#written about her is about her as a four year old. so the pathway of her life is so. ahhhHHHHH. you know?

[relevant-url-incoming]

Every day I contemplate how absolutely wild it would be for anyone who knows adult Ven to meet her as a teenager. Like. Jorgan knows her the longest but even at 20 she's being very nice, because she is intensely aware of the fact that this is the first time she's ever had the backing of an actual government behind her. She was declared a terrorist once for just existing as a child and then again as a teenager for actual shit she did, and as ashamed as she is of some of that teenaged Ven still clung to it as a kind of "fuck you" to the establishment she fought. The people in her adult life all tend to see her as this beacon of forgiveness or whatever, but Ven started out vindictive and fairly cold-hearted if she thought you were going against one of her deeply held beliefs. Sure, if you betray forty year old Ven, she would hold your hand and ask you if you're doing all right and if there's something going on and you want a second chance, but twenty year old Ven would give you ten seconds to explain before she shot you in the shoulder and seventeen year old Ven would just kill you dead as soon as she found out. Like. I don't even know where I'm going with this and I have barely said anything about Ven on here but every now and then I'm possessed by the urge to ramble incoherently about how much she changes over time and how few people even see beneath her friendly facade to notice.

[beyondcuckoo]

Reincarnated Pathways has been published on Elaine Webster - https://elainewebster.com/reincarnated-pathways/

New Post has been published on https://elainewebster.com/reincarnated-pathways/

Reincarnated Pathways

Shared from Mu the Motherland: There’s a lingering memory, an experience, that stays with me from my childhood. I’m not sure exactly how old I was at the time, maybe seven or eight—not long after my family moved from Manhattan to Queens in NYC. I remember that I had recently made my first communion at the local Catholic church when I began to feel frightened by the idea of death. Most nights left me tossing and turning, afraid that if I fell asleep, I would somehow disappear. One night, however, as I gazed out the bedroom an image appeared—not so much an image, but a solid person waving and smiling as if to say, no worries, I’m here.

Through the years, I’ve thought about the encounter, remembering the calm that pervaded the room as the bald, round-faced man gazed at me with gentle kindness. Recently, and what brings me to write this, is an episode on the History Channel about a woman, Omm Sety (Dorothy Eady 1904 -1981), who dedicated her life to Egyptology, specifically the study of the Temple of Seti at Abydos, where she said she once lived. There is much written about Omm Sety and I recommend a book by Jonathan Cott, “The Search For Omm Sety”, which is a fascinating account of her life and her encounters with King Seti I, supposedly in person, in the flesh, romantically through astral travel. Normally, I would file this as simply interesting, but what grabbed me, was that the image shown of King Seti’s mummy closely resembled the man I saw as a child in my window.

The Edgar Cayce readings (available from the Association for Research and Enlightenment, A.R.E) say that ancient Egypt was a colony of Atlantis before its cataclysmic demise and remained a powerful world influencer throughout its history. While fascinated with Egyptian history, I don’t feel that I lived at that time, which makes my childhood vision confusing. Instead, I feel more connected to Lemurian influences and the pre-history conflicts with Atlantis which caused planetary chaos.

A belief in reincarnation fuels my interests and studies, however, you need not believe in it to consider how our actions affect the planet’s future and spiritual advancement. History repeats itself to allow our souls to progress through the Yugas—A Hindu term that defines the four steps in mankind’s development. In our current position in Kali Yuga, living is hard, but the lessons and rewards are great. Some similarities between the pre-destruction time of Atlantis and Lemuria:

High technology and science are predominant.

Religious thought struggles and is often falsified then used to control the weak-minded.

Money and wealth are king, with little regard to Karmic (the law of cause and effect) consequences.

Those in power lie, cheat and steal to further unholy agendas.

Planetary abuse in the forms of waste, pollution, carbon emissions etc. create increased weather extremes, shortages, and natural disasters.

Earth changes create famine, destruction of habitats, and a vast migration of peoples escaping unhealthy and dangerous situations.

WAR!

However, before we get all hung up on the negative, remember that we have the free will, to do it differently. We are God’s children with a divine right to everything we need to return to higher planes and ways of thinking. We struggle with dualities: right/wrong, good/evil, rich/poor, love/hate etc. Which way will we go? I like to think that we’ll make it through, but not without tremendous effort and above all else, love.

So, what’s to be done? The signs are there, but it’s not as simple as living “Green”, although common sense dictates that we need to clean up our environmental act. But let’s look back at the commotion and chaos that destroyed civilization during the last Yuga cycle. Information from the Cayce readings, and elsewhere suggest that high technology—not evil in itself—created a scenario where humankind was capable of mass destruction, which apparently backfired way beyond what was imagined. The Hopi Elders say that someone “pushed the wrong button”. Other religious texts talk about great floods, mass migrations, and folks moving underground. (Check out the underground city of Elengubu, known today as Derinkuyu.) Many cultures speak about places of emergence whenever the coast was clear. No matter what you feel is true, there is still no denying that we are at a crossroads.

One of the goals of the “Mu the Motherland” is to help us to calm down and take a look around—setting aside our differences and focusing on our strengths. The political world is divided, more or less in half, which sets the stage for civil unrest, cultural division, religious fanaticism, and wars. We can counteract by broadening our horizons and accepting our neighbors. Which brings me to immigration. The world is still large enough to accommodate populations if we work towards common sense goals. Primal instincts set us up to fight to hold on to territories and repel invaders. However, people are on the move and letting individuals and families die at border crossings, at sea, in deserts etc. is not an option. The issues are complicated, but they can be figured out. Bottom line—violence is never a solution—love is the answer. Peace.

Image Source: Roland Unger, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

[kayla1993-world]

Being homeless wasn't how Lynn Spiegel pictured retirement. About four years ago, she found herself in her mid-60s living out of her car after having worked since the age of 15.

"It was hard," Spiegel told CBC Toronto in an interview. "I would go and stay in a park all day long and then sit in front of a McDonald's." Spiegel had recently left her long-time job as a supervisor with a trucking company. She was having trouble keeping up with payments on her condo, so she sold it. At first, Spiegel stayed with her sister, but it didn't work out.

In all, she spent seven weeks sleeping in her car. Her only income was the old-age security benefit, and she couldn't afford to rent an apartment. She moved from her car to Toronto's shelter system; an improvement but still a struggle, she says, because of her age. "For a first-timer, for an elderly person, you know, it's very difficult to be in a shelter."

According to Homes First, an organization that helps people get off the streets and into supportive housing, Speigel's story is becoming increasingly common in Toronto as more elderly people experience homelessness. That's due to the city's aging population, rising inflation, and an increasingly expensive housing market, Homes First says. Spiegel says she did what she could to adapt while in the shelter system. 

"I got along with the young people and I was kind of like a mother to them. I would talk to them, I would listen to them," she said. That time came to an end in July 2020, when she was referred by a doctor to Homes First. She was approved to move into subsidized and supportive housing owned and operated by the agency. Now, Spiegel not only has her own unit, but the building is for people over the age of 59 and is tailored for older residents.

"It's a blessing," she said.

According to Homes First, older individuals also tend to have smaller support networks and can wind up experiencing homelessness as they lose the friends and family that help them live independently. Jamie Facciolo, Homes First's director of development and homelessness initiatives, says over the past three years, the organization has been serving more and more seniors. He claims that when seniors lose their homes, they are 60% more likely than younger people to experience chronic homelessness.

"The alarm needs to be sounded on this because this is our most vulnerable population and something needs to be done," he said in an interview. Facciolo said the solution isn't just a home to get someone off the streets, but a specific kind of home to keep them from going back.

"We need to build in very specific support for seniors to allow a pathway out of homelessness. The pathway to sustainability is much more challenging," he said. Homes First is tackling the problem through its $2-million Homefull campaign. The program is aimed at tailoring supportive housing to the needs of seniors, including nutritious meals, better access to primary health care, and providing social programming and digital literacy workshops to help residents connect with their communities.

Housing is becoming a prominent political issue not only in Toronto but across the GTA and other Ontario municipalities where the cost of renting or owning a home is also becoming out of reach for many. The two most prominent Toronto mayoral candidates in this month's municipal election, incumbent John Tory and challenger Gil Peñalosa, both say they have policy ideas to address the problem.

In a written statement, Peñalosa says too many seniors are getting evicted thanks to rent increases that outpace the rate of inflation. If elected, he says he would double the Tenant Defence Fund, which helps residents oppose rent increases at the Landlord and Tenant Board. "I will do everything I can to keep seniors in their homes, where they have often established a community over decades. It is better for the individual, and will ultimately cost the city less to keep seniors, and anyone else, out of the shelter system," Peñalosa said in the statement.

Tory, meanwhile, points to his record as a two-term mayor. Over the past eight years, he says he's worked with both the federal and provincial governments to help low-income seniors and reduce homelessness. Tory says he led the creation of the separate Toronto Seniors Housing Corporation, which helps to ensure the social housing stock has the distinct support seniors need.

"The mayor is committed to making sure the city government — with the cooperation of the other governments — does everything it can to keep life in our city affordable for seniors and to ensure they have the support they need to stay in their homes for as long as possible," a statement from Tory's campaign said.

[crash-cinematic-universe]

a beautiful sight

pairing: peter maximoff/reader

summary: peter maximoff is good at getting himself into trouble. you’re good at getting him out of trouble. what happens when you get tired of the same old routine?

warnings: there is angst for a moment and then they just start fucking. language warning and also sexual content warning

notes: this took so long. this took me so long to write. this took me so long to write and i am so sorry about that. this is 4k words long i hope that eases the pain. also i tried to keep the pronouns gender neutral but since they are having sex the reader is written to have “female” genitalia

taglist:  @stranger-names @gooseyhouse @parkersdarling @amourtentiaa @toodles-me-doodles @rottenstyx

            Your hands gripped the leather steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip, your teeth clenching so hard you feared your jaw would snap. Fat raindrops smashed against the windshield before quickly being swept away by the automatic wipers. Street lamps and stop lights sparkle in the rain, making for a beautiful sight; if you were traveling under different circumstances, you’d probably enjoy the drive. Unfortunately, you were currently being crushed by your current situation, anger simmering within your stomach.

            You pulled up in front of the police station, a withering sigh escaping your chest before the car locks popped open. Determined to keep your composure in front of a bunch of cops-- who, admittedly, you were not on the best terms with-- you kept your chin up and expression stoic as you walked through the rain into the main lobby of the station. 

            The police station was exactly like how someone would expect it to be: the floor was covered with dull white, the walls a similar shade of white. An unsuspecting visitor would be immediately greeted by the uncomfortable and unwelcoming lobby, decorated only with a dying fern in the corner. Four grey chairs sat against the wall, a small wooden side table between them. There were magazines on the table, each one more brain dead and empty than the last. One could only compare reading said magazines to eating only empty calories for their entire lives. 

            A shell of a receptionist sat behind a large desk across the room, and you walked directly over. This one is new-- you’d been here three times in the past three months, but you didn’t recognize her. She was typing away at a computer, her eyes tired and sunken in. There was a coffee cup sitting next to her, but it looked as if it remained untouched for hours. Sluggishly, she looked up at you.

            “How can I help you?” Her voice matched her exterior, a deep fatigue dripping off her words, Obviously, she didn’t want to be there, but you couldn’t really blame her. Who would want to work in such a lifeless place?

            “I’m here to pick up my boyfriend,” You sound tired, not as tired as the receptionist, but still tired. She shoots you a sympathetic look.

            “Name?”

            “Peter Maximoff.”

            You catch a glimpse of the receptionist’s name tag, quickly learning that her name is Nicole. She types something into her computer, adjusting her glasses and leaning in slightly.

            “Alright, miss, he’ll be out in a few minutes. You can take a seat over there,” Nicole gestured over to the makeshift waiting room and you nodded. 

            “Thank you,” Like clockwork, you spun on your heel and landed in the uncomfortable chair that had gotten used to your presence. 

            You hated police stations. They had a certain soul-sucking quality to them; whether or not that quality comes from the poor souls that get thrown behind bars or the pieces of shit that put them there is up for individual interpretation. Police stations reeked of stale coffee and sweat, the occasional police siren cutting through the air every hour or so. The sound alone was hair-raising, especially to someone who landed themselves on the “wrong” side of the law uncomfortably often.

            The sound of footsteps approached the double doors to your left, and soon enough Peter walked through them, his hands still bound in handcuffs. The police officer that escorted him out unlocked his cuffs before disappearing back behind the doors, leaving the two of you in the lobby alone. Well, mostly alone. Nicole was still sitting behind the counter, looking as unenthused as ever. Peter rubbed his wrists, his pale skin an angry red where his cuffs constricted them. 

            He had a black eye, his silver hair messy and unkempt. The Nirvana t-shirt he was wearing was ripped, and dozens of small cuts and bruises littered his body. You already knew he got into a fight, you just didn’t realize how banged up he had gotten. A part of you pitied him. Upon seeing his injuries, you almost allowed yourself to let go of the anger that had been festering inside of you. Somehow, you restrained yourself. Silently, you turned and walked out the front doors of the police station.

            “Y/n--” Peter calls after you, an incoming apology hanging on his lips. You got to the car before he could catch up to you, quickly entering the driver’s seat and waiting in silence. Soon enough, Peter clambers in.

            “Y/n, I--”

            “I don’t wanna hear it,” you cut him off, frustration evident in your voice. Wisely, Peter held his tongue. “You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep recklessly running through the city doing whatever the hell you want. I can’t keep bailing you out, I won’t keep bailing you out.” 

            “I’m really sorry, doll,” He sounds like he’s being genuine, but you were going to need a lot more than one measly ‘sorry’. “I just… I saw these guys beating up some teenager in an alley. I couldn’t let that slide, and god knows the cops aren’t going to do anything about it. I did what I thought was right,”

            “I’m not mad at you for that, Peter. I would’ve done the exact same thing if I was in your position, I’m just… worried. I know you think you need to stand up for the little guys, but you can’t keep putting yourself at risk. I hate seeing you all beaten up like this,” You sighed, taking Peter’s hand in yours. His knuckles were bruised, the new purple splotches decorating his skin. The bruises from the last unfortunate encounter weren’t even fully healed you.

            “I swear, this is the last time you’ll have to do this. I promise,” He smiled weakly at you, and somehow, you managed to swallow the fury that had built up inside of you. 

            “It better be.” You ran your thumb over his injured hand, watching as the dark purple patches disappeared. Thankfully, your mutation guarantees that all of the scrapes and scratches will heal quickly. “Now, let’s go home so I can bandage you up.”

            “I’d like that,” Peter smiles softly. His hand remains in yours as he rests his head against the car window, watching other cars whiz by in the rain. The street lights illuminated the sharp angles and delicate curves that made up his face. Even with a busted lip, Peter was still one of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen. 

            The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, the sound of raindrops pattering against the windshield lulling you both. It was late, the sun had long plunged past the horizon and a dusting of stars had appeared in the night sky. You noticed a few constellations as you drove to your apartment, the three signature stars of Orion’s belt catching your eye. A few months prior, Peter had taken you to a large field in the middle of nowhere, the scenery free of the light pollution the cityscape provided. He talked for hours about the stars, going from constellations to the lore behind them to the planets themselves; he even spoke about the star signs. He spoke with such passion, you felt as if you could listen to him talk for hours. 

            You pulled up in front of your apartment, quickly switching off the car. The rain gradually grows harder as you and Peter scurry up the pathway to the apartment lobby. Peter practically dragged you inside; it was obvious that he was struggling to contain his speed. As it turns out, hiding superpowers is much harder than initially expected. With every mutation-suppressing day that passes, Peter grows more antsy and you grow more anxious.

            “You alright, silver?”

            “Yeah, I just wanna get home,” he replies, but it’s too quick. He’s too eager to ward off your concern. He’s hiding something.

            “Peter, don’t lie to me,” Your words are obviously a warning, but they come out much softer than intended. Peter is visibly unwell-- you can’t believe you hadn’t noticed it sooner.

            “Really, I’m fine, it’s no big deal,” It was obvious that he was trying to reassure you and quell your worries, but he was failing miserably. Finally, he surrendered. “Seriously, I’m totally okay. I’m just a little sore and, uh… bleeding,” It’s only then that he lifts up the part of his shirt that hadn’t been torn, revealing a poorly bandaged gash-- you can only assume he got stabbed.  

            “Oh my god,” You gasped, taking a sharp step forward. “Peter, you-- what-- how have-- oh my god,” 

            “It’s okay! Don’t freak out, it’s just--”

            “It is not okay! Not in the slightest!” You pulled him into the nearest empty elevator, immediately slamming your hand on the button for the fourth floor. Peter looked pale and sickly, and upon closer inspection you realized that he was trembling. Still, Peter managed to smile softly.

            “I’m okay, dollface, really,” The elevator dinged, and you practically yanked him out of the small compartment. “Once we get home, you can patch me up, good as new, just like always,” 

            “Peter, why didn’t you tell me?” You fumble with the keys to your apartment, a metallic jingling punctuating your words. After what felt like a billion  years, you finally managed to shove the key into the handle and throw the door open. 

            Like clockwork, you fell into the routine you’d come to know so well. Peter sat on the kitchen counter, taking off his torn and tattered shirt and waiting patiently for you to come to his aid. You took a sharp left into the bathroom, your knees hitting the floor as you dig through the cabinet under the sink. The glimmering white gloss of the first aid kit caught your eye; within seconds you had yanked it out from between the extra toilet paper and the windex. Although you could heal the worst of the cut with your mutation, you still had to bandage it and disinfect the giant gash. 

            “Okay-- just try to hold still. You know the drill,” Peter nodded slightly, sharply inhaling as you pressed your fingertips to his pale skin. He leans back on his hands, his eyebrows furrowing as he hisses. The open wound on his abdomen begins to slowly recombine causing blood to gush out of the cut. You’re quick to wash it away with a wet cloth. As extraordinary as your healing abilities might be, they don’t take away the painfulness of any given laceration. For the next minute or so, your beautiful boyfriend is going to be in near agony. Peter’s head falls back as he tries his best to avoid looking at his injury-- he claims it “always makes it worse”.

            “We’re almost done, Peter. You’re doing very well,” You soothe, trying your best to make the process as quick as possible. Peter whimpers as the cut closes and the blood flow stops. The skin where the cut closed was still very red and tender, and any sudden movement risks reopening the wound. This one was particularly bad, the severity and depth of the injury dangerous enough to warrant the consideration of double bandaging.

            A deep sigh escaped your chest; you were tired of this routine. This awful, never-ending chain reaction that almost always ended with you trying to scrub blood out of your clothes. The police station, the arguments, the cuts and gashes and hushed apologies-- you were just so tired. And you loved Peter, you really did, but he didn’t love himself. He was willing to put his own survival on the backburner at the drop of a hat, and even though he usually came out fine, the thought of him getting hurt was weighing down on you. 

            “Y/n?” Peter chimes up, his voice pained and gravelly. You hum in response, too occupied with disinfecting the now healed cut to answer with a full sentence. Peter winced every time you pressed the washcloth to his skin. “I’m sorry,” he spoke softly, his voice wavering with each brush of the rag. Genuine remorse coated his every word, and beneath the gentle tremors and the sharp breathing, his voice is thick with building tears. 

            Peter sits up, a strangled grunt forcing its way out of his mouth. He moves slowly, trying desperately not to agitate the healing skin on his stomach. His shoulders slumped over and his head hung low, strands of silver hair falling over his eyes. It’s getting long. You’ll have to cut it later. Gently, you run your hand through his hair and pull his head up so your eyes meet. Some of the tears had spilled over, leaving glistening tracks in their wake.

            “I’m so sorry,” He coughed, although it seemed as if he was trying to cover a sob. You pulled him off the counter before wrapping your arms around his waist, minding his injury. His skin is warm and littered with scars. He practically collapses on your, gripping at your shirt like it’s his lifeline. “You do so much for me, and I always end up asking for more. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” 

            “Peter, it’s okay--”

            “No! It isn’t! You drove all the way across town at midnight to pick me up from  the police station, only to immediately find out that I got stabbed and decided to hide it from you,” he stuttered, his grip on you tightening ever-so-slightly. “I’ve been a really shitty boyfriend lately,” 

            “Hey, look at me,” you softly cup his face with your hand, running your thumb over the fading bruises from past altercations with assholes in alleyways. Peter Maximoff is nothing if not a hero at heart. “Yes, lately you’ve been reckless and it freaks me out. Sure, I didn’t exactly think I’d be spending my Friday night sitting in a police station waiting room. And, yeah, I’d prefer if you didn’t hide stab wounds from me, but you are not a shitty boyfriend. You’re a wonderful boyfriend who happens to have an uncontrollable urge to help others, even at your own expense,” You press a kiss to his forehead, brushing the hair out of his eyes once again.

            “I just don’t want you to get tired of me,” Peter’s voice is quiet and vulnerable, hesitancy hiding between the syllables. 

            “Me? Tired of you? Impossible,” you enthused, reveling in the slight smile that cracked on Peter’s porcelain face. “I just hope you don’t get sick of my constant worrying,”

            “You know I could never,” A grin grew on his face, and suddenly the sadness and the tension in the air was replaced with content. Peter looked at you with admiration, and within seconds his lips were on yours. 

            Any remnants of the anger you once felt was snuffed out like a dying candle. Your head felt warm and fuzzy as Peter’s hands found their way to your hips. If someone were to tell you that Peter had a secret secondary mutation that granted him the power to subdue any person just by kissing them, you’d believe them wholeheartedly. There was something about the way he leaned against you, encapsulating you in a tight embrace as every aspect of personal space was thrown out the window. You’d call it intimacy, but it seemed like so much more than that. Sometimes words aren’t heavy enough to describe what you felt for Peter, and what he felt for you. That’s alright, though. You do what you can with the words you have.

            Your silver-haired companion takes a tentative step forwards and you proceed to follow his lead, walking backwards until your back hits the wall. He huffs, pulling away from you for a split second so he can whirl you around; Peter always preferred to be the one against the wall, for lack of a better analogy. It didn’t take a genius or a prognosticator to see where this was heading, and judging by the eagerness behind his movements, Peter could see it too.

            Hesitantly, you push him away from you for just a moment. His chest rises and falls in a brisk rhythm as he rests his forehead against yours. You’re still pressed against his chest, and he’s still clutching you like you’re some sort of flight risk. Almost instinctively, you run your hand through his shimmering silver hair. 

            “Peter, less than ten minutes ago you were lying on my counter with an open wound. Are you sure you’re feeling up for this?” A wide smile grew on Peter’s face, and with each passion second you could see his signature cocky stature returning. You knew it wouldn’t last much longer, but hey, might as well let him enjoy it while it’s there. 

            “You fixed me up pretty well, dollface,” Peter pecks you on the cheek and a momentary chuckle escapes you. “I feel better already,”

            “Alright, if you say so,” You grab him by the collar and pull his lips to yours once again. The kiss was eager and needy-- Peter melted beneath your touches, just like always. You ran your hands over his bare skin, reveling in the shutters and shivers that ran up his spine. He pulled you closer, almost as if he thought you’d disappear if he let go. Gently, you raised your arm and began to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, accidentally tugging on the silver strands. 

            This seemed to set something off in Peter, and in the blink of an eye you found yourself lying on your bed with him hovering over you. His lips were on your neck in an instant, leaving a trail of soft kisses that led all the way down to your collarbone. You could feel Peter’s warm hands snaking under your shirt, tentatively caressing your skin. Although you’ve done this a thousand times, he was still incredibly focused on making sure you were enjoying the interaction as much as he was. 

            You spurred him on in the most obvious way possible; by pulling him back up to your face and flipping him over, swinging your leg over his hips and resting your hands on his bare chest. This position oh-so-conveniently happened to result in your knee pressing directly against Peter’s crotch. You’re quick to replace your knee with your hand, gentle palming him through his impossibly tight jeans. He swallows back a groan, his teeth digging into his bottom lip hard enough to break his skin. You’re quick to reach up and wipe away the blood that formed on his lip, a smirk growing on your face. 

            “Careful, pretty boy. Wouldn’t wanna hurt yourself any more than you already have, now, would you?” The sudden use of his favorite pet name sent shivers down Peter’s spine, his heart rate steadily increasing with every second that passes. You quickly unbutton his jeans before pulling them off, dragging your nails down his thighs as you do so. Before you had the chance to slip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, he managed to use his mutation to flip you onto your back. His hands pinned your wrists to the mattress, a smirk stuck on his face. 

            “Y’know, you really do take great care of me,” Slowly, Peter starts making his way down your body. There’s something about how the light hits his face, casting shadows over his sharp features that make him look like some sort of greek god. He hooks his thumbs in the belt loops along your waistband, his eyes not leaving yours for even a second. “I think it’s about time I take care of you,” With that, Peter fluidly tugs off your jeans, discarding the rest of your clothing before settling between your thighs. He rests your legs on his shoulders, his hot breath fanning over your cunt and sending shivers up your spine. The feeling of light kisses on your thighs catches your attention and frustration spreads throughout your chest. You reach down and tug on Peter’s hair, whining in reaction to his ceaseless teasing. He looks up at you through his eyelashes with a cocky smirk growing on his face. After one last sultry look, Peter lurches forward and buries his face in the apex of your thighs. 

            A low moan escapes you as a soft string of praises falls from your lips. The grip you held on his hair tightened as Peter’s tongue circled your clit, sending white-hot waves of pleasure through your body. He pulls his hand off your thigh and immediately buries two of his fingers inside of you. Your head was scrambled, any semblance of coherency that you once had flying out the window with each jerk of Peter’s hand. 

            “Fuck, Peter,” You moaned just a little too loud. Just when you were regaining some sense of composure, the earth-shattering feeling of rapid vibrations ignites every nerve in your body. The combination of Peter’s vibrating fingers buried inside of you and the feeling of his lips working at your clit was just too much, and within seconds you were spasming around his fingers and calling his name. 

             You can’t bring yourself to form words, instead opting to pull him back up to your lips. All either of you could do was grab at each other, desperately trying to pull the other closer than you already were. Peter practically tore off whatever clothing that got in his way, leaving the both of you completely bare. With one last glance up at your face, he waited for confirmation before pushing his cock inside of you. 

            It was as if everything fell into place, the feeling of fullness and passion sending electricity through your body. You hooked your leg around his side, pulling him deeper inside of you as his thrusts fell into a steady rhythm. His pounding was relentless, his chest heaving with every jerk. Peter’s name fell from your lips like a mantra as he punctuated your words with deep thrusts. 

            “S-So good, Peter,” Your words are slightly slurred as you look up at his face. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration; long, low moans fell from his swollen lips, and for a moment, it felt like music to your ears. “Such a good boy for me,” 

            Peter whimpered and his movements faltered; in one final act of defiance, you used your leverage to flip in around once more. You anchor yourself on his chest before rolling your hips against his, watching Peter’s eyes roll back as you begin bouncing on his cock. A string of senseless noises and incoherent ramblings fall from his lips as he thrusts his hips upwards to meet your movement. His nails dig into your hips so hard that it hurts-- you can’t exactly blame him. 

            “Y-Y/n, please,” Peter begged helplessly, tears building in his eyes. He didn’t know exactly what he was begging for, but he begged regardless. The feeling was so much; it was everything at once, and it was so good he almost couldn’t take it. “P-please, please...” He trailed off. 

            One slight adjustment resulted in Peter slamming into your sweet spot, causing your moans to get damn near screams. Your nails left angry red trails on Peter’s chest, taking their place amongst the countless hickies you left behind before. Then, in a beautiful amalgamation of moans and whimpers and screams, you and Peter came in unison. He snapped his one last time before throwing his head back, emptying himself deep inside of you.

            You watch Peter’s face intently, his eyes fluttering closed and his hair sticking out in every direction. He was practically glowing; completely blissed-out with a golden halo hanging over his head. A soft smile played about his lips as he began to finally catch his breath-- it’s only now that you see the dozens of little marks you left on his body. An odd sense of pride filled your body and for a moment you felt like an expert artist admiring your latest mural. 

            Slowly, you pulled yourself off of him, collapsing to his side and exhaling deeply. He immediately wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you into his chest and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. Peter is practically radiating warmth, a strong sense of comfort settling over you and you gently trace his collarbones.

            “I love you, y’know that?” His voice is quiet and dripping with fatigue; it’s music to your ears. 

            “Oh, really? I couldn’t tell,” You joked. Peter chuckled and rolled his eyes before resting his head on top of your shoulder. “Seriously, though, I love you too. Nerd.” He seemed satisfied with that response, nuzzling his face further into your touch.

            Rain softly drummed against the windows, light from the moon and from the city skyline reflecting off the droplets like a billion multi-colored stars. Peter had drifted off to sleep, the gentle glow from the outside world making him look like an angel that fell out of the sky and into your bedroom. Your eyelids grow heavy, and as you succumbed to the influence of a deep sleep, you kept your eyes trained on Peter’s face. He truly was a beautiful sight. 

[avasghost]

When We Drown Update #2

[image description: a pale blue photo of a rocky cliff, and a boy at the edge in the distance, standing on a pile of rocks and looking down. in white serif font in the centre, reads “when we drown: update two” / end id]

wip intro here. first writing update here. 

DISCLAIMER: this is my original work, please do not plagiarize in any way.

hi everyone! it’s been a while since i did a writing update (time is fast) and i’ve written quite a lot! up until about a week ago i was in a really, really bad writing slump (which lasted like,,, four months) and so that’s why there hasn’t been a crane anatomy update for a ages because (: i haven’t been writing it (:

i don’t know if i mentioned this in the first update, but this book is now non-linear which has been an ~adventure! the non-linear plotline is kind of freeing because i can just pick a scene i want to write from any time in april’s life and just ... write it? i don’t have to follow the years chronologically. i try to create some kind of causal thread between the scenes but i don’t know how well that’s working out lmao. since WWD follows an entire life story with the protagonist looking back on it and remembering her life, i try to make her memory of one event trigger the memory of the next event, and usually they’re linked by either emotion or information.

current word count: 13,228

so when we drown is officially longer than crane anatomy now, despite being the side project! fun.

anyway lets get into the chapters because i have nothing else to say. tw for death, and other trigger warnings are before the individual chapters!

excerpts under the cut.

chapter 5: faces

[image description: a birds eye view of a forest of snowy pine trees. above the trees in black serif font reads “chapter 5: faces” / end id]

this is a very short chapter (a page and a half) which is a flash forward to when april and elena live together in a cabin in the woods sometime in their late forties. elena is asleep in an armchair and april stokes the fireplace, and then goes outside and sees elias’s ghost and then it dissapears (tbh,,, i think a lot of the chapters will be like this oops) this is the second ghost sighting in the book, but at the point when april is 48 it’s almost a regular occurrence! i might end up moving it to later in the book eventually, since i might want the ghost sightings to be in linear order if nothing else is, to keep the main thread of the book in order.

I closed the door of the woodstove, and glanced over my shoulder to see if Elena had been woken by the clanging of metal. She stirred slightly, a familiar face in her nightmare, an unfamiliar face in a familiar dream. Two fingers clenched against the armrest, then became limp again. Half of me wanted her to wake up, to see me, to speak to me, to see the fire bouncing in the grate and be happy for warmth. But again, she needed rest. She needed to be alone for a while, even if that was just in her head. She’d seen her fair share of fire.

also its snowing in november and its british columbia and i know this is unrealistic but! aesthetics are more important than logic we all know that.

[image description: blurry pine trees and a light snow falling in front of them, with a ridge of snow along the bottom. white serif text in the centre reads “The snow-tipped pines that cupped the cabin sagged under the weight of unexpected snowfall. Their fallen needles jotted the snow. The sky was white, spotless, like an expanse of faraway ocean or the inside of a crystal ball.” / end id]

The snow-tipped pines that cupped the cabin sagged under the weight of unexpected snowfall. Their fallen needles jotted the snow. The sky was white, spotless, like an expanse of faraway ocean or the inside of a crystal ball. No birds flitted between the branches, no foxes slunk between the pines. All was still. All was white. I was alone.

and the ghost is seen then disappears as usual and april goes inside again.

You were gone by the time I reached the door again, by the time I stepped inside and Elena stirred in her armchair, by the time I had stepped out of my shoes and gone to stoke the fire again, which was already starting to dwindle.

i like having elias referred to as “you” because its like april is telling the story to him, but he’s not there, so she’s talking to herself, which is very in character for her to do.

chapter 6: the party

[image description: a slope of pine trees with a grassy field at the bottom. mist shrouds the trees in the distance. a dirt path leads through the grass towards a cabin. in the top right corner, reads “chapter 6: the party” / end id]

chapter 6 follows the day before elena’s fifteenth birthday, and then her party the next day. this is a traumatic time for april because she decides she should mention her first elias sighting at the party. obviously people think she’s crazy and so you can guess how that turns out (aka april goes home and cries because she’s a soft bean)

elena has a cool tree in her backyard apparently!! this seems to be a running theme.

Dribbles of leftover sunlight sifted through the branches of the elm tree that ribbed the sky, its roots furrowing the lawn like varicose veins.

i will admit i didn’t finish this chapter and haven’t written most of the party scene yet so i will probably update on the rest of it in my next update (if i’ve written it by then which i probably won’t have but! we’ll see.)

chapter 7: sacred ground

[image description: the ocean stretching into the distance, with small waves. a blurry girl with long brown hair stands in front of it, facing the water. in the middle in white serif font reads “chapter 7: sacred ground” / end id]

the aftermath of the first elias sighting, when april goes and tries to talk to elena about it. i actually don’t know if this or the party comes first and the non-linearness might be catching up to me oops but we’ll just pretend everything makes sense okay <3 

first she tries to decide who to talk to about it and her options are quite limited. she picks elena because she’ll probably take her seriously, and then goes to her house in a state of shock.

I considered my options. Elena: the calm one, either pretending to be wise or really wise. Magnolia: probably less stupid than she made herself out to be. My mother: still crying over a tragedy of five years ago and a tragedy of fifteen years ago and the tragedy of a lifetime wasted in crowded cult meetings and stark bedrooms, tears always falling, thoughts either always whirlwinding or too dead to pay attention to. I found myself winding up the jittery pathway to Elena’s house, or maybe it was me that was jittery. Maybe it was me, who made the world blurry like this. Maybe it was me who was seeing things, not those things drifting into my line of vision and then falling out of sight. The pearly birches jagged the edges of the valley, their leaves chartreuse in the wind-rustled sunlight.

and then elena rejects her plight and april returns to where she saw elias. turns out elena isn’t as accepting of april’s hallucinations as she was supposed to be! here’s a bit of dialogue i generated from that incorrect quote generator that seems fitting for this moment!

April: Bad things keep happening to me, like I have bad luck or something.

Elena: April, you don't have bad luck. The reason bad things happen to you is because you're a dumbass.

this IS april and this IS elena how does this generator know what my book is about!! anyway back to excerpts:

I ran back to where I had seen you, all slow wonderment vanished, and found the place where my old footsteps in the sand looped around. I knew you wouldn’t be there, I wasn’t surprised that you didn’t appear again, your face bobbing in a rice paper mist. I wasn’t surprised that Elena didn’t chase me out, eyes drained of tears, to apologize. And I wasn’t surprised that from that point forward, I thought of that place as sacred.

chapter 8: always falling

[image description: a blurred black-and-white close-up image of water falling. white serif font in the center reads “always falling: chapter 8″ / end id]

tw: death, drowning, blood, fantasizing about drowning

eight-year-old april and magnolia visit a waterfall with magnolia’s parents. feat. april’s dog, august!

The waterfall coiled down the cliff face, cracking the surface of the river like a thousand strands of thunder. I could hardly hear Magnolia’s parents shouting something up ahead, their voices lost in the blare of water.

shortly after:

When I heard suspension bridge, I pictured one from old fairytales I read: wooden, burlap ropes for railings. A thirty percent chance of falling in. I was reassured by the stability, but August shivered at the way it jilted underfoot. He had never walked on ground that shifted under his feet, maybe it was an earthquake, maybe the ground was breaking in.

and here’s sweet eight-year-old April fantasizing about what it would be like to drown. If you think that’s foreshadowing no it isn’t 👁👁

[image description: a slightly grainy photo, half water and half sky, both tinted turquoise. a hand lifts out of the water toward the sky. above the hand in white serif font, reads “What it would feel like to drown, water snagging in my lungs, sharp stones shattering my ribcage until the entire river turned to blood. Being sucked by the current until someone finally found my body, far from where I lost it.” / end id]

I stared over the edge, tried to pierce the thick buzz of mist that separated me from what would be the teeth of my fall. I imagined the bridge giving way, like it always did in the stories I read. One end breaking, the ropes snapping, the entire bridge swinging into the bottomless river. What it would feel like to drown, water snagging in my lungs, sharp stones shattering my ribcage until the entire river turned to blood. Being sucked by the current until someone finally found my body, far from where I lost it. Maybe it would be an old fisherman, hauling a girl in with the day’s catch, or his frail wife, who would faint on the spot at the sight of a dead child, bloodied and mangled and already tearing apart.

they cross the suspension bridge, and august unfortunately falls in! this is just a bit of april’s childhood trauma and i wish i didn’t have to cause her this pain but i do i’m sorry 😭

chapter 9: dead letters

[image description: a close up sheet of paper with a few lines of cursive writing across it. a fountain pen lies across the page. in the bottom right hand corner, a black serif font reads “chapter 9: dead letters” / end id]

a very young april and elias get caught in a hailstorm then go inside and find letters from their father, who they never met because he still lives in the cult their mother escaped from the day april was born. their mother tries to hide the letters from them but! these children do not relent. 

We tracked through the colourful forest in autumn, our rubber boots tore trails through the scattered maple leaves. Pronged pinecones crackled under my heels as I chased you, threading between the trees.

I was eight, you were faster but I managed to keep up all the same. A haze of rain sizzled on my skin, but rain didn’t phase me back then. I didn’t mind the water droplets that pearled down my neck into the hem of my bright yellow rain jacket.

they escape from the hailstorm and find their mother in the kitchen making tea (rare!) 

When we tripped over the doorframe and found ourselves panting in the kitchen, the kettle wheezed and mother emerged from her bedroom to take it off. The scent of green tea wafted through the air as she poured it, steaming, into a ceramic teacup with a crack veining down the side.

april tries to take one of the letters but her mother stops her. later during the night, she and elias get out of bed and read the letters and it turns out their father left the cult as well, and wants to meet up with them. april wants to meet him, but elias is bitter about it and doesn’t really even consider him their father because he was never there for them. 

chapter 10: frostbite

[image description: two pale hands reach towards the sky, in front of a blurry indigo background. in the top left corner, white serif font reads “chapter 10: frostbite” / end id]

tw: freezing to death

there are those weird times when their mom tells stories about her life. these incidents never end well but happen occasionally! she tells april about a time when her and a few other cult members were in the mountains and one of them froze to death. at this point april is around fifteen (which is where the main plot of the book is at right now)

She cut off there, blanched, stared out the window at the sun-speckled backyard, but I could fill in the rest of the details myself: skin a cold stone blue, frostbite jittering through the lungs and spine like a poison, eating everything slowly. Lying in the snow, letting the cold overcome them. Dead before morning. I wanted to ask if they buried the body, dug a grave of snow that would be melted by spring, or just left the corpse lying in the snow for someone else to find, or be eaten by a wolf pack, or to deteriorate, and haunt those lonely slopes forever.

afterwards, april goes outside (yes its snowing again 😭 as someone who dislikes snow i sure write about it a lot) 

On those days, my desperation to leave the house rose to a high and I would slide into a pair of ragged sneakers and a cable-knit sweater and push out into the cold. Once vibrant green leaves now greyed with frost, a snowfall months early but not unwelcome. Striking before the trees had the chance to shed their leaves. Frost brittled the branches of the oaks so I could snap them without an effort, not that I wanted to snap them. The concrete of the road was spined with ice that made it look like the ground was caving in, icicles barbed the eaves of our house like jagged teeth. Sometimes I thumbed snow into my mouth like a child, hoping no one was watching a seventeen-year-old eat snow, and let it blot my tongue and dribble down my throat. The cold shock to my system helped clear my mind of whatever mother had been talking about, helped me cope with the pain I shouldn’t have been feeling in the first place.

aaannd that’s everything i’ve written so far! this has been the worst writing slump of my life and i’m not too happy with most of the stuff i’ve written lately, but hopefully that clears up so i can update y’all again soon!

- ava

wips taglist (ask to be added or removed!) @shaelinwrites​ @august-iswriting​ @wildswrites @nodeadnarrators @annlillyjose @shaonharryandpannisim @letsgetsquiggly @strangerays @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @dallonswords @teaandtypewriters @chewingthescenery​ @kahaaniyaa @coffeeandcalligraphy @47crayons​ @writing-is-a-martial-art​​

[kitkatopinions]

The baby boy himself, Whitley!

(for the ask meme)

Whitley is so my baby, I love my child so much. I’m realizing I say ‘I’m really excited for this one’ for like every character I get for this ask game, but it’s because I’m having so much fun! These take a bit to write, but they are honestly so interesting to me, so as an fyi, if anyone does have any character they want to ask my about, but thinks they might be too late, or I might be uninterested, I’m still totally interested! It just might take me a bit to answer. :)

My top three ships for the character

Whitley/Oscar is my top ship for this in canon currently. It works best if Ozpin could somehow be separated from Oscar (which is theoretically possible I guess,) but yeah. Farm boy vs rich boy, they look cute together, their personalities could vibe, and they’re both snarky, but at heart caring and compassionate. Whitley/Mercury. I mentioned this in my Mercury ask, but I was writing a fic with @why-i-hate-rwby-now where Whitley and Mercury were thrown together and had to work together to escape their abusers, and I just kind of started shipping them while writing it. O.O Also Whitley/Penny is cute as heck and I could totally see her grounding him and also making him loosen up, while Penny thinks he’s funny and interesting.

My three least favorite ships for the character

Whitley/Blake. I don’t understand this ship, Blake just feels like more of an adult atm compared to Whitley - a literal child. (Yes, I realize I ship Whit with Merc, but A. I thought Merc was sixteen while I was writing that fanfiction and he acts kind of on the young side, while Blake has been acting ‘as an adult’ and being treated ‘as an adult’ for two seasons at least while directly talking to Whitley, and has always been more of a mature character for her age anyway.) But on top of that, Blake seems to treat Whitley like an in the way child and is kinda judgey to him, while Whitley barely seems to notice her. Whitley/Henry Marigold just feels bad. And Whitley/Yang. Again, Yang has been written as a nineteen year old demanding to be treated as an adult (though I wanna say she’s less mature than Blake) but also Yang is a hotheaded character and has been acting pushy lately, and that’s fine as a character flaw, but I feel like it just puts me off her for Whitley especially.

My biggest criticism for the character

He’s treated like he’s not a victim??? Like, his abuse and neglect and even his struggles are just... Not really gone into or acknowledged very much, Weiss acts like he has to prove himself before she can show him the slightest bit of sympathy or affection when she’s his big sister, his relationship with Jacques is glossed over and he isn’t given closure there, Willow’s neglect isn’t really acknowledged seriously, Winter seeming totally disinterested in him doesn’t feel like it even matters, Weiss is treated as blameless in her and Whitley’s problems. And the writing kind of frames Whitley as having gotten a redemption, when the worst things he did was be a bit of an asshole while in an abusive situation as like a fourteen-fifteen year old with no aura or glyphs or fighting ability. Emerald and Whitley’s volume 8 arcs should not be comparable! Emerald is a full on murderer and was still willingly working with Cinder to attack people as a nineteen year old woman, and yet she and Whitley are treated very similarly by the narrative (helping one person and then that ‘making up for’ their ‘past mistakes’ and then them just being on the good side and carrying the team’s actions until the pathways arrive and they both go to Vacuo. To be clear, I think this framing was too much for Whitley since he never even needed a redemption at all imo, and not enough for Emerald, the literal murderer of Penny who was just recently willingly helping Cinder try and murder Penny once again.) Whitley should’ve been treated as the child he is, he should’ve been treated as the victim he is.

My favorite thing about the character

His potential dynamics, but specifically with Weiss. He and Weiss both had almost the exact same upbringing, only Weiss actually had more support, but guys... The way the two of them coped had similarities, but were also very different. Weiss hid behind anger and sternness, Whitley hid behind peppiness and smiles. Weiss copied Winter, Whitley copied Jacques. Weiss was always afraid of people putting on acts around her, Whitley was constantly putting on acts as a means of survival. Each of them are plagued by jealousy, pettiness, judgmental behavior, and they both have good qualities that are similar, but they both are too prejudice against each other to see those good qualities and need to learn to understand where the other is coming from. Weiss is a fighter, but a follower, while Whitley seems to have a bit of a ‘fawn’ tendency, but plans and enacts schemes under the table (even if it doesn’t have to be, like with Nora! Whitley’s instincts were to just figure out how to help Nora and then go off and do it alone without telling any of the obviously antsy people with guns what he was doing - after he was spying on them lol.) I just love the possibilities that exist with two characters that are so similar, but so fundamentally different. Also I’d love to see him resentful of Winter and snarky and passive aggressive with her, and Winter not really getting the problem, and Weiss having to mediate between them. Idk, there are so many possibilities of amazing interactions and connections Whitley could have with the others, and he could be a really new, good viewpoint if he was allowed to flourish. And maybe became kind of a ‘guy in the chair’ more permanent part of the team. Like, I know we don’t need more character bloat, but let me dream!

A headcanon I have about them

Before Weiss lost her inheritance, Whitley was sort of tasked with learning everything but being head of the company, like he was learning the financial side of things, the technological side of things, ordering, inventory, scheduling, all about Dust and mine operations... And Whitley’s naturally academic and a fast learner, so he absorbed a lot of it. But yeah, I think Jacques was trying to train Whitley up to be a sort of always available PA of Weiss’s that could handle anything she didn’t want to do / was too busy to do, and that was something Whitley really resented too. His skillset was essentially being crafted around helping Weiss, but never learning how to actually manage the company itself and severely lacking in the social side of things, like he’d never be able to make a proper speech. Also, like pretty much everyone I think he plays piano and writes his own music compositions (which in my headcanons he subconsciously writes to include vocals only for him to then get bothered that even his music seems influenced by Weiss. XD) Also I know this is three headcanons, but if he had been trained to fight, he would’ve used duel pistols and would’ve eventually developed a ‘born out of trauma’ semblance.

What I would change about them if I was making a re-write

I’d just allow his status as a victim to be recognized and for him to have the sympathy I feel his character deserves. I’d have him and Weiss both framed as having contributed to their bad relationship, but Weiss - as the sister four to five years older than him - would be the one who makes the first moves towards repairing it, proving she has changed enough to put aside her pettiness and be there for the brother she does truly love. I’d also get Willow away from him, or at least let Whitley be angry and distant and not have their relationship fixed over the course of an in-universe day. This is why I say there should’ve been another Atlas season, which I think is what I’d do when it boils down to it. With every plot point coming fast and then being pushed on the back burner for the next plot point, there’s no time to focus on any of it or to give the character’s sufficient growth from it. So then things like Willow having her hand glued to Whitley’s shoulder feels very ingenuine, because their ‘growth’ was so rushed. So yeah, I’d really just add an extra season and let Weiss recognize that Whitley is also an abuse victim, make her be the one to start making steps to be there for him, and let things like his relationship with his mother come slower and not be an easy fix. Also I’d have Winter acknowledge that she has a brother more regularly and have her actually care about him, even if she hasn’t shown it well at all.

What I I think of their character allusion and what (if anything) I would change about it

Whitley has no assigned character allusion and his name doesn’t offer very many hints, since it literally just means white meadow/field snow, but it’s easy enough to assume that like Weiss and Jacques - Snow White and Jack Frost - Whitley’s character allusion has something to do with the cold. I agree with the general opinion that he’s connected to ‘the Snow Queen,’ and is likely meant to be Kai, a once kind hearted boy who gets a piece of a magic mirror in his eye that only lets him see the bad in people and gets kidnapped by the snow queen. His best friend Gerda goes on a quest to save him - encountering a land of eternal summer and a talking crow amongst other things - and temporarily forgets him due to an enchantment, but then finds him almost frozen over and saves him by crying on him and through the power of her love that literally makes people and nature bend to her will, Gerda rescues Kai and dislodges the mirror piece from his eye so that he can be cheerful again. Pretty in tune with how the writers wrote things. I don’t mind this, but if Whitley is meant to be Kai and Weiss is meant to be his Gerda, there were two missed opportunities here that could’ve been great. One, Gerda is reminded of her love for Kai whenever she sees red roses, and Ruby and Whitley have a few similar mannerisms and kind of similar coping through their ‘cheery exterior’s’ even f Ruby’s lost all her sass and Whitley’s never had her spazzy, dorky, rough around the edges traits. I think it would’ve been cute and make for a more interesting dynamic if Weiss had mentioned to Ruby in volumes 1-3 that Ruby reminds her of her brother, and if it had made Weiss both harder on Ruby (since she and Whitley are estranged and he does drive her crazy a lot lol) but it also made Ruby all the more endearing to her and is one of the reasons they could be friends fairly fast despite Weiss’s early animosity (since she loves her brother and the traits he shares with Ruby compliment hers.) The next missed opportunity I can think of is that everyone thinks Kai is dead in the Snow Queen for a bit, but Gerda doesn’t believe it and goes looking for him instead. You could easily fit this into a narrative where everyone else has given up Whitley as a lost cause, but Weiss won’t believe that and is determined to help and to get close to Whitley again, which is what I think I’d want to go with. But also, a Whitley death fake out? That could be very good and very emotional. And it’d be easy omg. Weiss could think the Hound has killed him sometime during the fight (even if just for a moment,) but also if Whitley had been the first one to fall in the void instead of going through to Vacuo O.O 

Idk if we’ll ever get his character allusion confirmed, but if it isn’t someone from the Snow Queen, I feel like the whole fandom will say “What?!” at the exact same time. XD 

[heli0s-writes]

As it Was

Summary:  Sam warned him when he arrived at the compound, returned to the timeline he ran from: It’s different now, she doesn’t do the superhero thing anymore, she’s got another life now, but he wouldn’t listen. He can’t. He must hope that some things are the same, that your love is the same. Pairing: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader A/N: ANGST. Re-written Post-endgame kinda thing because I’m bitter. 3.3k word count. Very inspired by Hozier’s “As it Was” :^) 

As it Was Masterpost

There is a roadway.

The tires crunch over rock and gravel as Steve drives down the familiar path. Flanked by overgrown grass and wildflowers in full bloom, insects flutter around the petals, sunlight glistening on waxy blades of green. He can smell it, even inside the car, ignited in his nose and blazing into his chest.

The smell of summer. The crushed earth beneath muddied boots.

He can taste the watermelon sugar, tingling on the sweet tongue encased in an even sweeter mouth.

Your bright pink lips wet with cold bites of fruit. He loved the way you would collect the smooth seeds and pinch them between your teeth. He loved the way you’d spit them into his face—silly with joy under the shade of a tree. Too slow, baby!

He can hear your laughter in the dead air-conditioned chamber of one of many compound cars. If he could bottle it up into a music box and wind it up just to hear now, he would.

He would.

Steve’s heart twists tighter as the road continues its winding way deeper through the thicket of verdant trees. Sunlight pours through in golden rays, slipping past the cracks of parted leaves. A pathway the two of you walked many times over, hand-in-hand.

There’s a separation of the blades to the left, a well-worn spot leading into an open space where you would spread the picnic blanket, stuff him full of cold cut sandwiches and fruit pie. Iced lemonade, tart. Then, under the light of the sun, or moon, or any time or season in-between, you would wrap yourself over him, love him so sweetly he could weep now.

But then is not now.

For the past three years of your time, then had been now.

But now that he’s back... now is something else.

His phone rings, echoing through the car with its shrill tittering. Sam’s number appears, as it has been every five minutes for the past two hours of his journey. Sam calling. Sam leaving messages. Sam texting.

Don’t, Cap. Don’t go there. It’s changed, Cap. Things have changed. Trust me, man. It’s better if you don’t go.

But Steve has to. He has to change your mind. Make you forgive him because he loves you so much. He has to make it all go back to as it was.

Back then, on the platform, he had been sure. In the sepia-colored minutes of his wayward past, he had been sure. That unreachable possibility had become so nearly tangible he could grab it in his hands. He was inches from her—from Peggy, and it took him decades away from you.

So, he leapt. He followed his foolish boyish heart to its dream. He told you the night before under the awning in front of the cabin, windchimes striking in the draft, fireflies all around. He’s never been a part of this world, not truly. He’s got to go back to where he belongs.

With Peggy, you mean?

You cried and cried then, wrapping your arms around your middle, refusing to say anything else, and he had never seen you so shattered. But he had been sure.

And then, only four weeks into the returned years of Steve Rogers, suddenly, like a cold hand tugging him awake, the dream slipped.

He wasn’t sure after all.

Sam calls again, but Steve is obstinate. The cabin peeks over the hill, sunken in the distance of the field just as he remembered—the little cobblestoned well in the field, string lights around the perimeter, mailbox at the edge of the road, rainbow pinwheels you’d planted in the ground because they’re cute, Steve.

From the thick branch of the oak tree you have hung a tire swing-- endearing, and so like you. Next to it is a picnic table where a single copper watering can sits in the middle, bunches of wildflowers sticking out. A tangle of yellow and green. Like your arms wrapped around his waist, linked fingers squeezing him tightly, playfully, pretending you could crush him.

Gonna kill you! Crack ya ribs!

He would grunt dramatically behind a muffled chuckle, Yes, baby. I’ve died! You’re so—ugh! Strong! B-Bucky! Avenge me!

Bucky would roll his eyes with a smirk, You two are nauseating.

You would stick your tongue out, turn it back around to Steve and lick a stripe from his throat to his chin, making him shudder all over as he watched your pretty pink mouth curl into a grin, and growl. Steven Grant Rogers, growled, and Bucky‘d throw his hands up and abscond before his eyes might see Captain America do something indecent.

He didn’t have that with Peggy. He didn’t have the twinkling of your mischievous eyes, the flame of your passion. He only had the bitter chill of your absence and the stark realization that a first love and a true love are two different things.

Sam warned him when he arrived at the compound: It’s different now, she doesn’t do the superhero thing anymore, she’s got another life now, but he wouldn’t listen. He can’t. He must hope that some things are the same, that your love is the same.

How long would you wait for me?

Steve pulls the car into the patch of trodden grass he once parked in, steps out, and closes the door quietly. There’s a clattering inside before the wooden door creaks open— as it always has, even after he loosened and tightened all its hinges— it still creaks, same as ever.

Your shape in the doorway.

One leg at a time, you emerge.

A weightless gauze dress hangs from your frame as you linger in the opening, back turned to him. In one hand is a small twine basket lined with gingham fabric. A pair of garden shears sit nestled inside. He remembers this— the walks to clip flowers and pick berries. You would put the berries in the pies, place the blossoms and leaves in mason jars all over the countertops until it looked wild in the house, too.

Your hair is longer, he smiles as he continues to watch, gazing at the loose braid you’ve fashioned your locks into. You used to complain about how fast it would grow, annoyed at how the buzzed side with the sharp chevron pattern needed to be maintained closely.

He supposes you’ve grown tired of the upkeep. You’ve let it grow out now.

The braid is new. The dress is new. But the way you lean into the house, so relaxed and carefree, that is familiar.

Steve is unsure how to approach. He doesn’t want to startle you, even though his very presence is startling. He knows your capabilities, and with those razor-sharp shears next to your elbow he wouldn’t try it. No, you couldn’t crush his ribs, but you could slice him gullet to belly in a second.

He opens his mouth to call your name, but the door creaks louder as you lean down and push it further back into the house, urging faintly. You turn, duck your torso behind the wall, leaving a deliberate space by your legs.

And then he sees it. The change Sam warned him about. The life.

His heart drops. And trembles. And feels like it could burst entirely.

Two tiny bare feet tap forward, kicking with each step. A happy, shrill, cry leaps into the air as the boy clumsily jumps one foot at a time, and lands past your dress.

The child.

“Wait for me, baby,” you call, still tucked halfway inside, “Wait for mama.”

“Mama!” He sputters and giggles, “Mama!” Mama.

God. The boy is beautiful. He is barefoot and his face is eclipsed by a canvas bucket hat, shielding the plump, pale skin of him from the summer sun. Even if Steve can’t see his face yet, he knows, because of you, any child would be perfect. A cherub. A little cherub that could have been his.

“I’m coming, just… let me get my hat. And sunscreen for you. Ah, mama has been so bad with that sunscreen.” There is more fumbling as you drop the basket on your arm into the dark house and briefly slip inside.

The boy stops at the step leading down, pondering his own confidence to tread forward. He sits, instead, letting his bottom save any potential fall before he scoots his legs over. After braving the first step, he looks up. He blinks slowly, and Steve catches sight of his enormous blue eyes, and long lashes, button nose, rosy red cheeks, slightly open mouth slack with surprise and a little bit of wonder.

“Mama.” He says, before tilting his head, “Mama, Mama. Body! Some here.”

“Someone’s here?”

You quickly emerge, hand fisting a wide-brimmed straw hat, arm reaching forward to scoop your child up and away. He is plopped firmly on your jutting left hip before you tear the hat off your head, stare into the tall and broad figure of a man you have known too well. A surprised breath tears itself from your throat.

“Steve?”

His mouth jerks into a careful smile. Nothing he had practiced during the car ride feels right in this moment; all his words have been tossed into the yard by the hands of a three-year-old boy. The hat drops from your hand, quietly slides on the dusty wooden patio, speckles of it catching light and blowing away in the easy wind. You blink, eyes shifting side to side as if questioning your reality.

“Steve?”

His name slips off your tongue so sweetly and he can’t help but close his eyes to memorize you again. That voice, his name, the years have passed, and he hasn’t forgotten it. He is so goddamn sorry to have left it at all.

From the first time you called it, to the first time you whispered it, promised your allegiance to it, to the first time you sobbed it, following him into the unknown and the darkness for five years. No matter how black the night, he had you.

Your love was unmoved.

“Sweetheart,” He pleas, stepping forward with a shaky outstretched hand.

You stand frozen like a statue, everything stiff and still except for the fluttering of your creamy dress and the boy on your hip, babbling freely. His little fingers and their little fingernails prod and poke at your neck, grabbing onto the strands that frame your face—too short to stay in the braid.

God. You’re beautiful. You glow, softened by the years without fighting and training, tanned by the sunlight, kissed by the breeze and rain and butterfly wings, and everything else but him.

“Mama, mama. Want down, down!”

The boy squeezes and releases his soft fists, reaching out and kicking your back with his foot. He begins to grunt and whine, head thrown behind and lolling over at Steve. “Down!”

“Hey,” Steve smiles, taking a finger to caress the boy’s palm, calming his motions, “What’s your name?”

You slowly turn to look at your child, eyes beginning to focus on him, as if suddenly remembering his weight perched on your side. A quick breath is sucked into your lungs as he blinks and grins, laughing. “Jams! This is mama an’ this is Jams.”

“J-James.” You correct with a broken, wet, laugh, “H-he’s.. his name—it’s James.”

Steve watches him continue to thrash against your side out of joy, now, as if being held by you is a game in itself. He brings your hair to his mouth, blubbering into it, giggling when it tickles his face. He taps on your collar with a finger, gnaws impishly on your shoulder until a line of drool trickles down. Then, he laughs again, and pushes his cheeks into it, hugging your bicep tightly.

The boy—the angel—James. Steve feels himself clench up with the new knowledge. His name is James.

“James?” There is betrayal in the way he questions it. As much as he tries to steel it, a tiny rupture creeps through the single syllable.

You pull the boy close to your body, maneuvering until you’re holding him with both arms, one slanted over his back, the other under his bottom. He sighs and leans his head onto your shoulder, makes soft noises of contentment. “Mama… walk? Go for a walk, mama.”

Between your overcast eyes and Steve’s inspecting blue ones, James is tucked like a pebble in a cobblestone wall, desperately holding back the torrent from both sides. You grip him unwaveringly, shush him now for the time being.

“Is he—Bucky? He’s Bucky’s?”

Steve inspects the front yard, the blindingly hopeful curtain finally lifting from his eyes—there are three seats on the porch, three flowers painted on the mailbox, three little stumps further away surrounding an extinguished fire.

A home—his home, his place, now filled in with the bulk of someone else. And not just anyone else, he thinks bitterly, but Bucky. His best friend, now his old lover’s new lover. It spins him out of control.

Your face scrunches up with disdain, mouth twisting into a scowl he’s known rarely, but still—he knows it.

“Yes, Steve.” You spit, nostrils flaring with anger, “He’s named after his father. He’s named after his real father.”

Steve frowns, broken-hearted, apologetic, confused. Your eyes have welled up with unshed tears, your lips pinched tightly together, as if holding back your words will keep the tears at bay, too. He doesn’t know what you mean as he stares vacantly at your protective stance.

But then he sees it.

He sees it when James grunts, bored now of a conversation that is years beyond his interest and comprehension. He beats his fists on your chest and leans back in agony.

His hat tumbles from his crown. Down, down, it falls noiselessly and when Steve looks back up to where his perfect little head is—returned to your collar, he sees brilliant flaxen curls, catching sunbeams.

Blindingly gold—almost white.

James twists his little body around and stares at Steve with some mysterious indulgence now that they are both wholly revealed to each other.

“He was there for me, you know.” You whisper, heavy teardrops running down to your chin, pooling until they barely hang on. “He was there the entire time. Nine whole agonizing months, knowing that I was growing something that was yours. I had nobody but Bucky.”

You press your lips to James’ head, inhaling the sweet scent of his skin, “I was out of my mind with grief. Th-thought, I couldn’t—I couldn’t have it. Couldn’t have a baby that was yours—you’d left me. You left what we had for something that was barely a dream, Steve.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—I didn’t.”

“Bucky was there.” You continue, ignoring Steve’s confession. He bites his tongue, hopes it draws blood, hopes in secret you might take his very life from him. He can’t stand to be alive anymore, staring now at two people he left behind.

“Bucky was there, and he loved me through it. And when this little… when this sweet boy—” you press your eyes to his forehead, “When this boy came, we held each other and wept.”

A little laugh is muffled in James’ hair.

“So, yeah. He’s named after his real father, not his biological one.”

James leans his face towards yours, places his palms onto your cheek and pats the wetness away, “Mama. No more rain, mama. Mama, sunny outside.”

You burst apart, crumbling into tears against his little palm, pressing kisses to his fingertips, and Steve crumbles too. The boy, the precious boy, who is both his and not his, turns and looks at him earnestly. You whisper to him, kiss him on the cheek, Mama’s okay, baby. Mama’s got you with her now. Sunshine boy.

And then you turn your eyes to him. Those once doting eyes he always found gazing longingly, even after he was yours. Now they cut him, sharp and cold, holding him in their deep, dark light.

“You need to leave, before he comes home.” You whisper over the sound of insect wings and birds in the distance. The trees rustle and sway, as if egging your words on.

Home. Your home is with Bucky. Not Steve, not anymore.

“He’ll want to see you, but not like this.”

He wouldn’t even know what to say to Bucky. He wouldn’t know what to expect to hear, either. You and Bucky, and his son—your son, Steve’s son, Bucky’s son. All strung up together in a terrible web, waiting for the spider.

Somehow, he feels like the spider.

“Steve,” you call, and for a second, he hears it lovingly. Like how you might have called his name in front of the fireplace, nestled in his arms, snow settling in sheets outside. Steve, I love you.

“Steve.” It’s firm again, hard and cutting, ice chips crunched through your teeth, “When you left, you left Bucky, too. In your absence, we found each other. You didn’t just break me, Steve; you broke him. And you need to go, because I won’t let you do that to him again.”

You don’t have to say it, but he can parse it from your clenched jaw and the way you aim your words at him. You love Bucky.

The trajectory of the truth burns straight through his guts. It churns and twists and drugs his entire being until it leaves every last cell numb.

Once upon a time, you loved him, too.

But that was before he knew the darkness, before he knew the possibility and lost himself in the what if, the then, burning away the now and the love he already had.

You set James down softly in the dirt after landing soft kisses to his cheeks, watch his toes flex and grip the grass. He places the hat back over his head, lopsided, but on, regardless. He bounces on his feet, bending his knees and getting a feel for the ground beneath him. The silly ritual completes when he pads away, chasing a hovering dragonfly. Every few seconds, he looks back and laughs.

Steve’s heart cracks open with every inch of the boy’s smile.

The two of you stand for what seems like an eternity, trying to find something to end it on. He can’t do anything more than laugh resentfully, because if he doesn’t, he’ll cry, and he’ll never stop. It comes out as two clipped scoffs before he splinters anyway.

So, he nods, accepts the defeat he’s given himself and lets the tears trickle down his face to match you. Blinking the sea from your eyes, you sniffle loudly and turn, splitting the grass with your feet to follow the trail James has made into the field.

Pulling out of the driveway, Steve watches you next to your son, his son, Bucky’s son— that beautiful boy, blue-eyed like both of them. You bend and lift him, toss him gently, nuzzle him and smile before you take him down into the grass and continue the walk away from the house. He plucks flowers and raises them up and you let him tuck them inelegantly into your braid, still lovely.

Steve closes his eyes one last time to sear the image into his mind. He interjects himself into the scene, walking hand-in-hand down that habitual path. He imagines James on his hip, stares into the phantom face of that boy of his, your laughter ringing next to him like the wind. He laughs and laughs, and cries and cries. And then, he drives until the house is gone from the rearview mirror.

No, it will never be as it was again.

The dream, honeyed, sweet, as beautiful as it may be, it would only be half as beautiful as the truth could have been. Half as beautiful as the boy. Half as beautiful as you.

Next

[lilana163]

Reunited: Chapter 5

The bright blue sky turned into its darkest shade of black as Hogwarts express stopped in Hogsmeade station, the group of five made their way out the train and onto the platform, the platform was crowded with all Hogwarts students trying to find their way to go, the group of five turned their attention to a giant man who held up a lamp helping all see through the dark.

" First years this way please, come on now first years," Hagrid called out beckoning for the first years to walk his way.

" Ara!" Narcissa jumped in excitement taking her sister's arm looping it with hers, the boys glanced at the excited blonde in curiosity except for Sirius who ruffled his cousin's hair making the blonde glare at him.

" This is my twin sister I talked about, Narcissa meet Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and James Potter," Aurora introduced pointing to each boy as she said their name, Narcissa waved at them then turning to her sister with a questioning look.

" You heard what Andy said, were all the same," Aurora whispered to Narcissa who rose a brow at the girl, the blonde huffed in annoyance turning back to the boys who watched the sisters interact.

" Stop thinking that way, your going to get yourself beaten," Narcissa muttered only for Aurora to hear, the raven haired girl shrugged in response.

" I don't want to see you get hurt Ara," Narcissa whispered to Aurora.

" Mum beats me for anything, I'm not going to let fear overcome me I'm not scared Cissy, so why not bend the rules and befriend everyone including the mud-muggleborn, and if mum doesn't like it then she can kiss my arse," Aurora replied with a mischievous glint in her emerald eyes.

" Aurora!" Narcissa dramatically gasped with disbelief written all over her face, Aurora laughed at her sister's dramatics, which she thinks Narcissa got from Sirius.

"  Alright then, this way to the boats, come on then follow me," Hagrid yelled making all the first years follow him as he lead them into the dark.

The new group of six followed behind the rest of their year as they made their way to the black lake. As they walked Narcissa could feel stares coming to her sisters way from none other than James Potter, Narcissa glanced at her sister who gave her a knowing look.

" Take a picture Potter, it'll last longer, by the way you have a bit of drool there," Aurora teased the boy making him blush in embarrassment but luckily for the Potter boy it was dark and his blush was easily hidden, Sirius snorted at his cousin comment making the messy hair boy playfully nudged him.

" Quite staring Potter, hadn't your mummy teach you any manners?" Narcissa remarked earning a glare from the boy, seeing James reaction Aurora sent a vicious one back his way holding her sister protectively.

" It's hard not to stare when your sister is the most prettiest girl I've ever seen," James winked with a cheeky grin, Sirius groaned throwing his head back dramatically, Aurora blushed at James words but quickly hid it but her behaviour didn't go un-notice by Narcissa who have her a questioning look.

" Sod off that's my baby cousin, no boys for her!" Sirius glared at James lightly smacking the boy behind his head, Aurora let out an amused laugh which made James perk up, her laugh always sounded different in many cases, the girl would either let out the ugliest laugh or an angelic one, in this case Aurora laughed angelically causing the boy's heart to flutter.

" Alright first years, get into a boat!" yelled the giant man as he entered a boat for himself taking up all the space, the group first years cautiously stepped into the boats making sure not to fall in the glassily still lake.

The group of six made there way to one of the brown boats, Remus and Peter were the first to step in, with Sirius and James after, the boys looked at the two girls who glanced at each other and then back at the boat.

" There isn't enough space for all of us," Narcissa and Aurora spoke in unison the two girls chuckled finding it interesting when they always unintentionally say and speak the same words all at once, it's what Sirius calls " Freaky twin powers."

" Rubbish, you two shouldn't be complaining about not enough space when you lot sleep with me and Reggie in small queen size bed, I don't want to hear the excuses, now chop, chop, step in before I drag you in by your pretty gold and raven locks," Sirius pointed a finger at his cousins who quickly got in because of his threat, Narcissa stroked her hair with a pout looking at Sirius who smirked.

" Who's Reggie?" Remus asked the Black trio who smiled like madmen at his question, they all had a twinkle in their eyes at the thought of Regulus.

" He's my adoptive son, he's going to attend next year! I can't wait until he does, I'm already missing bubsy," Aurora blurted out in excitement blushing a bright pink as Remus stared in shock.

" Son?!" Remus peered at the green eyed girl unsure if she was joking, Aurora giggled at the scar faced boys enjoying such a reaction.

" Well not exactly, Reggie is my cousin but I'm more of a mum than auntie Walburga will ever be, so to sum it up for that pretty head of yours, Reggie is my adoptive son," Aurora stated showing off a toothy grin, the scar faced boy smiled in awe as he finally took in her appearance, he noticed all her perfect imperfections or so he thought. He noticed how she had a small scar on the left side of her cheek, and  tiny birthmarks which covered different inches of her face, he also took notice that she had many more small scars on her pale face, all of which were slightly noticeable only if one truly took in her appearance, when looking at Aurora one would see all the art done by none other than Druella Black but what one didn't realise, was that there was much more art covering every inch of its canvas not missing one spot, but one will never truly see Druellas works for her daughter covers it, in hopes to not scare one away.

" Ara look!" Narcissa pointed towards the beautiful old castle which was shown by the bright moon and the stars that surrounded it, the group looked at Hogwarts in amazement believing they have never seen anything more beautiful.

" Blimey, it's amazing," Aurora whispered loudly not taking her eyes off the castle as they neared the castles pebbly pathway.

The first years were lead inside the castle by Hagrid who stopped at a staircase where a lady dressed in green robes carried a thin lipped smile as she watched the newcomers glance at their surroundings in amazement.

" Welcome to Hogwarts, now in a few moments you will pass through these doors and join your classmates but before you can take your seats you must be sorted into your houses, there are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. Your triumphs will earn you points and rule breaking will lose you points, at the end of the year the house with the most points will be rewarded the house cup, the sorting ceremony will begin momentarily, I suggest you smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting," Professor Mcgonagall said to the first years her eyes lingered on the small group which stood in front of the rest in their year, she saw how the twins had perfect posture unlike the rest of the students, the way they carried themselves seemed angelic to her, she saw how a boy with messy hair try to flatten his brown locks but somehow managing to make even more of a mess, she took noticed how a small blonde boy eyed the blonde girl across from him practically drooling and how the scar faced boy seemed in trance by the raven haired girl beside the blonde, she noticed that the scar faced boy had a look of curiosity, much different from the small boy beside him, and lastly she smiled at the long black haired boy who glared daggers at the boy who eyed his cousin, before leaving through the doors to the great hall.

" What house do you want to be in Sirius?" James asked the black haired boy, Sirius turned to his cousins who eyed him suspiciously Sirius winked at both girls before turning back to James.

" Gryffindor," Sirius answered confidently James smiled brightly at his answer, unlike his cousins who stared at the boy in shock.

" What about you two?" James nodded to Narcissa and Aurora who were still stunned by their cousin's answer.

" Well obviously Slytherin," Narcissa told James he looked at the girls the same way they looked at Sirius seconds ago.

" You want to be a slimy snake?!" James told Narcissa in disbelief pointing an accusing finger at the blonde.

" Shut it Potter, don't talk to her like that you wanker!" Aurora snapped at James the messy haired boy still had admiration for the girl even though she wished to be in Slytherin but that didn't stop him from hoping that Aurora would be sorted into Gryffindor.

" Were ready for you now, follow me," Professor McGonagall interpreted James who was about to say something to the raven haired girl, the doors in which lead to the great hall opened revealing the hundreds of students that sat in long brown tables.

The group of first years peered around the hall in awe, it was light with thousands of candles which were floating in mid air over four long tables, where the rest of the students sat. Each table was covered with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the professors were sitting. Aurora looked up gasping at the sight of the ceiling above which was bewitched to show the stars.

Professor McGonagall led the first years to the front of the hall, they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them.

" Now before we begin Professor Dumbledore would like to say a few words," Professor McGonagall said looking around the hall at the students.

" I have a few start of term notices I wish to announce, first years please note that the dark forest is strictly forbidden to all students. Also are caretaker Mr Filch has asked me to remind you that the third floor corridor is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death, thank you," Professor Dumbledore announced little did he know that he only intrigued two Blacks who simultaneously winked at each other, both wanting to step foot into the place that was strictly forbidden.

" Now when I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," Professor McGonagall said drifting the first year's attention to a pointed wizards hat, that was patched and frayed.

" Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, but don't judge on what you see, I'll eat myself if you can find a smarter hat than me. You can keep your bowlers black, your top hats sleek and tall, for I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat and I can cap them all. There's nothing hidden in your head the sorting hat can't see, so try me on and I will tell you where you ought to be. You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart, Their daring nerve and chivalry set Gryffindors apart. You might belong in Hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal, those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil. Or yet in wise Ravenclaw, if you have a ready mind, where those wit and learning, will always find their kind. Or perhaps in Slytherin, you'll make your real friends, those cunning folks use any means to achieve their ends. So put me on! Don't be afraid! And don't get in a flap! Your safe in my hands, though I have none, for I'm a thinking cap!" The sorting hat sang the hall bursted into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became still once again.

" Alice Fortescue," Professor McGonagall read out loud from the long parchment, a brunette with short hair and bangs sat on the stool placing the sorting hat on her head, after a few seconds the sorting hat yelled Gryffindor.

" Frank Longbottom," Professor McGonagall called out, after a minute the sorting hat placed the boy in Gryffindor.

" Severus Snape," a greasy-haired boy was sorted into Slytherin which made Narcissa smile at him.

" Lily Evans," the long-haired ginger placed the hat on her head and was sorted into Gryffindor.

" Narcissa Black," the blonde turned to her sister showing a nervous smile before going up to the hat, Narcissa's eyes widened at the mention of something the sorting hat said, soon after the blonde was sorted into Slytherin.

" Peter Pettigrew," Professor McGonagall called out, the small boy nervously sat on the stool placing the hat on his head, the blonde was sorted into Gryffindor shortly after.

" James Potter," the messy haired boy shot a wink to Aurora making the girl scoff, he automatically was sorted into Gryffindor as he placed the hat on his brown locks.

" Sirius Black," the black haired boy smiled weakly at his cousin before going up to get sorted, the hat yelled Gryffindor making the boy smile happily, the entire hall went quiet as they were in shock.

" Remus Lupin," Professor McGonagall yelled for Remus, the scar faced boy was sorted into Gryffindor which he looked relieved to be.

" Lucius Malfoy," a white haired boy smiled at Aurora which she smiled in return knowing the boy was a close family friend, he was sorted into Slytherin which came with no shock.

" Aurora Black," Aurora sat on the stool feeling more nervous than she'd ever been, she hoped to be sorted into Slytherin just to please her mother.

" Your quite an interesting girl aren't you, extremely loyal like a Hufflepuff, you seem to be wiser than any first year would be, perhaps Ravenclaw would do you good, oh but wait Slytherin seems to be for you, you dearie are a very cunning one and an ambitious one at that, oh but no, your bravery is like no other I've ever seen why hadn't I seen it before? Well then let it be," the sorting hat yelled out Gryffindor making Aurora's eyes widened, as she walked to the cheering house she glanced over to at the Slytherin table meeting the gaze of her twin who gave her sister a reassuring smile, though her grey eyes had worry written all over them.

" Gryffindor oh dear cousin cheer up, at least well be the family disappointments together!" Sirius said enthusiastically patting the empty seat between him and James. Aurora playfully rolled her eyes at her cousin's words and sat between him and James much to the messy haired boy's excitement.

" Family disappointments, together forever," Aurora replied kissing the boy on his cheek which he pulled her in for a side hug not letting her move from his tight embrace.

" Why would you be disappointments?" Peter asked the two which made them immensely uncomfortable but Aurora answered anyway.

" The Blacks have only ever been sorted into Slytherin, it's a family tradition. Our parents won't be too happy about us being sorted into another house especially Gryffindor, let's just say the Blacks are very strict when it comes to tradition, the Blacks are a traditional pureblood family, I and Sirius will probably be the only Blacks you'll ever meet that don't follow the Blacks beliefs, apart from my sister Andy but she's soon won't be a Black," Aurora informed the group making sure to show her disgust towards her sister no longer being a Black earning a light smack in the head from Sirius who still held her.

" Is your sister marrying?" Remus asked wanting to know more about the girl in front of him. Aurora scrunched her nose at his words only nodding in response.

" Ara doesn't like the bloke, that why she's acting this way," Sirius told the boys which they nodded in understanding not taking their eyes off Aurora who grimaced at the thought of Ted Tonks her future brother in law.

" Can I call you Ara?" James spoke watching how Aurora smiled lightly as she seemed to ponder the idea.

" You may call me Ara," Aurora told James shocking Sirius who watched the interaction with his mouth gaped." Well then Ara, you can call me James," the boy beside her grinned.

" Don't push your luck Potter," Aurora said throwing the boy back to reality and making Sirius snicker.

[being-held]

There’s Something Strange About How It All Began by Alexis Pera

A draft piece for a book not yet written. Enjoy.

I.  eight when I first caught fire. It was a cold day in my village, as it usually was, near the shores of the lake where my family’s home was built. It was a small dwelling in my home region of Plivium. It rained a lot in Plivium, unlike the rest of Alienis, and no one knew why, or no one really cared. It was home, no one questions that. But, when  it wasn’t pouring, most Plivumians preferred to be outside. We kind of had to be, or else the work would never be done, the harvest never brought up, and the damages never fixed. So as my parents worked, I was free to roam and explore.

    Yet, out of all the land my parents had, all the forests and rivers and ponds, I loved my father’s garden, beautiful in every sense of the word. He had grown flowers of every color and nurtured trees so full of fruit we could never harvest them all. It was my favorite place in the entire world. I would run through the paths, looking up the entire time as I watched the trees rush by and the leaves brush my legs as I went. Who knows how many times I fell, or tripped, or just ran full on into things. My father would always scold me about being more careful, but he would have a smile on his face because he was more than amused by how happy I was despite having just run into a tree or tripped over some vines. My mother would be more upset, she didn’t like seeing me hurt, even if I wasn’t upset about it, and I always had bruises and scratches but a smile on my face. Of course, that all stopped the day I Specialized.

    Most children didn’t Specialize until they were older, when they were turning into grown men and women, but I didn’t. I was still a child, still scared of the stories my parents told me about Specializing, still carefree and unable to prepare for what would happen.

    Because gaining your Specialty and becoming one with nature was something that usually didn’t come in a nice package with a pretty bow. It was painful and unpredictable, and with my family’s bloodline, my Specialty was to be even more so.

    The wind was strong that day, or so I thought at least, and it kept growing more and more until the chill in my spine wouldn’t go away. Then my small kid brain finally realized that none of the trees or plants were swaying from its force, and that my clothes and hair were still in place. I was then wondering why I was so cold and why it felt like someone was waving cold air on my neck. I didn't have much time to think about it.

    A searing pain had bloomed in my temples, my vision and balance immediately going awry. It was paralyzing, and as I hit the dirt, a terribly cold tingling took over my hands and arms.

    My mother found me first, and she was the one who first saw the visible effects of what was happening. My fingers, hands, and lower arms had turned completely black, right up to my elbows. And though it seemed as if I stuck my hands into a smoldering fire pit, my skin was entirely numb to feeling. The headache had faded and vision only slightly better at that point, so I was left sitting on the ground staring at my arms as if they didn’t belong to me. In that moment, it didn’t feel like they did.

    Then the second wave hit.

    While my vision cleared enough for me to see and the overall pain had deadened to a dull throbbing, my arms sparked and white flames enveloped them. I couldn’t feel it, I couldn’t stop it, I could barely see it, but I screamed and yelled and cried. My mother didn’t know what to do, neither did my father when he finally found us. They couldn’t come near, and my mother learned that the hard way. She hated seeing me in pain, so her motherly instinct to hold me, to comfort me, backfired when she tried. She now has a large burn scar down her right arm, a daily reminder of how dangerous I was.

    Because to the horror of myself, my mother, and my father, I had managed to inherit one of the rarest and most dangerous Specialties known to our world, called Aerdior. The unfortunate ability to conjure heat from one’s skin. My version of it, of course, came with the bonus of flames.

    I don’t remember the rest of that day. I just know that my parents had to reach out to one of our neighbors, who could manipulate water, to put me out. And that that day was when everything became different.

II.

    I can’t count how many times in a day I used to catch fire. At first, it was really often, every hour or so, and that’s how I was forced to learn how to will it away. And eventually I could. And after a month, it would go down to every two hours. And after another month, three to four hours.

    By the time I was nine, I could go at least two days without catching, on a good week.

    I also can’t count how many times I’ve hurt someone or something around me. It would come so suddenly, I never had enough time to get away from whatever I was touching. My father had a couple burns on his shoulders and arms, my mother on her fingers and hands. I banned myself from my father’s garden after I destroyed almost half of my father’s rare Cossia flowers, and later from even going outside when I injured a creature that had come too close. I spent most of my time in my room, where anything that wasn’t or couldn’t be fireproofed had been removed. I cried when my mother wanted to take my books, but my father, who taught me to love and cherish reading, spent almost two weeks trying to figure out a way for me to keep them. He finally found the perfect mixture of plants and special roots to create paper that couldn’t burn. And he then spent the next several months copying all of my favorite books onto the special paper so I could read them. I only have one of those copies now.

    I was terrified and paranoid of my Specialty, and of what I could do. No matter where I was or who I was with, I had to watch what I touched and how I handled things. Before long, I was labeling everything as burnable or unburnable, what I can’t touch and what I can, who I couldn’t take the chance on and who I could. It was an unbearable existence for a nine year old child.

    And then we moved.

    I say moved like it was optional, like we made the choice, but truly, we weren’t just changing scenery, we were running.

    I don’t remember much of it. One day we were happy; my mother, my father, me, and the little baby in my mother’s belly that we were all so excited for. Then the next, I was being dragged through the forest by my parents who kept insisting everything was alright. Right up until it wasn’t.

    My father died that day, protecting us. My mother will only tell me that without him saving us, we wouldn’t have escaped, we wouldn’t have made it to earth, the Connected World.

    It’s been nine years, and she still refuses to tell me more.

    But now, I only catch randomly, with no pattern. A rushing feeling will run down my spine, and then my fingers will start turning black. If I don’t separate myself from my surroundings and put all my willpower into making it go away, I will eventually catch, though it’s much slower on earth.

    My mother would always tell me that it was all a blessing in disguise, that coming to earth was good because I was less likely to hurt others. I used to believe that, and maybe a small part of me still does, but now I know that it doesn’t make a difference. Who am I to have a better life when my father never got to live the rest of his?

III.

    My little sister was born the day we came to earth. Because of the way we came, in the chaos and madness, my mother went into labor not even an hour after arriving. We had come through the Pathway into an old church, which had seemed to be abandoned with no one left to take care of it. I was the only one there to help my mother as she gave birth.

    It was a horribly long, terribly painful, and rather traumatizing experience that I would never like to experience again. But once it was over, we had another problem to handle. Because my little sister didn’t come out crying.

    My mother had pretty much passed out once the baby was out, so I was left to try to understand what was happening. It was, fortunately, not long before I realized that my sister wasn’t dead. She was still moving and her heart still beating, with her face scrunched up as if she wanted to cry but just couldn’t get it out. She was mute, a birth defect common to Plivumians.

    I had shifted my mother into a lying position and covered her with an old curtain I found, then proceeded to wrap my new born sister in the torn up cloth from my shirt. I held her as she slept, and didn’t sleep myself, and that night I named her. I never asked my mother after if she liked the name I picked, or of she was upset that I did, but I was fully convinced that my father would have loved it.

    I named her after my father’s two favorite flowers, the ones which he had spent years growing to be perfect for their blooming season, and the ones I adored more than any of the others. Her name was Pella Cossia, my little sister. And the only thing I thoroughly remember from that day, was the promise I made to her, that I would never let her get hurt, that I would protect her no matter the costs.

    I still keep that promise, and I don’t ever plan on breaking it.

IV.

    We found the dwelling, or town, as the earthans called it, that the church belonged to, and met many people who were confused about who we were and what had happened to us. One person called himself an officer, and he helped us find clothes and food. We also met a lady who gave my mother a job at a restaurant, which at the time was a very strange concept, as we didn’t have restaurants or food suppliers back in Plivium. But we adapted quickly, and it was only a year of taking help and staying in hotels before my mother could finally afford a home.

    It was a small, unkept, dirty place, but we were decent enough at cleaning and home-keeping to get it livable again.

    By the time we found out about school, I was twelve and completely unqualified. But due to the laws of the land, and the strict suggestions of anyone we knew, my mother thought it wise to send me to school. The idea of school seemed promising, an organization built to help children learn and grow in the world, but the actual reality of it was a lot more disappointing. The education part was pretty much an afterthought, as the talking, sports, and teasing took the forefront. I came to be a wallflower, even more so because of the... heat problem. People liked to point out that I wore sweaters and gloves all the time, even when it was warm; little did they know that I couldn’t feel warmth at all, or cold for that matter. The sweaters and gloves were more for a safety precaution(made of a special heat resistant material that took years to find and use), and a comforting mechanism.

    I caught up quickly; in my studies, that is. I was pretty much enthralled with anything I didn’t already know, as we didn’t have education anything close to Earthan education back home, where we learned to read, write, count, and that was it. In Plivium, reading more than what basic training required was like being a genius, which both my father and myself easily overstepped. But on earth, being an avid reader was somewhat normal, and even the small amount of people who actually enjoyed learning maths and science and literature were many more than at home. I also had more than enough time on my hands, as I still stayed cooped up in my bedroom with things least fire-prone. I had more books than clothes, and more library passes than shoes, which I was more than okay with. I enjoyed it, even if school itself was much less than fun and little more than torture.

    Though as high school came, with my Specialty growing stronger and more worrisome, my mother thought it time to pull me out. At that time, I wasn’t attached to school, as long as I got to keep the books and the library trips. My mother obliged, but, unfortunately, she was still listening to coworkers and neighbors. Because apparently, by the time your fifteen, your supposed to have a job. Which, of course, my mother and I thought strange and ridiculous, because the whole employment thing was an entirely different situation at home. But we adapted anyway, and I managed to get a job at a small bookstore in town, but only because it was run by an older lady who majorly needed help.

    I still work there today, and Mrs. Gorgio is like the grandma I never had, feeding me when I forget myself and praying when she knows my mother has a job interview. She instantly fell in love with Pella, and asks about her every day I come in. Pella doesn’t like books as much, preferring music and other loud ways of expressing herself, but she likes Mrs. Gorgio and the fact that the older lady wasn’t shocked to find she can’t speak. Pella comes in once a week, and is continually teaching Mrs. Goegio sign language so that it’s easier for them to communicate. I sometimes watch them interact, sitting in the big cushion chairs in the back of the shop, laughing and smiling and gesturing. It’s rather funny to see Mrs. Gorgio get the movements wrong, in which Pella will simply smile and correct her with gentle fingers.

    When we walk home together, Pella will sign to me the whole way, explaining what they were working on and how Mrs. Gorgio has the best taste in music and why the old lady always wears that rusty necklace around her neck. Though I trip on the bumpy sidewalks and my own feet watching her hands fly, I don’t ever shove it off. I know how much it means to her, and that she looks forward to that one day of the week when I take her.

    It also distracted me, helped me pretend that our lives were normal. And that we weren’t foreigners in disguise, tricking everyone into believing we belonged, when we really truly didn’t.

[kashimos-hajime]

wake me up | amaranthine (4/6) | b.b.

summary: A mended heart is stronger every time it breaks.

WARNINGS: swearing, angst, fluff and tenderness, painful treatment practices, blood, tony’s a cute baby, implications of smut :^) pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader word count: 9.2k

a/n: written for @the-omni-princess for her writing challenge and inspired by @the-darklings​ who writes such heart-wrenching scenes concerning john and vipress (my WIFE) and also by the film marriage story. vibe song is the cover of wake me up by fleurie and tommee lee profitt.

amaranthine masterlist

So wake me up when it's all over When I'm wiser and I'm older All this time I was finding myself And I didn't know I was lost You wake, lurching forward as your hand flies to your breast. Cloth meets your palm and you swallow the foul taste in your mouth, sweat dappling your skin and gathering in your throat and underneath your arms and breasts. The figments of your nightmares disappear like ashes in the wind, and you try to catch your breath, your mind reeling. You don’t recall walking back to bed, nor dressing the wound on your chest.

You’d been too exhausted to do anything more but tape some gauze to your chest and settle in the chair in case Bucky needed something

Bucky.

Your heart wilts at the mere thought of him, and everything inside you empties out when you look around your room in your base. He must’ve been the one to bring you here. Has he gone? 

Pushing yourself up, you swing your legs carefully off the bed and lean over to turn on the lamp. The light shining on your clock shows a bitter 4 AM, and you sigh, rubbing at your face. Saturday morning and you’re up at 4 AM.

Saturday. You roll the word over in your head, nearly groaning once you’ve realized what you promised to do. Howard could not have chosen a worse weekend for you to look after his son, but you are not about to let Tony down, and although you want nothing more than to throw yourself into bed, sleep off yesterday and today and every other day until your chest doesn’t feel like a massive bruise, you get up.

You have a call to make.

.

Standing in the corner store, you scour the aisles for cans. If you’re staying in the safe house, you’ll need to stock up once again. You pluck a can of tomato paste and add it to your basket where pasta, soup, bread, eggs, milk and meat already lay. Medical supplies await you in the backroom, and you debate the possibility of making two trips to save your right side some grief. No. It’ll be a waste of time, you chide yourself. You pay these agents for a reason.

The bell above the door chimes and you freeze. 

“Sir, we’re not open yet.” The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who’d been waiting in the backroom comes out and you shift closer to the shelves, your hand reaching for the heaviest can in your basket. 

“The Doctor asked me to meet her here.”

Edwin. A wave of relief rushes through you show yourself to both the agent and Edwin, who soaks in your appearance carefully. His eyes flutter from your face, ragged and pale, to the white blouse you’ve pulled on. Beneath it, you know he can see the white bandages still wrapped firmly to your chest. You wonder if he can smell the sewage clinging onto your skin. You’ve grown so used to it by now that you can hardly tell if you reek.

Your eyes meet his, and you swallow with a sigh.

You walk forward to set down the basket on the counter, tilting your head to the agent to signal for him to begin packing it up for you, and Edwin sighs, adjusting the child in his arms. Leaning slightly against the counter, you look out the windows, at the very beginnings of dawn. It’ll be a few hours yet before the sun rises, and you can hardly believe a day has passed. It feels like only hours ago you hauled a broken soldier back to the safe house.

“I wasn’t aware there was another S.H.I.E.L.D. safe house in Brooklyn,” Edwin begins softly, and your lips press together in a grim smile.

“There isn’t. This one’s mine. Howard insisted on keeping agents posted just in case trouble arose.” Your eyes flicker back to Edwin, and then to Tony. “How is he?”

“Running a slight fever, although he’s been sleeping like a rock through the night. He was quite excited to hear he would be spending time with you, although I assume you’re not quite up to the task?” Edwin’s head tilts and you smile weakly. “I can always stay home, Doctor.”

“No, Edwin, I promised. I—” You throw your arm up, letting it fall without a care. Shaking your head, you try to search for the words— “I need something to go right. The past twenty-four hours… I can’t stay in that place with him.” You feel strangely numb to saying the words and he reaches forward to touch your hand on the countertop. You let him do so, twisting your hand to offer your palm. His fingers grasp yours firmly as if silently telling you you can do this and you bow your head.

“Who, ma’am?”

“Someone… someone I thought was dead. I can’t tell you, I’m so sorry.” You raise your head wretchedly to your friend, and his eyes, warm and comforting, soothe an icy wave that crawls down your spine. “Ghosts make terrible friends.”

“You needn’t explain it to me.”

“Doctor.” The agent returns with your bag, his figure looming at the door to the backroom and you glance at the darkness, your fingers numb as you remember jumping into the sewers with a bleeding man behind you. You stare at him for a moment, taking a deep breath as you try to fortify yourself. He might be awake by now, or maybe he’s gone.

He’d been fast asleep when you’d checked on him this morning, and the absolute agony that had torn through your soul had blinded you, to see him sleeping so peacefully between sheets that never had his name marked into them. 

You know when he leaves—and he will, you know it is inevitable that everyone will leave—you’ll never be able to sleep in that bed again. 

“Ma’am.”

You blink, and the agent’s eyebrows are furrowed together as he stares back, too respectful to break the contest.

“You should go,” Edwin’s gentle voice snags your attention and you turn back to him, lost. “Even ghosts get lonely.”

You reach for Tony and take him with your left arm. His tiny arms latch around your neck and you let out a tiny breath at the familiar weight that settles on you. Tony’s gentle breaths puff against your ear and you kiss his cheek. “He’s asleep, Edwin. I’m sure I can afford a few more minutes of life unhaunted.” Although you mean it to be teasing and a forced smile does make its way onto your face, you see the concern etched onto Edwin’s face and know you need to face the reality of your situation. In the quiet morning, you can pretend you did not find the man you’ve fallen in love with an odd thirty years ago. In the quiet mornings, you can pretend you did not defile your sanctuary, bringing him there.

“I wasn’t talking about him.”

I’m. Not. Lonely. A stiff lump sits in your throat and your smile falls off like a bird shot mid flight. Tightening your grip on Tony, you clench your jaw and walk around the counter towards the agent. He hands you the supplies and you sling it onto your right shoulder with a slight grunt. Staring at the darkness before you, you give yourself a moment to remember why you have lived all these years. Before you descend down into the pathway that will lead you back to your past, you turn back to Edwin.

“Good morning, Mr. Jarvis, and have a good day.”

“And you as well, Doctor.”

.

Kissing Tony goodnight, or good morning, you pull back from the old crib and retreat to the door, turning off the lights and closing the door until it is barely open an inch. Your stomach grumbles, but you keep your hand on the knob, just listening to his tiny breaths fill the room before you tear yourself away.

The first thing you did as a founder of S.H.I.E.L.D. was buy this building, and you’ve spent decades, walking through the building that has changed tenants more times than you can count. No matter what, you always leave one loft empty. You don’t care what Howard or Peggy say about letting go. Ever since Mama Barnes passed, you don’t have the heart to fill up a place where you’ve found pieces of Bucky with those who might wash him away.

You’d planned to visit yesterday for his birthday. Instead, you hide away in the safe house you had built right beneath the building with the man you’ve been grieving over sleeping just at the end of the hallway.

Grabbing your medicinal bag from your room, you head to the kitchen and sit down, digging out some supplies for you to properly take care of your wound. You peel off your shirt, the lights casting your skin in an oily gold as you carefully begin to undo the bandages around your chest.

Does he remember who I am? Your thoughts grow torrential as the silence of the safe house grows unnerving. Or does he only know me as a past mission, if even that? Did H.Y.D.R.A. wipe his mind so completely that he can never come back to me? Will he stay if given the chance? Who does he work for? H.Y.D.R.A. is nothing but ashes now. The KGB? The Soviet Union? The thought makes you nauseous. Or perhaps he works for anyone willing to pay.

You still remember that night in 1949. Only two days prior, an attempt on your life had sent Colonel Phillips to issue an entourage that would follow you and check your home every night before you entered, and you’d been at your wit’s end. You could not fathom why an attempt on your life had to be made, when there were others—Howard, Peggy, the Colonel—who were more important to S.H.I.E.L.D. than you ever could be. 

You are just a doctor, after all, and yet someone wanted to kill you.

And he had been standing there, black mask muzzling him like some dog, dark iron wire hair that separated him from your world, and those eyes that screamed of a caged animal. Eyes you would never forget as he grabbed you with an unseen speed and threw you onto your bed. Eyes that caused you to recognize him twenty years later, still feeling the rush of wind as the knife dug into the mattress beside your ear.

The only reason you still live is the fact that the super-soldier serum had given your leg enough muscle to launch him through the window and gave you enough time to hide away here. In this safe house.

You blink and glance at your chest, at the red hole that has closed on your back but still gapes on your chest, and sigh. Too many attempts on your life have been made and only his eyes have been burned into your head. You close your eyes for a moment, a knot in the middle of your head causing an ache that begins to throb as you try to focus. You know you must get some sleep. Your body protests as you grab the bottle of iodine from your bag and a towel.

Stuffing the towel into your mouth, you feel your gag reflex revolt at the intrusion and your whole stomach convulses painfully. The dryness of the cloth causes tears to spring into your eyes as it continues to poke at the back of your throat, and you twist off the cap of the bottle, your lungs struggling to prepare themselves for the searing pain that is about to seep into your bones. You grab onto the edge of the chair, trying to steel yourself.

This is the life you chose, a voice inside your head chastises just as you raise the bottle to your chest. 

You tip iodine into the hole a bullet left in you and the pain—agony in its ripest form—rips you into pieces. Your nerves sing as they are burned alive, and your flesh recoils as iodine and alcohol slosh through your blood. Your teeth clenched around the towel, a muffled scream tears its way through your throat as you continue to pour a steady, small stream onto the gunshot wound. Your eyes squeezed shut, hot tears begin to race over your sweating skin as your back arches off the chair, head tossed back in torture.

The pain begins to dull into a pulsing fire as it drips down your chest, and you slam the bottle back onto the table, letting out a ragged groan as you thread the needle with practiced fingers. Pushing yourself up and leaning heavily into the chair, you begin the heartrending chore of sewing your flesh back together, and you begin to feel strangely numb to it all. You weave the needle through your skin and muscle, and you don’t feel any of it. Perhaps it is the fire of iodine that has made you numb or the exhaustion adding to the adrenaline that is no doubt pumping through your body, but you just sew mechanically until it is done, tying a knot with one hand and snipping the excess thread within minutes.

Perhaps being a doctor is good for one thing after all.

Covering the wound again, you get up and clean off the iodine that’s dripped down your body and the table with the towel from your mouth, the pain slowly draining away. You carefully slip into the blouse, your stomach grumbling once again, and you decide despite the hour, you need to eat.

Besides the groceries you’d just retrieved from the store, you rifle through the shelves for whatever you can scrape together, and you nearly grin at the ingredients. It’s a tired almost-smile that barely makes its way into your cheeks, but you just want to forget all that’s happened.

You turn the radio on the countertop, and pull flour, sugar, eggs, and milk onto your workspace as some tune begins to fill the empty air. Softly, it weaves into your ears and you let out a relieved sigh.

Waffles and bacon—Mama Barnes always said it was her boy’s favourite.

.

As you set your plate of waffles and bacon down and head to grab your hot cup of coffee, you hear a door from the end of the wall open with a subtle click. Ignoring the sound, you take a long pull, letting the black coffee run through your chilly blood before setting it down next to your plate. You hear his footsteps come down the hallway as you go to grab another plate. He lingers by the door and you set down the second plate before turning around to finally notice him.

His hair is wild around his face, and he looks around blearily, a softness to his usually hard eyes. He’s mainly exposed from the chest up, save for the thing he carries. A red and yellow thing you recognize as your godson.

Of course Tony sneaks out of his bed. 

You let out a short breath of disbelief, eyebrows knitting together at the tender way the soldier carries the two-year old. Like a fragile sack of potatoes, or perhaps a regular sack of potatoes. He no doubt looks awkward and you approach him to save him.

“May I?” you begin quietly and he nods with a small swallow. His eyes search your face for a moment, and you take Tony from the man’s arms. “I’m sorry if he woke you.”

“He didn’t,” is the curt response you receive. Your soft smile doesn't falter as you settle the boy in your arms and turn to the table. 

“Help yourself to breakfast, and the coffee.” You move to walk past him, your head ducked against Tony’s cheek, but a warm hand touches your wrist tentatively and you whirl around, your heart lurching into your throat.

“I wanted to speak to you,” he begins, eyes wide as he soaks in the wariness that must be on display on your own face. “If that would be alright with you.”

“Of course.” You swallow down the knot. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You don’t need to call me that,” you say. Not so seriously. Never as a show of power imbalance. We are equals, you and I. He does not hear your thoughts and he does not reply. He pulls his hand away and walks to the table, and you watch him go with a quaint sensation of something falling in your chest.

You walk down the hall and put Tony to bed, and you nearly smile at how he seems to wriggle in his sleep back towards you. 

“Stay in bed this time, Tony. No wandering back into my room. A guest is staying there,” you whisper against his forehead and he rolls away from your lips just as you press a little kiss against his temple. Smiling to yourself, you pull back and shut the door this time with a soft click.

Returning to the kitchen, you notice him sitting at the table, poking at the plate with a fork and you grab yourself another set of cutlery, sitting down across from him with a quirk of your lip. Despite the slight unease coiling in your gut, you want him to speak to you first—to open up. You want to know everything you’ve missed.

“How’s your gunshot?” he asks, peering up at you through strands of his hair. You perk up, forcing the smile into your cheeks.

“Healing. How are you feeling? You took a hell of a beating,” you return and he experimentally shifts in his seat with a slight shrug. “I want to check on your stitches again later.”

“What happened? Where are we?” You notice he doesn’t touch the food and you pick up your own cutlery. Perhaps if you show that it’s okay… that he’s safe… he will follow suit to do however he pleases. You cut the waffle and place it into your mouth, testing your own cooking skills with a pleased result. Swallowing, you watch as he stops poking at the food on his plate and begins to eat.

“After we left the cemetery, you were barely conscious from blood loss and pain. We managed to hide in an alleyway before I found a manhole into the sewers and I brought us here. It’s my own safe house; barely anyone knows about it.”

“You trust me enough to bring me here?” 

“What other choice did I have? I couldn’t let you die.” Your eyes fall to the greasy bacon on your plate and you fill your mouth to avoid talking any more. Bucky stares at you for a moment and you feel the weight of his gaze rest on your shoulders before he looks down. The scrape of his fork against the porcelain fills the silence and you try to figure out how to even broach the subject. You feel empty, as if everything you knew has been scooped out of you and replaced with sand. 

You’re not hungry anymore.

“You should’ve.” You have no answer to the vileness in his voice—the hatred you don’t understand the meaning of. “I remember you,” he continues, dangerously quiet. “I tried to kill you in 1949.”

“Yes, well, seems something’s not letting you pull the final trigger,” you reply. You sip on your coffee and he watches you with an emotion you cannot quite decipher. It makes you squirm—it makes you sick. “Is that all you know me from?”

“You said my name is Bucky.”

“It is.” You set your cup down. You can do this. “Your name is James Buchunan Barnes. Your best friend’s name was Steve and you were a Sergeant of the 107th. You moved to Brooklyn when you were three, to the building right above us.” You see him look up at the concrete ceiling, and your lips barely pull into a smile. “Your sister moved back to Shelbyville after the war.”

“Sister?”

“Rebecca. You had three siblings. She’s the last one left.” Your voice has grown hushed as you watch his mechanical arm set down the knife he used to tear apart his waffle. It’s half-eaten and the bacon is all gone, so you don’t know if it means he’s full or if he just doesn’t like waffles anymore. The thought makes you sad. “Your parents, your other siblings—they died in transit to the safe house where Rebecca lives.”

“I killed them,” he whispers and your head jerks up, eyebrows furrowing together as a harsh breath is drawn between your lips. Your stomach twists as he meets your eyes and you see the frantic, muzzled animal within the blue of his irises. “They made me kill them.” He glances down at his plate again, blinking. “I’m not hungry. I’m sorry, I…”

“No, it’s alright.” You stand up too quickly, too sharply that the chair scrapes against the floor, causing both of you to flinch. You bite down on your lip to stop yourself from letting the stinging in your eyes blur your vision as you grab the plates and head to the sink. With your back to him, you turn on the sink to hide the sound of your shuddering sigh. “You should rest,” you add louder, praying your voice does not shake. “I can come to you later.”

You listen to him go and wait until the door to your room clicks shut.

You resist the urge to throw the porcelain plate and watch ti shatter against the wall.

. 

When you think you’ve managed to fill the hole inside you with something other than sand (broken pieces of your heart fit better, even if the cracks reach your skin), you knock on the door.

“Bucky, may I come in?” In your hand weighs the medicinal bag you don’t remember feeling so heavy. A soft ‘yes’ on the other side prompts you to twist the knob and enter and you see him standing there, just staring at himself in the floor length mirror. He’s much more muscular than you remember, lean and toned in his back and shoulders, his arm enough to snap you in two. His mechanical arm moves like his flesh one, wrapped around his bandaged chest, and glints in the warm lamplight. Dark hair falls over his face and it’s a gut punch to the system. Disastrously handsome, and all too damaged, there is barely half of him left for you to hold. 

Heat surges through your body. You haven’t quite seen Bucky like this in a while, and before, well, before it was life and death. Now…

“Do you want me to sit on the bed?” he asks, watching your reflection. You nod and he walks back onto the corner of the bed, sinking into the mattress. You perch down behind him and you notice he doesn’t tear his eyes away from his mirror image. 

“I’m unwrapping the bandages now,” you begin and he nods. He still smells like sewer and you’re surprised Tony hadn’t cried at the smell, and there’s something cold about his skin as you unwind the white cloth. You try your best not to stare at the lines in his back, at the scarring that twists into his shoulder, but your eyes can’t help but stray. The bandages fall away and you’re greeted by the sight of healing red marks. The stitches are already dissolving and you smile at the bruising that mars his back. It means he’s healing.

“Who are you?” he asks in the quiet, startling you out of your thoughts. His healing factor is much faster than yours and you wonder how many doses it took for him to heal from gunshot wounds overnight. Gently pressing onto a yellow-green mark on his shoulder blade, you feel him tense up.

“I’m the Head of Developmental Medicine and Science,” you say, just as soft. “Although, I suppose whoever sent you already knew that because of what Howard is trying to concoct.”

“Who are you to me?” 

Your throat cinches shut, and you paste on a smile just in time for him to turn around to look at you. Tormented, his eyes are hooded by his sagging eyebrows and you see how tired he is, how guilty. You don’t know how you are supposed to answer such a question.

“Shouldn’t you know?” you tease weakly. “You heard me in the cemetery, all weepy about it.” He stares at you for a moment and then turns back to his reflection. A bruise begins to form in your throat as you hold back the stinging in your eyes. This is the man you loved, broken apart like he was nothing and made to believe it, and now... now you can’t even be honest with him. Your fingers gently trail up his back, to his shoulder and you feel his breath hitch. You run your fingers reverently over the scarring twisting into his shoulder and he shivers. “Does it hurt when I do this?” Your fingers dig into the soft flesh and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“No.” You catch sight of his reflection, and you watch as his eyes flutter shut. Shuffling closer towards him, you place a gentle hand on his other shoulder, the smooth expanse of his skin frigid against your searing palm. “It… it feels good.”

“I’ve tended to more war veterans than I can count,” you whisper gently, eyes focusing on your work. His metal hand clenches and then relaxes as you find a knot of tension hiding between his joints. “I’ve treated amputated sites where the patients complain of phantom pain or tension they can’t quite relieve.” You gently dig your thumb underneath his collarbone and he lets out a soft sigh. You wonder if he knows what tenderness is, what love and comfort is. Has H.Y.D.R.A. purged that from his mind the way they killed his memory of you? 

Your shattered heart crumbles at the way he falls apart in your hands.

He seems to melt into you and you peer at his reflection with a bleeding heart. “Don’t stop, please.” His own ice blue gaze stares at you, wary still, but he is no longer stiff. “You’re an angel.” He says it like he’s never known it before, the word a stranger on his tongue. You shatter at the word.

You want to tell him you’ve loved him far longer than you’ve not. You want to tell him you love him, and you have loved him, and you will love him every day, and that has never changed and will never change.

Instead, you say, “You’re not the Devil, you know,” as he stares at you with glass eyes. Your hand trembles against his shoulder, and you feel tremendously fragile. Biting your lip, you try not to tell yourself that everything is okay, knowing he’s alive. 

“I loved you,” he murmurs lowly, “didn’t I?” His flesh hand catches yours and you press your lips together, determined not to lose yourself before him but you know he’s recovering more of his memory the longer you stay in his presence. You tell yourself you can take it if he doesn’t quite remember you—you stay in hopes that he does. “Angel. That’s what I called you. And I loved you more than anything.”

Something explodes in your chest, and you cannot take it, knowing he does remember you. You are washed in shame, in if I tried harder, I could’ve found you sooner and saved you, and it burns to touch him.

“Excuse me.” You rip yourself away just as the searing in your eyes grows to be too much. That isn’t your Bucky. Not anymore, a patronizing voice in your ear whispers. The words are cruel, but the lashes your mind inflicts on itself are cruler. “I…”

You cannot bring yourself to finish the sentence. You are out the door before he can tell you to stay.

.

Hot water pellets your skin harshly as you let out a sob. You barely have enough air to breathe as you lean against the tile and try to soothe the fire that burns between your ears. Burning tears race over your cheeks as you let out another cry, your hand slapped over your mouth in a piss poor attempt to muffle your want to scream.

Eyes shut against the bullet rain, you wish the shower can wash away more than just the smell of sewage. You want to slip into the drain and leave. You want to feel more than just hollow. Your chest heaving, you try to ignore how your lungs gasp and struggle, how much it feels like drowning and there’s no way to know which way is to the surface, and how you feel like you’re in shambles.

Sobbing into your palm, it is cathartic to just scream it out. Although the hiss of the shower is not enough to mask your sobs, you feel the tension in your back unwind as you wail loud enough for it to echo back at you. Soaked to the core, pulsing and cold, you want to feel something—anything other than pain and hollowness.

What if I punch my hand through the wall? Blister myself in this hellfire? Ask him to kill me. Put an end to this misery. 

How have you spiralled.

The curtain rattles against the pole as it is pulled back but you don’t even flinch at the light that streams into your dark little cell. You’d heard him for the past five minutes, pacing outside the bathroom, and now you stare at him through the tangled mess of his dark hair. He’s wearing an A-shirt you left out for him and his tac pants, the smell of antiseptic and cold winter rushing into your stall. His blue eyes shadowed, his gaze drills into yours and you swallow your tears down, your breath still shuddering in your throat as your lips part.

“What do you want?” Your voice, throaty and deep, sounds unrecognizable to you, and he merely stares for a moment. What more can you take from me? What more will I give you?

“I loved you,” he whispers and you push off the tiled wall, staring at him through the stream of steaming water. “I think I still do.” 

All breath leaves your body and your knees nearly give in as you blink tears out of your eyes.

“Bucky.” The name barely flutters past your tongue and you want to say this is not love, you don’t remember me, I don’t want you to, it aches, can’t you see me dying every second you look at me? but you can barely regain your wits before he cups your face and his mouth is hard on yours. You stumble back into the wall and the cool tile against your back causes your mouth to open wider underneath his burning mouth. Every touch sets you on fire, and you can feel the ice of his metal arm gliding down your side as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. You don’t care about the pain from the stitches in your chest or from the jagged remains of your heart digging into your ribs.

Strength surrounds you as he pulls back before you drown in his smell, and you nearly gasp for air. His whispered apologies gloss over your skin and your chest heaves against his as you tell him ‘It’s okay. It’s okay.’ The thick heat of him clouds your vision as his lips brush against yours, catching and gliding reverently as he breathes, his nose tracing through the tears on your cheeks, his eyes closed. 

You pull your hands back to cup his face and he lets out a tremendous sigh, his shoulders sinking as his head drops to your collarbone. Raking your fingers through his hair with one hand, your other travels down the expanse of his back, feeling him breathe, beating, alive. 

You can’t quite feel it yet.

“I’m sorry. Forgive me,” he whispers against your skin. He braces himself against the wall with his metal arm, his flesh one wrapped tight around your waist and you let out a soft sob as he rests his head against your collarbone. Raising your chin, you hold him to your chest and a quiet fills the shower. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” you murmur into his ear. “That wasn’t you. This… this is.” His arm tightens and you let out a sigh at the closeness you’ve only experienced in your best nightmares. You don’t want to wake up. You never do. “This is you, Bucky. Everything you say now, it’s you.” You gently rake your fingers through his hair and your lips find the cord in his neck. Brushing tender kisses up to his ear, you press your cheek into his shoulder. 

“I love you,” he breathes and you can see the moment the world seems to lift off his shoulders. “You are chaos to my thoughts and… and I love you.” Pulling back, he stares at you with a wonder, a light you haven’t seen since 1945. The image of a boy soldier before you causes your lips to pull into the shakiest smile and you let out a laugh, pressing a desperate kiss against his mouth. 

He kisses you back with a tenderness that seals the cracks in you, and you continue to laugh at the brightness in your chest. For a moment, the man you love is not some nameless face burdened with a trauma you cannot even begin to imagine, but Bucky, the Sergeant in the hospital bed.

“So do you remember?” you ask against his hungry mouth, and at last, a hesitant smile presses against your skin. “Do you remember how much I love you?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever forgotten,” he whispers. “It was just buried beneath so much crap they thought I’d never see the light of day again, but I have.” His metal fingers brush away the tears that dot at your cheeks, and you nearly shiver in his arms. Your eyes dart to his pink lips to the warmth in his blue eyes and you close your eyes. “Thank you.”

“If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.” Your nose brushes against his as you hold his forehead against yours. His soaked shirt clings to his chest as you grab at his A-shirt’s hem, pulling up. You don’t know what rules your head, but it is most certainly nothing sane and everything wild.

“Angel—” Just the name, the name you haven’t heard in so long, sends shockwaves through your system and you let out a breath, eyebrows knitting together. In his arms, you feel nearly whole, as if he is the glue that holds you together. Without him, you are nothing more than pieces.

“There’s been no one else,” you promise. “No one besides you. Please.” Your voice softens as the shower begins to run cold and you tremble as he pulls back to stare into your eyes. He searches for hesitation, for the possibility of regret, but you merely touch his cheek and nod. The fire that has been extinguished for near twenty years ignite at the gentlest swipe of his fingers along your waist. “Please.”

“We never…” His words fade as you kiss him warmly. His eyes close and he chases your lips even after you pull away.

“I know we promised that our life will start after the war. But the war is over and life has swept us both away. It was always you. Please let me choose you.” You finally manage to pull his shirt off, letting it drop by your feet and you loop your arms around his neck. You wait in bated breath for his response.

He answers by shoving you against the wall and kissing you as if you are a feast and he is the hungriest man on the planet.

.

His mouth press against the plane of your shoulder, and you let out a soft sigh as he runs a hand down your stomach. You are sore in places you didn’t know existed, and somehow, your arms ache as you reach to turn the clock. In the time between you’ve stumbled into bed with a man back from the dead to now, hours have passed.

“What time is it?” he asks quietly, and you turn back to him with a serene smile. This could’ve been my every morning, you realize dully and your smile shrinks as you brush hair out of his face. He still smiles as if there is someone who will shoot him if he shows any joy, but there is a true light to it. You kiss him quickly, rolling over in his arms.

“Nine.”

“That late, huh?”

“I suppose.” Pulling him close, you sneak a kiss against the corner of his mouth. His hand settles on your waist delicately and you smile, simply embracing him tightly. You feel his heart thud against your ear and you want to sob your eyes out. A thickness in your chest makes you sigh and you close your eyes, squeezing him closer.

“I’m here,” he whispers into your hair. “I’m here.”

“Good.” You tilt your head up to kiss his chin and he grins. “I’ve got to get out of bed and start my day.”

“Hard to believe it’s just getting started,” he whispers and you laugh, kissing the corner of his mouth and detaching yourself from his arms. Scampering over to the dresser, you feel his gaze weigh on your back as you pull out another set of men’s clothes for him and set it on the dresser before slipping a silk gown over your own body. Turning, you roll your eyes when you see Bucky confirming your suspicions. You jerk your head in a gesture to tell him to get dressed and scowl playfully when he doesn’t move. “Are you going to get up at all today?”

“I’m just admiring an angel,” he retorts, and your heart splits painfully. It’s so Bucky of him to say that you want to throw up. “I hope you plan to stay here. It’s not safe for you outside.”

“If you mean my bedroom, no. The safe house, yes. I’m not an idiot.” He finally gets up and you take a moment to admire his sculpted muscles before reminding yourself of the day ahead of you. Phone to S.H.I.E.L.D., to Howard, inform them of what has happened. It’s hard to imagine a world of duties outside of this blissful room. “I’m going to cook breakfast after I wake up Tony. I’d like it if you joined me.”

He sets his hand on top of the pile of clothes, flipping through to find briefs before pulling them on and you lean against the counter with a slight pout. He barely glances at you, his expression hard, and your eyebrows knit together.

“Were my waffles so horrendous?” you ask, keeping your tone light as you rest your chin on your arms and try to catch a glimpse of his face. “Bucky—”

“I can’t stay here.”

“What?” The word pushes its way out of your mouth unbidden and you straighten up, your fingers scratching along the wood of the dresser as he unfolds the A-shirt against his chest. “But—”

“It’s not safe. You know that.” He pulls the white shirt over his head and you pull back, blinking. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you don’t even know what to say to the bluntness in his voice. The clock ticks in the silence as he stares at you for a moment and then turns away, running his hands through his hair. “They’re probably looking for me already, and if they crack down on this safe house, neither you nor Tony is gonna make it out of here alive.”

“Right,” you intone lifelessly, broken-hearted, lost, and you scream at yourself for being so incredibly stupid. Of course you can’t have it easy, you can’t have it peaceful, you can’t have it go right. Resting your forehead against your palm, you smile bitterly to yourself. “Right, how can I forget.”

“Angel—” His arms float around your body as if he wants to touch you but you jerk back, eyes darting to meet his—knife points, razor sharp. 

“They’ll find you. You think I don’t know that?” The way he stares at you, looks at you, softly and with too much tenderness your battered heart cannot take it, makes you want to wretch. “You think I don’t want to pretend that I can keep you safe?” Your voice, bitter and frosted, punches through the air. “I’ve just found you again.”

“My handlers are dangerous.” He looks ashamed for the things he cannot control and he shakes his head, grabbing the pair of trousers from the pile. “More dangerous than you can imagine. All they have to say are the words and you won’t be able to stop me.”

“Then let me help you,” you whisper. You reach for his arm. His blue eyes dart to yours and you see the fear. The fear you cannot begin to comprehend. “Let S.H.I.E.L.D. help you. We can move to another safe house and figure out how to reverse the programming—”

“I can’t. They’ll kill you if they find me anywhere but with them.”

“Fuck, well, I’m not about to let you walk back into the arms of the people who took you away from me!”

“Let them! Let them take me!” He spits the words in your face and you flinch back at the wolf that seeps into his cold eyes. His lips twisted in a snarl, he throws off your hand. “I don’t fucking deserve to be saved.”

“Bucky—”

“You don’t know what I’ve done. I- I don’t deserve to be saved.” You nearly laugh at how you’re back in this situation again. At this stupid back and forth between the two of you. The place has changed but the people stay the same, apparently, and you want to slap sense into him, and erase the glossiness from his eyes. When he blinks, the beginnings of tears bead and you wish to kiss them away.

“You do. You do deserved to be saved. And I just… I want you to stay. We can have the life we want, can’t we?”  

He stares at you wretchedly and you know that you can’t. Not when there are still people out there who want the both of you dead.

“You and I both know that’s not possible so stop trying to fool yourself. You’re much smarter than that.”

The tears come easier this time and you stare at him with glassy, blurry eyes. With every second that passes, you think you might die from the pain, but you don’t. You never do.

A mended heart is stronger every time it breaks.

“So, that’s it?” You’re just going to leave?” Your anger unleashed, your words burn hotter than magma, hotter than hell, hotter than hate. You think of all you’ve been through in the past day: tears, pain, pleasure, soul-splitting agony. You hate him. “You’re not even going to try to make it work? Were you just going to disappear if I hadn’t woken up? Did you confront me just to take me into bed because you should’ve killed me instead if that was your intention.”

“I want to keep you safe.” He is begging for you to stop but you are too furious with how hopeful you’ve allowed yourself to become in his presence. How deeply in love you’ve been reminded you are. How the moment he leaves, he will take your happiness with him. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not true.”

“Then what is? That you love me? Because the Bucky I knew wouldn’t just leave me here alone without a fight, stuck somewhere where I can’t follow him; stuck here, so bloody unhappy, so fucking empty that I don’t even know who I am! I wish you never fucking woke up and just pulled the trigger. I really wish you did because, at least, I wouldn’t be here again letting you rip me apart at the seams. I hate you! I hate you! I hate you with every cell of my being and I hope I never see you again!”

Your heart beats in your throat, a deep pulse that you want to swallow as he stares at you, eyes wide. You suck in a shuddering breath, nails scratching at your scalp. Grasping fistfuls of your hair, you let out a soft cry, the simmering heat in your eyes too much and you shut them tight, falling to your knees. Keening over, you let out a deep, low, note of pain and your face floods with heat. You breathe in a lungful of hot air as hands gently clasp your shoulders and you lash out, letting out a feral scream.

“Let me go! I fucking hate you!” You thrash in his arms but he merely wraps you in his embrace, squeezing you gently as you let out a desperate cry and you feel the sobs pushing their way up your throat. Pushing his chest, you hear him grunt as he falls back on his bottom and your shoulders shake as another sob wracks through your body. He presses his cheek against your wet one and you feel the fight leave you, at the warmth that begins to sink into your bones, the fatigue of the last twenty-seven hours catching up to you. He holds your head to his shoulder, your whole body pressed against his in an effort to prevent you from harming him or yourself and the sanity chains back the monster H.Y.D.R.A. stuffed into you, the one you’ve managed to cage until him. Something about him makes you go feral, wild with love. You could kill on it—you have.

“Shhhh,” he murmurs into your ear, voice dulcet, low in his chest and you open your eyes blearily as he strokes your back. Your fists relax and you let out a whimper as he gently brushes a kiss against your neck. You realize dazedly that you’re sitting square on his lap, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, and you pull back, blinking fresh tears down your face. Somehow, it is your nature to be as close to him as possible. To hold onto him as tight as you can.

“It’s alright,” he whispers, eyes warm and tender as he takes care of your new tears as well. He wipes away every droplet with a care you recognize and you sniff as he smiles. The smile reminds you of the moon, beautiful, mellow, all too kind and brilliant. “Maybe one day, hm? Maybe we’ll have a chance one day.”

You sniff again, wiping at your face furiously with the heel of your hand and try to stop yourself from breaking again as he brushes a slick strand of hair out of your face, behind your ear. He tilts his head just so, still with that lunar smile.

“I’m supposed to be helping you,” you whisper and he chuckles, the sound filling your chest as his hand on your back runs up the length of your spine. “Helping you fix whatever’s in your head.”

“That’ll have to wait.” You lean into his palm cupping your cheek, sliding your hand atop his and his smile melts. “I would stay if I had any choice, you know that.”

“I do.” You throw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly and your eyes close. “Stay for breakfast. Just for a moment longer.”

“Okay.” He buries himself closer into your neck. You clutch onto him tighter. “Okay.”

.

“What do you want to do now, hm?” You pick Tony up from his seat and he presses his chubby cheek against yours as you mouth a ‘thank you’ to Bucky who collects the plates and takes them to the sink. He gives you a slight smile as you walk down the hall. Tony squirms and you set him down, letting him run on ahead. He runs down the halls, into your room that you’ve left to Bucky, and you smile to yourself.

Jogging after the boy, you catch him just in time for him to try and climb into bed. You hoist him up, kissing his hair affectionately before planting a hand on your hip. 

“Book!” He claps his hands and you frown thoughtfully, threading your fingers through his downy hair. “Book!”

“You want me to read to you?” you ask rhetorically. “What books do I have in here?” You run through a list in your head as you set the pillows up around him. You’ve got adult literature to keep yourself occupied, but you haven’t been here with Tony since he’s been a few months old. His exceptional memory and intellect means he remembers what you’ve read to him to a certain extent and he won’t want you reading books composed of pictures.

You don’t think you can take on a displeased Tony today.

“I’ve got… letters. Correspondence I never had the chance to return.” You finally give up, perching on the edge of the bed. Tony lunges onto his stomach, landing on one of the pillows with a playful smile and you grimace to yourself. “Do you want me to read to you boring letters?”

“Letters?” You nearly jump. Bucky’s the only person who’s ever managed to sneak up on you, and although you should be more aware, you know he does it when he wants to be unnoticeable. You turn to the door to see him there in white and beige, a far cry from the black death that had followed you days before, and blink. He looks so soft here, with his hair tucked behind his ears and a gentle smile etched onto his face. 

“Yes. Just… work letters.”

Your heat nearly explodes as he walks in. You can’t tell him his letters are what you’re talking about, tucked in a small box here so no history museum or organization can take them. You’re not about to be made into some commodity and you’re not about to be spun into some tragic love story that has ended in sorrow. 

You want to believe that that is not how it will end.

“Well, it’s better than nothing, isn’t it?” 

“I shouldn’t.” You feel Tony tug on your sleeve and you see him with his huge doe eyes staring at you impatiently, his lips twisted in a huge pout. Your heart wrenches and you kiss his forehead, scooting back so he can crawl into your lap. You pick him up and he snuggles up against your chest as Bucky crosses his arms, thoroughly enamored by the two-year old. You sigh in defeat. “In the room you carried me to, there’s a box on the dresser. Inside are the letters.”

Bucky stares at you for a moment, and you only give him a sad smile. He goes to get the box.

.

Paper is sprawled across the bed. You are on your back, arms wrapped around Tony who rests like a tiny sack of potatoes on your chest. The tiny boy’s hands wipe at the tears that continue to drip down your cheeks, an innocent task that makes you smile, but you can’t help the few tears that slip away from your control. As Tony continues to try to fix the tears and fight off the yawn that’s been dogging at him for the past five minutes, you press a long kiss to his forehead, eyes closing. Your hand cradles the back of his head, and he rests his head on your sternum, a tiny little thing you can’t help but feel so much love for. He snuggles underneath your chin and you smile, grateful for this boy who has made this easier.

“This isn’t something you can fix, Tony,” you whisper, eyes opening, and he raises his head against your palm. His eyes search yours and you wonder if, to the extent he can, understands. “I hope you’ll never understand.” You urge his head back down against your chest and run your other hand up and down his back. “Time for a nap,” Tony wiggles for a moment more before finding a position comfortable enough to fall asleep in and you breathe in deeply at the tiny weight on your chest.

“Fuck,” Bucky whispers and you open your eyes. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Watch your language,” you murmur without heart. The mattress dips beside you and Bucky crawls up the bed, his hands full of letters in his own writing. He shuffles through them, eyes scanning each one and then looks at you with wet eyes. “I told you I didn’t want to read them.”

“Yeah, well, apparently I need to learn the lesson of listening to you again,” he whispers and you laugh to yourself, the heel of your palm digging into your eyes. He has read every single one aloud, enough anguish in his voice to kill the strongest man three times over, and yet here he is, reading them again. 

Is this torture? Is that all this love is?

“I love you,” you whisper, eyes closed, the heel of your hand plugging one of them, and you can feel his presence like you’re attuned to him, only him. “I love you more than anything.” His fingers brush against your tear-wet jaw, his other hand delicately wrapping around your wrist to pull your hand away from your face. You open your eyes just in time for his lips to meet yours and you gasp in pain as you taste the salt of his own tears in your mouth. Your heart feels like it’s tearing itself in two, your organs collapsing, your lungs failing, and here he is, kissing you, keeping you alive for moments longer. The heat of him, the smell of sweat and breakfast clinging to his skin, overwhelms you and you let out a small cry when he pulls away. Something dies in you the instant his lips leave yours.

“I love you.” Kissing each tear off your cheek, he whispers it over and over again until you’re sure it is engraved into your skin, and a wave of exhaustion crashes down on your head as you manage to snag a fistful of his shirt before he can pull away again. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“Stay,” you plead. His cheek presses against yours, and you feel his hand, cold, metal, just as alive as yours, lay on top of yours on Tony’s back. “Just until I fall asleep. I can’t… I can’t watch you go.”

“Okay,” he whispers, and he sets the letters aside. Laying down beside you, he slides an arm around the both of you, and tangles your legs with his. You turn onto your side, your forehead pressing against his, and you let out one last confession, one last proclamation with your eyes closed and sleep at your door.

Tony is sound asleep between the two of you, so unaware of the agony that cracks the air. You know Bucky looks at you as you whisper ‘I love you.’ With his thumb against your jaw, the tender press of his lips against your forehead, you want to believe this can be forever.

You cannot bear to look at the devastation in his eyes. You know when you open your eyes again, he will be gone.

[inkblotsandeggshells]

My take on feminine enbodyment and female empowerment

This concept of modern feminism and pushing men out of the picture affects me differently than the average woman, because I was raised without a dad. When my mom adopted me and my other siblings, she never got married and instead asked her best female friend to step in and help raise all four of us. I was very loved, but I felt that absence of a father all my life. It affected nearly every part of my childhood and teenage years, and it continues to affect my adult life. I wanted to get a boyfriend and eventually get married, but the only constant guy in my life was my older brother. Therefore, I had very few examples of what respectful, good, masculine men looked like.

When I was a sophomore in college, my roommate at the time showed me a YouTube channel called Blimey Cow, and they had made a video called “Ten Ways to get the Right Guy to like You.” I hadn’t thought about this video or this channel in a few years, because they primarily make Christian content.  I’m not a Christian anymore, nor do I agree with all the beliefs of Christianity. However, I decided to go back to this video two days ago, because I remembered how these creators directly challenged how our culture defines female empowerment. Specifically they used this video to present that challenge, with an emphasis on noting the difference between female liberation and female objectification. Some of the suggestions they made to help girls find the right guys included showing interest in their hobbies, supporting their local chivalry, letting the guys in their lives know they appreciate them, putting less emphasis on how much skin they show and more emphasis on who they are as a person.  As a 20 year old college kid, these young content creators made a bigger impact on my views on men, women and the hyper-sexual movement than I would have thought. As a result, their video gave me the nudge to dive deeper into this topic through writing.

When you first learn of the term “female empowerment”, it sounds attractive enough: women being seen as a force to be reckoned with, authoritative, strong leaders who are goddesses in nearly every way. Rather than being stuck at home to take care of the kids, women are encouraged to pursue their career dreams, step into more masculine leadership roles and “be the boss”, for lack of a better term. It all sounds appealing until you start to dig deeper into what’s behind the phrase “female empowerment.” One big part of how I discovered this occurred last summer.

In July of 2020, I chose to invest a serious amount of money to an online holistic sex course. It was called Well-F*cked Woman, created by a woman named Kim Anami. Through using the tools learned through this six week course, Kim claims to have helped thousands of people all over the world, especially women, to connect with the untapped power of their sexual energy. She believes that a big reason why people are as stressed, unhealthy and unhappy as they are is because they’re not having the right kind of sex. Moreover, they’re not having the right kind of sex often enough. Whether you’re in a couple or single makes no difference. If you want to gain body confidence, get orgasms or even heal ancestral trauma, Kim claims this course would teach you how to obtain all those things by utilizing your sexual energy.

When I read the information on it, I became very intrigued. After several days of listening to her podcasts and reading her blogs, I became more convinced that this course could be a big help for my personal well-being.  At the time, my goal was to use the course to heal some of the imbalanced sacral energy I still had. Hopefully, it could even heal some ancestral wounds I carried in my DNA. If I achieved that, finding a romantic partner would be more of a bonus than a direct goal. So when I received the stimulus check from the government, I used that money to pay for the course and one of Kim’s jade yoni eggs.

For each of the six weeks, we would get a video with a written syllabus to discuss different topics, most of which revolved around sex. One week we would focus on self-love practices, one week we would talk about the relationship between sex and money, another week we learned about food, etc. In that first week, I began the exercises easily enough. However, I also started to feel very conflicted about the information we received in this course. For example, in the syllabus about self-love, one of the first statements Kim made about women is that “most have rape fantasies.” Admittedly, I didn’t really understand what that meant or what it was, until a friend told me. Once I did understand it, it bothered me deeply, to say the least. As someone who claimed that her work helped heal women’s sexual trauma, to hear Kim make such a statement right off the bat made me feel uneasy.

In a separate journal, I had written down my progress of the course and some of the conclusions I had made about what it taught and about the woman who taught it. In one entry, I had observed that it seemed to take a lot of money to become a “well-f*cked woman”, by Kim’s standards. If needed, it could possibly add up to hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars. For instance, if you wanted to use a jade egg as a sexual healing tool, that cost $300. The six week course itself cost almost $1000. Kim also recommended using therapy injections to change your neural pathways, if you were a victim of sexual trauma.  Just getting one injection is expensive enough, but if you “need” more than one injection or appointment, that will add up fast. Sadly, such treatments are not easily accessible to everyone who wants sexual healing. It certainly wasn’t for me.

Additionally, a recurring message that came up in the course was that it’s important for couples to have sex more than once a week. In this case, it wasn’t talking about the faster paced sex described as being numb and fleeting. On the contrary, Kim wanted us to aim for the slower, orgasmic, breath focused sex where you’re working to maintain and build up a flow of sexual energy. While in some ways, this course educated people on sex differently than our modern culture, some aspects seem pretty similar to me. For example, one night stands are still seen as acceptable situations to practice generating this energy. We were encouraged to practice sex acts two to three times a week, to the point of becoming sex addicts. Also, even though Kim frowned upon pornography, we were still taught to utilize BDSM as a way to create polarity in our relationships. This was to make sure that “spark of passion” was maintained for the long term. Lastly, Kim would sometimes demonstrate problematic double standards when it came to showing examples of how to respect your partner. In one of her stories about “helping” her partner become confident with himself, she talked about making a point to touch his private parts in public, whether he was okay with it or not. If not, she claimed “it was his problem.” In my opinion, if they’re genders had been switched, she would have been called out for her disrespectful behavior immediately among the group.

In this class, Kim discouraged us from using substances like alcohol and drugs during the practice, because of how they damage the body. On the other hand, she promoted addictions to sex as something positive, as something to attain for as a human being. Whether you are in a couple doing the act or you’re a single adult who’s just masturbating, you were encouraged to have some kind of sex several times a week. According to Kim, it needed to get to the point where you felt you couldn’t go about your day without generating this energy. “What an addiction does is that it causes you to stop thinking,” says Michael Knowles, who was a guest on the Candace Owens Show discussing modern feminism.  “It enslaves you. It makes you prone to certain behavior, and when you’re not thinking, that’s when the people who want to grab power can come in and force it on you.” Too much of anything can be detrimental for your well-being, on all levels.  During a time where protection of boundaries for my spiritual life had become very important, this way of thinking pushed me to discover what kind of boundaries I had and to stick to them. In this case, it lead me to the conclusion that if being like Kim meant being addicted to sex, disrespecting the men I care about, and using methods of sexual control for the sake of “polarity”, then I would rather not be like her at all.

With all that being said, I believe the big question is this: how exactly does the WAP culture of free sex and female empowerment differ from the holistic sex culture I learned about in the summer of 2020? How does our pop culture differ from the Well-F*cked Woman course, in how we’re being educated about sex? In my opinion, one culture pushes the more superficial, fleeting benefits of sex in our faces, while the other pushes for using sex and sexual energy as a way to harness untapped power. This power can, supposedly, be used to energize us, heal our bodies, and manifest things into our lives. Regardless, both cultures seem to be more concerned with using sex to gain power than using it as a means to express true love.  Both cultures seem to encourage women to “embrace their femininity” by leaving their underwear off more often. Both cultures seem to promote double standards on how partners should respect each other and their boundaries. Both cultures still push us to become addicted to sex in order to have a fulfilled, happier life, because according to them, every aspect of our lives will disintegrate without it.

As a result of the lockdown, last year turned out to be most isolating time for us, and it was intense enough to put many people into a deep state of depression. At a time when everyone is stuck online and forced to keep further apart, this is when people in the online sex business—holistic or otherwise—will benefit the most from that loneliness. They can use it to make those profits and fill their own pockets. This becomes more obvious when you observe their marketing tactics, including the ones I noticed for Kim Anami’s website: unless you give me your money and do what I tell you to do, you will never be “well-f*cked.” Everything in your life will deteriorate unless you become “well-f*cked.” You will be a brainwashed zombie forever, easily manipulated, unless you become “well-f*cked.”As my friend Lee Yun would say, “These tactics are designed to create an empty void in people that can’t be filled.” In the cases of some individuals, even if they were to try, it would cost them more time, money and energy than they were lead to believe.

For those of you who wonder if I still keep up with the practices I learned from this course, I haven’t. At least, I haven’t kept up to the degree that would be necessary. My jade egg is sitting on my altar collecting dust, even as I write this. Because of the amount of money I spent to buy the egg, this is not something I’m proud to admit. A jade egg is a sacred, special tool that deserves to be put to use for the highest good, and eventually, I will find a teacher that can help me do so. I just don’t want to have to conform to this holistic “WAP” standard to get there.

Surprisingly, by reflecting on my past through watching Blimey Cow’s videos, I realized there are still some values about sex, intimacy and femininity that I learned as a teenage Christian that matter to me now as an adult witch. In my opinion, sex is something very sacred that should not be taken so lightly, because of how it connects you to your partner in an intense, physical and spiritual way. For me, I take it seriously enough to still choose to wait until I get a husband and to choose not to masturbate. Additionally, when I do have sex with my lifelong partner, it will be as much about him as it will be about me. This means respecting and honoring him as a man as well as I know how. In my opinion, if you encourage people to use something like sex to attain higher spiritual goals, but neglect to show basic respect to your partner’s boundaries about his body, then in the words of Jordan Taylor from Blimey Cow, “you’re doing it wrong.”

 Michael Knowles interview with Candace Owens on the Candace Owens Show: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ejWIEMs8ecg

Blimey Cow’s YouTube video, “Ten Ways to Get the Right Guy to Like You”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iqF_PtugyBk

[emybain]

nodrian headcanons where they get to live slightly normally/where they get to take a little break from reality and just be "normal"

this was super fun to write! im a little bitter that they never got an actual, honest date in the series, so I decided to take that into my own hands. hope you like it:)

CONTAINS SUPERNOVA SPOILERS

    Change is good. Change is good. Change is good.

    Those three words were on a loop in Nova’s head. She stared at herself in the mirror, torn between liking the clothes on her body and wanting nothing more than to rip them off and put on leggings and a sweatshirt. It was nothing fancy, just a pair of acid washed jeans with a plain white t-shirt. She dressed it up a little bit with a necklace Honey had given her years ago and her father’s bracelet. The biggest issue was the bandana in her hair; Ruby had convinced her to buy it a few weeks ago because Nova liked the pattern. It was a simple light blue silky fabric with tiny pink flowers here and there. It was pretty, that was all. But Nova had seen how other girls had started wearing bandanas as hair accessories, and she kind of liked that, so she was now debating whether or not to keep the one she had bought tied in her hair. 

    She was going out on a date with Adrian for the first time since the Supernova and since they decided to break up to give one another time and figure things out. A couple weeks ago, he had  casually mentioned that he was ready whenever she was, but he would wait for her. That had terrified her, honestly, and it wasn’t until a few days ago that she sent him a text telling him that she was ready, too. 

    Her therapist, a nice older lady named Liza, suggested the other day Nova do something to step outside of her comfort zone, like wearing something she normally wouldn’t wear. Change could be a good thing. She didn’t have to step too far out, but maybe baby steps at first. Like instead of wearing leggings, wear a pair of jeans. Or put on a small piece of jewelry. Or wear a color a shade lighter than normal. 

    There was a knock at her apartment door. Nova cursed and looked at herself once more in the mirror. She bit her bottom lip, hoping that maybe that would bring some color back into it. She sprayed herself with perfume and then left her room, grabbing her bag on the way out. 

    Adrian smiled at her when she opened the door, eyes widening as he looked her up and down. A blush crept onto her cheeks.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

There was a short pause, borderline awkward, before he said, “You look nice,” then held out an arm. “Ready to go? There’s this new restaurant in the historic downtown that I think you’d love.”

    Feeling a rush of boldness, Nova grabbed his hand instead, lacing their fingers together. His smile brightened, and he squeezed her hand. “Ready.” 

__________

    Nova had only been to the old downtown a few times in her life. It used to be pretty rundown and sketchy, but in recent years, there had been a revival in the area. Now there were little coffee shops, antique stores, pubs, boutiques, and more spread out over one main and four side streets. The streets had been redone as well, paved with brick like how they used to be back in the day. The only modes of transportation allowed were by foot or by cheesy horse-drawn carriages. The area was like a little bubble away from the rest of the city. And it was stunning in the evening, as everything was lit up. 

    Dinner had been wonderful. Adrian took her to a burger place designed like an old-timey diner; there was even a jukebox that played music from another era. They had talked and laughed as they always did, as if nothing had really changed. After all, Adrian was still Nova’s best friend, and they had always kind of known that they would get back together one day, so nothing was awkward. The only thing that was different now than it had been in recent months was that Adrian sat beside her in their booth and held her hand, absentmindedly tracing her fingers. He even got bold enough to reach a hand down beneath the table to rest on her knee at one point while they ate. Nova never once protested at his affections. 

    Now they were strolling down the sidewalk, sharing an ice cream in a cup with two spoons. Adrian’s jacket was still resting on her shoulders from when she got cold in the restaurant. 

    “I’ve been talking with the people in weapons,” Nova said, licking her thumb as a little bit of ice cream dribbled down onto it. “They’re really interested in some of my designs, how they’re better for every day crime instead of targeting prodigies-”

    “No Renegade talk,” Adrian said sternly, although there was humor in his eyes. He nudged her lightly. “Remember what we agreed on?” Right. They had agreed to not bring up the Renegades or the Council or the government or anything like that. They would have a normal date as normal teenagers and not as superheroes who were known worldwide. 

    Nova rolled her eyes and pushed him back. “Fine, bossy. What do you want to talk about?”

    Adrian didn’t answer for a minute, although Nova could feel his intense gaze on her. “Your birthday’s coming up, right? May…?”

    “27th.” Nova nodded. “But it’s March, Adrian.”

    “It’s still coming up.” He shook his head with a slight laugh. “Are you going to do anything?”

    She shrugged. “I don’t think so. Maybe go out to eat with the team, or Ruby might force me out of my apartment to do something.” With a tiny glance in his direction, she added, “Maybe have a date with my boyfriend.”

    He stopped in his tracks, and they had to move to the edge of the sidewalk as to not block the pathway. He looked down at her, joy clearly written in his features that he was trying so hard to school. Nova bit her lip to hide her grin, although it wasn’t working too well. 

    “Are you saying you want to be my girlfriend, Nova Artino?” She could’ve sworn he puffed his chest out a bit, maybe even raised his chin a bit higher. 

    “Not anymore.” She snorted and pushed him away. Noticing that their ice cream was gone, she grabbed it out of his hands and threw it out in the trash can beside her. Then, she turned to leave him, jokingly of course. As expected, he pulled her back to him, arms encircling her waist. Her laughter died in her throat, but her smile remained. 

    “Yes,” she answered honestly this time. “Let’s make it official.”

    “Are you ready for that?” The look he gave her was so sweet, so sincere. It only made Nova love him more. “It won’t be easy, at least with the public knowing about us. And I don’t want to rush you if you need more time.”

    Nova shook her head firmly. She had noticed all night the looks people gave her, the confusion and elation and anger from all different kinds of faces at the sight of her with Adrian Everhart. Some probably still thought she hated the Renegades. Some saw hope at an Artino and an Everhart coming together out of love. Some were upset that a former villain should be allowed a chance at redemption and happiness. But she had been given those looks for months whenever she was in public with one of her friends, especially Adrian. She still wasn’t used to it, maybe she never would get used to it, but it had gotten easier. 

    “I want you, Adrian Everhart.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “All of you. And if that includes nosy people,” she shrugged, “then so be it. I won’t love you any differently.”

His hold on her waist tightened. He reached a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then let it rest on the back of her neck as he leaned down. Nova met him halfway, heart fluttering when he murmured so softly, just loud enough for her ears alone, “I’m so in love with you, Artino.” 

The kiss was short and sweet, nothing more than a few gentle pecks. It had been a while since they had kissed, and Nova had to restrain herself from jumping in his arms and kissing him like there was no tomorrow. She knew, however, that they couldn’t. For one, they were in public. And two, there was probably a reporter hiding somewhere, camera at the ready. Nova wouldn’t be surprised if she found photos of her date with Adrian the next day, with their kiss blown up for the world to see. 

But she didn’t care. Not in that moment. 

__________

Adrian drove her home. 

They sat in his car for a while, just talking. It was more private here. Nova allowed herself to be a bit more open with him, playing with his fingers as he recounted what Max had done the other day that got him grounded for a week. 

“But my dads can barely keep the grounding serious.” Adrian shook his head in amusement. “Especially Hugh. They seem to ‘forget’ that Max is in trouble when he’s watching TV.”

Nova rolled her eyes. “I’m just glad to hear he’s adjusting okay, and that he’s not always a wise old man. It’s good for him to get in trouble.” 

“I know.” Adrian chuckled. “But that still doesn’t mean I won’t preach the injustice with all the times I was grounded for doing the littlest of things.” 

“You’re not exactly innocent, Mr. Everhart.” Nova narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve had a few secrets up your sleeve. Literally.” 

She tried to maintain her neutral expression as Adrian shifted his body a bit closer. “Oh, we’re going to play that game, huh?” 

“I’m just saying,” she started, smile creeping onto her lips, but her defense was soon forgotten when he placed a hand on her cheek. Instinctively, she leaned into his touch. “But none of that matters anymore, right? No more secrets.”

Adrian’s lips quirked up. Her eyes were immediately drawn to them. “No more secrets,” he repeated softly. Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on her cheek. “Skies, I’ve missed you, Nova.” He pulled back a bit to face her. “I know we agreed that breaking up was for the best, and being just friends while figuring this shit out helped a ton, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t also agonizing to not be able to be with you in that way.”

Nova rested her forehead on his, feeling her neck heat up. “I missed you, too,” she murmured. “But now we have mostly everything figured out.” She paused. “I meant it when I said earlier that I’m ready.”

He kissed her, slow yet not long enough. “You’re so beautiful, Nova.”

Nova beamed against his lips and kissed him back, a bit harder than before. He responded with enthusiasm; the hand on her cheek pulled off her bandana and reached back to dig into her hair. She melted under his touch, becoming completely putty in his arms. It was hard to keep her composure. After all, it had been months since she had been this intimate with someone, as Adrian was her last. 

His lips wandered down to her throat, leaving her trembling. When he was sly enough to gently pull her skin in between his teeth, Nova couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped her mouth. As her hand trailed up his back underneath his shirt, she had a brief thought to invite him in to watch a movie or something. It wasn’t too terribly late, and they still had a lot of catching up to do. But then she felt his fingers graze her hip and rest just underneath her bra as he rose back up to kiss her deeply, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be lost in Adrian Everhart. 

However, they were in his car outside her apartment complex. His windows didn’t exactly grant them privacy. Really, it wasn’t the most romantic setting for their activity. 

Sighing against him, she broke the kiss. His eyes blinked open in surprise, chest rising and falling as heavily as hers. He frowned at her.

Before he could start asking questions, Nova brought a hand to push his glasses up. Her fingers may or may not have accidentally brushed his lips when her hand fell to his cheek. She tried to catch her breath even as she spoke.  “How about we go inside where it’s more...appropriate? Watch a movie, maybe?” 

Adrian glanced at their surroundings and nodded. They shared a sheepish smile, then headed inside. 

They weren’t an hour into the movie before they passed out on the couch cuddling, nothing but a tangled mess of blankets and limbs.

[zutaralover94]

For the "Ship and number ask", I request Zutara and either number 4 or number 46 please. Thank you.

This has been in my ask box since the first day! And thank you so much for this request! I had way too much fun writing this... (If you can’t tell by the 10K words)

Read below or read on AO3

Tags: Nanny!Katara, SingleParent!Zuko, Age Difference, Izumi and Lu Ten are Zuko’s children, https://www.familyhomeplans.com/house-plan-41528

Wanted: In house nanny for two children. One is a 10 year old girl; the other is a 5 year old boy. Nanny must drop off and pick up from school. Children need all three meals prepped and cooked for them. Must be willing to do some light housework. 

Housing: Provided.

Insurance: Provided.

Wage: $1,500/mo

Katara blew out a breath and sent as many of her good vibes and thoughts as she could as she submitted her resume. College was becoming rough and although her scholarship was paying for the tuition. Her room and books however were drowning her finances. 

It was a day later when Katara received a phone call for an interview. She was so nervous that she was almost late to the interview. She arrived right on time outside of a fairly nice house. It looked to be a two story house with a circle drive and Katara could see a peek of the backyard as she pulled into the drive. 

Katara blew a breath as she walked up the red bricked pathway. She rang the doorbell and heard small feet running to open the door. 

“Hi!”

“Hi,” Katara smiled as a little boy opened the door. 

“Daddy and Izumi are in the kitchen,” The little boy grabbed Katara’s hand. “Come on.” Katara slightly stumbled into the house and shut the door behind her as the boy tugged on hand and down the hallway. Katara had to lean in a weird position so the boy could hold onto her hand.

“Lu Ten! Come down, I told you to be ready when the interviewees were here!” A man’s voice filled the entry hallway “Lu Ten!”

“Daaaaad~!” The boy yelled back, and they pretty much ran into a man who was in a white button down that he was rolling up to his elbows. “I’m right here! And she’s here already!” The boy tugged on her arm again and Katara was yanked a little further down.

This was Dad?

Katara’s eyes roamed over the man. He was gorgeous. Tall, dark hair pushed out from his golden eyes, there was a scar over his left eye but… Scars were hot. The man looked strong and although Katara knew he was older. He barely looked 5 years older than her. Hell, he put half of the guys in her class to shame.

Katara smiled to the slightly shocked man, “Hi,” Katara reached out her free hand. “I’m Katara.”

The man shook her hand, “Zuko, nice to meet you.” Katara let go of the man’s hand in order to grab her bag that was slipping down her arm. “Come on, we’ll talk in the kitchen. We’re kind of in the middle of making dinner.” Zuko reached down and scooped up Lu Ten. “Izumi, my oldest, made enough for four.” He turned and winked at Katara. “We’re having grilled cheese and tomato soup. She was in charge of the soup and she used two cans.” 

The three of them walked through the living room and to the open kitchen. There was a long bar that separated the living room from the kitchen. And the kitchen was one Katara had only ever dreamed about. It was shiny and well stocked. Zuko and Lu ten circled around the bar to stand beside Izumi who was standing on a chair stirring something in a way too large pot. 

Zuko leaned over and gave a big sniff, “Smells great Izumi.” Zuko looked over his shoulder to Katara, who was standing there, slightly awkward, observing the small family. Zuko sat Lu Ten down when he started to squirm. “Why don’t you go get the cheese and let Miss Katara pick out which one she wants?” Zuko leaned over and grabbed a skillet from the cabinet. 

Katara sat her bag on the chair at the bar. She followed Lu Ten to the refrigerator and held the door open as Lu Ten opened a small drawer and pulled out multiple packs of cheese. Katara grabbed the butter dish on a shelf and waited for Lu Ten to move before she began shutting the door. She turned and again almost ran smack into Zuko. “Sorry.” 

Zuko chuckled, “Sorry. No matter how big this kitchen seems to be, we still run into each other.” Zuko allowed Katara to step by and opened the fridge. Katara walked back over to the stove and smiled to the girl on the chair. She whispered a ‘hi’ to the extremely focused child and began buttering the bread for the grilled cheese. Zuko groaned and began opening and closing drawers and even opened the freezer. “I could have sworn we had butter in here.”

Izumi put a finger to her lips with a small smile. “Don’t tell him.” Izumi whispered. Katara’s smile widened, she already loved Izumi.

“Well, I guess we won’t be having grilled cheese, I can’t seem to find the-” Zuko turned around to see Katara already had two slices buttered. “Butter. Thanks.” Zuko came back over and began making sandwich, he peeked over the pot to make sure the soup wasn’t burning. “So, Miss Katara, let’s talk about your past experiences and references really quick.” 

“Right,” Katara moved out of the way and went for her bag. “I have that all here.” Katara placed it on the bar beside where Zuko was cooking. 

Zuko just shooed away the papers away with his spatula, “I have already seen and read your resume, Miss Katara.”

“R-right,” Katara pulled the papers back towards her. She looked around the kitchen, Izumi was still holding a whisk over the large pot, Zuko was flipping the first grilled cheese and Lu Ten was putting spoons on napkins in the little breakfast nook table. “I, um,” Katara looked up to see the older man looking at her. “I am currently studying at Ba Sing Se University.”

“Go Boars!” Izumi yelled out and flung the whisk in the air, tomato soup splattering all around.

Zuko groaned and mumbled something about talking to Aunt Toph later. He shook his head and lifted one sandwich out of the pan to replace it with the next one, “What are you studying?”

“My major is in Speech and Language Therapy and I’m minoring in Child Education.”

“Ambitious,” Zuko nodded, “Izumi what kind of cheese for you this time?”

Izumi thought for a moment before turning to her dad, “Pepper Jack and Swiss.”

“My girl,” Zuko winked at her and put down two pieces of cheese on the bread. “What made you decide to study those subjects?”

“I-,” Katara looked down at her paper hoping to get the answer from it, but of course it provided no answer. “I came from a small town and so there were those who were looked after and those who did the looking after. I learned really quickly to be the one who did the looking after.” Katara shrugged, “And I loved the kids.”

“Well that explains the minor in Child Education.” Zuko flipped the grilled cheese. “But why Speech and Language Therapy?”

“Oh well,” Katara bit her lip, “I knew a boy when I was younger. He was older but he had a disability.” Katara looked to the two kids who were watching her. “And no one really knew how to help him, so I did my best to teach him a few things.”

“And how is he now?” Zuko asked as he slid the sandwich onto another plate. 

“He,” Katara paused, she didn’t know how Izumi and Lu Ten would react to her saying he had passed away. Zuko looked over his shoulder to her as if he understood her pause. “Learned to read to a fifth grade reading level.”

“That’s great!” Zuko put in a piece of bread for another sandwich, “What type of cheese, Miss Katara?”

“Um, what do you have?” Katara asked looking at the packages of cheese on the counter.

“Anything and everything,” Zuko said as he pulled out two slices of pepper jack to put on his next sandwich. “We went grocery shopping before you came. So, it all well stocked.”

“I see.” Katara pushed over the Colby-Jack cheese. 

Zuko nodded and asked for Izumi to start filling bowls with soup. “And if I remember correctly you have CPR training?” Zuko asked as he flipped the grilled cheese over. 

“Yes,” Katara nodded and thumbed at the papers in her hand. “Adult and child certified.”

“Haha,” Zuko laughed, “That’s good to know. So, if I fall over one night, I know you will be able to do CPR.”

Katara blushed and turned her head, “Yes, sir.”

“Oh,” Zuko groaned, “Don’t call me sir. It makes me sound old.”

“Sorry,” Katara ducked her head.

Zuko scooped out his sandwich and put in one more sandwich. “Did you bring any more references other than the ones online?”

“Oh,” Katara looked down at her hands. “I have two written letters here and a small list of past parents I have baby sat for.”

“So, you’ve never done a live-in nanny position?” Zuko asked as he placed the cheese Katara picked out on the sandwiches.

“No,” Katara felt her confidence and shoulders drop, “Was that a requirement for this job?”

“No. No, no, no,” Zuko waved the spatula around again. Katara was beginning to see if she got this job that she would be doing a lot of spot cleaning. “I just need to know what we need to go over, if we decide to go with you.”

“Right,” Katara nodded and watched as Zuko flipped her sandwich. 

“We’ll go more into detail about that once we actually sit down. What do you want to drink?” Zuko asked as he flipped the knob off on the burner beneath the pot of soup and the pan with her grilled cheese. 

“Uh, water is fine.”

“I’ll drink water too, Daddy!” Lu Ten perked up from the table. Katara looked over to see him playing with a small gaming console.

“Do you mind getting down the glasses?” Zuko asked Katara, “It looks as if I have lost my helpers.” Izumi sat down a small bowl in front of Lu Ten and was leaning over his shoulder to watch him play. 

“That’s fine,” Katara said as she looked around the kitchen again, “Where are the-?”

“Top cabinet beside the fridge.” Zuko pointed across the kitchen. “Izumi and I will drink water too.”

Katara made each glass and carried them carefully to the table and sat them down as Zuko came around with the plates of grilled cheese. Katara made a mental note that Izumi’s grilled cheese was cut into triangles while Lu Ten’s was cut into squares. 

“So, with the live in nanny position, you’ll of course be staying here. The room is just back that way.” Zuko pointed to the doorway beside the kitchen. “It has its own bathroom and everything.” Zuko took a bite and chewed for a bit. 

Katara followed his lead but dipped hers into her soup first. She almost gave a pornographic moan as she bit into her sandwich. It had to be the best grilled cheese ever! She let her eyelashes flutter closed and when she opened them Zuko was smirking at her. “This is a really good sandwich!”

“Thank you,” Zuko’s smirk didn’t slide off even after he took another bite. “Anyway, the kids need to be fed and dressed before school, I will also need you to drop them off. Lu Ten’s class needs a snack to be provided at least once a month. And Izumi doesn’t like gummy snacks.”

“No,” Izumi shook her head. “Or gum!” Katara nodded at the information. 

“I try to have the kids take their lunches, but I rarely have time to prep for that. Then you will need to pick them up. Except on Tuesdays, Izumi has basketball practice. And then dinner, you and I can arrange that menu, should you take the job.” Zuko continued on. “I’ll do my best to work with your class schedule.”

“Mmm,” Katara swallowed her mouthful of sandwich, “I’m actually mostly online. I only have one class that is 10 to 2 on Wednesdays.” Zuko nodded. “And I will try to keep my schedule around the kids in upcoming semesters.” Zuko raised an eyebrow. “If I get the position, that is.”

Zuko smiled, “There are house rules. No spanking the children.” Katara nodded and Lu Ten let out a loud ‘YEAH!’. Zuko shot him a look. “No bringing in guests.” 

No problem there. Katara thought as she nodded her head.

“No drinking or smoking while the children are present.” Katara nodded to that one. She would just have to sneak in her wine coolers on vacation. “I do not tolerate lateness, lies or laziness. I have no problems with letting you go for any of those things.” Zuko said with the sternest face Katara had seen from him yet. She nodded her head. “The wage is $1,500 a month. But I will give you a separate card to use for things like gas and groceries.”

“That all seems reasonable.” Katara nodded as Zuko began eating again. “I just recently took nutrition class, so I have meal plans made.”

“That’s good.”

“It even has a super tasty chocolate chip cookie recipe.” Katara gave a small smile and saw both Izumi and Lu Ten give a large smile.

+++

Katara left feeling great about the position but when she hadn’t heard back from Zuko two days later, she started to doubt herself. She was exiting her class and looked down at her watch. 2:30pm. Katara took out her keys and was walking to her car when her phone started vibrating. She stared at the ‘Unknown’ caller id on her phone for a few rings. Trying to decide if it was just another extended warranty call for her car or someone trying to get ahold of her. She waited on more ring before answering. “Hello?”

“Katara?” The man’s voice was somewhat muffled slightly and Katara’s shoulders dropped.

“This is she.” Katara figured the person probably would have to go through their whole sales pitch before she got to break the news that she didn’t plan on extending any insurance warranty. 

“Hey, Katara. Look I’m really sorry to do this. But I need you to pick up Lu Ten and Izumi. Toph can’t seem to get them and I’m still stuck at work.” 

“Zuko?”

“Yes, can you do that for me?” Zuko asked almost desperate. “I meant to call you later tonight to let you know you go the job, but I kind of need help, now.”

“Really?! I got the job?” Katara stopped in front of her car and felt herself smile. “Thank you so much!”

“Yes, yes,” Zuko chuckled, “Can you pick them up from school? Lu Ten gets out at 2:45 and Izumi gets out a 3:00. It’s okay if you are a little late. I can let their teachers know.”

“Yeah, I can.” Katara got into her car. “Do you have an address?” Katara looked around her dirty car. She was going to have to stop somewhere and at least dumb all of the empty coffee cups in her backseat floorboard.

“I’ll text it to you,” Zuko paused. “And thank you Katara. I’ll be home around 6. We can come back with you to help collect your things from your dorm or housing.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that…” Katara turned her car on and connected her phone through the car. “I can just grab it. There’s not a ton of things for me to bring.”

“Alright, well my offer still stands to help. I’m going to hang up now and send you the address.” Zuko hung up without a goodbye. Then two seconds later a text message arrived.

Katara sat there in the quiet of her car for a second before bouncing in the seat of her car and doing a happy dance. She had gotten the job! She fist pumped a few times before looking around to make sure no one had seen her burst of excitement. Once she saw the coast was clear, she did one last bounce and put the address info her GPS.

+++

A few weeks later and Katara felt like she had it all down. She would wake up to the sound of Zuko shutting the garage door. Have enough time to brush her teeth and begin breakfast before waking up Izumi and Lu Ten. She would serve them breakfast, make lunch, and then get ready while the other two were getting ready as well. There were a few times that Izumi would go back up and sleep. Those mornings were the worst, because then Lu Ten would start dragging his feet. Katara would take them to school drop Lu Ten off first, then Izumi. Go back home clean up breakfast and depending on the day of the week do laundry, clean the living room and kitchen, or sit on the back porch and study until 2:15. She would then pick up Lu Ten and then Izumi, making sure both have their backpacks and lunch bags. They would make it back home for a small snack and to do homework. Except on Tuesdays when Izumi had basketball practice. Zuko would arrive back home before 7pm and Katara had dinner on the table no later than 7:30. Clean up was done by the Zuko and either Izumi or Lu Ten would help him with the dishes. Both children were in their rooms by 9. And Katara made sure that both were asleep by 10. (Most nights having to take away flashlights from Izumi.)

Katara sat with her legs folded under her and a cup of coffee in her hand as she reread the section in her textbook. She fiddled with a strand of her hair in her other hand, a bad habit she couldn’t remember when she took up.

“You have a test coming up?”

Katara’s head flew up and she looked to see where Zuko was in his robe at his bedroom doorway. There was a bit of his chest showing and Katara did her best not to stare at the gorgeous pale skin. She bit her lip and nodded, looking back down at her book. She heard footsteps get closer to the couch. A shadow covered her book, blocking her light from the lamp.

“Do you realize what time it is?”

Katara looked at her empty coffee cup and then looked around her lap to find her phone. Her back popped as she twisted to her right. She winced slightly before locating her phone under her knee. 1:24am. Katara blew out a breath. “I’m sorry. I’ll be going to bed soon. I have one-,”

“Katara,” Zuko said in his most stern voice. 

“More chapter.” Katara pouted and flipped a page in her book. “I promise to go to bed right after this.” Katara tapped the book. She mentally groaned as she looked at the title of the next chapter.

Zuko shook his head, “Alright, but get to bed as soon as your finished. I would hate for Izumi to have to come steal your flashlight.”

Katara gave a small smile, “I promise. Goodnight Zuko.”

“Night, Katara.” Zuko yawned and then turned back to his bedroom.

+++

“Lu Ten you promised you were going to help me mate socks!” Izumi stomped her foot in the middle of the clean laundry.

“No, I didn’t!’ Lu Ten stuck his tongue out. “I told ‘Tara I would help her make the socks!”

“Mate the socks! Not make the socks!” Izumi crossed her arms and then plopped down next to the basket. “You put the two together! Not sew them!”

“I-I knew that!” Lu Ten yelled back and tripped into the living room sprawling across the dumped out socks. 

“Would you both quit yelling?” Katara asked as she set down a string cheese and a juice pack for both of them. “I’ll give you each a quarter for each match you make.”

“Yay!” Lu Ten was quick to begin pairing the socks.

Izumi however began eating her snack, “You know a quarter isn’t that much.”

“No, but if you match 10 pairs that will get you-,”

“$2.50.” Izumi cut Katara off. “What could I get with $2.50?”

“Well, you could get-.”

“I found one!” Lu Ten shouted and put the socks together. “I’m going to beat Izumi. Just watch!”

Katara smiled to him and turned to whisper to Izumi, “I’ll give you an extra quarter for every match you have to rematch and $5 for putting away everyone’s socks in their drawers.”

Izumi gave it a moment to think about it before nodding, “Deal.”

+++

Zuko looked down at the clock and began shutting down his computer 30 minutes early. He was packing up his things when Song popped her head in. “Leaving early, Boss?”

Zuko glanced at her briefly before dropping a folder into his briefcase. “Yeah, the nanny has supper cooking already. She told me it was making my favorite.”

“Nanny? Favorite?” Song smirked and raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Yeah,” Zuko closed up everything and looked up at her. “I owe her a ton. She’s helped out so much with the kids.”

“Mhmm,” Song still held a skeptical look.

“What?” Zuko grabbed his keys and his briefcase and headed towards the elevator 

“And what else is she like?” Song clicked off Zuko’s office light and fell into step beside him.

Zuko chuckled and looked over to her before waving goodbye to Smellerbee and Pipsqueak. “I’m not too sure what you mean by that, Song.”

“Is she pretty?” Song pushed the down button for Zuko.

It was Zuko’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Song-.”

“What?” Song shrugged her shoulders innocently. “I’ve just noticed you leave earlier and earlier. There’s a smile on your face for longer than just after that first sip of coffee. And-”

“I’m doing more work at home. And maybe I was so busy with everything else and making sure that my assistant did her job, that I didn’t have time to smile.” Zuko stepped in the elevator. He pressed the button for the ground floor. “Katara has just lightened the load. Goodnight, Song. Remember the 7:30 meeting in the morning. Don’t be late.”

+++

“Pulling an all-nighter again, Miss Katara?” Zuko asked from the study doorway. 

Katara had found comfort in the small room at the front of the house. There was a large desk so she could really spread out and work. She blinked as she looked away from her page, “What time is it?”

“12:49.” Zuko said as he took soft steps into the study.

“I have a final tomorrow at 10.” Katara explained as she tried to take a sip of her empty coffee mug. She frowned down at her mug. “I still have a few chapters to review.”

“Chapters?” Zuko leaned against the desk and looked over her notes. “You’ll have a few hours to review in the morning. Why not just do it then?”

Katara sat back in the chair cradling the cup in her hands, “I’m a night owl. I do my best work later in the day. It’s hard to focus that early in the morning.”

Zuko just shook his head, “Mhmm.”

“I’ll go to bed soon. I promise.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Zuko crossed his arms. Katara was very beginning to see where Izumi got it from. “Last time, you were up till 3:30. Izumi had to wake you up the next day.”

Katara’s face flushed, “I promise that won’t happen again. I’ll go to bed before that.”

“Alright, but if it happens again, I’m taking away your flashlight, missy.” Zuko wagged his finger at her before turning and going back to bed. 

Zuko got up the next morning to see the light in the study still on and Katara’s head pillowed in her arms. A pencil in her hand and a small snore coming from her open mouth. He sighed and gently woke her up, “Come on, Katara.”

“A in neighbor and WEIGH!” Katara jolted up right. “Fuck!” Her back popped and she began shaking out her hands that were still asleep. She turned to see a semi dressed Zuko. His dress shirt was unbuttoned, and his thin white undershirt was like a second skin to his body. For Zuko being 11 years older than her, he definitely could knock out anyone her age with his torso. Or what she could see from it. Zuko’s usually combed back hair was a mess and falling into his eyes. Katara had to grab her hand to stop herself from reaching out to brush the black strands from his golden eyes. “Sorry.” She whispered. She wasn’t sure if it was because she fell asleep in the study or if it was for ogling at him like a double chocolate cake dipped in chocolate ganache frosting.

“You promised,” Zuko tutted at her.

“I did,” Katara laid her head back over on the desk with a yawn. “I’m sorry.”

“So, you said,” Zuko chuckled and nudged her again, “Alright, come on, you go back to bed. I’ve got the kiddos.”

“No!” Katara stood up and began pilling her papers together, “I mean, no. I can take care of them. I’ll just-”

“Let me do it,” Zuko put a hand on her shoulder and she freezes. “I actually kind of miss it. You can go back to bed. I’ll wake you up when we leave.”

“But that’s my j-,”

“No, buts.” Zuko said as he nudged her to go back to bed. “Have a good nap. I expect you to get an ‘A’.”

Katara felt all of her fight leave her, “Thanks, Zuko.”

+++

“Leaving early again, Zuko?” Song asked as she looked up from her computer.

“This again?” 

Song gave a soft laugh, “What’s on the menu tonight?”

“Some sort of pasta,” Zuko turned and walked backwards to the elevator. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

+++

“GO! GO! GO!” Katara yelled and stood up in the bleachers. Izumi was dribbling down the court. She was in perfect form as she shot the ball. “YES!!!” Katara turned and gave Lu Ten a high five. She gave another little “Woot!” before sitting down next to the boy. 

Lu Ten swung his legs, “Do you have to do that every time, Zum makes a goal?”

Katara looked over at the boy, “Of course. She made a goal! That’s great!”

“Right,” Lu Ten looked out to where his sister was sitting on the bench taking a small break. “I want to play too.”

“Really?” Katara brightened up at that. “That’s great! When we get home, we can look up to see if there-.”

“I want to play with Zum.” Lu Ten shook his head. “Because she wins all the points!”

“Well, if you get really good maybe you can.” Katara smiled and fluffed the hair on Lu Ten’s head.

Lu Ten pushed her hand away, “Do you think Dad would let me?”

Katara sat there for a minute, “Yeah, if you seriously want to play. I think he would.”

“Okay,” Lu Ten looked back at the court. “I want to play.”

The next four goals Izumi shot, Lu Ten was up hollering with Katara.

+++

Katara sat in a lawn chair and watched as Izumi helped Lu Ten hold the ball correctly again. She looked down to her phone and scrolled through yet another picture of some far off destination one of her friends had posted. The school was on a four day holiday and Katara silently wished she could have gone out with her friends. 

“Has he made a basket yet?”

Katara looked over her sunglasses to where Zuko was standing just outside the door. She looked back over to the kids and saw Lu Ten flimsily shoot the ball. It hit the rim but didn’t go in. Izumi went and caught the ball. “That was so close! But watch me one more time, kay?”

Katara smiled, “I think he’s getting the hang of it.” Katara looked at the clock in the corner of her phone screen. “You’re home early.”

“Someone at the office reminded me that it was a long weekend. You should have told me.” Zuko took a seat next to her. “I would have let you take off.”

Katara shrugged her shoulders, “I didn’t have any plans.”

Zuko made a small hum. He looked her over. She was in a tank top and a pair of short shorts. Her skin was such a beautiful tan. Zuko was shocked that Katara never asked for time off. He knew she was heavily focused on her studies but a girl like Katara should be going to parties and off spending money she didn’t have on vacations. “Well, if you have somewhere, you’d like to go you can take the rest of the weekend. I can watch the kids.”

Katara pushed her sunglass up and into her hair, “I really don’t have any plans. I was so busy with semi-finals I forgot to make plans.” Katara stretched out and then stood up and stretched again. She looked over to the kids, “But I heard Lu Ten say something about the beach and thought about taking them out tomorrow. If you’d like to join us.”

Zuko nodded and then shook his head, “I should really work on some things at home.”

Katara looked back with small concern, “You should take a break. The kids would be really happy if you joined us.”

Zuko gave a small smile, “I’ll think about it.”

“Ha,” Katara crossed her arms and gave the most humorless laugh. “That’s what my dad used to say. Usually he had already made his decision, but it was never the one I was hoping for.” Katara gathered her things before calling out to the kids that lunch would be ready in twenty minutes. 

+++

The next day Katara was holding on to her hat and watching Izumi and Lu Ten run towards the ocean. She turned back to see Zuko tugging out beach chairs and a cooler. She was happy that he came. She had been so nervous that he would back out. But when he woke her up at 10 and told her to get herself together, they were leaving in an hour. Her nerves switched directions.

Katara tugged at the white sheer kimono styled cover up over her white strapless bikini. Maybe she should have worn her navy blue one piece. But then she wouldn’t have gotten to see Zuko’s eyes widen just a smidge as she walked out to the car.

Katara picked out the best spot to keep an eye on the kids as they splashed through the shallow waters. Zuko settled in next to her with a book. Katara lasted about 15 minutes into the silence and watching the kids, “I’m really glad you came out with us.”

“Huh?” Zuko looked up from his book.

“I know you really didn’t want to come out. But I’m glad you did.” Katara stood up and draped her wrap over the chair and her hat under it. “Watch these for me? I’m going to go play with the kids.” Katara did a light jog to the water and only looked back briefly to see if Zuko was watching her. He was. And Katara called it a win for the day.

A little while later Katara, Izumi and Lu Ten made their way back to their spot on the sand. Katara begins pulling out waters and sandwiches from the cooler. Izumi and Lu Ten ate as quickly as they could, ignoring Zuko’s attempts to tell them to slow down or they’ll get a stomachache. Lu Ten asked for the bag for seashells and then begged Izumi to go look with him. Izumi finished off her lunch and got up with Lu Ten to look for shells. Katara made sure they put on another round of sunscreen before heading out.

Katara smiled at the two as they looked around, Lu Ten putting almost anything he found in the bag, but Izumi was being picky and throwing back almost anything she found. Katara reached over and dug through her bag for her nail polish. She removed what she already had for starting with a white base coat for her toes, ring fingers and pinkies. She watched the kids play around again as she waited for her nails to dry.

“You should probably put on more sunscreen too.” Katara shrugged and pulled out the navy blue next. “Don’t just shrug your shoulders at me missy.” Zuko said sternly.

Katara cracked a smile. “Trust me. I’m not worried about it. I used to come to the beach all the time. I know when to put on sunblock. But you should probably think about it.”

Zuko gave her a spectacle look but reached for the sunblock. 

Katara painted the rest of her nails navy blue and finished at the same time Izumi and Lu Ten came running back to their spot. Lu Ten held up the baggy “Look how many shells we got!” Katara gave a big smile and nodded.

Izumi was quick to sit down next to her and look at her nails. “I love those colors! Can you do mine?”

Katara looked up to Zuko who was being pulled on by Lu Ten saying over and over how he wanted to go over to the tide pools. “Sure, but maybe ask your dad first.”

Izumi took off after them, tugging on Zuko until he said yes. She ran back to Katara with a smile that was so bright it could rival the sun. “He said yes!” 

Katara handed over her nail polish bag and told Izumi to pick one or two. She finished her nails by putting on silver sparkles on her ring fingers and big toe. Izumi changed her mind three times before setting out a neon pink and a neon orange. She sat quietly as Katara finished up and looked over her nails.

“I’ve never painted my nails before.” Izumi said quietly as Katara looked over her picks. “I also want one sparkly like yours.”

“Your mom never did your nails?” Katara asked as she took out a clear glitter polish.

Izumi shrugged and watched Katara pull out another few bottles of nail polish and a makeup sponge. “Maybe she did. But I don’t remember. I was pretty young when she left.”

“Oh,” Katara felt slightly bad. They had never talked about this before.

“Dad still misses her. I know. But,” Izumi sighed. “I’m not sure if I do or not.”

“My mother died when I was younger. So, it was just my Gran Gran, dad, and older brother. My Gran Gran did the best she could while she was alive. But by the time I was twelve I had to learn a whole lot of stuff on my own. Like how to paint my own nails.” Katara said to lighten the mood. “So how about I ombre yours and we can do glitter on all of them?”

Izumi nodded excitedly. “So, you don’t think it’s a bad thing I don’t miss my mom?”

Katara took Izumi’s firsthand and began applying a peel off around her fingernails. “It’s hard to miss something you don’t remember.” Katara watched Izumi wiggle her fingers as she took her other hand and began that one. They sat in quietly for a few minutes, Katara working on painting all of Izumi’s nails white. 

“You’re like a mom.” Izumi said after she wiggled her freshly painted fingernails while Katara worked on painting her toes every other toe pink or orange. 

“What?” Katara paused over a toe.

“Well, you cook and clean, and help me and Lu Ten. Oh, and you drop us off and pick us up from school. You know how I like my sandwich cut in triangles.”  Izumi leaned on her knees to look at her finished toes. “Aunt Toph kind of did that but she didn’t cut my sandwiches and she didn’t stay at the house.”

“I’m sure if you asked Aunt Toph she would have cut your sandwiches.” Katara took out her sponge and began adding on the nail polish. “And that’s what my job is. That’s why your dad hired me. It’s to make sure to take care of you and Lu Ten.”

“So, you’ve done this before?” Izumi watched as Katara dabbed all her nails with the makeup sponge. 

“Yeah, kind of,” Katara picked up her other hand and dabbed the nail polish on those. “I babysat before. But I’ve never done the whole living with a family before.”

Izumi nodded at that, “Well I hope you stay with us for a while.”

Katara smiled down at her, “I hope so too.”

+++

A cry stirs Katara from sleep and then a large flash of lightening.

“Daddy!”

Katara was out of her bed and running through the dark living room to the stairs, flashes of lightening glowing the living room every few seconds. Zuko was only a few steps in front of her. Zuko was already cradling a crying Lu Ten by the time Katara reached the room having taken the stairs two at a time. She walked a few steps down the hall to Izumi’s room. Izumi was still asleep as another loud clap of thunder shook the house. Katara shook her head, the child could sleep through anything.

Katara walked back to see Zuko curled up in the tiny bed of Lu Ten’s. His eyes were closed but Lu Ten’s were wide open. Katara stepped in and sat down next to the bed. She reached out and took Lu Ten’s hand. He clasped hers tightly as another flash of light shown through his window.

Zuko let out a soft snore and Katara covered her mouth to keep from giggling with her other hand. Lu Ten still looked frightened. Katara motioned for him to come with her. He reached out for her and Katara picked him up from Zuko’s arms. Zuko only turned a bit more into where Lu Ten had been. “Your sister and dad are one in the same. Come on. I know secret to sleeping with scary storms.”

“Wwwhat is it?” Lu Ten wrapped his arms around Katara’s neck a little tighter. He grabbed her ear and played with small stud in her upper helix. 

Katara carried him downstairs, “My Gran Gran used to make something called a thunder cake.” Katara prayed the child had never heard the story before. She turned on the lights in the kitchen and pulled a high top chair into the kitchen. “Can you sit here while I get the ingredients?”

Lu Ten nodded and sat on the chair. Katara could hear him shake every so often as she gathered a few things for a simple chocolate cake. “My Gran Gran was the strongest person I know.”

“Daddy is the strongest person I know!” Lu Ten interrupted.

Katara smiled at him as she grabbed eggs and butter from the fridge. She prayed that Zuko had coco in his pantry. She turned to Lu Ten after she sat the things down on the counter. “I need to go get my phone. Do you want to come with me?” Lu Ten nodded and Katara carried him with her as she took her phone from the charger seeing that it was 2:13. Katara sighed and opened her browser to look for a simple cake recipe. “Now this isn’t Gran Gran’s cake because her cookbook is still at home with my dad. But it’s good.”

Lu Ten hummed, “That’s okay.” Katara was about to set Lu Ten back down but another large boom shook the house and Lu Ten clung to Katara.

Katara petted his back a few times, “It’s okay.” Katara finally got him to sit back in the chair. “So, my Gran Gran used to tell me this story. Do you want to hear it?” Lu Ten nodded.

“Okay but first you have to promise to help with the thunder cake.” Katara held out her pinky. Lu Ten was quick to hook his around hers. ”Alright, now Gran Gran used to tell me that if you see a flash of lightning that you should count slow and when the thunder rumbles you stop counting. Can you do that for me?” Katara waited till Lu Ten gave a small nod. He looked beyond nervous. “Good, alright so if you see lightening count slow. Okay?” Just then lightening flashed in the windows and Lu Ten began counting. 

“1-2-3-4-5-6-”

BOOM!

Lu Ten jumped a little but stopped counting.

“That means it’s six miles away.” Katara began by pre heating the oven. She searched through the drawers for measuring spoons. “Gran Gran was never scared of lightning and thunder.” Katara said as she began putting the dry mixture together. She gave Lu Ten a spoon for him to stir the dry ingredients. “She told me that it was because the lightning and thunder were brothers.”

“They are?” Lu Ten interrupted her again.

“Yup, I’ll tell you the story that she used to tell me.” Katara began whisking together the few liquid ingredients. Katara went through the story pausing when Lu Ten began counting when lightening crackled. Katara told him of how the two brothers often fought and told Lu Ten to spoon in the dry mixture while she stirred the wet batter. Lu Ten followed the instructions and listened with wide eyes as Katara told the old legend. He seemed so distracted that by the time Katara was putting the pans in. She watched his eye lids droop. 

Katara nudged him at one point as he had leaned his head over on her arm. She was trying to make a frosting for the cake. He only sat up briefly only to put his head back on her arm. Katara put down her spoon and picked Lu Ten off the chair. Lu Ten’s small hand immediately went to her ear. She took her phone and him to her room. She did her best to lay him down and closed the blinds to the storm next to her bed. Katara predicted that this was the worst of it. Lu Ten snuggled into her pillows and Katara draped the messed up bed sheets over him. She ran her fingers through his hair a few times and smiled at the small hand that grabbed onto his ear.

Katara went back to the kitchen a few minutes later to finish the frosting and to pull out the cakes. She set an alarm to let the cakes cool and went back to her room. Curling up on the other side of the bed. Katara pet the little boy’s hair a few more times before her eyes closed. 

She woke up a few hours later with a thumb playing with her helix earring. Katara peeked through her eyelashes to see Lu Ten’s eyes still closed but he was waking up. Katara smiled and pulled the blankets back over Lu Ten. Lu Ten’s golden eyes blinked open, he smiled at her before his eyelashes fluttered closed again. 

“Do you want cake for breakfast?” Katara whispered to him. She watched Lu Ten’s smile widened before he opened his eyes and nodded. Katara sat up and turned to grab Lu Ten when Zuko came stumbling into her room.

“Kat, have you seen-,” He paused at the doorway to see a sleepy Lu Ten in Katara’s arms.

“Daddy, we are going to have cake for breakfast!” Lu Ten said much more excitedly compared to his sleepy stature.

“Cake?” Zuko asked but gave Katara a raised brow.

“Mhmm,” Lu Ten leaned his head over on Katara’s shoulder. “We made thunder cake.”

“Thunder cake?” Zuko moved out of the doorway as Katara made her way to the kitchen. Zuko looked over his messy kitchen. “When did you make a cake?”

Katara sat Lu Ten back on his chair and went to the cabinet for a plate and knife. Katara pulled the frosting from the fridge and put the cake on the plate before spreading on the frosting.

“Last night during that really loud thunderstorm. Katara told me a story about it!” Lu Ten began retelling the story in pieces and then having to go back and retell it again because he missed a piece of the information. Katara had just about finished frosting when Lu Ten finished his story. “And I’m not afraid of thunder anymore!”

“That’s great, little man.” Zuko said as he got down four small saucers and forks. “So, you made cake.”

Katara cut a slice for everyone and made her way upstairs to wake up Izumi when Zuko started to yell for Izumi to come downstairs. Katara shook her head and gently pulled down the covers from Izumi’s face. “How do you sleep like that?” Katara whispered. She pushed back Izumi’s hair as she began to stir awake from the cooler air of her room. Izumi smacked her lips and golden eyes peeked out before closing again. Katara caught Izumi’s shoulder as she tried to roll over and go back to sleep. “Nuh-uh, come on. Wakey wakey. We’re having cake for breakfast.”

“Cake? Like pancakes?” Izumi whispered still trying to turn over and to go back to sleep.

“Nope,” Katara poked her side and made her squirm as she was tickled. “Real chocolate cake.”

Izumi moved over slightly in the bed to get away from Katara’s tickling fingers. She opened her eyes again, “For breakfast?”

“Mhmm,” Katara smiled as Izumi slowly sat up.

“I’ve never had cake for breakfast before.” 

Katara hummed again, “Well we might get to, as long as your brother and father don’t eat our slices too.”

“That does sound like them,” Izumi nodded and began to push the blankets away from herself. “When did you make cake?”

“Last night, during the thunderstorm.” 

“There was a storm last night?” Izumi asked as the girls made their way downstairs. 

Katara nodded and when they got down to the kitchen, the boys had already finished their first piece. Zuko was poised to cut another slice for himself but set down the knife in a slightly guilty manner when Katara raised an eyebrow at him.

+++

A few months passed when Zuko sat down with Katara for an evaluation. 

“I’m very impressed with how the kids are getting along,” Zuko said as poured Katara a glass of wine. “With you.”

Katara felt a little nervous with how this was going to go. She took a small drink from her glass. “Oh?”

“You are doing very well with them.” Zuko drank from his cup. 

“Thank you,” Katara said quietly.

There was a silence that stretched between them. Katara straightened out the already straight cutlery. 

“I hope this dinner is enough to show my appreciation.” Zuko said with a smile and looked around the restaurant.

“Yeah, I’m sure it will be great. Thank you.” Katara shook her head after saying thank you, again. “This is like super fancy.”

Zuko turned to look at her, “Oh! I figured you would like a night out and somewhere nice. We could-,” 

“No!” Katara covered her lips at the loud outburst. “Uh, no, it’s totally fine. I’m enjoying this.”

“Really?” Zuko raised his eyebrow. “Your straightening of the place setting says otherwise.” He nodded to where her hands were playing with her plate.

Katara looked down and placed her hands in her lap quickly, “Sorry.”

“Why are you nervous?” Zuko picked up his glass again.

“I- I actually love this job. And I really hope that I can continue working for you.” Katara lifted her hands to mess with the plate again. “So, I want this to go well.”

Zuko smirked at her and Katara felt her heart hammer in her chest. “You’re not going anywhere. The kids would lash out if you decided leave.” Katara smiled and reached for her wine glass. “Which brings me to my next question, when would you like to take a small leave? You’ve not asked for a vacation yet. And a girl like you should be out having fun.”

Katara shook her head, “I’ve been so concerned about the kids and school. I haven’t had time to think about a vacation.”

“Well, you should.” Zuko smiled as he watched Katara take a drink. “Toph or I can take the kids. We’ve done it for years. So, you let me know here in a couple of weeks when and how long you plan on being away.”

Katara bit her lip before taking another drink, “I haven’t gone on a vacation since my family and I went to the islands.” Katara shook her head, “All I feel like I remember is this really bad play.”

Both laughed, “So they still do shows?” Zuko shook his head, “I remember those being bad when I was young.”

“You're not that old,” Katara smiled and put down her glass. 

Zuko huffed out a laugh, “You’re keeping your job. So, there is no reason for flattery.”

The rest of the dinner pasted by with small jokes and talking about Katara’s school and Zuko’s work. It was so pleasant that it continued with a small walk down the pier, a small bundle of flowers bought for Katara and Izumi, a small stuffed animal for Lu Ten and maybe a few butterflies in Zuko’s stomach.

+++

Katara gave a laugh at the story Lu Ten was telling when he broke out into a laugh. Katara wasn’t too sure what she was laughing about as she wrote out the formula to another math equation. 

“I’m home!”

Katara did her best not breathe a sigh of relief when Lu Ten let out a squeal and ran to the front door. She bit her lip as she finished up the first part of the equation. She stood up from the table and smiled to Zuko as he walked into the kitchen. 

“How was everyone’s day?” Zuko pulled at his tie and sat down his work briefcase.

“I got an A on my spelling test.” Izumi says from where she was finishing a science worksheet.

“I ate three applesauce at lunch today!” Lu Ten tugged at Zuko’s jacket.

Zuko gave his son a questioning look before shaking his head deciding he did not want to know. He looked up to Katara who began to pull things out for dinner. “And what about you?”

“Hmm?” Katara pulled out a pan from the cabinet. 

“How was your day?” Zuko picked Lu Ten up and the two watched Katara move about the kitchen.

“The normal,” Katara shrugged. “Help the kids get to and from school. Scream at the computer for about two hours before finally breaking down and actually doing the homework assigned. Wait for you to get home and now I’m cooking dinner.”

“What happened with your computer?” Zuko sat Lu Ten down as he started to get wiggly. 

“The same old thing.” Katara waved her hand around to dismiss the concern. “Takes forEVER to come on. And then a century for anything to load. I’m sure it has something to do with how old it is. But it still works. It will be fine.” Katara rinses off the rice before pouring it into a pan and slowly adding water. Katara dipped her finger in before covering the rice and pushing it to a burner on the back.

Zuko finally sheds his jacket and rolls up his sleeves. He pulls out a cutting board and begins to chop the few vegetables Katara has placed out. She gives a small grateful smile. He pretends his heart doesn’t skip a beat. “You can always log into the computer in the study.”

“Thanks,” Katara turns back to prepping a pan for the protein. “I might just take you up on that offer.”

When they finish dinner Katara moved to the study to work on her assignment. Lu Ten came in to give her a goodnight kiss on the cheek and went upstairs to bed. Izumi handed Katara her homework for Katara to look over before Izumi went to bed too. Katara was on her last two equations when Zuko entered the study.

Katara always did her best to maintain the employee/employer professional attitude. But when Zuko wore his robe, all thoughts of being professional went out the window. Katara’s mind would go to fantasy land and refused to return until Zuko was out of sight. And sometimes not even then. For instance, last week when they got home from their “meeting” date. Katara had dreams of being pushed against the door and smothered with kisses and sneaking into her room to finish what they started on the porch.

So, when Zuko stepped in and sat down in front of the desk, all her hard earned concentration went straight to Zuko. He was in a tight t-shirt and sweatpants, his robe was open and Katara could yet again see how un-dad bod Zuko’s dad bod was. Katara wasn’t sure when he actually worked out. Maybe he went before work when Katara was still asleep or when he left for the day, he stopped by the gym on his way to work?

Katara looked back down to her textbook. Her pencil tapping on the notebook in a nervous habit. The numbers on her page only seemed to stare back at her. She had no idea what she was even looking at anymore. Katara groaned and put down her pencil. She stretched her arms over her head and looked up at Zuko.

Zuko was already watching her over the rim of his coffee cup. “Understanding everything?”

Katara blinked a few times before lowering her arms, “Um, yeah. It’s just extremely time consuming.”

“Mmm,” Zuko took another drink from his mug. He stood up and leaned over his desk, looking down at Katara’s textbook. “I haven’t worked on a problem like this in years.”

Katara gave a soft laugh and turned the book to him. “You are more than welcome to figure out the last two problems.” She sat back in the chair and took in all of her boss.

“Ha,” Zuko picked up her pencil and notebook. “You’ll probably get these two wrongs.” He sat back down with everything to work on the equations.

+++

Zuko adjusted his tie and walked to the kitchen to get his first coffee. He paused in the living room. Katara was laid over on the couch a textbook open and sat at the edge of the couch waiting to tip over. 

Zuko sighed and placed the textbook on the coffee table. He took the throw from over the arm of the couch and placed it over Katara. His fingers moved on their own to brush the hair from Katara’s face. 

She looked so peaceful.

Zuko’s fingers slid from her brow to her ear down her jaw. His thumb rubbed over a soft, pink bottom lip. A soft sigh came from her lips. The warmth against his thumb made him pull back. He swallowed and leaned back from Katara.

The warm fluttering in his stomach erupted again. It was such a new feeling. He really wasn’t sure what to do with it.

Katara moaned and rolled onto her back. Zuko moved to recover Katara with the throw. He paused at the sight of tanned skin that peeked between her t-shirt and sleep shorts. He snatched his fingers back from where they reached for the smooth looking skin. 

What is wrong with me?

Zuko placed the blanket back over Katara before moving around to get his coffee.

His mind seemed to keep replaying the scene in his head for the rest of the day. Zuko rubbed at the headache forming between his eyebrows as he thought about Katara again. He was really thankful for her. She was great with the kids. She did her job and completed her schoolwork. Katara was smart and funny. He enjoyed her company. Hell, Song had even noticed not too long after Katara had started working for him that there was something different. And the only logical change was Katara.

There was a small bit of warmth and nerves that developed low in his stomach again from just thinking about her.

Maybe with her upcoming vacation she had finally requested, Zuko would be able to work through this. Whatever this was. 

+++

Katara went through her list as she packs her small bag. She was only going to stay with Yue. Suki said she was going to try to come see her but likely wouldn’t be able to. She closed up her bag and turned to see Zuko in the doorway. He had been very kind in taking a half day to drop her off at the airport.

Katara gave him a small smile and handed him the bag as he reached out for it, “You know if I need to move my vaca-.”

“Nope, Toph and I have it covered.” Zuko shook his head before she could even finish her sentence. He escorted her to the front door. Katara picked a few things along her way.

“I know,” Katara sighed as she looked around the house. It was clean. Katara had spent the last two days making sure everything was in order before her week vacation. “But if I need to come back early or an emergency happens. You can just-.”

Zuko opened the front door and took Katara’s hand, “We won’t need you to come back early. If an emergency happens. You will be the second person I call. I swear.” He fumbled with his keys as with the one unoccupied hand and opened the passenger door before opening the trunk. He let Katara get inside before closing her door. He places the bag in the trunk and moved around to the driver side. “I want you to enjoy your trip. You’ve earned it.”

Katara nodded and tugged at the hem of her hoodie as the car started. “I will. I just want to make sure you and the kids are doing okay.”

Zuko gave a small smile as he pulled the car out into traffic. “I’ll make sure to give you daily updates. Or Izumi will.”

“Thanks,” Katara said quietly.

Zuko reached over and patted her knee. “It’s only a week. Then you’ll be back.” Goosebumps erupted along her legs as Zuko’s hand gave a small squeeze to her knee before he returned his hand back to the steering wheel.

+++

It was only three days into the trip that Katara got a call from Izumi begging her to come home.

“Aunt Toph still can’t remember that I like my sandwiches cut in triangles!”

Katara shook her head and took a sip of her margarita. “Zum, I’ll be home soon. You can eat a few square cut sandwiches, right?”

Izumi huffed, “I really miss you.”

“Me too!” Lu Ten calls from the background.

“I really miss you both too.” Katara gave a small laugh. “I’ll see you soon okay? I’ve got to eat dinner.”

“Okay.” There were two small sighs. “Goodnight. I love you.”

“I love you both. Goodnight.” Katara hung up the phone with a deep sigh.

“Aren’t you just too cute.” Yue set another margarita glass in front of Katara. “You sound so domestic.”

“Really?” Katara sighed as she picked up the new glass.

“You really seem to like the kids. And your still in school. I’m really proud of you.” Yue took a drink from her glass. “Now, tell me more about this ‘Dad’.”

Katara shook her head with a laugh, “Zuko.”

“Oooh, that’s his name?” Yue leaned against the bar.

“He’s great,” Katara felt a small flush but decided to blame it on the alcohol. “And cute. But mostly good. He’s some bigwig business man that loves his children. I can tell he wishes he could be home more with them.”

“Awe, he sounds sweet.”

“He’s really cute too.” Katara took another drink from her glass. “But I think he only thinks I’m his nanny.”

“Kinky.” Yue giggled.

Katara rolled her eyes, “I just wished I knew if I even have a chance.”

-*-*-

“Why don’t you grow a pair and ask?” Toph rolled her eyes at Zuko.

“Toph!” Zuko reached over and put his hands over Izumi’s ears.

Izumi blinked up at him before stirring the soup.

“What?” Toph shrugged. “You should just ask her out officially if you’re feeling this way.”

Zuko shook his head. “What do I have to give someone ten years younger than me?”

“That’s ten extra years of experience anyone her age has.” Zuko glared over his shoulder at her. “What? That was vague enough.” Zuko uncovered Izumi’s ears in order to flip the grilled cheese as Toph continued on. “Obviously, she loves the kids. I mean who would stick around with this little troublemaker.” Toph rubbed at Lu Ten’s head as he walked through the kitchen on his gaming consol. Lu Ten slapped at Toph’s hand. 

“Plus, she makes the best pasta. And we don’t have to eat grilled cheese every night.” Izumi grumbled as she stirred the soup.

“I thought you liked my grilled cheese?” Zuko gave a small pout.

+++

Katara rolled her suitcase down the small hallway. Zuko had texted to let her know that he was waiting for her near baggage claim. Bit her lip and thought of what Yue had told her. 

“When you see him next, pull up your big girl panties and tell him you think he’s hot! Or you know just kiss him.” Yue filled another glass for herself. “If he pushes you off. You know he doesn’t feel anything.” Yue shrugged her shoulders. “Now let’s really drink.” She placed a vodka bottle on the bar.

Katara muttered through what she would say when she saw him during the whole plane ride. The man next to her kept giving her strange looks. She thought she had it down. Until she rounded the corner and saw the sign. 

Will You

Be My

Girlfriend?

Katara stopped mid-step as she read through the question held up by the three most important people in her life. Lu Ten was shaking so much the ‘Be My’ was almost hard to read. Izumi waved at her wildly. Zuko stood still and golden eyes took her in.

The man that was sitting next to her scoffed as he walked by. “He beat you to it.”

Katara stepped up to the small family, “What’s this?”

“We were all so excited to see you!” Lu Ten broke first and wrapped his arms around her. 

“We missed you!” Izumi wrapped her arms around Katara too. 

Katara pat the children’s heads. She looked up to Zuko, “And?”

“And,” Zuko stepped up to her. “I’ve done a lot of thinking. This week was so lonely without you. You are not allowed to take another trip like that.”

“Yeah! We had grilled cheese three nights in a row.” Izumi said into Katara’s sweater.

“And Dad doesn’t know how to make thunder cake.” Lu Ten pouted.

“Ahem,” Zuko cleared his throat as he put his hand over Katara’s in Lu Ten’s hair. “I was doing a lot of thinking. About how well you are with the kids. And keeping us all together.” Lu Ten and Izumi stepped back. “Which made me think that maybe, if you want, that you’d be okay with being my girlfriend?”

“I-,” Katara gave a small smile. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Zuko chuckled. “Only if you’re okay with that.”

“Yes.” Katara gave a large smile and nodded. Zuko smiled too and wrapped her in a hug. Two other sets of arms wrapped around her as well. “I’d be very okay with that.”

[vurlix]

The Druid of Mothem

### I started working really hard on this one AI Dungeon campaign mapping out the whole world of Xaxas that the game offers and putting it all into World Anvil (an online world builder) So i can better track places and people since the AI in AI dungeon can only remember so much. The majority of this story is created by GPT-3 (if I had to make a guess I’d say ~85-90%. I also used the website Art Breeder to generate the pictures for the characters and landscapes. ###

### AI is coming a long way. I plan to continue this story since I love playing a druid in 5e. ###

### I also added the new AI Dungeon feature which allows the gaining of stats so every time I try to do an action, it rolls on stats that continue to grow. ###

### But besides that, I also rolled out a Druid Wood Elf and have a character sheet to follow

I’ll link everything after the story, other than that I hope you enjoy!! ###

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You are Goodaquazi, a male elf druid who lives in the town of Morthem. You are new to the town though rarely actually visit it. Being a druid you're the most comfortable being outside the town in the forest with nature. The town of Morthem consists of a few large buildings and many smaller ones surrounding it. Humans and elves make up the population of this small farming town. A large deep forest surrounds the farmland as far as the eye can see. It truly is a beautiful forest.

When you're not spending time in Morthem, you can be found deep in study at a small nature temple located somewhere away from Morthem deep in the forest. This temple is where all druids or those with an interest in nature and druidism spend time in study, meditation, or prayer.

The day to day life of Morthem goes on with or without you and that's OK. The people are content and that's all that's in your heart. It's a simple life, and you're happy with that. 

You are in a forest somewhere far from any civilisation. This is your home and you feel comfortable here with the animals, plants, and nature. You were taught by the master druids to harness the natural magic energy that exists in all things. You practice this skill every day for there is always more to learn.

 You lie down on the ground, stretching out your arms and legs along the lush grass and closing your eyes. The sun is high overhead, its light filtered through an unblemished blue sky. A cool wind blows through the field, carrying with it the rich scents of soil and nature. The grass is damp from last night's rain, and you can sense the life force of the land, almost as if it were a living creature itself. The scents and sensations are almost overpowering after your time in the city, but feel refreshing now that your senses have been reawakened.

You slowly open your eyes. All around you, plants grow and animals live in a perfect state of harmony with the land. You vanish from their sight, though creatures with greater senses might still be able to detect your presence if they were really looking.

However, it is not upon the ground that you wish to be. You feel cramped and bored lying there, so you take a deep breath and rise up into the air, levitating several feet above the ground. You are weightless, able to drift through the air with only a thought.

You have many hidden conversations with animals as you move through the forest and they, curious about this friendly stranger. Different types of animals, each with their own unique personalities, sizes and abilities. There are fighting animals able to kill even the largest of beasts, and others that are solely for transportation or, in some cases, purely companionship.

You drift along atop the wind, smiling and laughing as you fly. This is how you move from place to place when you are outdoors. Eventually, you begin to get a splitting headache from all the sensory input and decide to head back home for the day.

You approach your cabin by nightfall. Made chiefly of wood with a thatched roof, it looks every part the fairy-tale cottage. An enormous oak tree towers over it and provides shade. You walk up to the door and unlock it with ease. Heading inside, you take off your shoes, as is custom in this land. The entire floor is covered by a thick carpet of grass which springs back up after every step you take.

Una, your girlfriend, is preparing dinner. Her long blond hair falls down to the small of her back and her sky coloured eyes pierce your very being. By her feet rests Zane, the cutest puppy you've ever seen who can someday grow up to be a fierce guard dog if given the right training.

"Hey, Una," you say.

"Uh-huh," she replies, engrossed in the cooking.

From another room, you hear a baby boy giggling. The newest member of your family, Behan, lies in his cradle. You fly through the door and hover over his crib, looking down on his innocent features. Through your son, you have discovered the true joys of fatherhood. All younglings go through an insane rebellious phase, which Behan will eventually go through too, but for now he is really sweet.

"You look tired," remarks Una, suddenly standing beside you with a bowl of strawberries in her hands.

You take one out of the bowl and eat it, relishing the sweet taste as it enters your mouth. "I had an interesting day," you reply. "Why is Zane outside?"

Una blushes. "I wanted to surprise you. Turn around."

Curious, you do as she says and spin on the spot. You hear Una squeal with delight before her arms embrace you from behind and her head rests itself upon your shoulder. "So?" she asks, a mischievous smile evident in her voice.

You turn to face Una and are faced with the image of her clad in a tight, midriff showing black dress and knee high stilettos. Your jaw drops and you stare with awe. "Wow," you utter, staring at her beauty. "You... look... amazing!"

"I thought we could go to a friends' house to eat. They're having a party, do you want to go?"

The constant sensory input has given you a monstrous hunger, and as much as you love Una, you need food. "Absolutely," you say.

The two of you fly to your friend's house. The manor lies on a hilltop which descends into a plain, which lies on the edge of a dense evergreen forest. You are faced with the grandest house you have ever seen. Dozens of little windows peer at you like wandering eyes. Hundreds of lights create the illusion that the house is glowing. The manor is at least four stories high and has a tryst swim among trees behind it. The entire setting is like something out of a fairy tale. You land beside a golden pathway that leads up to the manor. The evergreen forest towers over you on both sides and a soft, cool breeze passes through it, sending chills down your spine. You take a deep breath through your nose as you enter through the heavy wooden door.

You are faced with a giant hall, with several corridors branching off it. The walls are lined with suits of armour, which glare at you with iron eyes. Black and white tiles line the floor, and a giant chandelier made up of antlers hangs from the ceiling. You both walk past the hall and down one of the branching corridors. Tiny flickering lights dance along the corridors' walls. You peer into a room and see a grand piano and several pieces of classical music written in notes on sheets of music. You enter the room as you sense somebody there. An old man with a goatee sits in the corner of the room, playing the piano. The music is slow and rhythmic.

You remember this man. He was one of Una's former boyfriends, a pianist that travels around the country and plays for people. You are about to call out to him when Una grabs your wrist. You look at her, meeting her fiery eyes. She motions for you to follow her and the pair of you bypass the man entirely. The next corridor weaves back and forth and has the same black and white tiles as the last corridor. Finally, the corridor brings you to a set of stairs. You climb the stairs slowly, and as you do you see someone at the top. It's the host of the party, Judge Beckery.

"You came!" he says, smiling. "I can already tell this is going to be the best party ever."

"Who was that man playing?" you ask, motioning toward the room with the grand piano.

"Oh him?" says Beckery. "That's just Harvey. He's a bit of a weirdo."

You nod slowly.

"Anyway, I just got here myself," says the Judge. "I'll show you to your room."

The pair of you head up another flight of stairs and Beckery stops at the first door on the left. He opens it and ushers you inside.

"I hope you'll be comfortable in here," he says.

The room is small but comfortable. It has a double bed, a dresser, and a nightstand with a lamp. There's also a desk in the corner. The walls are covered with a deep blue wallpaper. You set your bags down on the floor and look out the window. The courtyard and forest surround the house.

You return to the party. Those few feet between you and Una seem like an endless distance, one that neither of you are willing to cross.

As you enter the room the crowd melts away before you and everyone stares in astonishment. You stand there, surrounded by a crowd of people. A fight seems inevitable.

Suddenly the crowd parts and Una comes before you. She looks into your eyes and gives you a small smile. It's a smile that says everything will be alright. You smile back, and then feel your face flush and your heart flutter.

Before you stands Una, a tall and willowy young woman with long blond hair, gray eyes, and fair skin. Her beauty takes your breath away--more than that, her presence does, the way she stares back into your eyes timidly yet still willing to meet your gaze for as long as you like.

"I love you Una, thank you for bringing us here but I'm starving! Why don't we go into the dining room and get something to eat?"

Everyday your craft keeps you occupied and your spare time is spent with Una. As the years pass your personal life and druidic life begin to overlap one another. Your love for Una only deepens and your son Behan grows in strength and wisdom. You tell him stories of the old lands of Tuatha, and promise that when he's old enough you'll return, if only to visit.

"I saw the strangest thing today," Una says to you as you eat dinner. You are eating roasted duck at this party and Una has been watching you and Behan with a faint frown on her face.

"What's that?" you ask.

"I saw one of the peasants run over a fox and kill it." she says.

"That's terrible, why would someone be so careless about a living creature. What if that fox was me Una? Did you see who the peasant was that ran over the fox? " you respond.

"I did," she says, "It was Chris."

"Are you sure it was him?"

"No. But the man I saw was a barbarian and he's friends with that barbarian."

Knowing Una, this must have bothered her greatly. You've never been a fan of Chris, it seems that even if you are wrong about him, you still have to tell him to apologize to Una. As the sun disappears over the horizon and night falls, you head over to Chris's room.

You rap on his door and he bids you come in.

"What the hell do you want." Chris grunts angrily. You can tell he's clearly been drinking and not to mention his room smells awful. You also notice that there are various bottles filled with assorted types of Liquid.

"My wife is pretty upset with what happened at the party earlier, and I'd like to apologize if I could." You lie.

"Alright?" He says to you as he lights his pipe, the lighter producing a small blue flame.

You quickly chant a short incantation and the flame on his pipe flares up as smoke billows into his face, he has been incapacitated by the flames and he begins to scream as he desperately tries to pat them out.

You rush over and smack him in the head with your palm and he's out like a light.

You then look for Una to make sure she is alright, you find that Chris' alcohol and medications have finally kicked in and he has gotten some sleep.

You reassure Una and tell her not to worry about anything.

The next morning you both wake up and start to gather your equipment together.

You hug Una close and tell her how much you care for her.

"I told you everything was going to be fine." She says to you with a smile, "Let's go home, I miss Behan...and you need someone to do the shopping and cleaning."

Slowly the two of you head home. You start to reflect on the events that have occurred and realize that your life is finally calming down. You open the door of your home to find Zane making Behan laugh by chasing his tail. You watch your family with a smile on your face, glad that everything has worked out for you. You take a seat and call Zane over to join the family for a group hug.

“Good boy” you say to Zane as he begins to wag his tail happily. He gets up and goes over to Behan who is attempting to crawl away to no avail. Zane begins to lick Behan in the face, you watch them both laugh and occasionally look over to Una. You feel truly happy just watching them all. This is real happiness, this must be how Father felt. Time passes and it's nighttime before you know it. You tell Una that you're gonna cook dinner for tonight so she can relax and enjoy her night. With the nightly routine of cooking, cleaning and putting Behan to bed you soon find yourself heading off to bed as well.

As you both lie in bed with Una's hand wrapped around your arm you feel truly complete. There's nowhere else in the world you'd rather be, you have everything you need right here.

Your eyes start to get heavy as you fall asleep with a smile on your face. Your mind drifts from one thing to another as you find yourself entering the druidic realm of dreams. Several hours later you drift back into consciousness and remember the events that have led you here. You open your eyes and slowly sit up, the sun is already high in the sky outside and Una is nowhere to be seen. Knowing that she's probably out hunting, you get out of bed and look out the window. You take a deep breath through your nose and smell the scent of trees, nature, earth, and wild animals. You feel truly at peace in this moment.

With a smile across your face you walk over to Behan's bed and pick him up.

"Come on Behan!" you shout excitedly "Let's go play outside!"

You look outside and everything looks great. The forest, the trees, the earth, everything is perfect. This is your life now, and you wouldn't have it any other way. You set Behan down on the floor and go over to your dresser to grab your clothes. Nature is perfect, yes, but there are simple things in life that make it better. And one of those things is clothes. You put on your typical outfit, nothing too fancy, just your typical wool pants and tunic. With that done, you walk outside to play with Behan in the fields.

Zane wakes up and comes to join in the fun running around in circles and making Behan crawl after his tail. Every day is a happy day when you're with those who matter to you .

As you look out across the fields to watch Una returning from hunting with freshly killed deer, you realize that those that got you through hard times are the ones that matter most.

You will continue life as it is now. There is nothing else you could desire.

You greet Una with a small smile and hold out your arms for the deer carcass.

"Good work Una." You say smiling at her as you lift up the deer.

"Thank you." Una responds looking down at Behan who crawls over to her legs.

The carcass will feed your family for the next few days. You set it down near your home and bring Una inside to rest. She's a hero today and that's all that matters. She deserves to be treated as one.

You Kiss Una on the forehead and lift her in your arms to carry her into the bedroom.

You place her near Behan, and they both fall into a gentle sleep. They look like an angel and a demon sleeping together, but there's no malice in them at all!

You grab your blade and walk over to the deer carcass. You begin to butcher the beast using your vast expertise in limb severing. First, you remove the legs, then the head and then the torso. You work fast because you don't want the meat to begin rotting. With enough salt, you could eat it in a day or so.

Your family will eat good tonight and for the next few days!

Having finished the job you walk back into the house returning to Una's bedside to watch her sleep until dusk arrives.

Throwing in some pork for extra taste, you set out to make the deer meat stew.

The meat and bone will be used to make the stew and the offal fed to Zane who is begging by your side the whole time.

A blue flame envelops your hand and you slam your hand into the oven! The rich scent of flame-broiled deer meat fills the room in an instant.

"Zane! If you eat any more of my food, you won't grow up to be big and strong like me!" You joke at your small but ferocious dog!

Finally, the food is done, and you sit down with Una and Behan to enjoy an evening meal.

Master of fire you may be, but without the love and support of your wife and son you would burn out in a flash. Tonight you are happy and look forward to an amazing life with your family.

You hold Una's hand and thank her for being the amazing woman she is. "I have a goal set for myself tomorrow Una, I'm going to learn to shape shift" you explain. Una smiles and shakes her head fondly at you. "You'll never stop learning will you?" she asks in response. You both laugh and enjoy the evening meal.

[skyflicker]

sea glass (amasai week day one)

written for @amasaiweek2020, hosted by @storyflight and @toxicisnotapineapple! i know it’s not Monday over there in America or wherever you are unless you live in Asia like me, but it is very early morning over here so y’all get early content...? the prompt is shy/confession and i chose the latter but it might as well have been tears because, as you can see, i literally used it 510983794789278974983 times. i’m sorry-

this is the first official danganronpa fanfiction i’ve completed besides one i only sent to my friends for mid-autumn festival, so please go easy on the newbie of the day :3 i hope y’all enjoy this! (and if you do enjoy it, do drop over to my ao3 @silveryyy, where this is also posted, and leave a kudos ;) (it’s okay if you don’t tho-)

-

Shuichi remembers the day as clearly as if it were just yesterday.

Three long, blurry years could not make a single dent in his memory, in his pain. Three years, and he still flinches at any sound of crashing, still hears the roaring sound of silence rolling in his ears afterwards, still sees the image of the smile he loved so much through the tears blurring his sight into a swirling mess of colours.

Time heals, they’d told him. It’ll numb soon. But Shuichi had never, not once in the half decade he’d spent locked in his room, felt the pain, the grief, the guilt recede- instead, he felt the dread twist deeper into his stomach every day, his lungs squeezed so hard he could hardly breathe with the streams he let pouring down, his gut stabbed, ever so brutally, by a thousand snow-rimmed spears, the deadly cold metal stinging his wounds, and then he’d look down and see nothing at all. The pain, though, still remains, and his heart drops and falls and smashes to the floor into a million tiny fragments that are painstakingly put back together just to be destroyed again the next day. Rivers of guilt and pain flooded his mind day by day, flowing between him and that person he loved so dearly, separating them cruelly on two opposite riverbanks, so so far away from each other.

The mornings are always the worst. He remembers the day after the accident, remembers his eyes opening to sunshine flowing in from the window as always, the fully clear glass fracturing the light ever so slightly to create the most gorgeous rainbows dancing playfully across the walls, casting a golden sheen across the room; the skies such a lovely vibrant shade of azure, smooth as a painter’s steady hand brushing across the ever-expanding canvas. The sky was so clear, without a cloud in sight, like it had not a single care in the world. For a moment, Shuichi had forgotten the day before, forgotten the endless tears shed, the screams that echoed the air, and actually felt his spirits life and soar as high as a joyful bird dashing up into the world. It’d only made him hurt more when the imaginary world breaks into pieces and bits and pieces of memories, ironically just like sunlight, streams into him through the faux happiness, like how the sun always finds a way to break out of the dark sheets of tar-like clouds.

Three painful years, with no one there for him, no one to ease his mind, no one to comfort him.

To be completely fair, his friends did try to help. Kaede still lets herself in every other day, after her day job at the local coffee shop, to shake Shuichi awake, make him a small dinner and prepare simple meals for him when she wasn't there, maybe try to coax him out of the house. She never gave up on him, never gave up on trying desperately to cheer him up, to have him pick up the life he once had. Maki comes over as much as she can- she's busy, being a kindergarten teacher, sits with Shuichi and talks about her day, talks about Kaito, and sometimes they just mourn, together, and he ends up crying and Maki just silently comforts him. Unlike Kaede (not to say she isn’t of any help, Kaede’s great and helps him take his mind off the incident), Maki more than understands- she shares in the pain of having lost a loved one- when Kaito'd died of cancer four years ago, Shuichi'd been completely devastated at the loss of his best friend and brother, but Maki definitely bore the brunt of the impact. At least he'd had Rantaro to help him then. Now- 

It's too painful to think about. But even if his friends tried their best to help him- his other friends/old classmates drop in from time to time as well- they're just… not the people he wants to see or talk to. Despite their attempts to have him move on, he just can't, the last argument he had with… him still deeply etched into his brain, every single moment he'd spent with his ex-boyfriend imprinted onto his eyelids. None of his friends, none of them except maybe Maki, truly understand, truly get why he's chosen to stay here mourning the loss of his lifeline. 

He feels guilty whenever they try to usher him out, though. He remembers the first time Kaede tried to persuade him to go out, his outburst at his foster sister, and she looked more scared than he'd ever seen her. That expression'd been enough for his anger to fade away into the dark wisps of shadows that now permanently reside in the corners of his eyes, always waiting to strike.

He remembers being so shocked and horrified at himself that the glass mug slipped from his hand, the crystal-like cup shattering into tiny sharp fragments, and they'd both flinched at the high-pitched crash, Shuichi's heart falling with it. He’d looked at Kaede, and opened his mouth to apologize at the sight of her large, sweet plum coloured eyes filled with guilt and tears, but she’d quietly beat him to it and slipped out of the doors, leaving Shuichi alone, alone with the click of the doors, and his own screaming, and the sound of the glass shattering on the floor echoing over and over again.

For three years, he hid away in his apartment. For three years, he’d been mourning alone, shut in his room, buried under the numerous blankets he kept in his closet.

But today, he decides, he’s going to break that record. For the first time since his best friend’s death, he’s going to go outside.

For the first time in ages, he actually wants to go out.

The last time he’d gone out was the day his best friend left him, left him alone in this cold and unforgiving world. He remembers coming home to his phone buzzing from a text, from Rantaro, the first time they’d talked since the large, intense argument they’d had two whole weeks prior. Rantaro’d been in Europe since that argument, with the only sister- Rina, a sweet girl five years younger than both Rantaro and Shuichi- he’d found over the countless years of searching- now the sole heiress of the Amami fortune- looking for his other siblings.

“I’m sorry.”

It was so sudden that Shuichi hadn’t known how to respond at all. He’d stared at the text, at the two words glowing on his screen, trying to figure out what to say. He wasn’t mad at Rantaro, not at all, (now he thinks that it was so stupid of him to argue, if he hadn’t he’d have been with Rantaro and Rina in Europe, he might have been able to save a life and saved so many hearts-) but, what if, what if he’d suddenly said something wrong? What if he destroys their friendship once and for all?

He didn't get to be anxious over it for long, though. Barely five minutes later, he’d gotten a phone call from Rina, a call that completely turned his life upside down.

Rina’s completely broken voice, shaking as tears surely were flooding down her cheeks, rough and raw from screaming, still haunts him. He still hears her sobs as she’d delivered the news at night, while sinking in the giant cushion of cruel dreams and misleading unconsciousness.

He couldn’t even bear to leave the house for the funeral. Somehow, the idea of seeing Rantaro’s broken body, bruised and pale and so void of any life at all, was so scary, and frightening. It’d felt so surreal, like he was dreaming and couldn’t wake up at all….

In his memory, Rantaro is smiling. Happy. Alive. His eyes are so full of life, full of care and kindness.

He brushes off a tear, and with shaking hands, tentatively opens the door.

Maki’s waiting downstairs for him, having promised to drive him. She smiles at Shuichi when he appears at the top of the staircase, but it doesn’t reach her eyes- they’re dull and full of sadness, and probably reflect Shuichi’s own. Sometimes Shuichi forgets that Maki was close with Rantaro too, but the pain in her eyes says it for her today all too clearly. Shuichi returns the greeting with a slight inclination of his head, not daring to say anything in case his voice breaks, and his walls fall.

She doesn’t say anything either, just wordlessly gestures for him to get on, her gaze bitter. Her car is a gorgeous shade of glossy sapphire and it shimmers in the morning sunlight, projecting a soft warm silk-like sheen of light that almost seems to coat the vehicle, and Shuichi is reminded of the ocean- gently rocking the boat like a baby’s cradle and its waves softly caressing the vessel sometimes but roughly pushing it from side to side and violently crashing over one’s head in others- as he looks at the colour, and he feels as if he’s drowning in the wild raging waters of heartbreak.

It’s also vaguely similar to the deep navy blue that forms the base of the galaxy, the shade that swirls to form so many beautiful and yet unpredictable patterns upon the dark spans of canvas at night. He wonders briefly if Maki picked this colour in memory of Kaito, of the love of her life she lost to dreadful lung cancer, of the space he used to love and fantasise about so much. 

In so many ways, Maki is much stronger than he, Shuichi, is. Even after the death of her boyfriend, she’s still able to pick herself back up, able to actually get back on her feet and continue living on with Kaito’s stars shining a pathway in her eyes, guiding her hands and mind, and his memory in her heart that she carries with her everywhere. She lives on and her world keeps spinning where Shuichi’s stopped, lives with a smile that Kaito instilled in her, remembers the good memories and is able to move on, truly once and for all, carrying the fond memories she smiles upon without a single trace of bitterness with her. 

Shuichi envies her, envies that she has the courage to stand up and brush the pain off her as if it were just simply dust and ashes, when he’s falling into an endless spiral of despair with no way out.

It’s too upsetting, though, he decides, to think about it now. He squeezes his eyes shut and pulls the door open, hands fumbling to pull himself into the chamber.

It takes them a whole hour to get to their destination, complete with a quick stop to the nearest boutique. Shuichi clutches the flowers he picked out tightly, restlessly fiddling with some of them, absentmindedly weaving a few roses into a small flower wreath. Maki’s mostly silent as she drives along the deserted roads of the countryside, and Shuichi stares outside the glass panes, at the miles and miles of rolling emerald fields, the sun shining upon it relentlessly. He can’t help but think how Rantaro would’ve tried to break the silence, giving him that beautiful smile and initiating a conversation that would bloom to become lively and animated, and end with all of them smiling or laughing. Rantaro was perceptive like that, knowing when people needed support and being able to cheer them up in the best ways possible.

Shuichi wonders what Rantaro thinks of him now, if he were watching Shuichi in his afterlife. Would he be disgusted, disappointed with how Shuichi is wasting away his life? Supportive and encouraging, understanding that Shuichi can’t move on? Hoping that he’ll see sense soon?

“You’re nervous,” Maki breaks the silence around them, her eyes not leaving the road for a single second, but Shuichi knows she’s directing her statement towards him. 

Shuichi lets out a breath, “who wouldn’t be?” He can feel his stomach turning over and over, and the horizon seems so blurred, the shades of blue and green swirling together into a mess of emotions as the tears swim in his eyes. He can feel his throat tightening, and the dread settle in his gut, sinking slowly but surely, like heavy grey stones. 

Maki laughs bitterly. “Yea, true.” Shuichi doesn’t look at her, is scared to look at her in fear he’ll break down and they’d have no choice but to turn back again, but he’s certain Maki’s hands are shaking terribly as her slender fingers tap on the wheel. “You don’t have to be, though. Rantaro would understand why you’ve put this off for so long. It’s not easy.”

She doesn’t continue, but Shuichi knows what she doesn’t say. It was especially hard on you.

“Would he, though?” Shuichi remembers clearly, the last thing he ever said to Rantaro, harsh words he regretted for years in a harsh fight. Rantaro’s eyes, pleading, the lemongrass colour Shuichi adored so much infused with tears, Shuichi telling him to leave him alone, stop bothering him. He’s regretted the words the moment they left his mouth, but by then Rantaro was already gone, with nothing but the tear stains left all over the ground by both of them, left behind. Shuichi didn’t have enough courage to take the initiative, to face his best friend after that, but never in his wildest dreams would he have had ever imagined that he wouldn’t ever get a chance to apologize and make amends. He knew very well that Rantaro had done nothing wrong at all, that it was him, him and his issues and bad mood, and Rantaro had simply walked in at the wrong time when Shuichi was weak and vulnerable and just upset. Still, he’d pushed Rantaro away, hurt both of them at the same time, unknowingly the last time they’d see each other.

Rantaro had died thinking that Shuichi hated him, that Shuichi didn’t want him around, that Shuichi didn’t trust Rantaro enough.

All of which were false, and Shuichi, to this day, can barely live with that fact.

Rina had told him that the crash hadn’t instantly killed her brother. According to the younger girl, the bus had gone completely out of control in the middle of the countryside, veering completely off the road, crashing into a tree and flipping back onto the road, this time upside down. It’d killed most of the other passengers on impact, knocked a few others unconscious, but Rantaro had grabbed his sister the moment things had started to go wrong, keeping Rina safe and one of the only survivors of the crash. Rina’d described to him in tears when she visited him how Rantaro had reached for his phone desperately despite being severely injured, stabbed all over by the shattered windows, just to try calling Shuichi (who was unfortunately in the elevator),and when there’d been no response, he’d painstakingly typed out his final words to Shuichi, wincing in unbearable pain with every moment. “He refused to stop no matter how much i begged him,” Rina had said, her face stained with numerous tear tracks that were being constantly renewed. “He really did love you a lot.”

That night, and countless nights after that, he dreamt of Rantaro’s last moments, exactly how Rina had described it to him. It played, and replayed, and replayed in his mind, constantly torturing him with the knowledge that his best friend, his crush, the one person he loved beyond everything else, went through such pain just to reach him, and died not knowing that Shuichi wasn’t mad and loved him with all his heart.

Shuichi knows, deep down, that he doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve that love that Rantaro had endlessly and unconditionally shown and devoted to him.

Countless memories flash before his eyes, and Rantaro laughs and smiles in them, his eyes so bright and full of life and happiness, taken away from him too soon. He always had a way of comforting people, and it was so hard to not smile in his presence… ever so easygoing and kind, ever so calm and collected. It drew so many people to him, most of all Shuichi. He remembers how Rantaro’s eyes lit up in excitement and anticipation when they’d travelled to anywhere he hadn’t been; the concern so blatant on his face whenever Shuichi got himself injured or neglected his meals; the concentration he held in his eyes when he’d walked in on Rantaro sketching, his colour pencils scratching the parchment lightly, Rantaro’s chuckle as he tore the drawing off the sketchbook and pressed it into Shuichi’s hand....

“You’re too harsh on yourself,” Maki says, and takes one hand off the wheel, placing it over Shuichi’s trembling pair, as the car slides into the empty carpark. “Rantaro isn’t the type of person to be angry at you for something like this, and you know it.”

He can’t say a thing, not without letting the urging stream currently held back by a weak imaginary dam rush out and drip down his cheeks. He slips out of the car once it comes to a stop, and Maki comes to his side after locking the doors. She looks like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t, and instead wordlessly walks away towards the onyx iron gates glittering in the sun. 

She looks back at him as she approaches the gates, and Shuichi follows her steps as Maki pushes them open slowly. 

Beyond the gates is a path sheltered by tall oaks and towering willows on both sides, leading to an open field framed with trees, holding rows upon rows of uniformly arranged warm grey stones, an endless meadow of rest for the deceased. Maki heads straight for them, maneuvering around the graves easily with complete certainty, like she had the route memorized and printed clearly into her mind, and her feet would find the correct path without error even if she wasn’t looking. She must’ve walked this same path a thousand times.

Shuichi follows her after a slight moment of hesitation. Maki stands at the side of one of the rows in the middle, and as he approaches her, she walks to the seventh slot, and kneels before it. She drops her own bouquet of blossoms, takes the wreath of roses from his hand lightly, and places it on top of the gravestone for him, and with a shock, Shuichi realizes that Maki is crying. 

Her silent tears make their way down her face and fall onto the cushion of soft grass beneath her knees. They remain in the quiet for a while, with no sound except for the rush of the wind and the soft chirping of the birds in the distance. 

He can’t even recall the last time he’s seen Maki cry at all, at least not since Kaito’s funeral (which was natural, considering they were completely and utterly in love). Seeing her expressing her emotions, letting the droplets run freely across her cheeks and glisten in the sunlight, is so utterly devastating and somehow relieving (as opposed to how reserved she was when he’d met her and Kaito in primary school) at the same time. Maki used to spend so much time with Kaito, it’s so easy to forget she and Rantaro were childhood friends, but in times like this it’s clear that they were at least close. The scene pushes at his own tear ducts, and he holds back his sobs, in fear he might distress Maki even more.

Eventually, she raises her hand to swipe off the tears, and stands. “I’ll give you a little bit of privacy,” her voice is soft and trembling and so fragile, completely opposite to her normal tone. “I’ll be over at Kaito’s, you remember where that is?”

Shuichi nods, and Maki picks up her flowers and walks away.

He takes Maki’s previous position, kneeling before the gravestone, and finally lets out the sobs he’s kept. Finally, he lets the regret, the guilt, the grief, the pain all out at once, letting it stream down and away from him.

“You finally came,” A familiar voice says, and Shuichi looks up to see the image of a teenage boy sitting on the edge of the stone. “I was wondering when I’d finally get to see you.”

He looks exactly the same as when Shuichi last saw him, down to the very last detail- his tousled green hair, the soft aegean-and-white striped sweater he loved so much, the same charcoal coloured jeans, the warmth he held in those pretty lemongrass eyes. He was sixteen when he left, and he looks like he hasn't aged at all- which, admittedly, he probably hasn't. Do people age in heaven? Is there even a heaven?

Well… if there is one, Rantaro would definitely be there.

“Rantaro,” Shuichi chokes out. "I-" 

The person in question shushes him, a faint smile remaining on his lips. "It's okay, Shuichi. Don't apologize."

Shuichi brushes away his tears, "How could I not?" His voice wavers and shakes as he speaks. "I- I yelled at you for nothing- you-"

"Shu, it's okay," the smile doesn't leave Rantaro's face. Why isn't he angry? Why isn't he- "It's okay to just be feeling upset. It's okay to take your time to process something that impacted you as much as my death did." 

And there it was- the ease with which he addressed his own death, like it was something out of his control. Like Shuichi couldn’t have saved Rantaro in another world or another timeline. “But I- I could have saved you, I could have saved all this pain-”

“Shu... “ Rantaro shakes his head. “It’s already been done. It’s fine, it’s completely fine… I’m proud of you, already, for coming here today to see me. You’ve been so brave.”

His hands seem to instinctively reach to touch Shuichi’s head, but Rantaro quickly retracts it before it touches the other man. Shuichi, however, stands and hugs his friend, not caring about the freezing coldness spreading across his body, burying his face into Rantaro’s shoulder as he sobs into him. In life, his friend was always so warm, in contrast to Shuichi’s constant coldness, but now he’s deadly cold, but Shuichi doesn’t mind.

Rantaro hugs him back, and for a moment Shuichi feels like they were back in the past, three years ago, when Rantaro was always with him. “I love you,” he blurts, “I never really got to tell you that, even if I did crush on you for ages,” he laughs bitterly at all the years he spent pining for his best friend, “ and you were gone so quickly- so soon, when I thought we’d have more time, and the argument, and all, I’m so sorry…”

“I love you too,” Rantaro replies simply, and Shuichi’s heart soars, “that was quite sudden, though,” he adds, “very unconventional. I like it,” he chuckles. “ why wouldn’t I like you back? For someone who’s so smart and quick normally, you can be dense when it comes to your feelings and feelings others have for you… Akamatsu-san crushed on you for years, and as did I, and you had no idea.”

Shuichi laughs through his tears, “So I’ve been told,” he says, “I should’ve told you earlier, maybe we’d be able to avoid all this.”

Rantaro smiles, shaking his head again. “What’s done is done, Shuichi, there’s nothing we can do to turn back time. Besides, I don’t blame you for being upset about being bullied for something as personal as sexual orientation, let alone being taunted for crushing over me.”

The other man goes quiet, “you knew?”

The smile Rantaro gives Shuichi is a sad one, “Kokichi told me after I left you alone. I’m sorry for triggering you that day, I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t say that,” Shuichi cuts him off, “please, Rantaro, it was my fault for yelling at you.” He doesn’t say that his mistake haunts him for days, for months, for years, that he still dreams of it and wakes up screaming in the mornings. It’s his fault, after all, and he deserves the punishment.

“How was it your fault?” Rantaro’s voice is soft. “Listen, Shu, there’s no going back now. We had so many chances, but all those are over now and I don’t regret ever loving you, I don’t regret a single second of the time we spent together. Our chapter of your story, the final chapter of mine, it’s over, Shuichi. It’s time for you to move on now, to turn over the page and find your happiness again.” He pulls away, ushering Shuichi to sit down on the grass. “There’s nothing I want more than to see you truly happy again.”

“But- but,” Shuichi starts, “how do I go on without you? How do I move on-” his voice breaks and he whispers, “how do I move on without you with me? Without you guiding me?” 

Rantaro smiles lightly, “I’ll always be there for you, with you. My memory’s always in your heart, isn’t it?” He reaches up and unclasps the necklace around his neck, the one piece of jewelry Shuichi had never seen his best friend without, and he grabs Shuichi’s hand gently, shoving the necklace in it. “Part of me is always with you.”

Shuichi stares at the priceless treasure he holds in his hand, the blues and greens in the sea glass swirling into a gorgeous whirlpool, and he’s reminded of the gentle waves lapping at Rantaro’s boat, that one time they sailed to find Rantaro’s sister. It reminds him abruptly of the one night of his life he’ll always remember, one beautiful night when Rantaro got himself drunk and accidentally kissed Shuichi. Rantaro’d forgotten the incident the next morning, and Shuichi had been too embarrassed and nervous to tell him what had happened, but he remembered the feeling of the lips of his first love pressed against his own, and the feeling that everything was right in the world when the green-haired boy had taken his first kiss. He smiles sadly at the necklace, knowing things like that would never happen again.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t do it just once again. He pulls Rantaro down from where the other was perched on the gravestone, and ignoring the feeling of ice that spreads across his body, he kisses the man he loves so much. Rantaro seems alarmed and surprised at first, but he complies and kisses him back, and Shuichi can’t control his crying as he melts into the person he fell in love with so long ago. 

Eventually, Shuichi pulls away, and hugs Rantaro instead, wrapping his arms around the other and clutching on as tight as possible. It feels so bittersweet, and Shuichi knows this is the last time he’ll see Rantaro, at least until he dies himself, but somehow, he’s alright with that, at least more than he was before he came to see Rantaro. At least, now, he has closure, and something to look forward to. At least now, he knows that he isn’t alone. He’s had a chance to say goodbye, a chance to write the final sentences of the last chapter, a chance to reconcile with what he thought was long gone.

Only one question remains, that Shuichi needs to ask Rantaro.

The man in question only smiles at Shuichi as the latter asks, “is this real, and are you really here? Or am I dreaming and all this is only my imagination?”

Rantaro holds Shuichi’s hands as the latter sits up, having pulled back from the hug, and lets lemongrass meet the green grey that is Shuichi's eyes. “Of course it’s a dream, an act of imagination, but why should that mean it isn’t real?”

Shuichi lets out a laugh, “thank you. I love you, Rantaro Amami,” he takes a deep breath, pushing away further tears. “Thank you for all you’ve given me.”

Rantaro smiles, “I love you too, Shuichi Saihara,” he lets go of Shuichi’s hands. “Thank you, for being the most amazing friend and crush I could ever have asked for, thank you for the happiness you gave me, thank you for everything.” 

And Shuichi cannot help but brush away a tear as the image of his best friend fades away and is carried off by the gentle spring breeze, and picks up the bouquet of forget-me-nots lying on the ground. He places it right in front of Rantaro’s gravestone, and his mind is full of images of the drawing Rantaro had gifted him years ago that is still placed on his desk, the vibrant azure of forget-me-nots captured eternally in colour pencil.

He stands, and the light of the late morning sun shines over him as he looks over the graveyard, his gaze sweeping over the endless rows of stones, and landing back on Rantaro’s. He looks down, and with a start, realizes that a certain sea glass necklace is still in his hand.

He holds it with both hands, caressing it softly with his thumb, his fingers moving across the glossy, reflective surface of the gem as droplets land on the sea glass and allows light to pass through, fracturing the sunlight into countless tiny rainbows shining on the surface of the sea glass. 

With a small laugh, he clasps it around his neck, tucking it behind his black T shirt, and feels the cool gem drop onto his skin. He lets his gaze move to a farther spot, where Maki is kneeling before Kaito’s grave, and starts to make his way over, but not without looking back at Rantaro’s grave, and whispering “thank you”.

And for the first time in three years, Shuichi smiles, genuinely.

[kyleelisetht]

Artist/Activist John Sims Perpetually Recasts Valentines and Goes ‘Beyond the Divide’ in 2021. ~KyleeliseTHT

What happened on February 14, 2021, in this starkly divided nation when an artist brought to the dinner table a group of Republicans and Democrats amid a global pandemic? Forget politics. It was poetry night.

With verses in hand – one penned by an assumed unknown author, another by a Pakistani poet, an Irish bard buoyed by the ‘Bard of Avon’, a poem lamenting pandemic angst and political divide within a single household—there were no battle lines, just words steeped in pain, advocating coexistence, respect, and, as spoken by more than one presenter, appeals for civility.

Conservatives and Liberals have taken a stand

Families and couples have drawn lines in the sand

Never in history has politics mattered

To the point that our relationships

Have become torn and tattered. ~Hank Goldsby (2021)

So, how many times can one square the complex and multidimensional root of love and unleash it, even love between political opposites and ordinary citizens? As calculated by the artist John Sims, a Detroit-to-Sarasota, Fla. transplant—the infinite equation is primed to be reevaluated nearly every year.

Sims, who first hosted ‘The SquareRoot of Love’ on Valentine's 2010, organized his seventh, which commenced this year on February 12, 2021, and concluded on the event’s signature date – Valentine’s Day.

After the first two days of ‘SquareRoot’ festivities showcasing artisans of song, spoken word, and visual art – an overture, if you will, to ‘V-day,’ Sims gathered the bipartisan group of local elected officials, political supporters, and activists to shepherd an act of “civility and love, “ he said.

Among those in attendance were Hagen Brody, Marsha and Hank Goldsby, Scott Hopes, and Dee McFarland. Politics was not on the menu. Instead, guests had been asked to introduce an assigned course during the dinner by reading a favorite love poem.

The wordfest and five-course meal, complemented by champagne, wines, and what Sims deemed the quintessential American dessert—Apple Pie à la Mode was held at The Rosemary, a swanky Sarasota eatery, and set to music performed by the young but seasoned musicians of the Modern Jazz Ensemble. A single romantic verse about love and patience during a couple’s “building years” reminded the audience that it was, indeed, lover’s day, and was offered by the poet Melanie Lavender.

Known for work that challenges historical iconography held in place by sentiment, yet deeply rooted in racial oppression, and his across-interest collaborations undergone to promote mutual understanding, Sims, who is also a reputable figure among math artists, has organized ‘SquareRoot’ as part of his creative practice that is a wholly collaborative experience in which divergent voices bring their interpretation of how to solve or, at least, engage the equation of love. The contributions range from erudite to experiential.

Each of Sims’ ‘SquareRoot of Love’ rallies creatives of all disciplines, as well as socio-political operatives, journalists, and community thinkers to square the root of love in its many iterations within the context of the pressing questions of the day. In its debut year, Sims with performance artist Karen Finley delved into the notion of love as a trope, featuring responses in verse by poets JoAnne Growney and Regie Cabico. The annual event has since grown – twice occurring in the States and Paris, concurrently – to include a larger group of contributors, all vying to “square” love in all its most uncomfortable places.

In 2019, Sims asked artists to triangulate ‘love’ with the anniversary of seventeen and seventeen murdered and injured, respectively, at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Fla. As this writer was a contributing poet, I can share that no solution could be extrapolated from the reality of this tragedy.

In 2020, Florida’s Poet Laureate, Peter Meinke, and journalist/civil Rights activist Charlayne Hunter-Gault presented poems that spoke more traditionally to love as unpredictable yet sustaining. However, as Sims’ work is always tied to a complex unfurling of love within the difficulties of realities, this year’s theme comes in an era of what has been deemed an existential political, racial, and social reckoning anchored in the quagmires of 2020. In response: Sim’s organized ‘Beyond the Divide,’ the seventh and political edition of ‘The SquareRoot of Love’.

The 2021 affair came eleven months after the country became restrained by Coronavirus and was viscerally divided over race and politics. “Our differences in religion were much easier than our differences in politics,” said long-time resident and retired banker Hank Goldsby, a Conservative, who lamented the strain of it all on his thirty-year marriage to his wife Marsha, a healthcare provider and registered Democrat. The Goldsbys shared a “2020 retrospect” penned by Hank of the perils of being quasi-quarantined and under significant external pressure. Of it all, Hank concluded, “that there’s a lot more to life than politics.”

Dr. Scott Hopes read ‘Before You Came,’ a four stanza tome about unexpected change and a slow renewal written by Pakistani poet Faiz Ahmed Faiz. Divergent political views, as Dr. Hopes explained, during his presentation, ushered a break from his beloved son of whom he is gushingly proud. “We all have to come back together,” he said. “Politics is not worth it.”

The poet is unknown to her, but the writer’s poem has hung in Delores McFarland’s home since the mid-eighties and has been a source of solace, especially in times of personal loss of family, she said. McFarland has survived her only child. 

A retired HR professional and the president of the Sarasota Black Democratic Caucus, McFarland’s mission, she said, “... is to engage and empower black voters in Sarasota.” And, she is deeply concerned about the lives of black men. “I believe that black men are an endangered species, and we should respect them no matter what their situation,” she said. And she has expectations of Black men, too. “Their responsibility is to go through a growth and self-actualization process to grow into the mature person that God intended them to be,” she said. 

When McFarland read from the lower stanza of her found poem, “And you learn that you really can endure/you really are strong/ you really do have worth/ and you learn/ and you learn/ with every goodbye, you learn...” she was, herself, empowered, once more, through the words of the writer whose name she’d never known – the Jamaican poet Lisa Goycochea.

“Civility is extremely important,” said thirty-eight-year-old Hagen Brody before he delivered the poem ‘Speak to Me with Civility’, written by the Ireland-born poet Francis Duggan. 

In this beautiful coastal city of social, political, and economic unevenness, where the difficulties of race and policing are as evident though not as fatal as in many cities across the country, and strife and accusations in all directions are uncomfortably common, Hagen plays a prominent role. He is the Mayor of Sarasota, Fla.

“We’re a resilient country,” Hagen said. “Our democracy is extremely strong.” And most of the nation’s citizens share similar values and dreams, he believes. Still, there’s trouble in America. There’s trouble even in his beautiful city.

Hagen said that a return to civility will open pathways for understanding and necessary change through cooperation. A return to civility is an unavoidable first step, he explained.

So committed to the possibility of civil discourse for change, Hagen, after he reads Duggan’s poem, added an arc of reconciliation with a verse from the consummate bard himself, William Shakespeare: “And do as adversaries do in law, Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.” (Taming of the Shrew)

So, how does one solve the equation of division? “Strive mightily” and, perhaps, try as one might solve the activist-artist John Sims’ SquareRoot of Love.

(February 2021)