#//Cultural things; the language; anything and everything he's missed and begun to forget

[dutybcrne]

No thoughts, just Kaeya outright crying in front of his partner bc they secretly went and learned Khaenri'ahn, even through the painstaking research and sheer effort it would take

[talesofealdancynedom]

Electra, grown, with her selkie furs.

Tale 31: If We Lost The Sea Wives (chapter 3 - Electra’s coat  3/5 ) part 7. Stories of Magic Forests

no warings

              Fey are made by The Beast Kings, and thus magic itself. They know no time, feel no hate, take no side, and cannot form judgement. They are unable to age, and are stuck in an immature state. But that’s their charm. Fey are both very human, but distinctly not. Neither animal, nor person. Their humanness is why people love them, and requite fey affection on occasion. This is the only way a fey can have parents; Instead of being formed by magic itself, fey can breed if they know true love. The child will always be the same fey as it’s fey parent, but will also always be raised like a human.

              Saturn Firepot and his selkie wife, Iearda were expecting a baby. She did not comprehend the array of emotional human responses, or even notice she was with child. But Saturn of coarse, was excitemed. The cabin freshly finished, and in the fire of love, his life felt like it couldn’t get any better. He had graduated with his specialist degree, and had begun his own research. Saturn felt like he was in his prime. In fact, his glasses were a little too rosy. Due seeing fey as human, Saturn forgot his one and only was a fish fey; And thus if the baby was a girl, she too would be a selkie. A daughter would need to be fully submerged to turn into a seal, in order to survive. A son would just be a regular human boy. Nowhere in the other ten lands, was not knowing the gender of your baby, been so stressful. Worse yet, the home birthing culture was intense, due to the commonality of men marrying and reproducing with sea wives. Selkies were known to bite in such stressful times, and partially still had their seal teeth. A blood wound was nothing, compared to the fact Saturn was too ashamed of his predicament to do it all properly. He bought a tub to fill with sea water at their beach, and relied on the fact that fey don’t get birth complications; Because their made of magic, not biology.

              Once the drama was over, and Firepot’s sea wife sat by the tide; Recovering without a clue what just happened. Meanwhile, Saturn bathed his daughter in the tub. Only Northland Sea water was good enough for his child. The adorable ross seal pup, starred up at him, barely able to swim. The baby just turned into a seal upon touching the water. While Saturn was distracted,  someone entered the beach house. As grey mist suddenly settled, it felt like it was going to rain. Saturn took the pup out of the water to cradle her, as unease set in. When he looked at his new daughter, she was now a baby swaddled in a little white fur coat.

“She needs a name. Don’t worry, I’m used to it.” An ethereal woman’s voice chimed. Saturn looked up to see a large woman of his people, with long wavy ginger hair, eyes of the sea, and a large spiked crown; the Fish King, in all her beauty. Men however, become entranced upon seeing her land form, and Saturn was reduced into a catatonic state while the Fish King named the girl.

“Her name is Electrid. As her father, you get to know that. It’s ok if I tell you. I trust as a seer, you know the importance of a fey’s name.” The Fish King said, leaving through the glass sliding doors. The thin curtains blew, as a light salty breeze waved in. When Saturn came out of his trance, his daughter was crying, and the beach was empty. His selkie love had gone back to the sea. Saturn was left clutching his fey daughter, completely alone. He began rocking and sobbing with her, on his knees on the cabin floor. He had no local family, or friends. It was just him in a cabin, by a magic ocean, on an abandoned beach, looking into the infinite misty ocean. Heartbroken.

              Saturn was destroyed that his one true love would put on her skin, and leave. She seemed so content the year and a half. It made Saturn feel secure. He wasn’t forcing her to stay however. Ierna’s coat always hung on the hat stand, by the porch. Fey often have no logical reason for their actions. As a seer of fey, he knew this. It is possible, that she may forget about him with time. Ierna had been away from the sea for so long, perhaps she missed it and wanted an extended vacation. Either way, Saturn decided he would never have it happen again. He took off his daughter’s snowy Selkie coat, and stuffed it in a trunk at the foot of his bed. Then he the girl in human baby clothes.

Without her skin, she was a normal baby girl; Normal enough to convince the local hospital to give her a birth certificate, and his last name. Human bottles, human food, human clothes, human language, and human books. He went the extra mile, to make sure no one knew Electra was anything but a regular daughter. He told lie after lie, to affirm he was a single parent. Any time Electra gazed into the sea, or couldn’t relate to the other children, Saturn would say everyone is different, and distract her with affection. Anything to prevent the most precious thing to him, form returning to the ocean forever. It had been years, and Ierna was still gone. Saturn had now become the cooky village wizard, living alone on a beach.

               It is fair to say, that Saturn was so good at hiding Electra’s feyness, that everyone was fooled, including her. His apt knowledge of fey behaviour, from his job, meant he knew how to raise and teach her to be more like a person. The teeth were a little hard to explain sometimes; As mentioned, selkies have slightly seal like teeth, even in human form. All things considered, fey or not, both father and daughter got joy and fulfillment with only each other to love. Exclusive cuddle rights, fish pie, and Welsh cakes. Listening to radio shows, while playing on the beach with the other fey. Saturn had told all of them long ago, not to tell Electra or any other human, that she was a selkie. They loved him so much by then, they obliged without question. Each dragon, fairy, and fish, did not understand why a human would desire such a simple favour, but it was no problem as they have little to say to most common men.

Saturn became so lost in raising Electra, and keeping up the lie, that he forgot she would grow up. Without understanding human emotions. Electra often made assumptions about life stages, and appropriate social etiquette. Electra, shortly after graduating secondary school, came home with a young lad one afternoon. She had just gone out for cabbage, but also decided to pick up a boy she thought was cute as well.

“Daddy! Can he join us for dinner? I offered to show him our beach house and quiet bay. He said yes! He is so charming, and he dyed his hair orchid to match his kilt. It looks gleaming in traditional knots; and brings out his grey eyes! Oh, and he makes me smile, as everything he says is so sweet!” Electra ranted, starring at the man, like she was consumed by his essence. The boy seemed a bit rattled, and Saturn, as an overprotective father, was livid.

“Excuse me; Who are you? What are you doing with my daughter?” he said firmly.

“I’m Jasper of house Nix. She... She’s the local girl who wears the flowy dresses, and stares at me often; Oh, and she brings me daisies.” He responded. “I approached her, to ask why she was acting all odd; Then she asked if I wanted to go to the beach, and I said yes! She is by far, the most adorable maiden in town, and she looks just like you, I do say! Down to the grey eyes and ginger hair, she does!  You must be her father?”

“Aye…” Saturn said. It was worse than he thought. Electra had become infatuated with an idiot. As the village of Isfisceard was used to magic, and mundane ladies of beauty swooning, it could blur together. The lad had no clue, Electra was a selkie. He assumed she was just charismatic and flirty.

“You built this beach house? It’s homey. I love the yellow and white cabin aesthetic, on the amber wood. This place smells of the ocean and my favourite black tea. Oh, and just look at the enchanting view!” Jasper said, looking into the sea. For once, Electra wasn’t looking into the ocean; She was looking at Jasper. Saturn shrugged, and offered him a beach-side picnic. He was indeed a very sweet boy. Jasper helped clean up, danced with Electra, spouted nothing but positivity, and may have been too stupid to know malice. He reminded Saturn of himself. It made him continue the lie, and preserve their innocent love. He could tell by the look on Electra’s face, she was more then just fond of him. Electra wouldn’t love again in his lifetime; Fey can’t become infatuated again, until their previous obsession dies, or they succumb to grief with the passing of the one who loved them back. This made Saturn invested in the pair. He wanted his little girl to be happy, and see their happily ever after, as his was so brief.

              After almost a year of regular dating, Jasper requited her love, and moved into the beach house. They all shared black coffee, that mixed with the salty temperate breeze. They listened to the hum of the storms, gulls, and the sea shell wind chimes. Jasper and Saturn would sing together, for the sea fey, making Electra’s day. For all sea daughters love song. Everything seemed perfect again. Then Saturn got a job offer, in The Grand West. As a fey expert, and professor at an academy; He was being promoted. Assured his cabin, beach, and darling daughter was safe with Jasper, he accepted the offer. Like the call of a second chance, he was eager to take. Saturn took Electra’s coat with him, and continued to tell everyone his beautiful little girl, with a sort of inhuman beauty, was one hundred percent human. Anything to keep her happy, safe, and on land. Anything to make sure that when he returned, his baby girl would be there.

NEXT--->

<---PREVIOUS

[pulvisctumbra]

Through war and triumph (yesenia alarcon) rises, at (378) years old, serving as (countess/museum curator) residing in (northland). They are a (vampire) that resembles (nathalie kelley). Upon meeting them, they are (composed) and (candid). Don’t be fooled, they can be (exacting) and (clinical).

Full Name: Yesenia Arcelia Alarcon Nickname(s): answers to Alarcon but will accept Senia from most and Celia/Lia from only those closest to her Age: 378, appears 33 Species: Vampire Powers: pathokinesis Sexual Orientation: pansexual Romantic Orientation: demiromantic Occupation: Countess & museum curator

FAMILY

Mother: Camellia Alarcon, deceased Father: Irvine Clemonte, adoptive father, deceased (biological unknown) Siblings: n/a Extended Family: n/a

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Hair Color: brown Eye Color: hazel Height: 5′7

PERSONALITY

Positive Traits: dedicated, strong-willed, direct, honest, reliable, orderly, confident, self-sufficient, confident, determined, decisive, cultured. Negative Traits: inflexible, stubborn, judgemental, apathetic, controlling, unemotional, combative, proud, uptight, status orientated. Values: It’s less about power for Yesenia and more about status and influence. She doesn’t necessarily want to be the one in charge but she wants to have her say, to be acknowledged and valued for what she can do. She values loyalty but at the same time won’t hesitate to break with someone whose values and goals no longer align with hers. Honesty comes easily for her though at times it’s more bluntness than anything else and she expects and demands the same candour from others. Fears: There isn’t much she truly fears when she’s confident enough in her own abilities that she feels as though she can handle any situation. She’s self sufficient and doesn’t need other people so she doesn’t fear being alone but she does fear losing her sense of self the way that she did for a while when Irvine was still alive. Being manipulated and falling for it or being lead astray from her goals would be what she dreads now. Quirks: always wears lipstick, speak several languages and is constantly learning more, strong attention to detail, will move something back if someone else moves it out of place.

TESTS

Myers-Briggs: ESTJ-A, The Executive Enneagram:  Type 8, The Challenger Temperament: Choleric  Alignment: lawful neutral

BIOGRAPHY

tw parental death

All she knew for the first three decades of her life was the word of Irvine Clemonte, the man that she considered her father. He told her that he’d begun to get lonely having lived so long alone on his estate and had begun to fear for the future of his title, or so the story went. Then as fate would have it he’d been passing through King’s Hill and something had drawn him to an orphanage. There he’d found Yesenia and had just known that she was meant to be his.

He brought her up in his image and left her almost revering both vampires and Irvine himself. She counted down the days until she could become one herself and finally join the Northland the way that she always wanted to. Eventually that day came, shortly after her thirty-third birthday and she was happy to join the rest.

However, that happiness only lasted forty years when a simple slip of someone’s tongue gave her the knowledge that she’d been lied to. One simple remark that she looked so much like her mother and Yesenia was sent reeling. 

After pushing Irvine for the truth he finally admitted that he’d known her mother, loved her even, but she’d not returned his feelings. Instead she’d left her position as a donor and returned home to King’s Hill. At first he’d resented her move but eventually he’d gone in search of her, only to find her dead from childbirth and Yesenia in the care of an aunt.

Disillusioned by his lies she left both Irvine and the Northland behind in search of something different. Feeling tired of both vampires and politics she chose Haven realm to be her solace and spent half a decade there out of stubbornness before realising that she loved her home far more than she’d thought.

Upon her inevitable return she was adamant that she hadn’t forgiven her father for his deception and maintained distance between them while she pursued a career in a museum instead. She fell in love with the culture all over again and came to realise that she adored the Northland without all of Irvine’s meddling and influence.

As the years passed her anger cooled and her father’s persistence in attempting to make contact with her began to pay off. Slowly she began letting him back into her life although she wasn’t able to deny him for long considering how much she’d missed him. Scarcely two decades after her return she’d already begun to forget what had passed between them.

Irvine had always had his eyes on the throne and soon started to pull Yesenia into his plans to claim it. Whether it was simply using her charm or skills of observation for a source of information or convincing her to use her pathokinesis, he was determined to put her to use. She convinced herself that it would be a good thing for the realm and went along willingly with his plans.

However, over the years as she got closer to some of her father’s competition, she felt as though she had misplaced her trust in him. Feeling betrayed once more she pulled away from him. The rift happened behind closed doors while publicly she maintained the mirage of a perfect father and daughter duo. 

She didn’t have a hand in the death of Irvine when despite all their disagreements and their fractured bond, there was perhaps something sentimental left behind. Or perhaps she’d just succeeded in distancing herself from him thoroughly enough that she truly didn’t care enough to be the one to orchestrate it. Instead when one of his many enemies had made their move, she made hers - to simply step aside. Her hands were kept clean of the deed itself though she feels no guilt about her decision either.

With Irvine gone she was finally free to live out the rest of her days her way, without his schemes or manipulation. She took up the mantle of Countess when there was no one else to inherit and began to consolidate her power. It first came in the form of being gracious enough to do favours for others but quickly shifted to putting her voice behind some of those vying for the crown and backing the winner.

Despite claiming that she’s tired of politics she’s never managed to take more than a couple of years off from them before she ends up pulled in once more. She wants the Northland restored to what she considers its former glory and will do everything in her power to see it done. 

RELATIONSHIPS

Status: single Exes: tbd (open) Spouse/True Mate: tbd (open) Current Partner: tbd (open) Friends: tbd (open) Allies: tbd (open) Enemies: tbd (open)

[pavcrti]

chicago’s very own pavarti kumari has been spotted on madison avenue driving a rose gold model x , welcome ! your resemblance to mishti rahman is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your twenty fifth  birthday bash .  your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re fiery , but being eloquent might help you . i think being a pieces explains that .  3 things that would paint a better picture of you would be fresh fields of lavender that expand into a cotton candy sky , the reflection of the sun caught in the glimmer of a crystal , rhyming couplets professing deep - seeded emotion . ( i ghost write songs for artists who like to claim they write their own work . ) & ( cis female + she / her  ) +  ( emily , 25 , sher / her , pst )

holy shit , it’s ya girl . i’m back after needing a bit of a break from being in a group . and bc i honestly adored this place sm and i made so many great friends here i am back . . . 👀 i expect plots with each and every one of u btw so u best deliver . i desperately wanna get this finished before i pass the fuck out . i’ll be joining the server in the morning , but in the meantime if u wanna be my friend  👀 👀 titsiana praises satan#7989

    biography .

name : pavarti kumari 

age : twenty five

gender : cisfemale

zodiac : pieces 

sexuality : bisexual 

profession : singer / songwriter 

hair color : black

eye color : brown

piercings : both lobes , nose 

tattoos : none

voice claim : jhene aiko

released albums : sail out ( ep ) , trip 

miss pavarti was born in bangladesh . her parents are both 100% bangladeshi and immigrated to chicago when pavarti was four years old . she had an older brother who was five years older than her . his name was siva .her family traveled back every summer so she is very immersed in the culture of her homeland and is a very spiritual person as a result . from a young age , pavarti had a fascination with the english language . not only was it so complex , but there was so much that could be done with it as well . she loved poetry and different types of prose . she also developed an absolute adoration for hip hop as a result . she’s been able to work several of her lyrical inspirations in her albums , something she would’ve never anticipated growing up as an immigrant child . when she entered middle school , she joined the school choir as an extra curricular activity which is what inspired her love for music and introduced her to her vocal talents . within time , she began combining her inclination for poetry with her voice . she wrote her first song at thirteen and began to freestyle for her friends . unfortunately , she was never taken too seriously by her peers . she was a female , hardly the usual suspect for the rnb , soul vibe that her voice conveys . before she graduated high school , her brother siva was killed in a car crash . the unexpected death of her best friend and protector sent pavarti into a spiral . this begun her tendency to alter her reality to escape from her pain with the help of drugs . she frequently writes about her brother in her music . when she was eighteen , she was discovered , ironically , by a manager of a local rapper at a poetry slam she was performing at . she impressed him and he introduced her to his client . this is how pavarti entered the hip hop scene , albeit , in secret . in hip hop , it’s very custom for performers to write the tracks that they put out themselves . pavarti learned that she could learn the skills of the trade whilst making her own connections and making pretty good cash , as well . as the years progressed , the notoriety of her clients rose . she’s written bars for multiple big names and by harvesting these friendships , she was able to get signed to a record label and put out her first ep at age twenty one . it was well received by critics and pavarti was thrilled to be taken seriously as an artist doing what she loves . she kept working , kept her nose in her business and released her first full album , trip , just last year . she feels like she is constantly growing artistically and finds herself inspired everywhere she turns . she’s currently working on her second full album and just dropped a new single , p*$$y fairy . other than that , there’s not too much else to note in her history . she did not grow up rich , rather she’s only recently come into wealth . her money is very new and she’s not too skilled at spending it wisely .

    personality . 

okay , so this will probably just be a long winded explanation that no one really asked for / needed but here we go ! first and foremost . . . pavarti is a dreamer in every sense of the word . she’s whimsical , she’s connected to the earth around her . she drifts off into elaborate day dreams and tells herself stories in her head as she falls to sleep . she is very spiritual . she meditates twice a day . her house always smells of incense . she has an affinity for weed and hallucinogenics . she really enjoys writing under the influence . her album trip is literally inspired by several drug experiences she had that had a profound impact in her life . pavarti’s general demeanor is borderline wall - flower . you wouldn’t expect her to be so shy , but she is . she’s the giggly girl who’ll hang back and let someone else come to her first . in the meantime , she’s taking in every single detail . she’s incredibly observant . sometimes she thinks in poetry . she realizes that she isn’t the typical visual for a female hip hop , rnb artist but it’s truly her passion in life and her art flows through her . she says more in her songs than she does to the people she needs to and that can definitely be problematic . with that said , pavarti is very well spoken . girl knows how to sweet talk her way through just about anything . but she also has the temper of a devil . she does not tolerate being fucked around with . she has that attitude about her where she will go and key your car if you hurt her or one of her best friends . people typically wouldn’t expect such an explosion from someone so outwardly sanguine and easy going but she’s the type to scratch someone’s eyes out if she has to . her music is her spouse . this fucks her up relationship wise a lot because she tends to let chances pass her by because she would rather stay undistracted . she has an ego , but not really in the outward way that one would anticipate when ego is involved . she knows she’s talented . she knows she’s attractive . but she also knows that she’s fucking lucky to be where she is and she’s grateful . pavarti is the type who wakes up with a smile because she has another twenty four hours to be alive . she doesn’t take things for granted --- she used to , until she lost her older brother and she realized just how quickly things can change . pavarti is a fiercely loyal individual to her friends . she will stand up for them , no matter what . the thing is , she expects it back . she is very much aware of her self worth and does not react kindly to a one sided vibe . 

    plots . 

ok , ok , ok . . . so how i am going to do this is offer up some songs / song pairings for songs that i believe pavarti has written for specific people with certain plots in mind for at least her side of things . and then i will also list some basic plots that aren’t based on anything in particular , but are still plots that i would like very much to have ! the links go to lyrics ! all plots are gender neutral , so ignore any pronouns that are in the songs .

bed peace / stay ready / while we’re young --- fwbs with feelings : pavarti and your muse have been friends for a while . somewhere along the line things crossed the line and they began hooking up . it’s obvious that they feel something intense for each other but something is always in the way of them being together --- plus , neither are really sure if the friendship could withstand a romantic relationship crashing and burning . so here they are , stuck in this awkward limbo . they hook up , hang out , awkwardly third wheel when the other is dating someone else . it’s an interesting dynamic and pavarti wouldn’t deal with drama with anyone else but your muse . they have a really compelling bond and neither can think of life without the other but things have been like this for a long time and there is only so long a relationship as complicated as this one could actually function .

the worst / comfort inn ending / moments / when we love --- exes that ended badly with lingering feelings : this was . . . just a crazy hot and cold relationship . when it was hot , it was fucking hot . when it was cold ? damn . hell itself could freeze over . they probably have done and said a lot of nasty , nasty shit to each other . at the same time , they could’ve been literally planning their wedding at some point because they both were incredibly serious about each other . in comfort inn ending , pavarti suggests their relationship was a result of her cheating on another boyfriend to be with your muse and your muse ultimately cheated on her as well . we can discuss that but i would high key kill for the extra drama . around the time pavarti was writing her first full album , they had a rekindling that inspired her to write moments and when we love . i don’t envision this relationship having ended in a decent way from there , though . more cheating ? fighting ? they were definitely toxic . she’s definitely planning on dragging their ass some more in her tracks .

lsd / sativa --- platonic soulmates : omg so this plot is . . . so fucking cute . but these two would basically die for each other . there is zero sexual attraction , just genuine , pure love . they do everything together . but what really sealed their bond ? well . . . many different intense acid trips , of course ! they love to get high together and forget about the world . they both feel like they can trust the other because they have been present for so many life - changing moments . they rarely go a day without seeing each other and absolutely never go a day without talking in some capacity . sometimes they fight like siblings . but pavarti would honestly kill for your muse . there is nothing she wouldn’t do for them . 

new balance / newer balance / you are here / clear my mind --- the romantic bad influence : this plot is another messy piece of trash . from the beginning , when they first met , pavarti always thought your muse was too good to be true . they reminded her so much of her brother . she felt this sense of peace with your muse . she fell in love quickly but at the same time , felt like there was something looming over their relationship . like it wasn’t permanent . like it’s all just a dream . the bad influence part isn’t portrayed too much in the lyrics other than stressing pavarti’s fear that your muse isn’t exactly who they say they are and this relationship is doomed to fail somehow . she knows that when this explodes in her face that it’s going to destroy her . i see your muse bringing out edgier sides of pavarti’s personality . they party a lot , they influence pavarti to do crazy things with them and she does and she feels so alive with your muse . that is , until , it all crumbles . the facade is destroyed and whatever it was that your muse wasn’t being upfront about shatters the way she feels for your muse entirely . she feels betrayed . clear my mind is pavarti’s way of trying to hype herself up to be stronger than she really is . 

never call me / --- best friends turned enemies : this is my last long one i promise , wtf , why did i decide to do this . anyways --- this plot is again , a shit ton of angst so enjoy that . your muse and pavarti used to be the best of friends . inseparable . that is until things went south . fast . we can discuss what it was that happened between our muses but it was something huge and preferably something where they both could stubbornly blame each other . pavarti feels slighted because she thinks that your muse should be the one who reaches out and perhaps your muses could be thinking the same about her . 

romantic plots : crushes , unrequited love , hateship , party hookup , friends with benefits , secret fling , summer romance 

platonic plots : give me close friends ! and tons of them please ! thanks . roommates , drug buddies , confidants , unlikely friendship , travel friends , only friends in the dms , enemies turned friend

[thejamesoldier]

Bucky & the Beast

Hi all! So this ficlet is for my darling friend Erin’s ( @theassetseyeliner ) AU Writing Challenge! I submitted a request for this prompt on her original post! Please go support her and all the participating authors who worked hard on their submissions :) Now onto the story xxx

Prompt #22: “You were an asshole back in high school but now you’re my boss.”

Overall Tags: a teeny weeny bit of angst, although mostly stifling fluff, some potty mouth language, spicy humor, s l o w b u r n but in ficlet form tho? 

Part 1 of 2

It’s not that you weren’t a nice person...on the inside, very very very deep inside. You just didn’t allow any form of slacking amongst your employees. 

And seeing as you not only own this multi-billion dollar company but also actively run it, you’re pretty sure you have the right to dictate everything that goes on under your nose when it comes to this business. You drove yourself into the grave to get this company where it is now, and you continue to work yourself down to hell every damn day to keep it as successful as it is. 

Of course you know most of your staff views you as a complete tyrant. Of course you know your nickname on all sixty-eight levels of your high rise company building is ‘Bitch’. Of course you know you’re often compared to Miranda Priestly, the star of Devil Wears Prada. Of course you know you’ve been harsh enough to earn some of that resentment.  

But you also know you have the undying respect of every major corporation in the world (which wasn’t easy to get since most of them are fat privileged older men who have too many cultural and moral deficiencies to count). The likes of which was solely earned by unignorable success, brutal consistency, and fear. You wished you didn’t have to be feared in order to be respected by some (most) people, but the ways of the world weren’t going to change that fast unfortunately. 

It surprised you at first how many people tried to take advantage of you, of your company, of your money, of your weaknesses, of practically everything they could manage to find. You were always pretty blunt and a bit maniacal about perfection even back in high school, but having been beaten by an ocean of manipulative greedy people for years now, wave after wave after wave, you’re pretty jagged and dulled to it. You’ve found the only way to survive in this business world is to always expect the worst of people. It keeps you prepared for every situation even if it is an exhausting way to live. 

Sometimes you worry if it is all worth it, but you then remember how much money your company is making and how all of it goes to support people, companies, philanthropies, arts institutions, and schools who need it. If the cost of good being put into this world is your warped personality, then so be it. 

“Barnes I need those write ups on the work Ms. Romanoff’s team did this quarter. I asked for final copies yesterday, why are they late?” You question your head personal assistant in clipped efficient sentences as you strut down the long stretch of a modern elegant hallway, the sleek double doors of your main office looming at the end of it. 

With your Prada high heels clicking sharply (if not a bit ironically) against the marble floor as you make your way to your gilded office, you scroll through an email on your phone sent from one of your board members while you wait for Barnes to put together an answer. The email consists of a polite reminder that you have a Skype call with Stark Industries this afternoon. 

As if you’d forget. 

With a punctuated scoff you burst into your glass office, not having to slow down your stride at all as Barnes moved with practiced haste to hold one of the doors open for you. You don’t bother with a thank you (even if you feel the manners your mother ingrained in you cringe and shriek in horror) but instead head nose up to your simple but stately desk. As you situate yourself behind it, booting up your desktop and quickly scanning some sticky-note reminders Barnes left for you the previous night before crumpling them in one ball and dropping them in the waste bin by your feet, you feel the very short leash you have on your patience strain. 

Without glancing up at him you bark out, “Well?” 

You hear the man clear his throat and know automatically that he’s preparing to take the fall for Romanoff’s team. Barnes always has had this habit to take the heat meant for someone else’s mistake himself, and allow whoever the guilty party is an extra second to fix whatever the problem was. It’s never effected the success of your company, so you’ve always let it slide. If you were being completely honest with yourself you know deep down that that’s why you’ve kept him around so long. James Barnes is the one person (okay maybe besides Natasha Romanoff) who holds the all time record of longest employment in your company. He’s also never been promoted from his place as Head Personal Assistant when you hired him into it a good few years back.  

He’s only craftily brought up the issue of never moving up a few times, not wanting to push his luck with you, but other than that there’s never been a word of complaint like other employees you’ve had. One day when you’ve finally been run down enough, when the world has finally sucked all the life from you, you’ve decided that it’s James who you’ll give the company to. Of course no one knows this, but you made the decision quite some time ago. 

“Ms. Romanoff had an issue with getting a closure on the deal,” Barnes starts up in his trademark baritone tenor of compassion, “She had all the finished documents written up by yesterday, it was me who failed to pass them to you.” 

Still you don’t look at him, but you do silently translate what he’s saying as you open up your email account and start sorting through your inbox for the most important emails. Basically, Barnes is saying:

“Ms. Romanoff had no trouble badgering the client for the final papers, it was the client who failed to turn in everything on time. And since you never blame the client, its professionally Natasha’s fault. So therefore she did not have all the documents written up yesterday but pulled an all-nighter to finish everything and send said polished summary of the transaction to me first thing this morning. I’m lying for her (and probably without her knowledge) because I’m an annoyingly considerate man with pretty eyes and a wicked sharp jaw who is used to your unforgiving nature and shall take the fall for everyone because I am this company’s sparkling hero.” 

Resolutely put-off with the very unprofessional way your mental translation ended up going, your mood sours sufficiently from its already foul natural state. You feel your face pinch deeper into its usual dissatisfied scowl. 

“It is very unlike Ms. Romanoff to have any delays in her work. Give her one of my warnings.” You say in a mildly bitter tone as you reach a hand blindly over your desk towards Barnes in silent demand, while clicking on an email with the other hand and scanning it halfheartedly at the same time.

A packet of paper is slid gently into your expecting fingers and as you place them on the desk space beside your angled keyboard, you hear Barnes tap his thumbs across his phone as he sends you an e-copy of the papers you were just handed. When the email arrives in your inbox with a ding, it serves as the only acknowledgment that you received the email. It also is simultaneously Barnes’ dismissal. 

Only when you hear your assistant sit down at his own smaller desk across the room from yours and start shuffling papers and things around, do you realize that you had automatically begun reading through the transaction summary he sent you. After you triple proof it (even if Natasha has never once made a mistake on her write ups), you forward everything to the cooperation partnering with you on this deal. Your trademark punctuality and promised results the only things that matter to you much these days. 

You cut a quick side glance across the room at Barnes hunched over his own pile of work and wonder if you said thank you the next time he held the door open for you, if he’d make a big deal out of it. With an internal scoff you brush your gushy feelings swiftly away and replace them with your self-made workaholic robot. 

Bucky’s patience with you is growing shorter and shorter each year, month, week, day, and second he works under you. Outwardly he’s mastered himself, but inwardly he’s been stewing and is quite near his boiling point. As he halfheartedly unclips a review packet from one of the company’s specialty divisions to go over before he hands it to you -- Miss Wicked Bitch of Best -- he wonders if it would kill you to say thank you when he opened the door, or maybe look at him when he talks. Bucky doesn’t even know what color your eyes are because he doesn’t think you’ve ever actually looked him in the eyes before. 

And sure you take him to all the fancy business galas and parties and soirees and events and fundraisers, but you always maintain this formal professional wall. Even late nights at the office when it’s literally you, him, and a couple janitors (hell, you’ve both even slept at the office before) you still remain aloof and unapproachable. It’s not like he wants to get to know you, because honestly you seem like a pretty lonely sad bitter person anyway, but it’s downright unnatural how little anyone seems to know about you. Even when he wades through his high school memories, all he can remember about you is vaguely labeling you an asshole. Which really doesn’t help your case. 

But if Bucky knows anything, it’s that no one is an unfeeling robot. 

Even if they pretend to be, even if they believe themselves to be, there is always something down there. At the bottom of a soul there is always a nugget of brilliance. Bucky knows you’re not oblivious to what people say about you, but he wonders whether you just don’t care or you’ve crafted it that way to wield as a tool. He’s not sure which one is worse. Either way he thinks that you could handle things a bit more considerately and still have the respect you deserve. Because if there is one thing Bucky has to admire, it’s your resilience and unyielding desire to see things through. Your dedication to the company and all the good it brings is your one redeeming quality. You also have never done under the table deals or slipped into black market territory, its one of the reasons Bucky hasn’t quit. This company is clean and good and successful. Which is saying a lot in this economy. You also never under pay or over pay your employees, and you’re brutal but you’re fair. 

And as Bucky’s thoughts circle back to stifling aggravation as he watches you type away unfussed and unpleasant as ever at your elevated desk, he goes to curl his hair behind his ear, per habit, to shake himself free of his thoughts, but realizes quite abruptly that he can’t. You had asked (well more like threatened and demanded) him to cut his long hair, claiming it ‘ruined the aesthetic and feel that this company represents’ and finds his aggravation churning into poorly bottled fury. Other people in your employment had long hair, I mean you didn’t really uphold any restrictions on hair, hats, head-dresses, or any type of clothing as long as you were put together. So it literally made no sense that Bucky was singled out. 

Little did he know you asked him to cut it because those dark luscious locks were distracting as hell and made him too handsome for you to be able to rationally handle. I mean you were around him practically 24 hours a day, bless your soul. You know it was a horrible play on power, and probably earned you a one-way ticket to hell, but you’d rather come off posturing and domineering than love sick or undisciplined. I mean he was just as good looking with it cut short, but you told yourself the short hair made it easier to ignore him as a man and see him only as your assistant. 

But much to your chagrin it really, really didn’t help.

“Barnes close out the rest of this meeting. Summarize it to me in detail on the way to the fundraiser.” You bark after you politely dismissed yourself from the Skype call with Tony Stark, the call on mute as you stand from your chair and crisply motion for Barnes to replace you.

Bucky grits his teeth and nods when you brush past him, trying not to let the fact that you assumed (as you always did) he’d be attending the fundraiser with you tonight and left him to clean up after you with the meeting pleasantries, anger him to the point of hysteria. He wasn’t your maid for Christ's sake, and just because he wouldn’t miss the fundraiser because of the opportunity to meet clients and business partners, why the hell did you always hitch him to your wagon for the evening?  

You exit the conference room with a blooming confidence and a rare small smile the second you’re in a private enough area to let the expression soften your face. The itch to go back in there and make sure everything finished okay spreads under your skin like a rash but you breathe and stay rigid with yourself, knowing that in order to properly groom Barnes for your job one day, you had to learn to delegate to him more than you used to. And closing out a deal, especially with one as important as Stark Industries, was major. Barnes is more than capable though, and a small part of you is...proud of him. 

You’re not sure when this nugget of utter blind faith in him started to become something much more complicated than trust in an employee, and developed into something dangerous. Dangerous like awe and adoration dangerous. Dangerous like fond dangerous. Dangerous like love dangerous.

The long clean leather seat of the limo separates you two. 

You give Barnes your (mostly) undivided attention as he dutifully regales the deal closure with Stark this afternoon. You’re scrolling through your email, then your calendar, then your messages trying to avoid looking up at Barnes. The second you spotted him in one of his gala tuxes, it’s your favorite one of his actually since he rotates through them (I mean you don’t expect him to buy a new one for every event, you’re not that unreasonable), you knew it would be a long goddamn night. The subtle navy shine of the tux catches in the corner of your eye under the dimmed lights of the luxury car no matter how hard you stare at your phone screen. 

When he finishes his report you nod your approval knowing that’s all he’s used to getting from you in terms of praise. With a knot of anxiety growing by the second in the back of your throat, making it almost impossible to breathe, you glance up at him from under your lashes. He’s mirroring you across the car, phone out, focus down, and body held with the formality you insisted be constantly upheld between you. 

The first thing your eyes land on is his exposed clavicle where his collarbone frames the base of his neck. In this rare indulged moment of weakness you allow yourself to wonder what the hollow of his neck would taste like, what would it feel like against the texture of your lips. With great effort you drag your eyes away from the tempting oasis of his skin to sprawl along the sleek dark navy of his outer coat. The button up underneath is a stark crisp white, accenting the tan of his skin and drawing your gaze back inevitably to his revealed skin. The first few buttons of the dress shirt are undone and the stiff folded collar is laid open in a roguish carefree type fashion. 

Since the fundraiser is more lowkey and relaxed, you don’t have the excuse to reprimand him for no tie, to demand he cover up that tease of skin and hint of peck muscles. No, you were doomed to suffer because the tailored pants did little to help either. The clean line of the material hugs his thighs, two long strong twin muscles that bunch a bit when he stands or sits down. You cross your legs as something heavy and hot settles in your core, startling you a bit out of the spell Bucky unknowingly put you under. 

A bit desperately you try to find a fault, something to pick apart, some straggling imperfection to prove to yourself that you are uneffected by this man. And you quickly realize you can’t because when you look past his attire, the naked allure of his features takes you by storm. His hair is as rich as ever, styled lightly to allow the slight wave in the coffee locks the freedom to curl away from his forehead and settle in a small wave atop his head. Strong brows stand guard over the softness of his eyes, the glacial blue of the irises protected further by a swath of sooty lashes.The straight nose and full generous mouth sit atop a sturdy chin, a gentle cleft runs down the middle of it adding to his seemingly endless good looks. His jaw as you’ve observed many a time is as sharp and wicked as ever. 

“You didn’t shave.” 

The observation escapes your lips before you could wrangle it back behind the bars of your clenched teeth. Bucky’s eyes jump up at you like you had yelled at him instead of spoken in a normal tone. But its then you realize that it wasn’t a normal tone at all, it was, you...you spoke to him softly --

“Um no.” Bucky answers a bit uncertainly, not sure where you’re taking this. You never comment on his appearance or attire unless it’s to criticize it. He waits inevitably for the verbal lashing.

When the lashing doesn’t come and you both just continue to stare at each other in throbbing silence, Bucky feels awkwardness lay like a heavy blanket over you two. It’s almost startles him when he sees that you’re looking at him. And not just looking at him, but looking him in the eyes. 

“It, It’s just a bit of stubble,” Bucky struggles out, trying to make any kind of sense of the current situation, “I thought since it’s going to be a more, um, relaxed atmosphere I could get away with it. I can go buy a razor and shave it off before we get there if you...want...” 

Bucky mentally kicks himself for offering, I mean how pathetic. But the stumbling words were better than the silence because for some reason the silence felt different then usual, it felt dangerous. 

“No, no,” You eventually say as your brain continues to churn itself into fluffy goo when Bucky shifts his phone and his bicep pushes up protestingly against the smooth sleeve of his tux. “It’s fine.” 

Without another word you lock down the vulnerability you feel leaking onto the canvas of your face and shove your gaze back down to your phone.You will yourself not to blush. 

The rest of the car ride passes in tense silence. It’s the most exposed you’ve felt in a while, to say the least.

The fundraiser has been going like all of them do: clinically well. Bucky expects no less when you’re in attendance though. The dinner wasn’t the best he’s ever had but he made sure not to leave anything on his plate weary of wasting food. You sat perched and cool as ever beside him, engaging in the usual articulate oratory games with the clients and business partners seated at your large table. 

Why Bucky kept expecting you to act different confuses him. He keeps waiting for something to change, for a small tiny hint that something has shifted in you, or maybe between you and him, he doesn’t know. Just something. And when you make him feel like a fool for assuming such a thing by acting the exact same way you always have, Bucky kicks himself. One weird conversation in the limo and he’s hoping for...hoping for what? 

With an internal scoff he tunes back into the conversation, and just in time because you hand the topic reigns to him in that moment and suddenly Bucky is leading everybody into his own oratory arena. 

You take a measured sip from your water glass as Bucky effortlessly accepts the responsibility of the conversation and takes it away. Being able to hold a conversation in a small meeting is one thing, but being able to lead an entire table of sponsors, clients, partners, and whoever else into complex discussion is quite another. You try not to let your pride produce too many butterflies in your stomach as you continue to sip your water and listen to the man beside you prove to you how very deserving he is of what you plan to give to him one day. 

“Ms. Y/l/n,” Bucky says as everyone starts getting up to dance when the live band plays something easy and fun for the guests. You turn towards him slightly in your seat and bring your glass down from your lips as an indication to speak. “May I go say hello to Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Rogers?” 

Your eyes zip over Bucky’s shoulder and land across the reception hall on the table where all your best employees are sitting laughing and enjoying themselves, some of them getting up to dance. For a quick beat you consider keeping Barnes all to yourself but know how selfish and petty that would be. You know Barnes is nearly sick of you. 

“Please,” You relent as kindly and professionally as you can manage, motioning with your glass towards his friends, “Go enjoy.” 

With a quick (if a little bitter) thank you, Barnes blasts away from you to join the merriment across the room. You heard the hint of potent distaste Barnes had having to ask your permission to leave your side and wonder if you’ve let yourself become to much of the monster you thought you had to be in order to be successful. 

And maybe it’s not just to be successful, maybe you donned a monster’s skin to protect yourself. 

You know that if you took away the pretty cool collected skin of that monster, a jagged scared furious soul would be revealed. A sigh and another sip of water is the only outward sign you give that broadcasts your constant inner turmoil. 

“Damn! Wicked Bitch of the Best let you go? Impossible,” Nat croons as Bucky plops into the seat Sam offers him as he hurries out onto the dance floor with a chick from accounting. 

“Ha ha very funny,” Bucky bites back as he relaxes down into the chair while pouring himself a brimming glass of champagne, chugging it all back in one go. 

Steve, sitting on his other side, raises his eyebrow at his friend’s large shot, “I take it business is done for the night.” 

Bucky places the glass flute down carefully on the tablecloth and rolls his lips in as he swallows. 

“Yep,” Bucky breathes, catching his breath a little, “I believe ‘Please, go enjoy’ were her exact words.” He states in heavy sarcasm as he runs a hand through his hair, pouring himself another glass. 

“How generous of her,” Nat allows before standing up and offering her hand down to Bucky, “And now something generous from me.” 

Bucky eyes Nat’s hand suspiciously over the lip of his glass. Natasha was pretty nice (if she felt like it), but she never gave out freebies. He follows the line of her arm up to her severe beautiful face. He squints at the look in her eye. 

“Dance with me,” She says with a roll of her eyes at his well placed suspicion, “It’s a thank you for covering my ass the other day even though I specifically told you not.” Natasha informs in jesting but fond reprimand. 

Bucky smirks at her, appeased, and takes her hand.

“No complaints here then doll.” 

Steve laughs as they zip off to the dance floor.

Watching Bucky with his friends, then dance with Ms. Romano -- with Natasha, that familiar haunting feeling that you know is loneliness begins to seep into your bones and saturate your soul. It’s loneliness that is so thick, so inexorable, you have trouble breathing. Trying not to make your movements too jerky as to call alarm you stand and make your way out of the hall. You’re intercepted a few times, making your final formal goodbyes and thanks, before heading out to the street. 

You call your driver and have him take you back to the company. 

It takes all your self control and dignity to keep from out right running to your floor. When you make it there about a century later, you burst into your moonlit office and shut off all the security cameras in it. That’s when you lose it. 

With harsh tears running down your cheeks and ruining your make up you violently through yourself into your desk chair and start going through files of successful projects. You slowly but surely remind yourself why your doing this, why life has to be so hard. All the good you’re giving to the world is worth something, its worth this loneliness...it is. 

It’s worth it, its worth it, its worth it, its worth it, its worth it...

You repeat this in your head as you continue to review years old projects and partnerships and lives that you have bettered. Though the tears and throat-wracking sobs never stop, you eventually convince yourself it’s enough. 

Bucky was informed first thing this morning by the front desk that the security cameras in Ms. Y/l/n’s office were turned off at about 11:30pm last night and have not been turned back on. Seeing as it’s only you and Bucky who have the codes to do that, Bucky wasn’t too concerned because the other cameras proved it was you who had entered the office last night. Bucky wasn’t quite sure why you felt the need for that much privacy but he shook himself free of the disturbingly instinctual urge to care. 

When he gets to the fogged-glass double doors and pulls on the sleek handles only to realize they’re locked, he hesitates in opening them with his copy of the key. Instead he finds himself knocking. 

“Ms. Y/l/n?” He calls politely, professionally. 

You jerk awake at your desk. Your head pounds with dehydration and the entire right side of your face is stiff and indented with red lines that make up about half of your keyboard. The desktop in front of you is asleep, the large black screen serves as a mirror to reflect to you your less than put together appearance. 

Your make up is a crusting mess, your hair is sticking out every which way, and your eyes are about as puffy and red as Rudolph's nose. 

“Ms. Y/l/n? Are you, are you alright?” 

At the sound of Barnes’ voice on the otherside of the office doors, a horrible twisting flare of panic lights up in your gut. Trying to remain calm, you stand up only to collapse back down into the chair because one of your legs fell asleep. 

“I’m fine Jam -- Barnes, just go do the morning rounds, please.” You stutter as you limp like Gollum (sans your heels from last night) across your pristine office to the private bathroom with a closet you keep extra clothes and things in. 

Bucky is near speechless and knows something is wrong now. You almost called him James for one, and even more disturbing...you said please. He’s unsure if he should leave you in such an obviously confused state of mind, but figures he’d only earn himself a punishment if he intruded or was somehow wrong that you were indeed having a, a moment. 

“I’ll be back in twenty to discuss the profits made last night.” Bucky found himself informing, not sure why he felt the need to give her a time to be ready by. 

What an odd feeling to know that for once, you weren’t thirty steps ahead of him. It’s the first sign of humanity he’s seen you display and it’s tripping him out. 

You listen carefully as his footsteps fade away down the hallway and you throw yourself into getting ready. Twenty minutes later Bucky knocks and you call him in. You can feel him analyzing you, looking around for something out of place, but you made sure to hide any evidence of a disturbance or weakness. 

Bucky finds you pristine and cool and severe as ever, and he realizes that the sinking in his gut is disappointment. Not that he wants to see you struggling, but for a sign you are more than a robot. That you trust him enough to reveal at least that. But you carry on normal and cold and Bucky reminds himself again to stop searching for something that isn’t there. 

“Oh god!” You shriek, you shriek, in surprise as you burst into a storage closet intent on finding an ink cartage (since you had Bucky in a minor meeting with the board, you know power delegation and all, and were more than capable of finding ink on your own dammit), and instead find Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter engaging in some...heavy petting. 

The two of them share your immense shock and separate like oil in water, cheeks, ears, and necks red as roses. They both wait for you to do something, but you continue to stand there like it was you who was walked in on. Slowly you walk across the small room, thanking every god you could think of that the ink cartridges were on the opposite side of the space than Steve and Peggy were standing in, and retrieve your ink with their eyes guiltily following your every move. 

Before you leave you heft a neutral glance over your shoulder and say, 

“Rogers those charts better be in four, and Carter if I don’t have those reports in my inbox by the end of the day I’ll be very displeased.” And with your face safely turned back towards the hallway you say with a little smirk on your face, “Excuse the interruption.”  

You hear the two collapse into hushed horrified laughter muffled behind the door as you strut back to your office with a poorly concealed smile on your face and the urge to giggle bottled up tight in your throat. 

Barnes returns from the meeting with a muted breezy expression on his face which you’ve learned to interpret that meant things went well. You listen to him summarize the meeting for you while pretending to read one of the charts Rogers just sent you on your computer. The memory of finding them in the closet this afternoon hits you hard and you have to cough in order to stop the laugh bubbling along your throat and tickling your tongue. 

Bucky pauses thinking your cough was a sign to stop talking, but when you glance side ways at him and raise an eyebrow he hurriedly continues on. It’s not until you both have settled at your respective desks across the room and Bucky gets up and heads to the printer stationed on a desk against the wall, that things start to head down hill. 

It’s not until you notice him fiddling with the printer making grumbling sounds of obvious annoyance (which you don’t find adorable, you don’t) that you realize belatedly that you still hadn’t put in the new cartridge. Wordlessly you stand, grabbing the ink cartridge off your desk, and head over to the printer. Bucky moves over and watches you take out the empty cartridge and drop it in the waste bin by your feet. And when you take the new one out of its thin box and plastic wrapping, you feel your resistance to the hilarity you went through to get it quickly dissolve. 

You stand frozen staring down at the ink for long enough that Bucky thinks you might not know how to put it in, even if you did just take out the old cartridge. 

“Would you like me to do it?” He offers as neutrally as he can, getting all sorts of weird vibes from the expression that keeps flickering across your down turned face. 

And you break.

It might have been Bucky’s words, or just the ink cartridge sitting oh so innocently in your palm, but it was most likely the vivid memory of walking in on Steve and Peggy. You start laughing. At first it’s under your breath, but the more you try to contain the sound the more out of your grasp it gets. You look up as your laughter gets more confident, brighter, and you find Bucky staring at you like you’ve finally lost it. Maybe you have because you burst into even louder laughter, the noise colorful and easy, falling into snickers when you need to breathe before returning with a cackling vengeance as you push the air back out. 

Bucky doesn’t know whether to be disturbed or entranced. It hits him hard then that he’s never actually seen you laugh, or smile for that matter. And not a business smile but a real one, the one you’re giving him right now. He finds himself smiling to, grinning ear to ear as he watches you collapse into infectious gorgeous laughter. 

“Oh god,” You wheeze as you try to mop up some of the tears from the corners of your eyes, but the words only remind you how you had shrieked them earlier and another peel of giggles wrings themselves out of you. 

Bucky is utterly speechless. He’s in complete awe. The woman standing before him is alive and vibrant and laughing. So this is what he’s been hunting for inside that cruel robot all these years. This is who he’s unconsciously been holding out for. She’s real. She’s here with him finally. 

“What,” Bucky stutters and loses his train of thought as you face him again and he’s left stupefied by the happiness in your face, how beautiful it makes you. I mean you were always beautiful, but in a cruel removed wave. Like you would eat him alive instead of grace him with a smile. 

“It’s nothing,” You attempt to recover through another giggle, “I just intruded on some, some frivolity earlier.” 

Bucky nods not satisfied in the least with just that, not wanting this moment to end. Not wanting this woman to disappear behind a maze of masks to a place he can’t reach. But the inevitable happens and he watches, silently mournful, as the walls come back up and the monster’s skin is pulled back on. With a sniff you efficiently change the cartridge and turn away without another word, your scowl returned to the throne of your lips once more. 

Part 2

And yes it’ll only be two parts...probably. lol. leave a comment in you wanna and your support is always appreciated! I promise to answer all my asks and respond to all my messages soon! xxx

Masterlist / Mobile Masterlist

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[sophie-summer]

Our story never ends

Thanks to @northernersdonotforget for being the first reader of this piece and for your feedbacks. Also, I know they’re never gonna see this, but I want to thanks them anyway. This couldn’t be possible without your amazing music Oh Wonder. 

This is a previous intro for this story.

Best thing I never had

Book : Endless Summer

Pairing : Jake x MC (Sophie)

Words : 2200+

Author’s Note : After all the madness of Jake’s Idol scene, we deserve some happiness. Hope you like it.

Playlist (Ok, this isn’t short, sorry but I just couldn’t leave any of these out of here)

Without you – Oh Wonder

Landslide – Oh Wonder

Pictures – Madi Diaz

Cherry – Lana Del Rey

Heart hope – Oh Wonder

W.D.Y.W.F.M? – The Neighborhood

White mustang – Lana Del Rey

Thieves – The Beach

Shark – Oh Wonder

Every part of me was missing Costa Rica. Since I left, I felt that half of me refused to leave the country that I called home at the time. I learned its language, I fell in love with its culture, I enjoyed its food, I danced its music, I got infected with the joy of its people, but above all, I was very happy.

In past days, the memories came without warning. Sometimes, I found myself smiling, immersed in my memories, reliving a walk on the beach, a meal in the open air, the heat of the sun against my skin. Although I knew without a doubt, that if I returned there, I couldn’t avoid going to that house on the beach, the one that seems to be isolated from the whole world, surrounded only by water and sand, with a sky so blue that it made you think summer was the only existing season. The house with a hammock in the backyard. Would flower pots still be there? Would the sky still look as blue as always? Would there be any other woman living there...?

No, I’d made a decision a long time ago. I wasn’t so naive to believe that a year without seeing us was going to change something, for some reason we’d begun to evade the places where we knew we would meet. That's why I had returned to the USA...

Pain and sadness weren’t the only feelings that had overwhelmed me on each of the occasions I had seen him. I felt hatred for myself, for not being stronger. I also wanted to forget the things that separated us and surrender to his arms, joy, because though we no longer belong ourselves, I could at least see him. But the feeling that surpassed all the others was shame. We both failed when we promised never to, we broke the oaths of love whispered in the middle of the night. We failed to each other and we failed to ourselves.

I desperately needed to disconnect with everything around me. Work, cities, customers, buildings, asphalt, friends, parties, meals. I was going through one of those moments where all I wanted was to isolate myself and think with the sole company of nature around me.

I didn’t hesitate twice to buy the plane ticket. I chose the Dominican Republic as my destination. It was a good choice after all, maybe even better, because I was away from the temptations that were in Costa Rica. An island surrounded by sea, but big enough to get lost in the crowd. Land of white sands, permanent sun and cheerful people. Just what I needed. Evade reality. Create new memories and just maybe, forget some of the old ones.

The flight was very peaceful. And the arrival didn’t differ much from that either. The airline I traveled with was relatively small. Most people were businessmen on business trips, people coming or going to visit their families, and a few others came back from vacation. Nothing compared to the crowds and bustle of an airport full of tourists. No one interfered in anyone's path. And everything went smoothly and orderly.

What I was least waiting for was that my peace would be disturbed by what happened. When I returned from picking up my bags, the glass wall showed the landing strip and a few planes here and there. There was one in particular that caught my eye. It was the same model that Jake’s, even had the same color, white with some black streaks. But Jake's airplane in the wing had written...

"Sophie"

I stopped in my tracks.

The temperature of my body dropped several degrees suddenly, my hands began to sweat and my stomach twisted with that strange nauseating feeling that I could never difference between pain, hunger or desire to throw up, or if it was all at the same time. I looked everywhere I didn’t know whether I was looking for him or where to hide.

"Sophie?" It was him, of course it was him. I didn’t have to turn around to check it out. I didn’t want to do it either. Would he like how I looked? He loved my long hair, but long ago I had changed it to a pixie cut. Did I look tired after so many hours of flying? Damn, I stil had one of his t-shirts on. With luck and little debt help he wouldn’t notice.

"Sophie," he repeated "It's that you?" Like metal at the effect of a magnet, I turned around without being able to avoid it.

There he was.

Anyone would think that it is true that time and distance heal anything. That, as long as that someone hadn’t had to go through a situation like mine. Two years since the last time I felt his skin, when we kissed that last time with the taste of our tears still on the lips. A year without seeing us, without knowing anything about him, without even allowing me to pronounce his name. And yet every inch in my body reacted to have him less than 10 meters.

"Jake." His name stuck in my throat.

He took a few steps in my direction. I squeezed my hand around my bag.

"Long time no see." he said, but made no attempt to get closer, and his hands never left the pockets of his green jacket.

"Jake." I repeated louder. "Good to see you." Finally I could say.

With all that awkwardness, we headed to a cafe near where we were. Jake ordered my favorite one without looking at me. And we sat at a table is a secluded corner. The feeling in my stomach only got worse by the minutes.

We talked for a while, from the most trivial things, those of when you meet someone you didn’t see long ago, but that all you had in common is now gone. The conversation was forced and the silence too heavy.

If someone had told me three or four years ago that I would be in this situation with Jake, I would have laughed in his face. How ironic is life. Maybe it was the accumulated tension, or how funny we should have been sitting there, trying to have a conversation like normal people, when a while ago we didn’t even need words to communicate. Everything was so hilarious that I couldn’t contain the laughter that broke out in me. Jake looked at me in surprise, but shortly afterwards he joined me. We were both laughing like two kids for a few minutes. Some tears had popped into my eyes and the muscles in my cheeks felt painful.

"So, tell me Princess, what brings you here?" Aaah! There it was again. The last time he’d called me that, the breakup had been very recent. My little recomposed heart had collapsed again, the pain that Jake's eyes had reflected only made it worse. At that moment we’d reached a tacit agreement, no more nicknames for us.

But then, there was no more sorrow or sadness, it was like back in the beginning. Twisted smile included. I didn’t hold mine.

"I missed Costa Rica," I said without thinking. Of course he knew what that phrase implied.

"I thought you were clever Princess, but in case you haven’t noticed, we are not in Costa Rica" Plus sarcasm. "But you know you can go there as many times as you want, you don’t have to restrain yourself for me." Ouch! I knew he understood the implicit meaning, but I didn’t expect him to say it.

I looked away, I wasn’t going to deny it. But it didn’t mean that I was proud of it. We drank our coffees in silence, but that wasn’t uncomfortable unlike the others.

After a little more talk Jake rushed down the remainder of his coffee and stood up. That only meant one thing. My time with him was exhausted, and I wasn’t ready to see him leave.

"It was nice to see again Princess" he said putting his hands on his pockets.

I refused to let that be the farewell, I wasn’t going to allow him to put another barrier between us, it was just that kind of thing what had taken us where we were. If he still believed that such things would stop me, he was more stupid than I'd thought. I stood up and walked over to him. I put my arms around his neck and hugged him with all my straight.

"Have a good trip, Joker" I whispered into his ear.

The truth was that I missed him a lot, and as much as I wanted to deny it to everyone and to myself, I still loved him. If this was all I could have of him, I wouldn’t deprive myself of having him in my arms even for a few seconds. Slowly, his hands wrapped my body. He responded in the same way. Jake knew how much I loved him to hold me tight. I let his essence flood my senses. I wasn’t ready to let him go, but I knew I had to.

The seconds crawled lazily to give us more time, but at the same they seemed soooo short...

We stood there, staring at each other without saying anything. Every part of me yelled at me to move, not to let him go, to do anything, but not to let him take half of me again.

"Sophie." It's amazing how the same name can trigger so many emotions depending on how it is pronounced. The Sophie from when he was angry, the Sophie from when we were in bed, the Sophie when he was very happy, the Sophie from when he was nervous because he had something important to say... the chills, the nerves, the desire, the despair, the joy, love, fear, anticipation. "I still need a copilot to go home, are you interested in the job?" He stretched out his hand in my direction.

My eyes were wet with tears. I had never been as sure of anything as I had taken him hand.

Bonus

He withdrew the hair from her forehead. Although Jake could feel her, he couldn’t believe she wasn’t one of his nocturnal hallucinations. That she was actually there with him. Jake thought that if he just brushed her skin, she would disappear. Even so he couldn’t help it. He had to check over and over again that it was her and there was no way his hands would stop running her skin.

When Jake found her at the airport, she had her back to him, and despite being completely different, he recognized her instantly. Not because of how she looked like, but because something inside him told him it was her. The first thing that caught his attention wasn’t the fact that she had let go of her beautiful hair, it was what most stood out, but what caught his attention was the shirt she was wearing, one of his own that she had taken over, after all this time. She still kept a part of him with her. At one point, he even was tempted to highlight it, only to see how her cheeks colored with that pink tone she would strive to hide.

But in spite of being more mature, more woman, that the curves in her body had become accentuated and have grown a few centimeters, she continued being the same girl with innocent eyes and tender smile. Time hadn’t changed her except physically. She was still the same girl he'd fallen in love with.

Asking Sophie to go with him was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He couldn’t remember the last time he'd been so nervous. But the doubts in him disappeared as they reluctantly separated from that embrace, when he saw that the confirmation he needed was written all over his Princess's face, with those beautiful brown eyes wide open in an attempt to contain the tears that were trying to peek. That broken smile in her lips, mimicking a joy she didn’t feel. And the arms around her waist to stay steady. His Princess always wanted to be strong even when she was falling into pieces.

Both were suffering with the situation though they tried to show the opposite. Being away from her wasn’t just an emotional pain, he felt as if an essential part of his body had been amputated. More important than his arms or legs, as essential to him as his own heart. As necessary as his lungs. A simple question that would make them both happy. It was all that was needed.

When they reached the beach house, they spent every second next to each other. The words were over, all they needed to know didn’t need to be pronounced.

They laid down together face to face, legs and hands intertwined, their faces a few inches apart and watched for hours, as if they still didn’t believe they were back together. They filled each other with every little detail that had been lost in wasted time. A new scar, the tanned skin, the glitter in the eyes, the pink cheeks.

Sophie was the first to fall asleep, with a pleasant smile on her lips that remained there for a long time. Jake couldn’t, after spending so many sleepless nights because of remorse and in the "What if ..." hanging around his mind, that seemed to be paradise, with his Princess back in his arms, from where should never have been gone. Jake still didn’t understand why he'd been so stupid as to let Sophie go.

[nadasdirthalens]

Remembrance

Heavy/Medic, 

Notes: I use she/her pronouns for Scout, also I am Jewish and a large chunk of this is based off my own experience with the religion/culture. Also a song I imagined while writing this is this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=88pCBld3TVk&list=RDQM0Su66k1fLHA&index=7

Warning for: Antisemitism & The Shoah (it is not graphic and I do not go in depth) 

AO3

There are very little things that Heavy remembers from his traditional childhood. He struggles to grasp onto celebration he knows he had, and prayers he must have sung in a language he does not understand no longer. He knows his father would begin the Sabbath, always with warm words that Heavy continues to try to find. His mother’s mouth works far better around Russian than Hebrew. He does not dislike her for it, he does not resent the missing moments he digs for late at night, when everyone else has settled down.

Tonight, he feels as if he is breathing through hot dense air, the desert suffocating from the home he holds to close to forget. It is static, as if he can reach into his own memory and pull out any of the pieces he wants.

It was an off-comment. Perhaps insensitive, but rather true nonetheless. It had been almost twenty years since Heavy tucked his rations under his arms and fed his family under the guise of sleep. Twenty years since his father had left him, and with his death, he took a God that Heavy was so ready to give a life for.

He felt sick.

“Don’t know,” Sniper began, lazily stretching his legs over the kitchen table, much to everyone’s dismay. “Never did understand the war by all of you. I was young, stupid, and far away.”

The kitchen was silent, most of those in the team had endured the harsh reality that Sniper wasn’t able to conceptualize. Solider had walked out of the room as soon as the conversation had begun, Pyro following after her. Medic sat bored by Heavy, not paying attention to anyone but Archimedes on his hand.

“Been a long time since I was reminded of it.” Sniper began to pick something out of his teeth, “You fought in it, didn’t you?” he began to nudge Heavy’s arm. It didn’t move.

Heavy stood up from the table, “No.”

This still felt like something that could not be said out loud, it hung uncomfortably around his shoulders. He left the room unceremoniously, not paying attention to whatever noise had begun to buzz behind him. He lingered in the corner before his room. His fist clenched beside him. Heavy rubbed his other hand over his wrist. Letting the rough pads of his fingertips graze over healed over scars and burns.

He was only somewhat aware of how the war had affected everyone else. He was aware of some things, of course: The Magen David around Medic’s neck, the photos he ungraciously took as often as he could. Snapping memories of Scout laughing, tears running down her face, her eyes. Medic collected the photos in a small book, a short sentence about the photo underneath. He keeps it under his desk, a nondescript leather bound.

Perhaps, Heavy was not the only one struggling to remember.

Heavy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing his fingers to uncurl from its stiff position, he began to walk forward. His feet shuffled across the tile floor slowly, unsure of his own movements. When the lab was in view, he shifted his weight between his feet. He lingered in the doorway.

Without pause, or glancing up from the counter, Medic waved him in.

“It was Sniper’s comment, was it not?”

Heavy tilted his head up slightly, a lie already forming under his tongue. He kept it there, let it run down his throat. His silence a better answer than anything.

Medic shifted his body, his necklace softly clang against the metal of the surgery table.

Unsure of what to say, Heavy sat across from the doctor instead, watching him deftly dissect an organ he wasn’t able to identify. Medic held the scalpel skillfully, yet relaxed. The tool loosely balancing on his gloved fingers. Letting the instrument write notes within the flesh of the body part. A novel on its own, Heavy reminded himself.

“What is eating you?” Medic asked, he still had not looked up.

“Am no meal.”

Laughing, Medic placed his scalpel beside him.

“This is an old pair of hearts I had lying around, unrecognizable, Ja?”

Heavy nodded.

“Can’t remembered who it belonged too, no matter however.” Medic flippendently flicked his wrist, “Used to collect my own, when I was a young boy, nothing else to do.”

“What did school friends think?”

Medic shrugged, “Did not go to a school, my mother taught me anything she could. My father kept me inside until I went to college to study medicine.”

Humming, Heavy looked over the organ in front of him, “Hmm. Lonely.”

“Perhaps. I understood his reasoning.”

“Reasoning?”

Medic sadly smiled, “We escaped when we could, erased everything. You know me, have I ever been known to share my secrets?”

“Da, I like that about you.”

“My father did not.”

“Hmm.”

“Do you miss it?”

Heavy furrowed his eyebrows. “It?”

Medic fingered his necklace, “the believing.”

Heavy shook his head, “I believe in many things.”

“You and I both know they took more than bodies, It is hard for me to ask him to feel safe. The believing, a blanket of sorts, Ja?”

Heavy nodded and swallowed thickly, his throat dry and hoarse.

“I’ll tell you what,” Medic picked up a pair of tweezers, and pointed them at Heavy. “If I will tell you what I miss, will you do the same?”

“Da.”

Medic went back to the organ, attempting to pick something out of the flesh.

“My name.”

Heavy pulled back slightly, “Doctor, you are not allowed to -”

Medic smiled and shook his head, “Do not worry Mein Freund, I will not slip any information should you not want it.”

Heavy paused. He categorized the sounds in Medic’s lab. The doves were sleeping in the rafters above, he could hear the soft noise of a sentry not far from the lab’s walls, his own breathing, louder than he would have preferred.

Heavy sunk down in his seat, “You can give me anything.”

Medic processed the request momentarily before smiling wide. “Now, if only I heard that in this office more often!”

He wiped his hand on his chest, leaving red streaks carelessly drawn all over his white coat. Heavy watched the blood dry almost instantly as it hit his fabric. Medic ignored the drop of blood that clung to his jawline.  

“We had changed our family name for two reasons,” Medic began, once again giving his attention to the hearts on the table, “One of them, to hide.” Medic punctuated the last word with a unexpected jab, violently plunging the tweezers into the middle of the two organs. He left the tool half stuck in the muscles.

“The other reason,” He leaned against the table, facing Heavy. “Was because my last name became tainted.”

Heavy crossed his arms, “Tainted?”

Nodding, Medic put his chin in his hands, “Ja, I can no longer walk around with my previous name, both my parents realized this. That name, I miss.

“That name?”

“I had changed my first name as well, that one I chose.”

Heavy was quiet for a moment.

“What is name?”

Without hesitation, Medic obliged, his voice unusually quiet, “My full name is Ludwig Reichstein.”

“Ah,” Heavy shook his head, “Can see why ignorant people would have issue with name. However,” He uncrossed his arms, “Ludwig suits you.”

Medic smiled, “Thank you Mein Freund, I’m sure whatever name you possess fits your body like a sock.”

“Glove.”

“What was that?”

“English expression, da? Fit like glove.”

“Never did have good fitting socks,” He momentarily paused to think for a moment, the doctor’s eyes wide and unfocusing, when he snapped back into the present, he smiled.

Medic reached down to fiddle with the star around his neck, pausing for Heavy. He watched the doves above him breath softly, their feathers expanded across their chest.

“Mikhail.” Heavy said softly, his eyes down.

“Meek-Hail?”

Heavy gave a amused huff, “Mikhail.”

“Mikhail.” Medic repeated, smiling at getting it right, “As I knew it would be, it is a fitting name.”

Heavy put one of his pointer fingers on the tip of the tweezers, still jammed in between the two hearts on the table.

“My father prayed.”

Medic hummed, acknowledging and edging Heavy to continue.

Heavy hummed back, “Hmm, I can not remember what he said. But,” Heavy put his arms on his lap, “I had something.”

Medic stood still, “You felt safe.”

“Da.”

“Before the -?”

“Da.”

“When did he -?”

“When he died.”

“Ah.” Medic nodded, “Do you think you would try to continue after all of this?”

Heavy rubbed the back of his neck, “Maybe. If after happens.”

The silence between them buzzed. Heavy was used to silence, Medic was not. The doctor seemed to be contemplating something, his face scrunched up in thought. The two hearts between them continued to lay out in the open.

“I have something, you may like it, do you wish hear it?”

Heavy nervously played with the scalpel on the counter, “Hear?”  

“Ja, hold on, stay there.”

Medic stretched up from his crouched position and lifted his arms in the air. He flitted to the corner of the room where a record player rested. Underneath, a stack of albums lifted the machine in the air, it looked one breath away from toppling over. Heavy sat, amused by Medic’s ability to retrieve the album from the tall stack with little trouble.

“This, I think you will like this one.” Medic briefly flashed the album cover towards Heavy. The cover itself was read in a mix of German and Yiddish, neither Heavy could understand well. The doctor spun the record, and lifted the needle.

The sound began warm, full of strings that Heavy can almost smell, his father’s study still dusty from the long since removed musician. It was not a tune he could recognize but it was a tune that felt familiar. It reminded him of his father’s prayers, the timber of his voice, the woman’s voice flew over the room and awoke the doves, who began to preen their feathers as they woke up.

Medic reached a hand out.

“I don’t know the moves either, come!”

Heavy slowly stood up from his seat. Medic reached further and grasped his hand.

“Doctor, I can not dance!” Heavy shouted over the music, a smile already forming on his face.

“Neither can I!”

Heavy let Medic pull him closer, they began to move from side to side, their feet tripping over themselves, their swaying not matching the rhythm to the song. Heavy felt warm and safe, he did not think to look behind him, didn’t check the door again, didn’t listen in to make sure Engineer’s sentry continued to search the high fortress, scanning for enemies.

They hadn’t realized the song had ended, and another slower one had begun, they had only slowed their dancing by a miniscule amount.

Erupting in a fit of giggles, Medic began to trip more often, having Heavy catch him more often than not. Their arms around the others for support more than anything. On the battlefield, they were together and solid, but in dancing on the surgery floor they both felt like fools, all limbs.

“I’m sorry! Haven’t done this in awhile!” Medic shouted above the music.

“Have never done this!” Heavy responded, smiling in kind.

The record stopped it’s spinning, the needle lifting from its grooves, and with a click, all sound in the lab had ceased. Heavy and Medic continued to smile at each other, both still clinging onto the other, neither of them made a move to dislodge themselves from their tangled arms and legs.

“I have not dusted off that old player in a while, I am thrilled for it to be used again.” Medic locked his hands behind Heavy’s neck.

“The music it was -”

“Traditional?”

Heavy shook his head, he tried to reach for words he did not have. His own education filled with beautiful languages that could describe anything. For this he was blank. “That is this it is.”

“What is it?”

Heavy leaned his forehead on Medic’s. Medic grinned, and closed his eyes. Heavy’s voice sounded revenant. His voice lower than a whisper. Medic wished to tuck it away, to fold it together and burn it over the candles he kept late at night, when prayer seemed the hardest way out of anything.

“The believing, this is it.”

[deltaz302-blog]

Iglesia Cristiana, “Casa De Oracion” February 24th, 2018- Logan Hake

The activity that I had taken place in was a church service that I was unfamiliar with. I attended the 1:30 p.m. service at Iglesia Cristiana, “Casa De Oracion”. My friend’s dad is the pastor at the service, and my friend Salvador is actually the translator for those who attend the service in English. I participated in this event by experiencing what their typical church service entailed, and it was definitely an interesting event that I will always remember. I viewed the different ways in which the Spanish culture sang worship songs, preached from the bible, and interacted with different members among those who had attended the service.

This event was for sure like nothing I have ever experienced before. My friend had described what his church service entailed, but it was far different from what a church service I had attended would be like. In the service, everything from how they sang, to how they spoke, was very unique. The service was very upbeat and it had everyone involved, which was something I was not very used to. Going into a service where you did not speak the native language was definitely a little nerve wracking at first, but as the service went on I really grew to enjoy the different type of atmosphere it had offered to me. This event really showed me how to see more into the Spanish culture, and how truly upbeat they are when it comes to their religion.

When first walking into the service I noticed how close knit everyone was. There was a small amount of individuals in attendance, but everyone seemed so friendly, and it was like they were all family. This was a huge difference from what I was used to. Typically, when I attended a service there were so many individuals I was unfamiliar with, and the culture around the smaller group seemed so much more welcoming to me. Everyone in attendance was also dressed up very nicely. I was a little uncomfortable at the fact that I had not been as dressed up since I had to attend work right after, but that did not seem to matter to anyone there. Salvador’s father as well made me feel really welcome. He walked up and introduced himself, and also thanked me for attending the service, which I thought was really great. I was thankful for being able to attend, and I could tell right away how nice everyone was from then on.

From there the music had opened the service. The songs of worship that they sang in chorus were so much more up beat than anything I have ever seen before. This got me really involved and interested from the start. They used various types of instruments when they performed the different types of music. From a professional drum set, to electric guitars, it was so unique in various ways. Everyone attending the service stood up, as did I, and clapped along to the beat of the music. This type of practice was drastically different from what I was used to hearing, but in such a good way. These songs not only lifted your mood, but they got you so happy emotionally for the messages that were soon to come.

Next, the pastor and my friend Salvador had begun preaching from the bible. It was interesting hearing how he and his father both conversed the lines in similar tones among both languages. They both had such a deep passion for their religion, and it was displayed from how well they passed on the religious messages. They read chapters from different verses of the bible, and it really pulled everyone in the audience together after every line. Not only did they get me more interested into the meaning behind their preaching, but it made it have a more powerful impact to the room. I followed along in the bible I was given to at the beginning of the service, and it was such an enlightening moment I will never forget.

Towards the end of the service the members of the church all conversed before each family headed their separate ways. This taught me how regardless of what you go through, at the end of the day we all share common ground with those around us. Their culture was so welcoming that I never really felt out of place like I had thought I would be. It made me happy to know that no matter what background you have, you can all come together under the same type of worship. I was really happy with the overall experience, and I would definitely attend the service again due to how uplifting the entire experience was.

Although I did struggle at times with the language barrier, I took positives with the event. Some parts were hard to understand, but my friend and those who attended helped me feel welcomed and helped translate their ideas along the way. The atmosphere was very different, and I also struggled with the idea at first, but those feelings quickly vanished as everyone welcomed me with open arms. I feel that my struggle was just being worried for no reason. After everything kicked off, all my worries were away.

Overall I had such a great time. I did really well adjusting from the adversity from the beginning, and I really did get the messages they were trying to convey. From the uplifting musical moments, to the powerful impacts of their preaching, I enjoyed every moment. Next time I attend such an event, the only thing I would do differently is be more prepared to what I should expect. Since I was timid from the idea I feel as if I have been missing out on so many rich cultures. It also makes me want to improve how outgoing I am, and if I invest more time to opening up different cultures, I can gain so much valuable life experiences in the long run.