of the idols, said: “But yes, give me all the gold and silver you have,” and they gave it all and made that golden calf (Cf. Exodus 32:1ff).

In the Psalm we heard God’s lament: “They made a calf in Horeb and worshiped a molten image. They exchanged the glory of God for the image of an ox that eats grass.” And here, at this moment, when the Reading begins: “And the Lord said to Moses, ‘Go down; for your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt, have corrupted themselves; they have turned aside quickly out of the way which I commanded them; they have made for themselves a molten calf, and have worshiped it and sacrificed to it and said, ‘These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt.’” — a true apostasy! — from the living God to idolatry. They didn’t have the patience to wait for Moses to return: they wanted novelties; they wanted something, a liturgical show, something . . .

I would like to refer to some things <in regard to> this. First of all, that idolatrous nostalgia in the people: in this case, they thought of Egypt’s idols, but <it was> the nostalgia to return to the idols, to return, to go back to the worst, being unable to wait for the living God. This nostalgia is an illness that is also ours. One begins to walk with the enthusiasm of being free, but then the complaints begin. “But yes, this is a hard moment, the desert, I’m thirsty, I want water, I want meat . . . but in Egypt they ate onions, good things, and here there aren’t any . . . “Idolatry is always selective: it makes you think of the good things it gives you but it doesn’t make you see the bad things. In this case, they were thinking of how they were at table, with these very good meals that pleased them so much, but they were forgetting that that was the table of slavery. Idolatry is selective.

Then, something else: idolatry makes you lose everything. To fashion the calf, Aaron asks them: “Give me <your> gold and silver,” but it was the gold and silver that the Lord had given them, when He said to them: “Ask the Egyptians to lend you gold,” and then they went with them; it was a gift of the Lord and, with the Lord’s gift, they made the idol. And this is really awful. However, this mechanism also happens to us, when we have attitudes that lead us to idolatry, we are attached to things that distance us from God, because we make another god and we make it with the gifts that the Lord has given us — with the intelligence, with the will, with the love, with the heart . . . they are gifts proper of the Lord, which we use to engage in idolatry.

Yes, one of you might say to me: “But I don’t have idols at home. I have a Crucifix, Our Lady’s image, which aren’t idols. . .:” No, no, in your heart. And the question we must ask today is: what is the idol you have in your heart, in my heart — the hidden way out where I feel well, which moves me away from the living God. And we also have an attitude, with idolatry, that is very clever: we know how to hide the idols, as Rachel did when she ran away from her father and hid <the household idols> in the camel’s saddle and among clothes. Among our clothes of the heart, we too have hidden many idols.

The question I would like to ask today is: what is my idol? That idol of mine of worldliness . . . and idolatry also touches piety because they wanted the golden calf, not <for> a circus, no, but to do adoration. “They prostrated themselves before it.” Idolatry leads you to a mistaken religiosity, rather: so many times, worldliness, which is idolatry, makes you change the celebration of a Sacrament into a worldly feast. An example, I don’t know, I think, we think, I don’ know, let us imagine a wedding celebration. One doesn’t know if it’s a Sacrament, where the newlyweds truly give all and love one another before God, and promise to be faithful before God and receive God’s grace, or if it’s a fashion show, how this one and that one and the other are dressed . . . <it’s> worldliness; it’s idolatry. This is an example. Because idolatry doesn’t stop; it always goes on.

The question I would like to ask all of us today is: what are my idols? Each one has his own. What are my idols? Where do I hide them? — so that the Lord won’t find them? And at the end of <our> life He says to each one of us: “You are corrupted. You moved away from the way I indicated to you. You prostrated yourself before an idol.”

Let us ask the Lord the grace to know our idols. And if we can’t throw them out, at least have them in the corner . . .

Finally, the Pope ended the celebration with Eucharistic Adoration and Benediction, inviting <the faithful> to make a Spiritual Communion.

Here Is the Prayer Recited by the Pope

My Jesus, I believe you are really present in the Most Blessed Sacrament. I love You above all things and I desire You in my soul. As I cannot receive you sacramentally now, at least come spiritually into my hearty. As You have already come, I embrace You and unite myself wholly to You. Do not let me ever be separated from You.

Before leaving the Chapel dedicated to the Holy Spirit, the ancient Marian antiphon Ave Regina Cael rum (“Hail Queen of Heaven”) was intoned.

[ZENIT translation of Pope Francis’ full homily at Santa Marta]

26th MARCH 2020 14:56POPE'S MORNING HOMILY

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Seeing From Here

Summary: Stretch is Not Okay.

Tags: Pre-Spicyhoney, Pre-Relationship, Depictions of Depression, Hurt/Comfort

Notes: This is absolutely a sequel  to ‘Nice Things’, (read it here). Because I needed it today, I needed some comfort, a light at the end of a dark tunnel, so there we have it. Please be aware that this story features someone with depression. 

*Not related to any current series. My brain just wanders off sometimes and falls off a cliff into a short story.

Read on AO3

or

Read It Here

~~*~~

Stretch really wasn’t sure what time it was and couldn’t say he really cared. He’d been laying in bed for an indeterminate amount of time and he was probably going to be here longer. Knowing the exact count wasn’t exactly going to help.

If he had his phone, he could check it, wondrous little multitasker that it was.

If.

His phone was…somewhere. He should probably figure out where. Blue might call to check on him or text or something. It was more than likely he already had. Bad enough that he hadn’t been able to work up the energy to go with him today, now he was going to worry his brother.

He should care about that, probably, and Stretch closed his sockets, ignoring the ache in his chest as he remembered his brother’s pleading expression, his resignation when he accepted that Stretch wasn’t going to come along. The least he could fucking do was not worry him, the very least, but…yeah. He still didn’t move.

Piece of shit, he told himself, useless. Fail, failing, failed, yeah, that could be is past, present, and future, his own set of Dickensian ghosts to haunt him.

The light coming through the windows had shifted quite a bit by the time he heard footsteps on the stairs, but Stretch didn’t think much about it past a little fading relief. Hey, at least he didn’t have to find his phone now, right? His brother would see he was alive, and if Stretch kept his eyes closed, let all his chatter wash over him like so much nonsense, he’d eventually go away.

That was the way this worked and they both knew it, and it didn’t vary much, not even since they’d come to the surface.

Until today, when script went sideways, and the blanket was suddenly ripped off him.

“what the fuck! what—” Stretch started to roll over, shock giving him enough of a spark for that, but it wasn’t his brother standing by the bed.

Edge was glared down at him, the blanket clenched in his fist and his eye lights fiery and piercing.

Yeah, no. He couldn’t deal with this, not today.

Stretch rolled back over, pulling down a pillow to clutch. It wasn’t as good as a blanket, but it was something to hold, something to sink his fingers into until the bones ached.

“Is this what you’ve been doing all day? Sleeping?” Came from behind him, sharp and scoffing.

“you know, just because we’ve fucked a few times doesn’t mean you can come barging into my house or my room whenever.” Though to be honest, Stretch was having trouble even working up any resentment. The shock of having Edge here was already wearing thin and that gray dullness was settling over him again, a fog over his emotions that left them distant and muddled.

Silence and his hopes that Edge would simply leave in disgust were quickly dashed. “Your brother was upset. I’d go as far as to say you ruined the day for him.”

Yeah, that was exactly what he needed to hear. How he ruined things for everyone, oh, yeah, that helped get rid of the yawning pit of dread that was sitting on top of his soul.

“would you get out? please?” He hated that border of rawness to his voice, barely shy of pleading, but there wasn’t much he could do about it, was there. Let Edge make of it what he would, so long as he left.

He heard the rustle as his blanket was tossed back on the bed, the shuffle of feet against carpet and cringed, waiting for whatever else Edge was going to throw at him.

Nothing could have prepared him to hear, softly, “You're not okay, are you.”

It wasn’t really a question and Stretch really didn’t want to answer, because the real answer was somewhere in the middle of ‘no shit, thanks for noticing’ and screaming.

“look, i’m not in the mood to fight.” He wasn’t really in the mood for anything, he was in a mood and fuck, please, leave, leave, leave…

“What do you need?”

“what?” That caught him off guard and was enough to spur him into rolling over again.

Edge was looking down at him, arms crossed over his chest and he was still dressed in his ‘day out’ clothes, jeans and boots, only now it included the addition of a t-shirt with a picture of a skeletal dinosaur on it that stated, ‘I got boned at the Museum.’

A fresh ache settled in his soul, a sharp slice of pain; he’d missed getting to see Edge buying that, missed the laughing and teasing and mocking, all the possible puns and why? Because he couldn’t get out of bed? Just another nice thing that he didn’t deserve. Even that ache felt muffled, distant, a merry warning that later he’d think back on this and the real pain could start.

Edge didn’t seem to notice his internal conflict and only repeated, patiently, “What do you need?”

“i…don’t know?” It was a weak answer and it would probably piss Edge off even more, but it was all he had. Sometimes, Blue would come in on bad days and bring him lunch, dinner, and beg or bully him into eating and sometimes he’d try but…a flat-out question like that. He didn’t know.

Edge didn’t seem angry, only nodded a little. “Are you thirsty?”

“maybe?”

“All right. Your brother always has tea. Would you like that? Or water? Juice?

Multiple choice seemed a little easier. “tea would be…good.”

Edge turned on his heel and walked out, leaving Stretch to stare blankly after him. He hadn’t gotten much success in straightening out the wild tangle of his thoughts by the time Edge came back with a steaming mug.

“Do you want it now or do you want me to set it on the table?”

“i’ll take it.” It was at least worth sitting up for. The mug was comfortingly warm in his hands and the tea was generously sweetened with honey.

It made helpless tears prick in his sockets. At least it was something pushing through the gray, even if it hurt.

“What else do you need? Are you cold?”

I wasn’t before you yanked the blanket away, was on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t say it, couldn’t, not while Edge was here and for some reason being kind, he didn’t deserve kindness, he…

He managed a short nod.

Edge picked up the crumpled blanket and shook it out briskly before draping it over his shoulders, wrapping him in the soft folds. Stretch sipped his tea and watched blankly as Edge kicked off his boots and settled in to sit with headboard at his back, his hands loose in his lap. They sat there together in silence until Stretch managed to drink about half the tea before it grew cold. He didn’t resist when Edge took it away and set it on the side table.

“Do you want to try to sleep?” Edge asked.

“no!” Too loudly, but no, fuck no, he wanted to lay here, yeah, but not sleep, not…not sleep. There was the faint taste of salt on the back of his throat, those tears stupidly threatening, and Stretch swallowed it back. Edge only nodded.

Very softly, like the secret it probably was, Edge said, “Sometimes, when Red is having a bad time, he likes to sit with his head in my lap and listen to music or podcasts.”

That…yeah. That was like, some forbidden knowledge getting dropped on him. Worse, it sounded like something he could want but couldn’t take. Too much kindness, he didn’t, why was Edge doing this?

He didn’t resist the guiding hand on his shoulder, drawing him down, until his skull was settled on a bunched-up corner of the blanket atop Edge’s knees. Those distant, muffled tears suddenly became much more pertinent and Stretch curled into himself, desperately trying to stifle them.

The hand on his shoulder slid up to his skull. Edge must’ve taken his gloves off when Stretch wasn’t looking because the bones of his hand were warm, soothing, and Stretch gave up. He buried his face into the blanket and wept, because beneath that awful numbness he hurt in a way he couldn’t describe, couldn’t wish away, and Edge was being so terribly kind, and it was all too much.

He cried until his sockets ached and his face was crusted with used magic, and Edge only sat there and let him, rubbing that soothing hand across his skull and down his back. When they finally dried up, he was empty of everything but exhaustion and feeling faintly sick.

Edge shifted, drawing away and Stretch let him go, fuck, who couldn’t blame him for wanting to escape this shitshow.

But he only murmured, “I’ll be right back.” And he was, with a wet washcloth and that coolness wiping his face was about the closest to heaven Stretch figured he’d ever get to.

When he was clean, Edge set the cloth aside, refolded the blanket so a dry place was topside, and gently urged Stretch to lay back down even as he asked, “Do you want to be alone or do you want me to stay?”

“stay,” he whispered. He didn’t ask why, didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to hear that it was pity or for Blue, or trying to keep him holding it together until the next time Edge wanted to get laid.

It didn’t feel like pity. It felt like

(Caring)

It felt good.

Edge didn’t talk, only sat with him. Falling asleep was reluctant but necessary, and Edge was still there in the morning when Stretch woke up. He was lolling back against headboard, asleep, and he was wearing that stupid, awesome t-shirt. His neck was going to be killing him when he woke up, probably his back, too. But he’d stayed and Stretch felt…well.

He wasn’t okay, but he thought he could almost see it from here.

-finis

[zimboxl]

Jargon Tourettes

Top 10 Overused Jargon 2018*

Overused Jargon (OJ) tells us what the media savvy think is relevant, useful, and popular. In some ways jargon is a gatekeeper, a cliquish code to separate those who get it from those who don’t. My selection is indicative of general trends with a bias towards the African arts and development worlds. These words are not sacred, and they need to be satirized and tested so that they don't become enshrined, unconsidered, shallow symbols of in-group identification. Perhaps this can help to prevent the alienating and misleading effects jargon can have. Consider this a satirical vaccination against sophistry and let’s hope for a better tomorrow where cryptic condescension gives way to shared comprehension.

Innovation

The elder states-person, the OG of OJ. 'Innovation' has somehow managed to remain atop the charts in spite of becoming a caricature of itself over the years. It also feels like we've been innovating for decades now, we might be due for some consolidation and refinement. Innovation's longevity is a product of its flexibility (it can mean many things), its vapidity (it can mean nothing), and the novelty-chasing tech-centric culture du jour.

Eg. “The Innovation Initiative was initially based on the premise that all change is good. It later became The Department of Unexpected Consequences.”

Engagement

Whether it's measured in links clicked, or viewing time, engagement is usually a euphemism for 'keeping an audience's attention more deeply for longer periods of time'. There's nothing necessarily wrong with this in itself, any creator wants their work to be engaging. Unfortunately, truly valuable engagement is about quality of experience, not just stats. It also turns out that trolling, click-bait, bot-baes, and other tricks work just as well, if not better than creating compelling, meaningful content - assuming that pure statistical engagement is the goal here. Even eliciting hate and outrage in the audience is preferred to eliciting the dreaded indifference.

Eg. “Once middle-aged super-users started gouging their own eyes out the e-ghetto slum lords sought to maintain high levels of user engagement by injecting digital crack directly into user’s blood streams via a fleet of nano-drones.”

Unpack

It's not mansplaining if you preface your long-winded speech with, “let me just unpack that before we move on...”  Poetic allusions to heavy baggage give this bit of OJ an ironic edge. Have you ever felt burdened by verbose unpacking? I have.

Eg. “As the morning's first speaker, I unpacked the topic of discussion at such length the moderator had to stop me so we could break for lunch.”

Girl Child

A steady climber over the years. Indicative of gendered global SJW trends, the Girl Child™ is now the holy grail of target demographics and beneficiaries. The term is particularly popular in development circles where its feminist paternalistic slant strangely fits the industry-wide vestigial-colonial vibe. Besides, 'Starving African' just feels so 1900s.

Eg. “Emergency! The ship is sinking! All women, girl children, and gender-non-binary-human-meat-sacks may board the life rafts first! The rest of you can fuck off.”

Decolonization

An up and coming term with the potential to rise even further in the charts. Its ceiling depends mostly on whether or not it remains a trophy word spoken in seminars and galleries. If it matures into active programs that directly enact de-colonial agendas the word may have to share the stage with other relevant but unsexy terms like 'supply chains', 'resource redistribution', 'local staff', etc. It also has immense potential as a linguistic camouflage for bad art. Those who criticize 'de-colonial art' may easily be shamed and dismissed as colonists, apologists, or sympathizers. The thoughtful critical landscape is pretty thin so similar strategies may be applied with other identity-centric words to shield questionable work from honest criticism.

Eg. “The former farm invader liberator had diversified his portfolio to include decolonizing luxury resorts, one free vacation at a time.”

Afro-Futurism

This once exciting term is at risk of becoming nostalgic dross due to how much it's been bandied about in African arts circles. It's a victim of its own success. A tell-tale marker of when a term becomes OJ is that it inspires satire of a higher quality and awareness than sincere works.

Eg. “Afro-futurism enables us to imagine a future where our collective conscious, aka Wakanda, has morphed into a touch screen cell phone that purifies drinking water, and cures HIV.”

Beneficiary

If a heroine feeds a starving village and no one sees it, did they all just starve instead? There can be no benefactors without beneficiaries and they must be documented, preferably smiling in situ despite the squalor that surrounds them. As a citizen of a country where most adults are unemployed I'd argue that employed development professionals should also be counted among the so-called beneficiaries. There's no shame in getting paid if you do a good job.

Eg. “As I saw the tears of unrestrained joy flow from the beneficiaries' eyes I knew my genocidal ancestors' crimes had been forgiven in full. If anything, I'd earned some extra credit for future generations.”

Toxic Masculinity

The shortest way to describe a Tarantino movie. Some people seem to believe that all masculinity is toxic, but we unfortunately don't have a popular catch phrase for them yet. Many men try to camouflage themselves by borrowing the props, costumes, and behaviors of their perceived superiors, essentially flaunting their overseer's whip. You know it when you see it.

Eg. “The game show host gave Chloe a choice between experiencing an unspecified act of toxic masculinity and ingesting mercury; Chloe chose mercury.”

Curate

Curating used to happen in museums and galleries, ideal environments for  showing others you have better taste and ideas than the unwashed masses. Now it's everywhere. Seemingly overnight the jargoneers stopped simply 'choosing things to sell in their shops' and started 'curating bespoke collections for their boutiques'. It’s the same thing, but with bougie overtones.

Eg. “The fuel station manager curated a collection of limited edition off-white sequined jerrycans for his most discerning customers.”

Interactive

I know what this word means to me, but after being assaulted by many misuses, and making many concessions for the sake of conversation and civility, I no longer have a clue what it means to the general public. I do know that in digital art circles it signifies 'cool', 'cutting edge', and 'dynamic'. At worst I've seen it used to describe a fixed work that people looked at without influencing in any way.

Eg. “The curator  of 'The Bricks are Present' was puzzled when the audience didn't transform into pro-bono builders despite the presence of the interactive bricks in the space.”

Conversation

Habitually misused by talking heads who would have you believe their one-sided monologues somehow constitute a conversation.

Eg. “Popular Instagrammer @Philosothot69 had an ongoing conversation with her thirsty horde of male fans wherein she mused about being more than just her looks while they sent her flaming eggplant emojis and tagged their friends.”

Problematic

Increasingly just a trendy way to add an air of faux-academic objectivity to ones' personal opinions and preferences. A newb might say, 'I didn't like District 9', but a true OJ guzzler will declare that it was problematic. Like many such words its rise began sincerely within relevant contexts, but it has since been taken up cynically in other contexts. In a few years it may just be something glib people say about petty things in the ceaseless quest to sound woke.

Eg. “When eventually Phil voiced his critical opinions about the concept sketches for the mural, Kuda quickly shushed him, reminding him that, generous funding aside, his uppity whiteness was problematic. Thus Kuda attained her black belt in the dark arts of juggling feminism and racial politics.”

Triggered

Triggered once referred to panic attacks that traumatized war veterans suffered after hearing loud noises or other shocking stimuli. Originally rooted in early studies of Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), or shell-shock as it was known then, triggered can now be trotted out to describe how you feel when someone is wearing the same outfit as you at the grocery shop.

Eg. Overzealous auto-correct and my aversion for proof-reading ruined my broadcasted Annual Christmas Party invitation message. I got so triggered I like literally died.

* by 10 I meant 13.

[shinehyuk]

1. If I said you had a good body would you hold it against me?

2. Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk past again?

3. Are you a magician? Because you just cast a spell on me.

4. You’re so sweet you must be made out of chocolate.

5. Did you hurt yourself when you fell from Heaven?

6. Are you a cat? Because you look purrrfect!

7. Are you tired? Because you’ve been running through my mind all day.

8. Hold out hand: “Hey I’m going for a walk. Will you hold this for me?”

9. I’m not a photographer, but I can picture me and you together.”

10. Are you a cake, “Because I want a piece of that.”

11. Are you a bank loan? Well, you’ve certainly got my interest. 

12. If you were a triangle, you’d be acute one!

13. Your hand looks heavy, let me hold it for you.

14. I think you are suffering from a lack of Vitamin Me.

15. On a scale of 1 to 10, you’re a 9 and I’m the 1 you lack.

16. Do you like Harry Potter? Because I adumbledore you.

17. Was your dad a boxer? Because damn, you’re a knockout!

18. Your lips look lonely. Would they like to meet mine?

19. I was wondering if you had an extra heart. Mine was just stolen.

20. Your phone has GPS, right? Because I’m totally going to get lost in those *insert color* eyes.

21. Would you grab my arm, so I can tell my friends I’ve been touched by an angel?

22. Can I have your picture so I can show Santa what I want for Christmas?

23. Your body is 65% water and I’m thirsty.

24. Excuse me, do you have a band-aid? Cause I scraped my knee falling for you.

25. Do I know you? Cause you look a lot like my next girlfriend/boyfriend.

26. Do you know what my shirt is made of? Boyfriend/girlfriend material?

27. They say Disneyland is the happiest place on earth. Well apparently, no one has ever been standing next to you.

28. You look cold. Want to use me as a blanket?

29. Are you an alien? Because you just abducted my heart.

30. Did your license get suspended for driving all these guys crazy?

31. For some reason, I was feeling a little off today. But when you came along, you definitely turned me on.

32. Can I borrow your phone? I need to call God and tell him I’ve found his missing angel.

33. Hey, you’re pretty and I’m cute. Together we’d be Pretty Cute.

34. Can I follow you home? Cause my parents always told me to follow my dreams.

35. What’s a smart, attractive man like myself doing without your phone number?

36. I seem to have lost my phone number. Can I have yours?

37. I’m lost. Can you give me directions to your heart?https://4c187f528ca3edbe6be7516a9d6e27a5.safeframe.googlesyndication.com/safeframe/1-0-38/html/container.html

38. I would say God bless you, but it looks like he already did.

39. Are you a parking ticket? Cause you’ve got fine written all over you.

40. Is your name Google? Because you got everything I am searching for.

41. Are you sure you’re not tired? You’ve been running through my mind all day.

42. Did I tell you I’m writing a book? It’s a phone book and it’s missing your number.

43. Is there an airport nearby or is it my heart taking off?

44. Life without you would be like a broken pencil… pointless.

45 Are you from Tennessee? Because you’re the only ten I see!

46. I must be in a museum because you truly are a work of art.

47. I’m not stalking you, I’m doing research!

48. If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put U and I together.

49. I’m no mathematician, but I’m pretty good with numbers. Tell you what, give me yours and watch what I can do with it.

50. Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?

(50 Done SO FAR)

(50 more coming soon)

-Your Cringe anon

jfskgjjdkfkxjrjfkff these so make my day, thank you so much anon 😩 <333 i love these <3