#“Miss…why did you draw me looking at least 7 years older?”

[parasolladyansy]

I have been loving your 'isekaied into becoming the hero's cook' story, even as it derails your attention. XD

What's one recipe that isekai-ansy brought with them to Hyrule that doesn't already exist there? And what's been her favorite new ingredient to cook with? (aside from fairy dust?)

HoB Isekai-ed Artist - Shocking Citrus Curd

When life gives you lemons, make lemon curd. 🍋 Winter is citrus season, so I make this a lot in these colder months to have with my morning toast. All you need are the ingredients pictured (sadly, we don’t get Stormy Weather Attack+ in our world lol).

This is the recipe I follow that makes a small batch - lasts me about a week. It’s actually pretty easy - trickiest part of the whole thing is being patient adding the hot lemon juice & whisking so you don’t get scrambled eggs.

I’ve been thinking of a couple other recipes that don’t exist in Hyrule but could absolutely be made with the ingredients there. Probably won’t do these too often though - it’s more work, & I’d like to start working on other stuff soon (yes, THAT other stuff). ^o^/

PS: oh yeah - not sure! I guess it’d be cool learning about all the different herbs Hyrule has, & how it compares to herbs in our world. 🌿

[doueverwonder]

This is going to be SO disorganized, ignore me and my rambles no order just everything in whatever order I think of it in.

TEXAS his name is Lázaro Carlos Jones-Gómez, he regularly goes by Charlie, you can call him Carlos but do not call him Lazaro, he only has that name bc he was baptized with it. If you call him that though you will get his attention immediately bc his brain will think you're his mother (Mex if that's not clear) cause she is the only one who calls him that.

He's a little shit and I love him bc he's my little shit.

I accept no interpretation of him that's white bc why would you do that to him.

I've said this before but he's twins with Coahuila (Mariana Talía) who I can't actually talk about that much bc she's not my oc BUT she is older by 7 minutes, and they share a braincell and a half and usually don’t know where it is :\

speaking of other states he and Nuevo León (Jacobo) get in no less then 3 fist fights a year for absolutely no reason besides they’re idiots and like to beat each other up.

Speaking of fights, Charlie is missing a tooth, has 101 stories of how it got knocked out, most ppl don’t actually know which one is the truth (none of them he fell out of a tree).

Someone take his guitar away I beg, he gets 10 time more annoying when he has it. Which Tennessee (Annabelle) taught him how to play said guitar, everyone hates her for it. He's a decent player, and has a pretty okay singing voice, they're all just sick of listening to him.

Bc I have to have at least 1 very stereotypical thing, he has the largest cowboy hat collection this side of the Mississippi. Give him the most specific event, he has a hat for it.

He didn't talk till he was like 3-4 but oh boy is my man making up for it now, he doesn't stop. Talks with food in his mouth and in his sleep.

Refuses to speak Spanish to most other personifications bc spite but will absolutely be interpreter for any stranger on the street who needs help.

Bc I think it's funny gets to have the 'am I catholic or protestant?' debate.

His first about year of living in DC he barely spoke English and bc of that attached himself to the--at the time--only other native Spanish speaker in the house, Florida complained to Al everyday bc "I'm a babysitter now!" but wouldn't say shit to her Carlito over it ever.

His favorite shows of all time--despite their inaccuracies--are Gunsmoke (1955-75), and Zorro (1957-59)

Speaking of nicknames; Carlito was his main nickname for a long time, used to distinguish him from Cuba. Most of Latin America + Florida still call him that. Carlos = Cuba//Carlito = Texas. He started going by Charlie bc he didn't want to be called Carlito anymore, but being called Carlos felt weird bc no one ever called him that. So Charlie.

He has vitiligo bc I once saw a drawing of someones oc and it legit looked just like how I imagine Charlie and their oc had vitiligo so it just got pressed into my mind.

Also he was one of those kids who was super blond but by the time he was like 12 he wasn't anymore.

So y'all know my hc is personifications have a mom and dad, most of the states (US and Mexican) had 2 human parents and were eventually 'adopted' by Alfred or Rosa.

There are exceptions to that and Coahuila and Texas are one of them, way back when like 1820s Rosa (Mex) and Alfred were dumb and did a thing proceeded to have an extremely panicked nine months and an even more panicked "holy shit there's TWO"

So Charlie gets such a super fun family dynamic we love it for him.

I can't listen to Mama's Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys without crying now bc of him. I love Charlie, he is my son, I've put so much work into him bc I love him.

[robinismywifee]

Back to the Old House - Chapter 5:

August 30th, 2034

[7 days after previous chapter]

Raines age: 16 years, 6 months

Ellies age: 15 years, 3 months

CW: none

Words: 1381

Masterlist

Raines POV:

I've been going on patrol with Jesse for a week now. He still started awkward conversations and tried to get to know me, but since I would either just not reply or give an answer without actually answering, he would resort to just telling me his answer in detail. Although I didn't care, I did listen because it felt rude not to. He hasn't done anything wrong and is a nice guy, however, I wish he didn't try so much.

Me and Jesse were on our way back to Jackson, on our horses, we finally ran into infected today so it wasn't entirely boring, even if it was only 2 runners.

"So, school starts up again next monday, you're gonna go, right?" Jesse randomly asked.

I looked at him confused, "School?"

He looked back at me, confused of why I was confused. "Yeah?"

"Oh. Didn't know there was a school system for older kids here."

"Well, I went last year and it was fun. We learn a

bunch of different things! Like, grammer, poetry, history, all different kinds of science, some math.." Jesse listed on his fingers, "Oh! And you can take an extra class for art, or at least last year they had it. And then they have all the other boring stuff, like health.. survival.. combat.."

I liked the idea of learning more poetry and history. My ears perked up when he mentioned an art class, awhile back when I was super young, before i lived at the QZ, I would paint all the time. Anything I saw in nature I painted. I sketch from time to time, but I miss painting alot. Maybe they have the supplies for that?

"Art class?" I simply asked.

"Yeah! My friend E- uhh.. my friend took the class, she really enjoyed it actually. Do you draw?"

I shrug, "Well, i'm sure you're great! And you can improve by going to school! You should sign up for it, or I guess since you live with Maria you could just ask her."

"What do the teach in the art class?"

"Well, I didn't take it, thats not really my thing, but, from what i've heard, they teach the history of art, different techniques for drawing and painting, i'm pretty sure theres even a lesson on clay sculptures and you get to make stuff out of it. Pretty cool, I wish I was artsy."

I sat on my horse in silence as Jesse continued talking about his favorite classes, thinking about the idea of school. Real school. Not stupid QZ school.

The idea of learning more about most of those stuff sounded fascinating to me but the idea of having to be social and just around people was the mood killer.

Shortly after, we arrived at the gates of Jackson. We got to the stables as always, and as I began to walk away to go back to Marias, Jesse stopped me.

"Hey, I know social settings or gatherings arent really your thing, but I really think you should give it a shot. If you don't like it, then you can quit. But I think if you don't try then you'll regret it. So, if you do decide to show, find my face and there will be an open seat next to it!"

I nodded, "Thanks, Jesse. I'll think about it"

୨♡୧

The next day

"So, didya sign up yet?"

I glanced at him from behind me, hes still going on about the school thing?

"For school classes"

"Yeah, I got that" I mumbled, turning back and continuing walking.

We had just gotten off of morning patrol and I was walking back to the house when he followed behind me.

"I'm guessing you haven't"

I shook my head no, he walked infront of me as we both stopped walking, "how bout' I take you to the sign up sheets and we do it right now?"

"Uhh, Jesse, I don't really think I wanna do-"

"How about I stop annoying you on patrol and shut up whenever you want, if you sign up for them and go? Just the first day"

I stood and thought about it. I would much rather hear the chirping birds then Jesse chirping about how his girlfriend broke up with him.

"okay."

"okay? i- is that all?"

"What else is there to say? now, take me there"

Jesse cheered silently and started leading me the opposite way. He took me to a familiar building. This was the building I woke up in from my coma.

"Jesse?"

"Hm?"

"I thought this was the towns hospital?"

"Oh, yeah, top floor is. This is a pretty big building and its like the main one, so theres alot of different stuff in it." he explained

as we entered, I saw a sign in the lobby that labeled what each floor was.

Jesse took me to the front desk, the guy in the chair seemed to be focused on something else as Jesse grabbed a paper that was layed out, and a pen from a cup.

We sat down on nearby chairs, Jesse placed the paper and pen down on the table infront of us, "Pretty simple, just fill it out and mark it off, kinda self explanatory"

I nodded, and filled out my name, age, guardians, marked off all the boxes of what classes I wanted to be in, and stated the job I had and what time I worked.

"now what?" I asked, looking at him, Jesse answered by getting up, a dick eating grin plastered on his face, and handed the focused guy at the front desk the paper.

"Lets go! Oh, you're gonna love it, I can't wait for you to show me your artwork-"

"Okay, you're annoying me, shut it," I couldn't help but smile at him as we walked out the building, "and who said that i'm gonna show you my artwork?" I snarked

"Uh, me? I did? And the shutting-up-whenever-you-want-deal isn't on until you go to school on Monday, plus I said only when we're on patrol"

"So I just did that for basically nothing since Monday isn't for 4 days and it only applies to patrol?"

Jesse laughed, "You would have missed out on a big opportunity i'm doing you a huge favor-"

"Hey Jesse" a snarkling voice interrupted, my soft smile immediately dropped once I saw the short black haired girl. The same girl who was holding hands with Ellie that night, the same girl who rode the bicycle with Ellie, I suddenly felt like throwing up.

"Oh, hey Cat" Jesse said with a soft smile, I looked to the ground, shifting on my feet, my cheeks were growing red from embarrassment She heard me call Ellie a dyke..

"Ah- this is Raine! Shes my patrol partner" Jesse said after an awkward moment of silence, a hint of excitement behind his voice. Probably excited to finally introduce me with his friend. God why is he friends with this girl? and what kind of name is cat.

"We've met." Cat says coldly, my eyes stay to the ground, I bite my tongue so hard I start to taste blood.

"Oh? I didn't know Raine met anyone other then me and Dina.."

"Well, I guess we hadn't officially met, but it was enough. Anyways, we were all gonna watch a movie tonight at my place, wanna come?"

I could feel Jesse glance to look at me, and back at Cat. "Uh, yeah Cat, thats.. good, what time?"

"Be there at 7, it's gonna be so fun, I bet you could get Dina back by tomorrow"

I couldn't take it anymore, her voice was stinging.

I sped walked away with my head down, I could hear muffled behind my ringing ears Jesse calling my name, but I ignored it.

[dahliarosebud]

- Love Is A War Series ~ Aemond x Reader

• Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

• MAIN-MASTER-LIST

• HOTD-MASTER-LIST

Warnings: sh, grief, kissing, teenagers being drunk, violence (hardly y/n just clocks him on the face), play fighting

Synopsis: After ignoring Aemond’s letters for 5 years he finally stops writing to you. After a year you grow curious as to whether or not he is still actually waiting for you. There you find him on a full moon in Wyl, Dorne waiting for you. Watch as they grow.

A/n: Thank you so much for all the love I got on part 3 it truly means a lot. I’m sorry about all the spelling mistakes. I was going to write letter, but I thought this was better. It goes up in months/moons. (Tags at the bottom)

-------- Month 4 - moon 4 - April

I arrived on the costal line of Wyl. Selene flew over Vahgar’s head as the older dragon shook off the sand. There he was. Sat in front of a fire. I jumped off of Selene, running my hand across her scales. 

“Hello Y/n,” he stood up and walked towards me. Stopping just in front of me. He has grown, he isn’t like the small boy I remembered. He smiled at me and I felt a surge of adrenaline. 

My hand balled into a fist. My knuckles connecting harshly with his jaw. Falling to the floor and holding his face. “That was for my sisters and my mother.” Proudly I stood over him.

He stared at me, his eye lingering on me for a while before he nodded softly. He sighed and moved back to his spot in front of the fire. “You really hurt me you know Aemond? First you attacked my sisters only to find out you had taken Vahgar at my mother’s funeral!” I stared at his face as he looked down.

“She is rightfully mine. She was unclaimed, she had no rider and your sisters started on me,” he argued a sneer growing on his lips. 

“They were eight years old Aemond. Eight and you, you were eleven,” I sighed expectantly.

“I don’t know what you want from me Y/n. I apologised, but I won’t apologise for defending my honour. All those years I took their abuse. I mean you were there and for defending myself I lost my fucking eye!” He threw his arms up into the air. I chewed the inside of my cheek, my nails skimming over the crescent moon scars on the back of my hand.

“You stopped writing.”

“What?” He laughed incredulously

“You stopped writing to me. For a year I awaited your letters like a fool because I clung to the hope that the same boy who would read with me, the boy who would talk about duty and honour would still be there, but now all I see is rage.”

“People change Y/n. I’m a man now I am no longer a snivelling boy who cowers in the corner. You don’t have to protect me anymore.” I nodded, quietly laughing. 

I stood up brushing the sand from my leather. Walking away shaking my head. “If you’re just going to leave could you at least grant me the satisfaction of why you came here in the first place?”

I climbed back onto Selene, grabbing the reigns. I looked down “I missed you. It’s stupid I know, but I did. I do.”

--------- Month 5 - moon 5 - May

I leant against my desk, sighing softly at the memory of last month. The boy I once knew was gone, but he still smiled the same and had the same blonde hair. The same eyes and milky-fading-freckled skin. 

“There you go miss,” the maid smiled after she had finished brushing my hair and straining it of the water from my bath. I smiled back at her. I didn’t move when I heard the doors shut behind her.

I opened my draw. Where the small box my mother had gave me resided. I carefully removed it from the draw opening the lid. The neat stack of letters left read and never answered. The latest one sat on top.

He spoke of his time training with Ser Criston and how Aegon has not changed. But he also spoke of how he had missed me also and that he did keep true to his promise. He had been going to Wyl for two years. 

I looked up. The shimmering silver staring at me asking me to go. I stood and removed my night gown replacing it with my dragon-riding clothes. Carefully I made my way the dragon keep. 

Am I a fool for going?

Yet, there he was stood waiting for me. I landed next to Vahgar, dismounting her and patting her neck before making my way towards him. “You came.” I could hear that smile on his face.

“You waited.” I now stood in front of him smiling as his own fell. The sand uncomfortably tried to swallow my shoes as I sat on the washed up driftwood. 

“I’ve written and yet you have not written back? I thought that was what you had wanted.” His voice was charmingly soft as he came to sit next to me. Breathing heavily through my nose I looked at him.

“I don’t know what I want,” I admitted with much resistance looking down and sighing incredulously. But that it was. That laugh. The thing I craved. The thing my heart had yearned for. I smiled as I heard him laugh that same stupid laugh. The laugh that used to brighten up my day. 

“You? You don’t know what you want?” He continued to laugh as if it were the most ridiculous thing in the whole world. I chuckled and pushed him away gently shaking my head.

------- Month 6 - moon 6 - June

“Hello Vahgar,” she gurgled as I pressed my hands to her scales. My eye caught hers as it flickered towards me. She continued to whistle as I ran my hand down her neck. My hand bumped up and down as it traced the lengthy scars and uneven green bumps. Selene grumbled from next to the older dragon.

I turned to look at Aemond. His white smile so clear as the orange flickered against his perfect skin. “What?” I asked with a smile as I walked towards him. I sat next to him on our piece of driftwood. 

“She doesn’t like many people. Well anyone really,” he laughed as he prodded the fire with a stick.

 “Well she was my mother’s dragon,”  I blurted. It was silently cold and airy. I looked down quickly finding the sand engulfing my boots extremely interesting all of a sudden. “I’m sorry I-”

“No. It’s fine she was your mother’s dragon,” he turned towards me taking my hands in his, “I’m sorry.” I pulled him into me. His blonde hair tickling my nose as I inhaled him softly.

We pulled apart, his hand finding my cheek as I smiled sadly at the few memories of my mother I clung too. His thumb brushing away the secretly grieving tears. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. Pressing our foreheads together. I looked up into his eyes swallowing harshly at the breath that got stuck. I pulled away, the lump finally dislodged as I leant against his shoulder. Watching the orange dance hand in hand with Dorne’s breeze. 

------- Month 7 - moon 7 - July

I laughed as I watched him pace as he ranted about Aegon. “- and he just stood there proud as if he hadn’t just mocked father in front of our mother like some drunken whoring fool. I mean that is exactly what he is ,but he can at least try not to act like it!”

He huffed exasperatedly as he sat on the sand in between my legs. He tilted his head back, his shoulders relaxing as I threaded my fingers softly through his ever growing hair. I laughed to myself as I weaved my fingers around some strands. I pulled harshly jumping up as his body jolted.

I stood back, my heart racing. My eyes widened as he stood up, his shoulders were aggressive as the moved with his breath. I turned to my right and began running. My feet carried me as fast as I could as I breathed deeply through my mouth as I continued to sprint away.

I dared to turn around. I willed myself to move faster as I saw he was close to me. Tripping over the sand as I continued to run away. A loud laugh broke out and tumbled out of my lips as I ran and ran.

Suddenly I toppled over. A large weight on my back as I fell. I rolled onto my back breathing heavily. I smiled as I heard desperate breaths of air next to me. My eyes crinkling as I watched the moon pear down at us from the sky.

I felt his hand on mine. It was strangely soft, but you could tell he had been working a sword. “Happy name-day Aemond,” I rolled onto my side staring at his face. Taking all of him in. 

A soft genuine, happy smile graces his lips.

------- Month 8 - moon 8 - August

“Where are you going?” I jumped as my father stared at me. His harsh gaze scolding me. He kicked off the wall walking up to me his gaze watchful and curious. 

My heart pounded and my pulse strained my ears. “I can’t sleep,” I spoke carefully, raising my head. I spun to maintain eye contact as he circled around me. The candle in his grasp flickering ominously, painting figure all around us.

“That does not explain why you are in your dragon riding gear Y/n,” he angrily breathed through his nose. I looked down clenching and unclenching my fists. My nails finding their way back into their usually spot, ready to make more crescent scars.

“I keep having nightmares about mother, remember her?” I whispered harshly, raising my head again. I pushed past him with a huff, “I’m going out to clear my head.” 

There it was again. That sickening lump in my throat. And suddenly I’m eleven again watching my mother beg Vahgar for death. Finally with Selene I saddled her and rode as fast as her wings could take us. 

My body jolted forward as we landed, cushioned my the silky sand. I jumped from her saddle, my boots slapping against he unstable ground. I wiped furiously at my tears.

I stood in front of the fire facing the sea. My hair brushing over my shoulders watching the waves lap at the shoreline. “Y/n,” he called so invitingly. I looked down a sob tearing from my throat. 

My view was blocked by his body. “Y/n? What is wrong?” His hands squeezed comfortingly on my shoulders. I shook my head. My face stung, irritated and red. I looked down, ashamed to meet his gaze.

“I-I...I just miss her so much,” my voice wavered and my lips quivered. His wrapped his arm around my waist as if I would break. So subtle was the pull into his warm chest.

He never let go. Never stopped comforting me. Never stopped lulling my woes. Even as we crumpled to the floor. He hugged me tightly, drinking in as much of my pain, my grief, my sorrow as humanly possible. 

We pulled away, his head pressed to mine. He slotted his hands into mine. I winced as his calloused hands brushed over my wounded skin. He pulled his head away, a mere breath away from mine.

My heart sped up as he turned my hands over in his. Observing the way he sighed through his nose as he watched his own thumb ghost over the new and old scars. 

I swallowed the fear as he clamped my hand together and engulfed them in his. More tears slipped and burned behind my eyes as he brought them to his lips. My eyes looked up to his closed ones as his eyebrows creased. 

A sigh of relief melted over me as his lips met my warm, sore hands. I fell into him tiredly. Wrapping my arms around him. Tucking my head into the crook of his neck. 

Shutting my eyes as his hands proceeded to smooth down my hair. “It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay,” he whispered into the night air. I tucked myself further into his embrace. 

“Can we just stay like this, even just for a little while?” I whispered back. His hum of agreement, a song to my needy heart.

And that’s the moment when I realised I was truly and unrevivably in love with Aemond Targaryen.

And that was the moment I realised I had love Y/n Targaryen my whole life.

------- Month 9 -  moon 9 - September

I danced around the fire as he laughed. I stopped in front of him laughing along. Reaching out and pulling him from his perch on our driftwood seat. The barley beer in his hand  and wine in mine.

We swapped drinks, the beer tart on my tongue as it mixed with previous gulp of sweet wine. More giggle bubbling up as everything blurred and slowed. Aemond’s own movements sluggish and slow as he laughed and giggled with me. 

I plopped to the ground and fell back , Aemond following suit. I reached up and traced the stares with delicate swirling fingers. “ I want to swim.” I jumped up, looking down at the man next to me. “Come.”

“What?” He laughed confused as he dazed at me, standing up himself and brushing his legs off.

“Come, lets go swimming.” He laughed at me. Quickly grabbing the water skins from the ground, handing me the wine. We smiled as we gulped down the rest dropping them to the floor once finished. 

He grabbed my hand spinning me. Our conjoined hands still in the air as I pulled him the shore line. Dropping his hand stopping just before the water could brush our feet. I began to undress down to my undergarments.

I turned my head to look over my shoulder only to catch him staring at my back. I fully turned around. “Come on Aemond,” I laughed and softly pushed him back. I ran (sloppily) into the water. Diving in once it reached just above my waist line.

I re-surfaced and brushed my hair away from my face. I looked around for the familiar blonde not seeing him anywhere. “Aemond?” I called. “Aemond!” Worry troubled my voice. “Aem-,” I gasped as I got dragged under the freezing water.

I burst out, my throat burning as I choked on the water I had swallowed. “You cunt,” I breathed deeply as I unhappily watched him laugh at me. I swam towards him, smiling as I watched his face change from amusement to confusion.

I braced my hands onto his shoulders pushing myself up and consequently him down. He shot up, pushing me back. I tossed my head back and cackled as I saw him. His long blonde hair covered his whole face as the ends pooled around him like a wet veil. 

 Tears came to my eyes and my ribs grew sore from laughing as he flipped his hair back. He grumbled and smiled as I attempted to turn and swim away only to be pulled back. I spun around in his grasp. His hands on my hips. My hands on his shoulders.

Our smiles softened as we stared at each other. I raised my hand move the stray hairs away that stuck to his forehead. Only now noticing how he had removed his eyepatch. His beautiful sapphire in place of his once gentle eye. 

I brushed my thumb under his eye, over his risen scar. My eyes flicking to his seeing the way way his eyes shut and the way his breath shallows. My eyes flicked down to his lips, flicking back up to his eye. 

I leant forward ever so slightly, stopping to feel the way our chests pressed together and how our heart beats drummed to the sway of the waves. Then...finally the gap was closed.

Our lips pressed together, gentle and tender. Heart warming and racing. It was everything I had imagined, everything I had dreamed. I had read every letter he had sent over the last five years. 

“Happy name-day Y/n.” He whispered, our lips brushing over one another. I smiled at him, as he kissed my forehead. “Avy jorrãelan,” That was what I wanted, all I wanted to hear.

“Avy jorrãelan,” I whispered into the mellow night. The sea shuddered around us. The moon smiled onto us.

------- Month 10 - moon 10 - October

Vahgar called out as she rose from the sand her heavy steps shaking the whole of Wyl. I smiled as I flew ahead. However, they soon caught up, Vahgar’s mass riding next to us. I looked to my left watching as Aemond pushed forward. 

The large tail swayed dangerously behind them. Selene and I swooped down under the belly of the beast. Pushing forward. Once the sky had cleared I flew up. 

I looked behind me seeing his smiling, amused face. “Come on Visenya catch up!” I called laughing as I heard his own chuckles break the wind. I put my arms out at my sides feeling the way the crisp air nipped at the skin.

There they were again. We flew slowly side by side. Flying towards the moon. Selene whistle and called to Vahgar, who grunted back. I pet her neck softly.

“I’ll race you back!” I shouted to my left. Diving down again we flew over the waves. Her claw dragging through the cold sea. We hovered just under the gren mass’s wing. 

Turning to my right to move slightly, we rose back up to be in level, them slightly ahead. I pushed forward once again, Selene’s raspy raw shouted back. Echoing like a broken melody. 

We shot ahead and I shouted in excitement. The rush of the wind could never parallel to the rush of my blood in my veins. We landed with a thud. Selene raising her head proud and high, us both shouting in victory.

I jumped from her saddle resting my head against her scaled jaw, my hand holding onto one of the smaller horns on her jaw line. The all mighty thud next to us signifying the losers arrival. 

“That was unfair Selene is faster,” he complained as he grabbed me by my waist, spinning me. I kissed him softly, his thumb running along my cheek. We parted and he grabbed my hand pulling me gently to our driftwood.

I sat on the sand as Aemond began to make the fire. I dragged my hand across the imperfect beige wood. Unsheathing the dagger with a ‘shing’ that cleanly cut through the quiet. Rhaenyra had gifted Luke, Jace and I a dagger on our name-days all similar.

Mine has a dragon pummel and the Sigel of the house Valaryion engraved into the metal of the dagger. I began to carve away at wood, concentrating on the way I moved the sharp tip.

Aemond came to sit next to me. Placing a kiss on the bottom of my jaw watching as I carefully carved our initials into the wood. “There.” I nodded affirmatively. I felt him smile against my neck, before he kissed my temple.

we turned around to face the singing warmth as we leant into each other and watched the heat eat away at the old rotting washed up wood.

------- Month 11 - moon 11 - November 

We walked through the bustling market, arm in arm. It was far from quiet. It was beautiful. There were children running and women carrying baskets of produce and supplies. The men at the market shouted about their items.

It was straight out of a tale my father would tell when my sisters and I were young. I pulled my cloak further over my face as we weaved between the people. I felt Aemond squeeze my hand lovingly. I looked up at him as he smiled down at me.

The man across from us on my right beckoned us over. I reached into my pocket taking out my purse. Th man thanked me as we walked away, the basket hung on my arm softly. The strong twisting and winding wood pressed against my arm.

My basket eventually grew heavy. Lemon cakes, bread, wines and fruits weighed my arm down, my body growing tired and sluggish rather quickly. We stopped at the blacksmiths, watching as my blonde lover payed the blacksmith for a dagger.

We quickly moved on. Meats and more wine being added to the already uncomfortable basket. We stopped on the far corner, “wait here.” He kissed the top of my head as he disappeared amongst the people.

I looked around, my eyes meeting those of a young child’s. Small curiously innocent eyes. I walked over to him the small child was muddied and his hair was matted. I reached into my basket handing him some fruit.

Then a lemon tart. I smiled as I watched his face light up in such joy. I gasped in shock as the child ruched into my arms and hugged me tightly. He pulled away with a wide smile and I place my hand onto the top of his head.

“Come now my love leave the child alone,” I waved goodbye to the small child rising to my full height. The weight of the basket now lighter. I linked my arm into Aemond’s again watching his face.

“Where did you go,” I asked as we began to weaved between the people again. My shoulder getting bumped every once in a while jostling me around.

“It does not matter.” I nodded slowly as we continued on our way back to the dragons.

------- Month 12 - moon 12 - December 

My eyes cracked open, the sun burning at them wasting no time. I groaned and rolled over. Now I faced the sleeping prince. His beauty is a sight to be hold. Especially in the morning.

I reached over and brushed some of his hair back, observing the way the sun kissed his skin. Breath-taking. The only way I could describe him as of right now. It is moments like these that I truly savour and keep dear. All these months.

I smiled a soft smile at all the moments we have had. I can only dream o the future. Aemond has restored my happiness. I could never thank him enough, I can only hope my love is enough. 

I rested my palm on his soft cheek. No matter what the skin always stays a milky-freckled pale colour. Like I had said he was beautiful. It’s just like seeing him for the first time again.

He smiled and turned his head kissing my palm with his own soft smile. His eye cracked open and stared at me in adoration, which I returned ten fold. I leant forward and kissed his cheek. 

As we sat up the furs around us fell. The wind was harsh causing bumps to rise on my skin. He ran his hand up and down my arm before he leant forward and lied a kiss on my shoulder.

Pressing our foreheads together and revelling in the moment. Kissing softly in the sun’s gleam of stunning glee. He stood first, reaching out and pulling me up. He raised my hands to his mouth and kissed my knuckles sweetly. 

I giggled, “We must go before my father and your mother realise we are gone.” He nodded slowly still properly waking up. I threw on my riding gear and strapped my dagger to my hip. 

“Goodbye my love, till the next moon,” I kissed his temple about to make leave towards Selene, but he caught my wrist. He entangled my fingers with his and smiled a gentle love sick smile.

“Wait I have something for you,” he left me stood on the makeshift bed as he rustled through his satchel frustrated. “I have been meaning to give this to you. I have just been waiting for the right moment.”

He held up a pendent. It was small and gold. The pendent was the of sun. He walked towards me. I pulled my hair over my shoulder allowing him to clasp it around my neck.

I admired the gold, brushing my fingers over it as if it were a glass ornament.  I looked up with my own love sick smile only for it to widen. I watched as his own pendent swayed in the sunlight. A silver moon.

He tucked the pendent under his under shirt as I leant up to kiss him. “Goodbye, my moon” he whispered onto my lips, brushing his nose on mine.

“Goodbye my sun,” I whispered back, gently squeezing the nape of his neck. Walking away to Selene felt odd as I slipped from his grasp, that comforting warmth gone. But I have to go.

So I left and prayed my father won’t question me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

• Here’s everyone who wanted to be tagged:

@mischiefmanaged71

@malfoytargaryen

@mischiefmanaged71 @malfoytargaryen

[pandajaye]

Todoroki Family Ties (Part 7)

Characters: Enji Todoroki, Stepmom!OC!Ivy (Ivy is black btw), Child!Shoto Todoroki, Teen!Touya Todoroki

Warnings: child missing, dangerous criminals, mention of child murder, family abandonment

Enji and Ivy searched the entire property but Shoto was no where to be found. They called the police, Officer Tsukauchi alerted AllMight and Eraserhead and they were helping find him too. Even with them here, they were careful to keep quiet about the missing child of a Pro Hero. You never know what Villains could be looking for him too. The worst part of it was, the reason they needed pro hero help was because Shoto was the least dangerous person they were searching for today. The news reported that someone dangerous was out on the run and that only made Ivy’s heart sink lower. They figured they were fine since it was a private residence and Shoto was with a nanny, but she was gone too.

“We’re working hard to find him and the missing nanny, ma’am. I hate that this happened on the same day that a criminal broke out of jail. Is there any more information that you can give us about the boy or the woman?”

Tsukauchi must have been in a lot of situations where he had to show calmness towards civilians. His soft voice gave her a sense of peace, it was small but any was good.

“I-I.... I don’t know too much about her. She seems good with the kids. We just recently hired her last week and she’s been an angel. She has a very kind attitude for an older woman with a tattoo.”

“A tattoo? What did it look like? Can you describe it for me?”

Ivy thought hard about the image that was located on the woman’s hand. Enji didn’t agree with it but Ivy convinced him that since she wa so child friendly, the tattoo shouldn’t matter.

“It was a thin black circle with a cherry blossom inside. There was an ‘X’ on the right side of the circle. It was kind of wrinkled a long with her hand but I still thought it looked pretty cool.”

One of the officers that was standing in front of her drawing the description of the tattoo nodded to Tsukauchi. When he looked back at her, she could tell there was more of a hardness to his face. He turned to Enji and Allmight who had been standing next to them to observe.

“If it’s alright, I’d like to just speak to you two alone for a minute.”

They looked at each other before taking a step into the kitchen, away from where Ivy could hear.

“I’m afraid that the nanny may be involved in the disappearance of the boy. The tattoo that Mrs. Todoroki had described matched the same image of another womanms tattoo. They’re believe to be apart of a gang of Villains called the Withered Blossoms. Any crime scene these women have been apart of usually have young men unconscious or dead but with the appearance of someone who is old. Their victims also are left with no money. Apparently they use the youth from their victims to stay alive. There’s no telling how long they’ve been on this earth but we’ve managed to mostly keep them in jail. I’m not sure what they would want Shoto for. Either his youth, or ransom, but I know that we’ll do whatever it takes get him back and those women in maximum security prison.”

Toshinori thanked Mr. Tsukauchi before turning to look at Enji. His gaze was stuck on the ground, thinking about everything that was just explained. He was never one to really show emotion when anyone other than his family was around. Though he wasn’t sure if he’d even get a response, Toshi tried his best to communicate with Enji.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find your son. Everything will be fine.”

Enji scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Who said I was worried? I know he’ll be okay. He’s a damn Todoroki, of course he’ll be okay.”

Toshi shook his head. He could see the worry on his face. It was written in his furrowed brows. The angry wrinkles on his face. No matter how he tried to hide it, this bothered him deeply.

“It’s not bad to have feelings. Your child is out in the big world and could be in danger. It looks more suspicious not showing worry.”

Enji sighed angrily and looked at Toshi. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was speaking some sense. He didn’t know why he was such a hard ass all the time. There was just a lot of frustration and rage inside of him. The expression on his face softened but he looked away from Toshi.

“You’re right. I’m very upset. That’s.... my youngest out there. He could be scared. He could be hurt. Or.... o-or....”

“Hey. We’re not going to think like that, alright? They’re doing everything they can, looking under every rock for these villains and your son. I have no doubt that we’ll get some good news soon.”

Toshi gave him a nod of reassurance and Enji returned it. They may not get along always but he was glad to have Toshi here to comfort him and Ivy.

Especially Ivy....

This family.... Enji.... the kids.... they meant a lot to her. She was the first person in her family to be born quirkless. They hoped she would grow up and eventually gain one, but, unfortunately, it never happened. When she was in high school, she came home that day to her bags packed and thrown out of the door. They constantly hounded her for not being able to become a pro hero so that she could make them rich. Since she seemed to give no value in their eyes, she was kicked out and forced to live on her own.

After years of hard work, she graduated high school, college, got a job, and did pretty good. All on her own. She met Enji when she was fired and found a job at his agency. Apparently his assistant before her couldn’t handle his explosive temper. The difference between her and Ivy was that she could afford to quit, but Ivy was barely making it and this paycheck could change everything for her.

It was hard. There was almost constant intimidation. The atmosphere of every meeting had tension and no one was brave enough to disturb it. And it only got worse after the incident with Rei Todoroki pouring hot water over her son’s face. There were many rumors that floated around. Even when the truth about Enji putting her in a mental hospital came out, everyone said it was a cover up and that he actually murdered her. Luckily, the world continued to go around.

The agency was fine but it was obvious that Enji wasn’t. There was an aggressiveness and darkness to him that no one had ever seen before. Everyone was afraid to speak to him outside of business but Ivy figured that maybe that’s what he was missing. Someone needed to check on him and something inside of her said that it should be her. It was her character flaw. Even though she’d been through so much, she always felt as if it was her job to take care of the beasts of the world. In her mind, all they needed was love and kindness.

One day, she gathered the courage to talk to him and see how he was doing. When she opened the door to his office, the lights were off. He was just sitting in his chair but facing towards the window. That morning he walked in a nice suit but not the jacket was on the back of his chair and his tie was loosened. He was just sitting there, his head leaning against his hand like he was just done with everything.

“Hello? Mr. Endeavor?”

“What is it?

“I-I wanted to talk about something. Are you busy?”

He sighed and dropped his hand, turning to look at her and permit her to enter before turning back to the outside world.

“Come in.”

She hurried in and closed the door behind her, quietly making her way over to the front of his desk.

“I wanted to check on you.... see how you were doing lately. I’m really worried about you, sir. You haven’t burned as brightly as you used to, so I’m here if you want to talk about anything. I’m sorry if I’m bothering you in anyway, sir.”

When he didn’t respond, she walked to be in his line of sight. He looked so tired. There were bags under his eyes and a sad frown that looked as if it’s been there forever and would never leave. It broke her heart to see him so depressed. She decided to leave. He probably was being nice by not telling her to get out immediately.

“I hope your day gets better, sir...”

Ivy only took a single step before she was stopped, her small wrist in his large hand. When she looked at him, there were streaks of tears on his cheeks.

Suddenly, he pulled her to him and hugged her waist. She could feel him trembling.

“S-She’s gone.... she’s gone.... a-and it’s m-my fault-t.”

Enji’s grip on her tightened and she started to relax. He needed her in that moment and it was necessary that she was there for him.

“It’s going to be okay, sir. It’s going to be alright.”

They talked for a long time. He avoided questions about Rei but she didn’t mind. There were lots of emotions in the room. Maybe it was the sudden opportunity to be vulnerable or how she comes off as a trustworthy person, but he was quick to let her in. He admitted that this was one of the very few times that he made a connection with someone at work. He really appreciated her bravery and that she wanted to actually talk to him.

This was the beginning of their relationship. From coworkers to friends to friends to lovers. Oh how sweet it sounds. Even if it wasn’t always sweet, especially after they were married. So quickly at that. However, it was obvious that they were soulmates. The conflicts weren’t because of her, it was his toxicity. A toxicity that healed when they were together, it heals slowly, but progress is progress.

Now here they were. Enji holding Ivy as her emotions were trying to control themselves. That’s when they got the call from Toshinori. Ivy put her phone on speaker so Enji could hear too.

“We’ve found Shoto and the criminal. We’re bringing your boy home.”

A huge weight felt lifted off of the couple’s shoulders. Enji held onto Ivy as she cried into his chest. Since his hands were preoccupied with holding her, he couldn’t quickly wipe the tears out of his eyes and instead just lowered his face to kiss the top of Ivy’s head.

Shoto was back home within a few hours after an interrogation with the police. The woman had never mentioned anything about what he would be used for, she lured him with the lie that she would take him to see Rei. It made Enji and Ivy furious to find out that someone would make up such a terrible lie to kidnap a child and he vowed to find the rest of the group so they couldn’t hurt anyone else.

After dinner, and putting the kids to bed, Enji received a phone call from a number he didn’t immediately recognize and excused himself to go outside to answer it.

“We need to talk about Natsuo and Fuyumi soon. I believe it’s time that they come home.”

He recognized the voice immediately. Rei’s mother. The current guardian of his other two children.

[kitkatd7]

Broken Hearts and Whiskey

Summary: Bucky’s not the same anymore. He doesn’t spend time with you at all, or keep his promises. And your done with it.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, lots of angst, drinking, my grammar errors because I didn’t fully edit

Dialogue Prompt #19. “Please! You have to let me make this right.” 

Dialogue Prompt #7: "I can't keep being your second choice, not when you're my first." 

(Prompts will be in bold)

Word Count: 1,654

A/N: This is for @imma-new-soul‘s 550 Follower Writing Challenge and @buckys-other-punk 500 Writing Challenge!! I hope y’all like it! Sorry it’s pretty sad and the ending isn’t as good as it could be :( Also this was inspired by the songs ‘Die From a Broken Heart by Maddie & Tae and Different For Girls by Dierks Bentley' Also there are a few Criminal Minds references in here😂

Masterlinst of Masterlists || Marvel Masterist || Series Masterist || part 2 

------------------

“See you later!” You call over your shoulder at Natasha and Wanda as you unlock the door to your apartment, coming home from a very successful shopping spree. Walking into your home you toe-off your shoes at the door, setting down your keys and purse. “Babe, I’m home!” You sing, excited to finally get some time with Bucky after him being gone on a mission for three weeks. “Babe?” You ask, walking into the kitchen, setting down your multiple shopping bags and taking in the empty space. Where the hell is he? After searching the bedroom, living room, even the bathroom and still coming up empty, you look to see if you missed any calls. Nope. He was supposed to be here you fume inwardly as you press the speed dial photo; both of you together at a carnival, you smiling brightly as he places a kiss on your cheek sweetly.

It goes straight to voicemail. 5 times. Now you're not even mad… just disappointed in him. He promised. On try number 6 you’re just done. “Hey, it’s me. Listen, so I don’t know where you are but- just don’t bother coming home tonight, okay? I had plans but- never mind, it doesn’t matter that much. I’ll see you later.”  Pressing the red button you throw your phone on the couch before changing into something more comfortable. It wouldn’t be so frustrating that he wasn’t here if it was a one time thing- But this is the fifth time he hasn’t come home to spend time with you after a mission.

Plopping on the couch, you press start on something mindless that you aren’t going to watch anyway before checking your phone for- well. really anything.

1 new message

Unlocking your phone quickly, you open it in high hopes, only to see Sam’s name appear and your face falls. 

Sam: Bucky said you tried to call. Is it important?

You: No… just we had plans.

You confide, knowing Sam will understand.

Sam: Oh shit. Okay, want me to tell him to come home?

You: No. It’s fine.

Sighing, you toss your phone on the other end of the couch, throwing your head back in newfound anger. Asshole. He saw your calls and didn’t even pick up the damn phone. After a year of dating, you at least deserved that. 

------------

“Hey this is y/n, I can’t come to the phone right now cuz I’m out livin’ my life! Leave it at the beep.” He hears your all too familiar voicemail through the speaker. He had helped you come up with it, you hadn’t known what to put on it. He kicks himself, knowing you weren’t actually out living your life, just dodging his calls. Not that he blamed you- He deserved it and he knew it. Calling again, he’s not surprised when he hears your voicemail again.

“Hey… Um, listen, I know I was supposed to be at your place after the mission… I just wanted to unwind with the guys and- Shit. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think you would mind that much, I’ll be over in a bit to make it up to you, okay?” He leaves the message and ends the call before starting his car and driving towards your apartment, guilt heavy in his stomach.

You listen to his voicemail over and over, a strange mix of rage and sorrow weighing on your heart.

Tears roll slowly down your cheeks silently as you lay curled up in a defensive ball on your bed, trying to block out the unmistakable sound of Bucky begging you to open the front door; “Babe, please open the door,” He says, fist resting gently against the frame. “I’m sorry- really, really sorry. Please let me in and we can talk about it,” He sighs, resting his head against the door in defeat. He could break the lock and go in. You both know that. But he wouldn’t do that to you- All that would do is make you fear him and that’s the last thing he wants. He slides his back down the wall til he’s sitting on the floor next to your door, his elbows on his knees and his hands in his hair; Tears gathering in his lashes. He really messed up this time.

----------

The next day you drag yourself out of bed, trying to forget last night and all the tears you shed. After a shower and breakfast, you head out the door for a coffee run before work. You stop in your tracks when you see Bucky still sitting there, eyes red from lack of sleep and regret written all over his face. He jumps up when you walk out, keys in hand, the door closing behind you. “What are you doing here?” 

“I- I came to apologize,” he murmurs, looking in your eyes.

“I don’t want to hear it,” you bite, moving to step around him but stopping when he steps to block your path.

“Bucky, I’m going to be late for work,” you say coldly, glaring at him. “Move out of the way.”

“Please doll, just let me expla-”

Huffing, you roll your eyes. “I understand perfectly, James.” You watch as he flinches a little at the use of his first name. You only use it when your really mad or really happy, and it isn’t the latter right now. “You were too busy with your beer buddies to come see your girlfriend after being gone for three weeks, but what’s new? It’s been like this for months. I guess it was naive of me to expect something else this time.” You shoulder past him as he stares at you; dumbfounded. Tears gather in your eyes as you make your way to your car in the rain. Your almost there when you feel a large hand on your arm and hear your name being whispered. You turn around and look up into his stormy eyes. You always loved his eyes- They’re always so bright and big and- Now is not the time to be thinking about his stupidly gorgeous eyes.

“Please! You have to let me make this right,” he whispers, tears forming in his eyes as well, mixing with the raindrops rolling down his face and dampening is hair. 

“Bucky…” You sigh, pulling your arm out of his grasp gently. “I don’t think you can fix this. I can't keep being your second choice, not when you're my first." You climb into your car as he stares at you as you pull out of the parking lot. He sinks to the ground on his knees, not caring that his clothes are practically soaked, or that someone might think he looks crazy. None of that matters- because your gone. His girl. Gone. He can’t breathe. The pressure weighs heavy in lungs as all the air is pushed from them and his heart shatters. It’s all he can do to draw a ragged breathe between sobs.

---------------------

You manage to hold yourself together until you pull into the starbucks parking lot. And then you totally loose it; Tears and mascara mix together and run down your cheeks as you sob into your steering wheel. It feels like your heart is being torn out of your chest. Bucky was the best thing that ever happened to you… and deep down you had feared something like this would happen, but you didn’t think it actually would. You loved him- And now he was gone. 

You trek into Walmart, heading straight for the junk food isle, not caring that you look like an absolute mess. Grabbing some much needed chocolate, chips, cookies and other coping foods, you check out, starting to cry again when the cashier gives you a pitiful look on your way out. 

Stumbling into your apartment, you throw your bags on the kitchen counter before grabbing your desired snacks and tossing them on your bed. You pull on sweatpants and one of Bucky’s hoodies, sending an ache of longing through your chest. Even changing clothes feels like more effort than you could possibly muster but you somehow manage before crawling into bed and turning on reruns of Friends before you start crying again. After 2 bags of chocolate, a bag of Doritos, a burger and french fries you grabbed on the way home, you still feel like absolute shit. Maybe this is just how it will be- Unable to get over him, unable to move on. Eventually you fall asleep from exhaustion, tear stains and left-over makeup on your face and Bucky’s pillow clutched against your chest. 

------------

Bucky ambles into the bar, sliding onto a stool with sullen eyes, ordering a shot of vodka before mumbling “Keep em coming.” 

Throwing his head back, he grimaces as the bitter liquid burns its way down his throat. He knows he can’t get drunk but he’s willing to try. Anything to stop feeling like this.

The old barkeep leans on the bar behind him, looking at Bucky with an evaluating stare. 

“What was her name?” He questions gently after a moment of silence.

“Wha- How did you know?” Bucky looks up in surprise and pain, his forearms resting on the bar, holding another shot.

“Son, you can’t hide the look of love gone wrong.”

Tossing back another, Bucky looks in the shot glass like it holds all the answers before whispering your name, his voice breaking. “Did you ever love someone?” He asks brokenly.

The older man chuckles lightly at this. “I did, still do.” He holds up his left hand as proof.  “Do you wanna know the secret to love?” He asks, stepping closer.

“Why not, it’s not like I could lose anything else,” Bucky says dryly, taking yet another shot.

“Sometimes love doesn’t last and you have to let it go… but sometimes you have to fight for it. And it’s up to you to decide which you’re gonna do. So which is it?”

-----------------------

I hope you liked it! please let me know what you think!! 

Send an ask if you would like to be added to a taglist!

Permanent tag list: (OPEN)

@lovesmesomehiddles @saiyanprincessswanie @kind-sober-fullydressed @remibarnes22 @starspangledseb @angelinathebook @star-spangled-beard-burn @itsunclebucky @teenagereadersciencenerd @chaotic-fae-queen @bugsbucky @cap-n-stuff

Crackheads:

@buckys-other-punk @hermionesalvatore84 @chaoticpete @cheeky-foxx @babygurlbarnes @msgreenverse @maddeningmentalmess @mmm-tatre-tots @js3639 @peterpanfromlemonland @bonky-and-steeb @c-emma098 @bonky-and-steeb @imaspecialpersonwhoneedshelp 

[cosmicbash]

One the angsty prompt ideas I’ve been thinking about is Kells practicing how to cook for weeks so he can surprise Em by cooking him dinner, maybe for an anniversary or something, and on the day Kells has planned to surprise him, Em is hours late, leaving Kells alone for the evening. If you’re interested maybe you could write something like this? 🥰

3 years together. One thousand and ninety five fucking days between him and this old dorky man.

It's insane. Downright impossible to believe but Colson knows it's as real and true as the 2 year sobriety chip he's got hung around his neck on the gold chain Marshall gifted him with it this morning.

Both their relationship and his sobriety are as intertwined as their lives are now. Marshall's like the glue that holds all of his pieces together. Picking Colson back up, time and time again whenever he shattered in the beginning and filling in the gaps with his own loose pieces until it was Colson's turn to do the same. Which, by then, it only made sense to combine their puzzles and broaden the picture.

Now Marshall swoops in for Casie's PTA meetings he can’t make during tour. Holding the phone and helping him FaceTime for soccer games and school conferences when flight delays or bad luck keeps him late.

Colson tags along to Whitney's first few dates out in LA, weaving through the public spaces Marshall never could without drawing attention just to make sure she's safe and respected.

They tag team any situation involving the girls, even though Alaina and Hailey both still snicker at him from time to time, and Casie rolls her eyes at Marshall's rules. They're more than just dating now.

They're family.

And even just thinking about that brings tears to Colson's eyes.

Or maybe it's the onions. Baze said chewing gum helped mitigate this fucking problem but goddammit does it burn-

"Fuck!"

He has no idea how he got it in his mind that he could actually cook a meal, let alone a full anniversary dinner for Marshall but here he is. A pot and pan already cooking on the stove and his fingers knicked a dozen times in his rush to cut up more veggies for the sauce. 

It's insane.

But Colson's following through with it anyway, because he fucking loves Marshall and that bastard cooks dinner for them every single holiday or occasion so it's about time he stepped up to the plate and did it himself. 

Plus he's been secretly practicing for weeks with Baze over both FaceTime and a few in person lessons. Perfecting his simmering styles and meat seasoning to make the tastiest meal he can manage all on his own.

So far the last three times he's made the dish his bassist had given stellar reviews so there's little chance he'll somehow fuck it up tonight knowing it's for Marshall…..at least, he hopes.

The minor setbacks his butchered fingers have brought aside though, so far everything was coming along perfectly. His noodles are boiling (never over the rim, thank you wooden spoon trick), his meats marinating, and as soon as he tosses these sliced onions in his sauce will be cooking down beautifully.

All in all the night is starting to look like it just might be perfect.

Until 6 o'clock passes by and Colson's ears never pick up the click of the front door knob, or the hum of Marshall's escalade pulling up front outside.

The food's still simmering, minutes away from being actually done so he doesn't worry too much. Sure he was hoping to have a sweet moment where his boyfriend comes home and catches him cooking at the stove like a traditional housewife, but seeing his face when the food's done and plated promises to be just as cute.

Besides, Marshall has always fit the housewife role so much better than him anyway. Even the apron Colson's wearing is one of the older rapper's, stolen from his small collection in the pantry to protect his designer sweater.

Colson doesn't start to worry at 6. Traffic can be a bitch.

7 though? And then 7:30 when his texts go unread and his calls ring all the way through to voice-mail? That's when the blonde starts to fret. 

He's luckily put off plating because some brief flash on uncertainty had run through him after the food finished so it's stayed warm and simmering on the stove. But even that had to come to an end before 7:30 because his sauce would singe or his noodles might squish, so now Colson's trying to keep busy by perfecting the presentation. Shaky fingers swiping around the edges of Marshall's plate to clean up a splatter of sauce. Every Chopped Judge rambling off feedback in his head until he has it looking like something he's certain even Gordon fucking Ramsey would ask for a bite of.

By 8 the dinner table is set. His plate, Marshall's, the bucket of low alcoholic wine they both love chilling as a centerpiece. Colson even lights a few candles and adds some flowers from this mornings gift exchanges to keep himself from screaming.

There's a pit in his stomach that's steadily been growing though. Every passing minute and glance to his phone where he finds no change only carving it deeper. 

Marshall should be home. He never runs this late at the studio without a call, let alone without a message. He's treated his work like any other 9-5 job since before they ever even got together, always strict about his routine and careful to make up for over run hours by leaving earlier the next day. Usually Colson likes to bust his balls and insist he live a little more spontaneously but tonight isn't the one to pull that.

Especially not if it means Marshall's going to completely forget to check his fucking phone and leave him trying not to think the worst.

Colson only males it another 5 minutes before he caves and texts Paul. Fingers tapping fast across his screen to draft multiple desperate sounding messages before he finally settles on a "Em bust his phone again?" That feels just casual enough to not embarrass him in the off chance Marshall decides to burst through the front door seconds after it sends.

The door stays closed though and Paul doesn't open the message at all. 

Now Colson can't even start passive aggressively eating dinner on his own if he wanted too. The pit in his stomach has torn itself open wide into a nauseous chasm. Every scary possibility he wanted to avoid thinking about spilling forth from the dark trench like ghouls.

He's dead. Some crazy fan broke into the studio and shot the whole place up. No one's gotten around to tell him yet, that's all. They're too busy dealing with the fallout.

No, Em's security is beyond top tier, and with how close Colson and his current bodyguard are he knows the guy would call him immediately. Marshall's fine.

Unless… what if he was in a car accident? Or some road rage incident gone fatal? Colson's seen Marshall's short temper flare up while driving. They've made dozens of jokes about it in the past, so is it really that unreasonable to believe?

Colson's pacing in the front haul when he calls Porter. Phone tucked between his ear and shoulder while he fights his shoe laces, heart racing in his chest. Prepping to fly out of the house the second Denaun tells him what fucking hospital Marshall's staying in, praying it's at the ICU section and not some fucking morgue.

"Kelly?" The older man sounds confused when he finally answers. Voice high and tone light like he's expecting this to be a butt dial. "What's up man?"

The lack of rush or worry in Denaun's voice almost soothes Colson's panic right on the spot. Surely he wouldn't sound so casual if something had happened. 

It's enough to keep Colson from immediately pleading for Marshall's safety at the least. "H-hey, uh nothing really-" Maybe Marshall is even with him right now, realizing how fucking late its gotten and how shit of a boyfriend he's been and that's why Denaun sounds awkward too. "Just uh, waiting for Marsh to get his slow ass home ya know? Sorry, aheh, I'm probably sounding like a fucking needy girlfriend right now, calling his friends and shit-" the longer Colson rambles the more embarrassed he actually feels in the moment.

God he must sound pathetic right now. Panicking over Marshall being a few hours late.

"Waiting? Didn't Marshall head out like 2 hours ago?"

"W-what?"

Colson's blood feels like actual ice in his veins.

"He isn't home? I mean, I know he was gonna stop at- fuck is it already half past 8? Marshall seriously isn't home?" Denaun's sudden panic only heightens Colson's own, but he can't get any more words to come out. Not with how a rock feels like it's jumped up his throat. "Shit, Ryan are you getting through to him? Try Paul-"

Ryan's there too? 

"What? Paul's gotta fucking answer-"

They can't get ahold of Paul either?

"Kelly have you-"

Marshall's missing. Colson's been standing around making dinner for hours, worrying over the portion sizes and appearance of his plates and Marshall's been fucking missing. What kind of partner is he? What will he even tell Hailey? Alaina? And fuck Casie is supposed to be coming up this weekend so they can all go vacation together before his next tour-

The front door bumping into his shoe startles Colson out of his frozen panic. Denaun's angry shouting dropping from his ear, as he twists and meets a pair of sheepish blue eyes peeking around the hardwood.

"Hey." 

Marshall's…..

"Is that my apron?"

So fucking dead.

"Is this your--" Colson's fingers are curling around the edge of the door so fast he doesn't even care that it makes his phone fly to the floor. "That's what you want to fucking say to me!?" His anger is boiling fast, replacing the cold in his veins with lava. "You fucking piece of-"

Marshall stumbling inside with the yanked door is expected, but the flash of bandages and a sling douse Colson's flames like a bucket of water. "Ow, fuck just give me a second to explain-"

He's hurt.

Now with all of Marshall visible Colson's hyperaware of dry blood splattered on his white graphic tee and scratches partially hidden within the rapper's beard along his cheek. "I got in an accident out on the M-8, it was minor but-"

Colson really can't handle all these rapid mood switches Marshall is putting him through today.

“You fucking idiot-“ Tears are bubbling up in his eyes and it’s like his hands can’t reach his partner fast enough. Pulling Marshall into his arms for a tight hug despite the pained noises his actions inspire. “Stupid, old asshole-“ Marshall’s hurt, the cars probably wrecked, but he’s home and that’s enough of a relief to finally smother that pit weighing down his stomach. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

A moment passes before he’s hugged back, shock more than likely freezing his partner up but when Marshall does loop his good arm around Colson he pulls him close. So close Colson is the one who’s bones feel like they might ache. “Can’t make any promises about that,” The older rapper’s palm feels warm when it climbs to cup his neck, Marshall’s face turning to press a kiss into Colson’s throat. 

That brush of lips is the final crack to release the flood gates.

"I love you."

"I know."

"I really really fucking love you."

"I know baby."

"I don't care how old your ass is, you better hold out and fucking die after me like a proper goddamn boyfriend, you hear me Marshall?" He's getting snot all over the older rapper's shirt. Full on smearing it across his own cheek and the fabric with every pointless rub of his face. "I love you so fucking much. Can't do this without you."

"Told you I'm not dying after you unless you kill me first, and I'm chasing you into the afterlife once you do go too. Fuck all the marriage shit, death ain't parting us either you brat." Marshall's tone is light and his palm is doing wonders to comfort him by rubbing circles into his back. It's enough to slow his hiccupped breathing down a few notches. "I dunno if you noticed but, I'm a little obsessed with you."

That drags out a wet snort. "Y-yeah?" When Colson pulls back to meet Marshall's eyes he swears he can see a wet shimmer starting to glaze over his partner’s as well. "Prove it then."

There's a flicker of something in blue eyes, so fast that Colson almost thinks he hallucinates the emotion altogether. But then Marshall's wrapped up arm wiggles between their bodies. The dark blue of the sling catching and sliding so his scratched up fist can shimmy its way partially out. "Planned on it-" There's something clutched tight there, black peeking out from between Marshall's finger and thumb. It's got Colson's heart dropping down into his stomach all over again. "What do you think I was driving so late on the M-8 for?"

"Marshall-" It can't be.

"Colson." But his shithead of an accident victim boyfriend is pulling back, both his good arm and slung arm awkwardly flailing in the air for a moment as he drops down on one knee. The visible wince not hidden as well as Colson imagines the man wants it to be. But Marshall's eyes are softening, and the blonde feels completely cemented in place. The only part of him moving being the uncontrollable shaky quiver of his bottom lip. "I had a whole moment planned, there were flowers, balloons, and those stupidly expensive alcoholic chocolates you love, but they all got absolutely trashed in the crash. Like, half of Detroit is probably going to think the Macies Thanksgiving parade started early. Paul called to have it all replaced, and honestly some intern is probably going to come banging on the door in about 20 minutes but I don't want to wait-" There's a flash of genuine worry that's furrowing the skin between Marshall's brows as he continues. "So I'm sorry this isn't gonna be that fancy perfect proposal you've always dreamed of-"

"Shut up." Colson's voice can't go above a whisper. His tone quick and clipped from how anxious he is to hear the man finally finish. "Just- shut up, ask me. Ask me Marsh, please-"

"Fine, always need to rush me."The rapper's lip quirks at the corners. Hands transferring the small box between eachother with a bit of fumbling. "Will you, Colson Baker-" Until Marshall can finally get it open with an audible clunk. "Legally commit to being with my annoying old ass forever?" 

[thegreenwolf]

Betting on the Ponies (originally posted at my blog at https://thegreenwolf.com/betting-on-the-ponies/)

(Above:  Breyer Classic Arabian Stallion made over into a winged unicorn with real wings from a barnyard mix rooster I raised for meat.)

If you’ve been paying attention to my social media or my shop links at all, you may have noticed that I haven’t really been posting much in the way of new hide and bone art for the past year or so. It’s not that I’ve stopped; I still make some fun things for my Patrons on Patreon every month, and I make some bone, tooth and claw jewelry on Etsy to order. But ever since events dried up, I haven’t been regularly making new batches of costume pieces or other Vulture Culture art. My usual M.O. was to make all sorts of new things for an upcoming event, and then once the weekend was done and I was home, post whatever hadn’t sold on Etsy. And since there haven’t been events…well…I’ve just found myself doing other things.

Some of that is because I’ve had to scramble to make up for the lost income; events were a pretty big chunk of my “pay”, and losing them meant having to tighten the belt. I also lost several other income streams thanks to the pandemic making it unsafe to be around groups of people, which didn’t help. So I had to rely on what was left, along with adopting a few new sources of bits and bobs of cash here and there.

And, honestly, I’ve needed a bit of a break. I’ve been making hide and bone art for over two decades now, and while I love it, any artist eventually wants to explore different media for a while. Sure, I’ve stretched my Vulture wings in new directions, going from costume pieces and ritual tools to assemblages and the Tarot of Bones. But ever since the Tarot came out, I’ve been feeling….not really burned out, but a little creatively wrung out, at least. I’ve really appreciated my Patrons and Etsy customers who have helped me keep a hand in that particular medium, while also allowing me to head off in other directions, too.

Which is to say that if you have been paying attention to the aforementioned social media and shops, you may have also noticed that I’ve been increasing the number of customized Breyer model horses and other animals I’ve made over the past couple of years. This might seem like a heck of a departure from skulls, bones, and other dead things. But in a way it’s really me getting back to long-neglected roots.

(One of my favorite customs I’ve done on one of my favorite molds, the Breyer semi-rearing mustang. )

See, I was a horse girl when I was a kid. Or, rather, I was a wannabe horse girl. I never got to lease or own a horse, and even now in my early 40s I’m still about the greenest rider you’ll find. (Seriously, I need one of those kid-proof horses that’s seen it all, done it all, and is probably more trail-smart than I am.) But I was obsessed with horses from a young age. It started with my very first My Little Pony that I got Christmas morning, 1983 (Applejack, if you must know), and then exploded further with a book on how to draw horses and my first Breyer model (Black Beauty 1991 on the Morganglanz mold) in my preteens. Horse actually took over for Gray Wolf for a few years as my primary animal spirit during my teens, so we have a very long history indeed.

And since I couldn’t have a real horse, I ended up collecting model horses, mostly Breyers with a few old Hartlands for variety. I had over 100 at the peak of my collecting, but I had to sell them all in my early twenties when I was between jobs. In hindsight it was probably for the best because having less stuff made it easier to get through the period of my life where I was moving about once a year, but I do miss that collection.

Back then I did my part to add to the artistic end of the model horse hobby, mostly with badly blended acrylic paint jobs and terrifying mohair manes and tails. But it made me happy, and that was the most important thing. Even though I only knew a couple other collectors in my little rural area, and my only real connection to the hobby was through the quarterly Just About Horses magazine Breyer put out, my collecting really made me happy in the same way that my first fur scraps and bones would catch my interest a few years later.

2020….well, it sucked. We all know that. Pandemic, political stress, financial roller coasters and more made it a really tough year for anyone who wasn’t wealthy enough to hide away and weather it all. And many of us found ourselves with more time at home, in need of distractions and solace. It ended up being a time where many people rediscovered their love of childhood hobbies. I’m one of those people. I’ve been slowly edging my way back in for the past few years, starting with repainting a few old Breyer models found at thrift stores, and then gaining momentum as I found that not only was I much better at customizing these models than I used to be, but I was having fun without the pressure to make a living off of it. (Yes, I love my hide and bone art, but when an art form is your bread and butter, it changes your relationship to it. But that’s a post for another time…)

So 2020 saw me really ramp up my customization efforts. I had to stop for a few months in summer and fall when I moved to a spifftacular new living space on the farm I’ve been working on the past few years (with, by the way, THE best studio space EVER!) but as the days shortened I found myself making more dedicated time to repainting and otherwise customizing models. I even started keeping a few of the models I’d bought to customize that were in better condition to create a small, but slowly growing original finish collection, and that really helped me feel like I was back in the (not actually a) saddle.*

That’s why a well-established artist of organic, pagan-influenced arts made from fur and leather and bone and feather suddenly started painting all these secondhand plastic ponies. It’s giving me that deep injection of childhood nostalgia balanced with adult skill and perspective, and it’s offered me a much-needed break from the exhausting schedule I’ve been living the past decade or so. Because suddenly, even with the time spent rearranging my income opportunities to make sure I could stay afloat, I found myself with a little time that hadn’t been scheduled to death, and when I thought about what I wanted to do with that time, I gravitated toward one of the few creative outlets in my life that was purely for fun.**

(Yes, this IS fan art of “The Last Unicorn”! I used a Breyer Stablemate rearing Arabian for the unicorn, and a Breyer Spanish fighting bull for the Red Bull. A LOT of fun to make this particular project.)

In a way having all my events canceled was one of the best things that happened to me, because it made me slow the fuck down. I no longer had several weekends a year where I had to spend weeks beforehand making art and otherwise preparing to be away from all my farm responsibilities for 4-7 days at a time, with all the packing and moving and setup and vending and teaching and teardown and going home and unpacking and exhaustion that goes with each event. I realized just how much each one was taking out of me, especially as I’ve gotten older. And I also recognized how much pressure I had been putting on myself to ALWAYS MAKE MORE STUFF FOR ETSY EVERY WEEK OR ELSE.

So the model horses are really sort of a symbol of the childhood joy I’ve managed to recapture, wresting time and energy back from my workaholic tendencies. I’ve even been thinking about what my professional life is going to look like once the pandemic eases up enough to allow events again, and whether I’ll put the same amount of time toward vending and and teaching at conventions and festivals as I used to. (There are a few favorites that I’m not going to miss for anything, so don’t worry about me dropping out entirely.) But for the first time in a very long time, I’m relearning to prioritize myself, and figuring out that maybe I don’t have to go hell-bent for leather every week, every year, in order to keep the bills paid and the critters fed.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s okay for this dead-critter-artist, pagan-nonfic-author, teacher-vendor-farmer, to indulge herself with something fun, and bet on the ponies to help her get through the tough times.

(P.S. Amid everything going on, I am back to working steadily on my next book, which I mentioned in this blog post almost a year ago. As a recap, its working title is Coyote’s Journey: Deeper Work With the Major Arcana, and it’s a deep dive into that section of the tarot using pathworkings with the animals I assigned to the major arcana of the Tarot of Bones. It’s not just a Tarot of Bones book, though; it’s a good way to get a new, nature-based angle on the majors in general, as well as hopefully gain a better understanding of yourself. My goal is to have it out later this year, self-pub of course, and at the rate I’m going it may end up being my longest book! Stay tuned, and if you want to get excerpts of the work-in-progress, become my Patron for as little as $1/month!)

*At the height of my “horse girl” phase, I had a really beat-up pony saddle I’d bought for ten bucks at a yard sale, and got a cheap saddle stand for it and put it in my room. And yes, I occasionally sat on it and pretended I was riding an actual horse. Hey, it made me happy at the time, and it was the closest I was ever going to get apart from a trail ride every few years.

**Yes, I do sell my customs. But I don’t make them on a schedule, I take commissions VERY sparingly, and I’m getting to stretch some new creative muscles, especially in the realms of sculpting and painting, so this is primarily for my enjoyment. The sales are just a side benefit.

(My ode to the forests of the Pacific Northwest, a Breyer deer repainted to resemble the Columbian black-tailed deer that frequent the farm I live on, along with hand-sculpted Amanita muscaria mushrooms, real and fake moss, and real lichens from fallen branches.)

[redeadepression]

Never Be | John Marston Fic | Arthur’s POV

~~

I’ve decided to make this a small series. John’s inner monologue of all his failures (set in my Modern AU) and interactions with his friends and family/their reactions to his situation. This one is different because it’s written from Arthur’s POV! Let me know if you want to hear John’s!

Jumbled timeline because I write what I feel like lately. This is the earliest story in the series so far.

~~

Characters: Arthur Morgan, John Marston. Hosea Matthews, Dutch Van der Linde Setting: My Modern AU  Words: 2849 Tags: Angst, Family, Adoption, Modern AU, Teen John No Trigger warnings Summery: Arthur returns home to visit his parents and receives some disturbing news.

~~

The scratching sound of Arthur’s hand-brake was always a concern to him. But even at the age of twenty-eight he was still struggling to have enough money to take the concern too seriously.

Instead, he ignored it as he always did. Making sure to let it click at least three times and silently praying that his car would not roll back down the drive once he left it.

He sat back in his chair for a moment. Letting his head fall back against the rest and sighing deeply as he prepared himself for the next few hours.

He loved his parents deeply. He would be forever grateful for the way they took him in. Not just as a Foster family but for adopting him officially as well.

But hell, they were exhausting sometimes. Dutch more so than Hosea. Always wanting to talk shop and try and convince Arthur to go another way in life. Stop trying to get his art out there and take on a trade instead.

Hosea was more supportive of his life choices. But the way he fussed over Arthur’s eating and the way he lived was its own form of exhausting. Always having to assure the older man that his apartment was clean and he had eaten three meals in a day.

Instant ramen was a meal. He didn’t care how hard others argued against that.

He missed being a carefree teen like John was at the moment. Not having to worry about mundane things like bills and whether or not his car would break down on the way to work for the third time in a week.

Steeling himself against the wave of questions as to why it had been so long since he visited, he pushed open his door and exited the vehicle.

Locking his car and checking to make sure his wallet was in his back pocket. He turned, jogging up the front steps and knocking on the screen door. It rattled under his knuckles, wobbling in its frame. Arthur had always mused just how easy it would be to push it off it’s hinges and walk inside. He was always on their asses to lock the wooden door as well but they refused. The screen let in the cool breeze and stopped them from having to pay for air conditioning.

Not that the cool breeze ever did anything to alleviate how sweltering their house was in summer.

Air conditioning was something Arthur had looked forward to the most when he left home. Turning it on and letting it run 24/7.

Until he’d gotten his first power bill.

“$600 a year is a bit steep for power isn’t it?” He’d asked Hosea bitterly.

Hosea had laughed heartily at his son’s naivety.

“Electric bills are not yearly son.” He’d corrected. “Every three months.”

“Every three months?” Arthur had asked incredulously, the other man smiling to himself knowingly.

“Not so fun being an adult now is it?” He’d chuckled simply.

Arthur still bristled at the memory. They could have warned him.

Although he knew deep down there was no way he would have listened anyway.

Arthur drummed his fingers absently against his thigh as he waited to be let inside. Frowning when no one came to the door and flicking through his keys to look for his old one.

He let himself inside, closing and relocking the door behind him as he yelled out that he had entered.

He checked the time on his watch as he walked down the hallway and turned into the living room. They did say lunch was at 2pm. He was only fifteen minutes early.

No one was in the kitchen.

Placing his hands on his hips, he looked around the room, clicking his tongue as he decided they must still be on their way home.

“Alright.” He whispered under his breath, leaving the living room and continuing on down the hallway towards his old room. He had wanted to grab some of his book he’d left here years before anyway.

As he sidled down the hallway he stopped in his tracks, movement catching his eye as he backtracked a few steps and peered into John’s bedroom through the open door.

“Hey?” He asked in surprise, realising the teen was home.

John startled at Arthur’s voice. Turning to stare at the older man, equally surprised from his place atop his bed.

“Hey.” He said back croakily, arms crossed across his chest moving to rest by his side as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

He had been staring despondently at the ceiling. Arthur wondered if he hadn’t heard him or if he was ignoring him purposefully.

“I called out.” Arthur stated simply, shrugging as he moved into the room without invitation and slumped himself down into John’s desk chair.

“Thought you were Dutch.” John said wearily, head hanging low as he sat on the edge of his bed and refused to make eye contact with the older man.

Arthur frowned, something about the teen seeming off. He was never the most enthusiastic teenager but he usually made a little more of an effort to engage with Arthur than he was at the moment. Despite his emo phase ending a few years earlier he seemed withdrawn and sullen.

Arthur took in the younger’s pale appearance. Dark circles underlining his youthful eyes and discolouration mottling his cheeks and brow.

He seemed ill or at the very least, extremely tired.

Arthur knew he had been working hard at his trade lately. He’d earned himself an apprenticeship in some form of construction work. Hosea had been fuzzy on the details. Even hazier on whether or not John actually enjoyed or wanted the job.

Deep down Arthur felt perhaps John had just bowed to the pressure of setting himself up in life that his parents had always instilled on them. He had to choose something to get them off his back.

He felt bad for the kid. He didn’t really have any ambitions. None that he ever liked to talk about anyway.

“You alright?” Arthur asked earnestly, leaning down to try and catch John’s eye as the other nodded softly.

“Yeah.” He lied, unable to truly force the deceit.

Arthur heard the statement for what it was, pursing his lips as he rested his forearms on his knees and leaned closer to the younger man.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asked, already knowing what the answer would be as John shook his head.

Arthur inhaled deeply, sitting back in his chair and wincing as he leaned forwards again to pull his wallet from his back pocket. Placing that and his keys on the desk next to him before pausing and returning for his wallet. Slipping a 20 out of it and placing it between a stack of books.

He was broke as shit but he always had money for little John. The boy never asked anyone for a Goddamn cent and Arthur knew firsthand how cruel teenage life could be growing up with no cash. Although his parents had been generous with him, they were still less than wealthy compared to a lot of other kids in Arthur’s class.

Arthur turned back to John, clasping his hands together in between his knees and thinking on something to say to try and get the kid to talk to him. He had been feeling bad for not visiting as often lately. He wondered subconsciously if John was annoyed about that. Feeling neglected.

He had been meaning to drop by. Especially as John closed in on his eighteenth birthday. Only a week away now. Arthur had wanted to have a quick chat with him about drinking responsibly.

Although he knew of course the kid would never listen to him as he had not listened in the past. He wanted him to know he could always call if he needed him. That Arthur would be his designated driver no questions asked if he needed it.

Hosea had offered that to him just shy of his own eighteenth birthday. That and adoption papers. Arthur had never been so happy in his life.

“Your birthday’s coming up.” Arthur said after another moment of silence. “Eighteen, that’s exciting.” He baited, waiting for the other to perk up at the mention. What kind of teen wasn’t excited about hitting adulthood and all the disappointing realities that came along with it?

John’s hands tightened against his mattress, frown deepening at the mention of his birthday as Arthur watched on in confusion.

“Uh…” Arthur began, unsure what exactly had upset the kid. “Not excited then?” He asked, regretting his choice of words as he caught sight of John’s eyes watering. The younger’s hand shot to his face, wiping at the wetness before it could fall. Turning his face away from Arthur and trying his hardest to hide his tears and compose himself. “John?” Arthur said softly, feeling guilt well in his chest for causing such a strong reaction in the teen. It had been a long time since he’d seen him cry.

“Don’t.” John choked, shaking his head as he silently begged the older man to leave it alone. “Just, don’t.” He repeated, voice thick with emotion as Arthur watched on sadly.

“Arthur!” Hosea called suddenly, excited voice echoing down the hall as they both heard the old screen door rattle. Arthur turned away from John, looking out the doorway as the scrape of boots on the front mat and footsteps on the floorboards could be heard. The clunking steps drawing closer as the older couple returned home. “You’re early!” Dutch chided as the footsteps took a turn and Arthur knew without having to look that they had walked through the living room and into the kitchen.

“Fifteen minutes!” He shouted back. “Ya’ll haven’t even started cooking yet.” He complained half-heartedly before turning back to John and frowning once more. The younger was wiping at his face frantically, looking panicked as he tried to usher Arthur from the room.

The older man nodded, grabbing for his wallet and keys before leaving John’s room and closing the door behind him. He stood in the hallway for a minute, reflecting on the strangeness of John’s behaviour before heading back towards the living room.

He supposed he would not have wanted them to see him crying at that age either. He still had trouble crying in front of his romantic partner, let alone his parents. He would feel like a right fool if they caught him in that state.

Arthur’s parents looked up to greet him as he entered the living room, walking through and towards the kitchen bench as they both fluffed around putting groceries away.

“And here’s one we prepared earlier.” Hosea joked as he lifted a large bag of KFC into view and dumped it onto the bench in front of Arthur. The younger man laughed. He hadn’t been sure what he was expecting but it certainly wasn’t take away food. Not that he was complaining. But he sure did miss a home cooked meal.

He didn’t let the irony fly over his head at that fact. He had complained many times as a teen that he wanted fast food instead of the roast that had been prepared. Now he would kill for a juicy roast instead of the same greasy burger over and over again.

Arthur watched as the older couple shuffled around the small kitchen, gathering the plates and utensils they would need to eat.

He took the plates as they were handed to him, moving the short walk to the dining room table and placing them down in their respective places.

He moved back towards the bench and took handful of cutlery from Hosea.

“Hey?” Arthur asked softly, grabbing the older man’s attention as he leant against the counter and chewed over his words. “Everything alright with John?” He asked after a moment, keeping his voice low as he was aware the kid could enter the room any minute.

“Is he here?” Hosea asked in surprise, making Arthur frown.

“Yeah.” Arthur replied simply. Taking a moment to let Hosea speak again before adding. “In his room.”

“Oh.” Hosea said softly, un-bagging the food and passing the items to Dutch to place onto plates. Arthur waited for one of them to speak again. Feeling impatient as they continued to ready lunch rather than answering his question.

“Is he alright?” Arthur asked again, a little firmer as Dutch finally turned his attention to the younger and Hosea ignored him, walking past with platefuls of food.

“He’ll be fine.” Dutch assured, picking up his own plates and walking towards the table as Arthur followed suspiciously.

Hosea placed his food down in the middle of the table. Turning to face Dutch with his arms across his chest and a sour face.

“Go on.” He snapped as Dutch approached. “Tell him.”

Arthur looked between them with furrowed brows as Dutch let out a long sigh. He had rarely seen them fight in his time with them and if they did it was usually Dutch that held a grudge.

Arthur felt something unsettling turn his stomach as he watched Dutch place his own plates down on the table.

He turned to Arthur, shrugging.

“We’ve decided not to adopt John.” He explained, shaking his head if he was talking about keeping a puppy or a kitten and not a human child.

Arthur felt his mouth open in shock as he looked between the two of them in disbelief.

“What?” He asked softly, eyes lingering on Hosea as he waited for the other man to argue.

“Dutch feels…” Hosea began, stopping himself quickly and correcting his words. “We feel…” He began again. “That it’s not in our best interest to take on another child permanently.” He explained eloquently as Arthur scoffed at the excuse.

He had always assumed that John would be adopted just as he had. As soon as the agency had confirmed that they had no plans to send him elsewhere, he had become a permanent fixture in their lives. Or Arthur’s life at least. He had let himself actually get to know the kid.

He loved him like a real brother. He had always thought that one day they would really be brothers, tied together by their parents.

“What about John’s best interest?” He asked flatly. Shock stopping him from expressing himself properly as he waited for a better answer than ‘it’s not in our best interests’.

That was a load of bullshit. There was something else going on and it made Arthur feel uneasy.

“We don’t have time to get into it now Arthur.” Dutch said gently, holding a hand out in front of him to signal that Arthur needed to drop the subject. The younger man glared at him, jaw clenched as he held back a rebuttal.

His parents were good people and he trusted them to make good decision for himself and the other children.

Well, John.

John had not been the last child they’d taken in. He was just the only one that didn’t have parents to go back to.

He was alone in this world, just like Arthur. John didn’t have any family and the family he did have before they passed had left him with nothing. Which is why Arthur had always assumed Dutch and Hosea would take him in too.

Give the poor kid the family he so desperately craved.

He knew deep down that they must have a good reason for what they were doing to John. But in that moment, he was blinded by a simmering rage as he remembered the boy’s tears earlier and how hard that kid had fought his whole life to feel accepted by anyone, especially their family.

Arthur turned his attention to Hosea once more, their eyes locking as Arthur registered a deep sadness in the older man. Stood a few steps behind Dutch, the older man shook his head slowly, telling Arthur to let it go before this situation turned ugly.

Arthur swallowed audibly, licking at his lips and turning to look at the dining room table full of food.

He felt sick to his stomach. His appetite gone.

“Have you told him?” He asked after a long moment, sucking on his teeth as he waited for an answer. The silence in the room deafening as the seconds ticked on without a reply.

“Not yet.” Dutch answered eventually. The scrape of a chair breaking the tension in the air as the older man pulled it out from under the table and slumped down into it.

Hosea followed suit, gesturing for Arthur to do the same.

He did as instructed, walking around the table and pulling out the chair from his favourite spot. Slinking down into it and looking to his right at the empty place he had set for John.

He supposed that they were all aware the kid would not be joining them.

“Well, he knows.” Arthur replied, venom in his tone as he snatched at the bucket of chicken in front of him and pulled it closer.

End.

~~~~~

Poor John. :(  If you’ve read my other works you guys can probably see where this is heading. 

I got my electric bill today.. Also had KFC for dinner because I couldn’t stop thinking about chicken after writing this. 

Please let me know if you read this and liked it! I love hearing from my awesome readers! Let me know if you want more backstory and what you’re hoping to see in future stories! ❤

[sometimesitrytowritethings]

Mountain Man: Part 1

PART 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: You never thought you’d love again. Then Arthur Morgan came into town. Fate continuously has you meeting each other in odd ways, and a troubled past is something you are both familiar with. Perhaps that’s what will make this time different.

Notes: A MASSIVE THANK YOU to @morgans-whore for helping me out with this!!! If you haven’t read their work, please do so immediately. Also goddamn it I WILL figure out how to insert a read more break on mobile if it kills me.

------

Smithfield’s Saloon was a bustling, loud mess when you entered, as was typical for a Friday evening in the small town of Valentine. The place was only a couple of years old, fully built from the timber milled in nearby Strawberry and lit by strategically placed oil lamps, giving it a sepia-toned glow that you could bask in all evening. Several tables were scattered about the sparsely-decorated room, a larger one covered in green cloth currently hosting a nightly low-stakes poker game.

You made your way inside, taking off your light jacket since escaping the mild chill in the air and scanned the room, looking for your friends in the crowd. The piano man was playing one of the four songs in his repertoire, The Arkansas Traveller, as Quentin, the barber, swayed slightly in time to the music at his normal post in the back, beer in hand, and speaking to one of the saloon’s regular patrons. Jon, the old drunk, was sitting at his usual table, downing a bottle of whisky and ranting about something or other. After years of enduring his presence, you had finally been able to tune him out. Jedadiah, the bartender, nodded your way as your gaze wandered past him before serving Tommy, who seemed to already be well into his cups, another glass of whisky.

Dozens of other familiar faces were scattered about the room as you scanned it, finally spotting the two women chatting with two unfamiliar men at the end of the bar. After a rather long week working across the street at Saints Hotel, cooking, running baths, cleaning, and washing a couple of particularly unruly patrons, your good friends Anastasia and Margaret had invited you over to their place of work for a few drinks - on the house.

“Evening Anastasia, Margaret,” you call over the din of piano music, clinking glasses, and loud conversations. Anastasia was a freckled, firey redhead who was almost always getting into trouble. As was typical for an evening on the job, her white chemise was pushed down low on her chest, revealing her ample cleavage to entice more of the men into paying for a night with her. Margaret, on the other hand, was of a slimmer build and had lovely dark brown hair, pulled away from her doe-eyed face. She was always ready to flirt with anyone she sees and crack jokes on the regular, which definitely worked on many a man over the course of her career as a working girl. These women were two of the first friends you made when moving to Valentine with your soon-to-be husband almost a decade ago. They had been working at Keane’s back then, the older saloon down the street, but have since moved to the wealthier spot when it opened a few years ago.

They both look toward you and becon you over. “Hey hun, these handsome gentlemen are Javier and Charles. They’ve just come into town, isn’t that right?” Margaret explained, putting her hand on Charles’s bicep and giving it a flirty squeeze as she batted her lashes.

You gave a small snort and glanced over at the men. The one introduced as Charles had long, dark hair, dark skin, and shining brown eyes. He was very obviously an outdoorsman, slightly bulky and built for spending time in nature, wearing a tattered light blue shirt cinched at the hips by a gun belt. He nodded at you, but said nothing and took a sip of his whisky, eyeing you over the rim of the glass. Javier, on the other hand, took your hand from across the corner of the bar and gave it a quick kiss. Also dark-haired, his was cut significantly shorter and tied in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, Javier was slightly leaner than his companion, and was dressed in finer clothes - a charmer, no doubt.

They were both very handsome men, indeed, but you recognized Margaret’s tactic from a mile away: butter up the new ones with enough complements, keep them well in their liquor, and they’ll be coming back to you every night for their entire stay. You raised a hand to the bartender, ordering a round of whisky for the group.

“Why thank you, Mariposa,” crooned Javier, picking up the drink and nodding at you over the rim of the cup.

You laughed. “No need to try that with me, I don’t work here,” you teased, raising your glass to him before taking a long drink of your whisky. Jedadiah has given you the higher-quality bottle this time - good. Javier let out a laugh and went back to speaking with Anastasia, leaving you to sip your drink in silence for the time being. The slight burning sensation warmed your throat and then worked its way down to your belly, easing away the stress of the previous week. There really was nothing like a good glass to take the edge off.

As you finished your first drink, the door to the saloon suddenly swung open, drawing the attention of your companions. All four turned to face the new patron, the women leaning against the bar as the two men moved to greet their friend.

“Oh! Arthur!” called Charles, waving his hand towards the bar to summon him over.

“Arthur, come here, come here! Come over here! I want you to meet our friends.” Javier called and moved from the bar to smack his friend on the back. You turned as well, leaning your right side against the bar, drink still in hand, and taking in the handsome new patron.

He was average height, but bulkier than his friends - a powerhouse made of pure muscle. You were sure he could break you in half if you let him. His light brown hair was brushed haphazardly away from his face, which was slightly tanned from days spent in the sun. As you slowly dragged your eyes across his face you noticed two small scars on his chin, where his beard wouldn’t grow. His eyes, an alarming shade of teal, narrowed as he looked over your group, like something was missing.

“Pleased to meet ya,” he drawled, his voice deep and husky, likely from the combination of years on the road and smoking plenty of tobacco. His hands went to his hips, and he looped his fingers through his belt, looking around the room.

Anastasia seemed awestruck and was ready to dive in and cause plenty of trouble to get this man’s attention. The other two could wait for now. “Well ain’t you just the tough as teak mountain man?” she flirted, leaning against the counter and pushing out her chest so her bust was closer to eye-level.

“Oh, you be quiet Anastasia,” Margaret chided, also wanting a bite of the newcomer. “Anyone can tell this one is a pussy cat.” There it was. Margaret had tried one of her usual godawful jokes that somehow seemed to land her a client every time, and you tried your best not to laugh. Instead, you raised your glass to your lips, only to find it empty.

“Exactly!” Javier cut in. You turned to Jeb and held up your empty glass, which he promptly came over to refill. “He’s a pussy… cat. Ain’t that so, Arthur?” This time you did laugh, a very loud and uncomfortable snort that you couldn’t stop if you had tried.

You drew your refilled glass quickly to your lips, trying your best to cover for yourself. The new man glanced your way shortly before turning back to the other two women. If anyone else had noticed, they didn’t say anything.

The new man, Arthur, stepped a little closer to the group, looking your friends up and down. “How much you cost anyway?”

Anastasia, for some reason seemed genuinely offended, shock immediately overtaking her face. “Well ain’t that a nice way to talk to a lady?” she snapped, though you weren’t sure why. She was a prostitute after all.

Arthur leaned closer, an almost manic grin on his face. “Oh, I didn’t know I was talking to a lady…” he teased. You immediately knew what he was up to. He needed his friends alone, and didn’t have the decency to just ask. Luckily, two could play at his game.

Anastasia balked. Sure, she wasn’t a ‘lady’ like those rich women in New York or San Denis, but she deserved at least a modicum of respect. She scoffed angrily and walked off with a grumbled, “excuse me,” pushing her way past the man, before glancing back at you to see if you were coming. You nodded, you’d be with them in a second. There was no need to stay in the bar and drink, you had plenty of liquor back at home. But before you leave, you may as well get the last word with the man who had, surprisingly accurately, insulted your friends.

“Oh, it’s alright, Anastasia,” you called after her, staying in position at the corner of the bar. You pointedly looked Arthur up and down before speaking again. “This one couldn’t afford one of us anyway,” you tossed at him with a wink over the rim of your glass. Keeping your eyes locked on his, you slowly took a drink.

Like a predator preparing to pounce on its prey, he moved slowly toward you, sizing you up. “That so?” he drawled, slowly dragging his eyes from where your feet were crossed at the hem of your skirt, to your hips leaning against the side of the bar, to your chest, where he paused for just a moment.

“Oh, most definitely,” was your response, accompanied by a practiced smirk. You may not have been a working girl in the saloon, but your years offering deluxe baths at the hotel across the street had given you more than enough practice at charming men. Even ruggedly handsome men who were likely to make you weak in the knees like this one.

His eyes snapped back up to yours as you spoke, a matching smirk gracing his lips. “Why don’t we see about that?” he teased, reaching for what you presumed was money in his satchel. If you had thought his voice was husky before, it was nothing in comparison to how it sounded now. Sultry, eager.

Before you could even begin to think of a response, you heard your name being called by Anastasia, who was standing impatiently at the door with Margaret at her side. “Are you coming?”

You felt the heat rise to your face as soon as the moment was over, but magically kept your composure. “Sorry, it turns out that my shift just ended,” you hummed, reaching up to straighten out his collar. Your fingers lightly brushed his skin and you swore he tensed and took in a sharp breath in that moment. Next, you gave him a light pat on the shoulder and started to walk away. You only had to remember not to look back.

Hips swaying, you headed towards the door, stopping briefly to grab your jacket from the coat hook along the way. “See you around, gentlemen,” you called, swinging the door open and stepping out into the cool night air, feeling his eyes on you the entire time. Perfect.

Anastasia and Margaret followed you out in a huff, brushing past another stranger who was staggering up the steps and into the saloon.

The walk back to the local boarding house, where you had been staying with your son for the past few years, was luckily a short one. However, almost the entire 10 minutes were filled with complaints from the other two women about the “uncivilised” and “incredibly rude” man, effectively ruining any hopes you had of continuing a fun evening with your friends.

“It’s such a surprise that he’s friends with those other two. They just seem so sweet, and he’s such a… such a brute!” ranted Anastasia, looking from Margaret to you for confirmation. “He’s got those ruggedly handsome looks, sure but, by god! How dare he talk to me like that! Can you even believe it?”

You wanted to laugh, but held it in. Your friend was already upset, there was no need to make it worse. Luckily, before you needed to say anything, Margaret cut in. “I know! What was he thinkin’? Even insinuatin’ you wasn’t a lady! You are the most ladylike woman in this town, Anastasia,” she rattled on, wrapping an arm around her friend’s shoulders.

You did the same out of solidarity and played with a strand of her red hair. The three of you walked further, arms around Anastasisa’s shoulders. “He just wanted to get his friends alone, you know,” you told her after a few minutes of her angry silence, before moving your hand and squeezing her shoulder comfortingly. “He only said those things because he knows you two already had his friends wrapped around your fingers and they certainly weren’t about to leave,” you further elaborated with a wink to the redhead. Who knows if that was true, but it would most definitely make Anastasia feel better.

She sighed, her shoulders shrugging, and looked wistfully in the distance. “Yeah, I s’pose you’re right,” came her response. “We did have them on the hook pretty quick, didn’t we?”

“Oh, absolutely!” chimed in Margaret with excitement as you reached the large blue house on the outskirts of town. You glanced quickly to the second floor, and spotted your window. It was dark inside. “And it’ll be real easy to reel them in again tomorrow.”

The three of you burst into a fit of giggles as you reached the front porch. You dropped your arm from Anastasia’s shoulders and gave both women hug. “I think Ben is asleep, so I may turn in as well, if you two don’t mind.” The both nodded and hugged you back, saying quiet farewells and making their way further down the dirt road to their own homes.

The door opened with a slight creek as you stepped inside the dark house. It was a rather large house for this area, meant to house several farmworkers at the time it was built. Since then, a hotel and several other larger homes have popped up closer to town, leaving this one nearly empty most of the time. You rented a decent sized room on the second floor, and had done so for nearly five years running. It wasn’t luxury accommodation by any means, but it was away from the hustle and bustle of town, and it was more than affordable on your meager salary. Not to mention, the landlady had been a good friend of your late mother-in-law, and had been happy to offer your family a place to stay at a decent price, in exchange for occasional work around the house. Quietly, stepping over the floorboard that you knew let out a loud squeak when moved, you shrugged off your jacket, listening for the sounds of small footsteps pattering about on the second floor. Nothing.

What you did hear, however, were the sounds of a conversation coming from the kitchen. You walked down the dimly lit hallway to the room, where you found your landlady sitting at the table with a stranger. Your landlady, Ms. Chadwick, an older woman with a perpetually frustrated look on her face, sat in her nightgown, nursing a cup of hot coffee while the stranger looked over a piece of paper that had been laid in front of her on the table.

She was a pretty woman, about the same age as yourself, with dark brown hair neatly plaited down her back and clear, tanned skin, that almost glowed in the lamplight. Her clothes were obviously expensive and well cared for, and a pair of small, matching suitcases sat at her feet. Her nimble fingers with clean, neatly trimmed nails skimmed over the short paragraph on the paper. This was very obviously a woman who had never worked a day in her life. What on earth was she doing in Valentine, of all places?

“Thank you very much for the use of the spare room,” she said to the landlady, her voice boasted a light southern accent, like that of the debutantes in San Denis. “Your home is lovely, and little Ben is an absolute darling. I do so love staying in homes instead of hotels when I can and, of course, I am happy to help out where I can while I am here.”

“Oh no, that’s not necessary dear,” she chided. “Your pay is more than enough. Please relax and enjoy your time here as much as you can. You don’t need any more stress on your shoulders.”

As Ms. Chadwick finished her sentence, the stranger seemed to notice your appearance in the doorway. “Oh!” she exclaimed, though keeping her voice down slightly. “You must be Ben’s mother! It’s wonderful to meet you. Your son and Ms. Chadwick greeted me this afternoon when I arrived, he’s a lovely little boy.” She stood up from her chair, skirts billowing around her ankles, and reached out to kiss both of your cheeks in what you had heard was a customary French greeting.

Although you were slightly taken aback by her forward attitude, the comment about your son brought a smile to your face. “Thank you very much. I like to think I’ve taught him well so far,” your responded, pulling slightly away from the new woman and introducing yourself.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she said, voice sweet and still low enough as to not wake your son, sleeping soundly upstairs. “I’m Mary Linton.”

[jenivi7]

First Lines Tagging Meme

I'M SO HAPPY TO BE TAGGED IN THIS TWICE!  Thank you @ink-flavored and @clyde-side !! (I almost just did this on my own too because I love babbling about my own fics...)

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.

Now pinned and under a cut because it became a really long, really good introduction to me and my stories! 

Hello!

Unnecessary and overly wordy introduction/personal musings: I love opening lines so much. When I worked at a bookstore, I used to open books and hardcore judge them on their first lines. I had barely any free time to read at that point so if it didn’t grab me in the first line or two, I put it back. The first Harry Potter book is actually in my pile of really good openers. “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.” (Subtle alliteration, HELLO??) So I'm super excited to see if my own first lines come even close to the standards that I apply to other people lol. MY OWN MONEY IS ON NO. I have the feeling that I'm so frantic trying to get the story down on paper before the good words disappear from my head that I'm not actually paying attention to the first line. BUT LET'S SEE, SHALL WE.

So just straight up going backwards, I've written and posted TWO BRAND NEW THINGS after being away from fandom almost entirely for 10+ years! They're drabble length but they're shiny and new! <3 (All available fics are linked!)

1. Tango:

She teaches them to dance so that they can dance with her but when Atem gets that mischievous smirk on his face and pulls Yugi into his arms, their bodies spark and the dance floor smolders at their heels.

(The fic is so short that this is a full 1/5 of it but actually, I think I crammed all the good stuff right into that first line. This already might be my favorite. Like it says there in the line itself, Puzzleshipping.)

2. No Betting:

Anzu sat at the kitchen table writing carefully calculated answers onto sticky notes before attaching them to a fourth-grade math worksheet.

(Peachshipping! This one doesn't pop off until about line five so here's the rest of that bit:)

She had the same arrangement with her spouse as most parents had. When the kids were good they were hers. When they were bad, they were his. And when they were winning at games because they picked up rules with uncanny speed and read their opponents with more insight than ought to be available to a child, they were definitely, definitely his.

3. If you wanted honesty that's all you had to say (working title):

When he realized that the figure sitting under the game shop display window and smoking wasn’t Ryou, the physical body response was as though it had discovered a coiled snake not two feet away.

(This one! It's a NEW half finished(?) WIP. I actually started this one before the drabbles but wanted to finish before posting it. Then it got out of hand, then work got out of hand, then I started a couple more projects and well. I keep putting words on it though and eventually there will be a Kleptoshipper that turns into Puzzle and Tender for your reading enjoyment. Also, fair warning - don't use song lyrics as a working title. Every time I look at the document I get the song stuck in my head.)

Now we have polished up reposts of old stories for their move to AO3, where I'll basically keep my master archive. Not full re-writes but I fixed a bunch of typos and awkward sentences and they're much stronger for it. Most of these are from a pairings contest way back when so LOTS of different pairings and lots of AUs!

4. Human:

It was like a bad noir, the thought crossed both of their minds.

(Scifi AU, Rivalshipping. That one's not bad for a first line. Actually no link at the time of writing cause the re-edit is going up in like, a half hour? an hour? a half day? It's my next project after finishing this, finishing up the edit and posting it on AO3. Now with link!)

5. Blood:

Fingers through midnight black hair, whispers in his ear, touches that sizzled along the skin, awakening nerves and senses. 

(Dungeonshipping, Pegasus x Otogi, vampires AU. Oh that’s a nice first line! <3)

6. Crazy for You:

The keys are too large and too heavy for the doctor more used to more modern facilities but she doesn't say anything, just follows the orderly as he pulls the large door open.

(Manipulashipping, Anzu x Marik, Psychward AU. Still one of my favorites from that era. Big bold warning though, THIS ONE CONTAINS NON-CON)

7. Finality:

“What are you doing here?”

“Saying goodbye.” Bakura’s translucent arms swept across the graveyard. “Is this not an appropriate place for it?”

(First two or so bits of dialogue as the first first is a generic question. You can tell this is one of the really old ones just by that but it's a sweet, sad little Tendershipper that still has a special place in my heart.)

8. Pieces of You:

Glitter caught the light, leaving shimmering trails in the air as it got everywhere.

(Glittershipping, Anzu x Kisara. Another one that's special to me. Kisara is my girl and my first writing muse. <3)

9. Cambodia:

“It was summer of fifty three...”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, it can't have been fifty three. You might be that ancient but I'm not. It must have been sixty three.”

(Jiishipping. Yes. Sugoroku x Arthur. HEY, IT CAME UP IN THE RANDOM DRAW FOR THE SHIPPING CONTEST OK. And my writer's brain hasn't backed down from a challenge yet... Another one that takes 4 lines to pop off but it's a good start. Actually, here's the rest of the bit just because I cannot get enough of these two bickering:)

“What do you mean it must have been sixty three? You don't even know what story I'm trying to tell.”

“Am I in it?”

“What?”

“So you're deaf now as well as daft? AM I IN IT?”

“Of course you're in it, y'old coot. Don't know why I'd tell a story without you in it when both grandkids are sitting here.”

10. Coffee and Cigarettes:

"Cigarettes and coffee? That's not a very healthy lunch." 

Mana crossed her legs and took a refined sip of her own coffee even as her company was not. 

(Mischiefshipping, Mana x Thief King Bakura. Oh this one I'm actually sad that it doesn't immediately sparkle in the first line cause it's one of my absolute favorites of everything I've written. And I think it's the only time I've ever written Mana but I LOVED IT AND HER. Oh no! I lied, I've written her at least one other time though I don't think that one quite captures her sheer chaos energy like this one does.)

11. A Million Missed Chances:

Somewhere along the line, someone made a choice.

(This one. THIS ONE. I think this is by far the most epic idea I've tackled. I still don't know if the sheer scale of the thing came across in the actual fic but in my head it was massive and I remember pounding away at my teeny tiny laptop late at night because the whole thing hit me maybe a day or so before the story was due for the pairings contest. We only had a week to write each fic and my really good ideas never came to me before the very last minute. T.T Conquestshipping, Mai x Valon.)

12. A Fear of Falling:

She drove.

Like she always did when something bothered her.

(Oh the first chapter on this is also one of the really ancient ones. Like one of the very first things I wrote. That first chapter really shows its age and is a little shaky but the others are better and the last one is what fits into the chorological order here. Polarshipping, Jou x Mai. One of my very first ships. Probably THE first actually <3)

13. What Our Creators Make Us:

"Well, well." The match flared, scattering dark shadows until it was blown out and the only light that remained was the red glow from the cigarette end. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

(Psychoshipping, Marik x Spirit of the Ring Bakura. With a bit of Bronze, Angst and Tender in the follow up. Old but I'm ridiculously proud of it, hence it's place in the master archive. Ahaha you can tell how old it is though by how clever I think I am. I thought it was funny to make my audience figure out who was talking and not reveal the characters for a good fourth to third of the fic. Ahhhhhhh. Sorry about past me.)

14. A Revolution of the Spirit:

It wasn't fair.  It just wasn't.

That they were close was understandable (you don't get much closer than sharing headspace) but that even now, after deals were made with gods, endless arguments, compromises and the ultimate guilt trip that he had only been a teenager when he willingly sacrificed himself for all of humanity, things she had only half seen and only partly understood even though they had all been there to witness, that even now Atem continued to invade Yugi's personal space as though he belonged there got on her nerves.

(Woah Nelly! That third sentence should probably be three, four and five. Even if I just split it in half we'd continue the pattern of things popping off in the fourth line. I think that's one pattern that's emerging! A really good bit takes me about four lines to set up and deliver! Oh, the challenge was Revolutionshipping, Anzu x Atem, but the fic is actually Spiritshipping, Anzu x Yugi x Atem.)

So confession time, I haven't been out of fandom completely, I just hadn't written my own standalone stories in a very long time. There are a few (ok ok more than a few) long-running rps that @miss-moberg and I have been adding to on and off over the years. I can't resist throwing in a couple of these.

15. Cafe!

The door shut behind them with the soft click of the latch and the exhale of a breath long held.

(This opening line was from December of 2020 when we rebooted a very old Prideshipper and that is a damn good opening line if I do say so myself. I can definitely see the difference now between the newer works and the older ones. I've gotten better, she's matched me pace for pace and eventually something will be finished, I'll work up the courage to ask permission to post it and the whole internet will get to see how brilliant the two of us are together.)

16. Treasure Hunt!

"Ryou, I think you're going to regret letting me tag along on your adventuring this time."  Yugi didn't bother turning away from the airplane's tiny window to see if his seatmate was paying attention.  He was more thinking out loud with his friend playing the role of a convenient sounding board.  "Because I think this trip is the only thing I'm going to talk about ever again."

(One more from RP because it's got that fun, four line punch that we've discovered is a pattern for me! Opening entry is from 2017.)

Also, in truth, my count is a little off when I say I'd been out of fandom 10+ years. I've been away from YGO for that long but I did spend a brief stint in Homestuck where I read a ton of fanfic, flirted with a couple group RPs and even wrote a tiny bit. 9 years without writing a new fic isn't as impressive as saying ‘over a decade’ but it is a little more accurate.

17. What You Will:

In the land of fair Illyria, along a small, sandy stretch of its rocky shore, a ship has come to ruin and one lone woman lies still as death among broken wood.

(The beginning of a Homestuck/Twelfth Night crossover that I'm still determined to work more on someday. It's only got a single chapter but it's magic though now I'm concerned about not being able to recapture that. Not a bad first line though. The style is so different it took me reading it a couple times before going, oh yeeeeeah, that's pretty good!)

18. Relentless:

You pull him to the deck and then across it by the remains of his shirt. Let him say one last goodbye. His ship pillaged, his crew murdered, his hands bound behind his back and at your mercy.

Funny word, that. Mercy.

(The first line is pretty decent but there's that four line combo again! Five but I could basically fix that with a comma. Featuring the troll ancestors Mindfang and Dualscar because every time Hussey introduced new characters they were instantly my favorite.) 

19. Black:

There is dark and there is dark and there is dark and then there is black. She is black. Licorice and coal. She is hate and resentment and everything that tastes bitter, the kind of black that coats the tongue like oil, drips down the back of the throat and keeps going.

(Oh wow. Am I allowed to say that about my own work? A Terezi/Vriska drabble that I'm putting as much here as I think I can get away with because it's so good that it fucks me up a little going back and reading it.)

And here it gets tricky because I think the more recent of the old, old fics are in the Drabbles and Shorts collection on ff.net and I can't see a post date. So I'll just pick a good one to end on.

20. Two Princes:

It was inevitable as the rising of Ra's chariot after a long night, as the flooding of the river banks every spring, and Atem always knew that Yugi's kiss would be as warm and gentle as the evening breeze in the summer that brought relief from the scorching day. It was.

(How about the final honor going to more Puzzle/Blind? This probably has the strongest first line of its era. Actually I'm not sure when it was written. It was just hanging out in my writing folder and, thinking about it, I probably wrote it when I was fading from fandom the first time around but still trying to hang in there. No wait! That’s too sad, we can’t end on that! Lets add one more to the list for the sake of personal narrative!)

21. Linger:

The world doesn't need him anymore. It doesn't need his sword and it doesn't need his pen.

(A tiny Princess Tutu afterward that I wrote for myself. Nice one-two punch in the opener. Also it rounds out the personal story that accidentally developed here with a line later in the fic, "Words, however, never stray far from a good writer..." Like, wait, stop. Past me, how did you know T.T)

Did that take a sudden emotional turn for anyone else or was that just me. Can I offset that a little with an honorable mention? Let’s do that while I collect myself. Here’s one more.

Honorable mention: Ryou and the Thief

There was a storm gathering and too much magic in the air. Much more than occurred naturally and magic at this level was never a good thing.

(I can’t have a list of things I’ve written without having Ryou and the Thief on it. If you click on this one though, BEWARE, it’s old, it’s silly and it has a ton of explicit gay sex that… would be written very differently if we were handling it today I’m sure! This is the first RP @miss-moberg and I ever did together and our excuse to Gemship and Puzzleship turned into us running the boys through a whole adventure based on the Osiris myth. It’s the longest thing I’ve ever completed and I’d still consider it kind of my legacy.)

And that’s the last 21(+1!) stories that I’ve written! 

The clear winner of best first line for me is 15. Cafe! It’s short, elegant and manages to contain a whole mood even without the context of what’s going on and who’s involved. (Spoilers: It’s Seto and Mokuba making an AU escape from Gozoboro.) Close second is Tango, the most recent story. It’s neat to see just how much better I’ve gotten and also really cool to see that even if the first line itself doesn’t contain a punch, it’s usually because there’s a nice, strong idea being set up and delivered in the first four lines (or so). What a pleasant surprise!

AND WOW, this whole tag thing didn't need to be so long! Or personal! Seriously, if you get this tag from me the challenge is only to list the first lines to 20 stories and maybe try to draw one or two conclusions from them. You all thought I was joking when I said I loved talking about my own writing! But actually, I guess it’s fine like this as I ended up using it as a way to re-introduce myself. Like, "Hey, I used to live here a long time ago and oh my god I love what you've done with the place!" Rather than being someone who's just popped up out of nowhere a few weeks ago to creepily bother all your best of the best creators so....

^///^ Hello!

Thanks for letting me ramble!

Tags! I think I've seen most of the authors I follow do this already but on the off chance you haven't been tagged yet: @elexica (checked your blog to see if you'd already done the tag and saw that you're another person returning to writing fanfiction after 10+ years. Same! Hello!!), @danieco, @draconicmaw, @nedjemetsenen (has someone tagged you already?) and two shots in the dark, @miss-moberg and @edmondia (I'm so sorry you two. T.T Please feel free to block me forever.) And please, anyone else who wants to babble about their own writing! Do this, it was so much fun. <3

[i-need-entertainment]

Adriah Thomas + “Can’t take my eyes off of you”

This is the 9th Oneshot for the Valentines Day Event, thank you so much for requesting!

**Also, um, other than his name and height I kinda made up the other stuffs**

Character: Adriah Thomas x reader

TW- Blood (bloody nose)

“So, Omi, when ya gonna finally ask out the cute receptionist~” Sakusa grimaced as he glared towards Atsumu, the entire interaction drawing the attention of the rest of the MSBY team as they got cleaned up in the locker room after practice. “...Soon..so don’t get any ideas.” Atsumu acted offended, “Who do you take me for? A complete scumbag?!” Sakusa turned away, deciding today would not be the day to provoke the blond. “I mean, he’s got a point, you have flirted with most of the girls who work here.” 

Atsumu waved his hand in the air dismissively, “Yeah, yeah ANYways, how ‘bout you Hinata, find anyone yer interested in?” Hinata shook his head, “Not really, i’m kinda just focusing on volleyball right now.” Atsumu looked surprised, “Really? No one? What about the other receptionist?” Inunaki shook his head, “She’s got a boyfriend.” Atsumu continued to think, trying to come up with someone, “Oh! What about that one girl...uh...L/n, right?” 

The older members of the team went silent, “Definitely not,” Well, most of the older members went silent. Inunaki smirked as he pointed his thumb towards his other, much taller companion. “That’s Adriah’s girl.”The middle blocker turned away and finished getting ready with the hollers and shouts of his teammates in the background. “waIT, I didn’t know they were datin’!” Inunaki’s face turned to one of frustration, “They’re not, this guy,” He once again pointed to Adriah, “Won’t work up the nerve to tell her!” 

Adriah sighed as he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder, sending an unimpressed look towards his teammates. “You know why I can’t do that....” Shaking his head, he waved to his teammates, exiting the locker rooms and heading towards his car. Adriah had liked you for 2 years, aka the 2 years you had worked with the jackals. But there was one reason he couldn’t tell you how he felt. Because almost every time he tried to talk to you or was in your presence, he ended up making a near fool of himself. 

Well- it was never really his fault, things just tended to happen. Like how the first time the team had met you, and he tripped on his own feet. Or when you had come in to collect something from the coach, caushing Adriah to take one of Bokuto’s spikes to his face, or- *THUNK* 

Adriah cringed as he grabbed his face, stumbling back a few feet as he tried to grasp what had just happened. He heard a loud gasp and the sound of feet quickly coming towards him, “Oh my gosh, i’m so sorry are you okay?!?” Opening his eyes he was met with you. He put on a smile and said a quick, “Don’t worry about it!” Your face turned to one of concern. 

Adriah, having felt some weird moisture on his palm brought his hand away, widening his eyes as he saw blood. You felt the air get knocked out of you as soon as you saw it, you gently grabbed his arm as you led him towards the infirmary. You sat him down on the exam table, giving him a wad of tissues and having him pinch his nose, sitting upright. Fortunately (for both of you) you were the team’s medic, so you were pretty used to dealing with things like this; bloody noses especially. 

“I am so, so sorry. I didn’t expect anyone to be in the hallway!” He shook his head with a smile, “It’s fine...I wasn’t paying attention anyways.” You looked at him with a small smile, “Well, i’m still sorry, I hit you pretty hard so I’m going to check for a concussion, okay?” He just slowly nodded, his head was starting to hurt... You stood in front of him, still having to look up because even sitting down he was still much taller (he is 6′7 for those who don’t know). 

“Okay, I’m going to ask you some questions, please answer them honestly alright?” He slowly nodded again. “What is your name?” “Adriah Thomas” “Do you know where you are?” He nodded, “The, uh, the...MSBY Black Jackals.” “Good, okay, i’m going to check your eyes, make sure your pupils aren’t dilated...” You gently held his face with one hand, using the other to move a single finger side to side, making sure he could follow it. “Well, they are a little dilated, and your movements are a little slow...but you also had practice today, okay one more test.” 

You stepped away, Adriah already missing the comfort he felt from your touch. “Last question I promise! Tell me some things about yourself, favorite color, how many siblings you have, some things you like...” He cleared his throat, briefly closing his eyes and thinking. “My favorite color is yellow....I have An older brother and an older sister..” He paused to think, his movements getting a little more sloppy and uncontrolled. “A-and I like...well I like you..” 

Your eyes widened as your breath caught in your throat. “U-uhm..come- come again?” He sighed happily leaning his head back against the wall, “I like you, but not as a friend, I like like you...You’re very kind, and pretty and- and you have the nicest smile...Honestly, I can’t take my eyes off you...I haven’t been able to since...well since you started working here...” You noticed his eyes started to droop and he started to sway a bit. 

Losing consciousness he fell forward, you luckily catching him before he could fall to the floor. You gently laid him down on the bed, checking his vitals and what not, he was just napping. You sighed as you stepped back, trying to calm your racing heart and regain your breath. Adriah Thomas liked you...He actually liked you back. Whereas Adriah thought he had been making a fool of himself, you had been slowly but surely falling for his sweet, outgoing and downright adorable personality. 

Shaking your head with a small smile you walked back to sit at your desk, figuring it’d be a good idea to get some paperwork done. “Hey L/n, you seen Ad-” Inunaki paused his sentence at seeing his friend asleep on the exam table. He made a face of understanding, “So that’s why there was blood on the door...what happened.” You hid your face in your hands out of embarrassment. “...I hit him with the door...” Inunaki’s eyes widened before he burst out laughing, quieting down a bit when you threw a pen at him, telling him to be quiet. 

Pulling him into the hallway, you explained what had happened. “wAit...so you hit him with the door..” You nodded, “And he confessed....” You nodded, feeling a certain heat creep up your neck. “...then he passed out...” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Did you at least say it back?” You narrowed your eyes at him, “No, he passed out before I could say anything...” You both paused at the sound of a groan, then footsteps moving towards the infirmary room door. 

Inunaki smirked, pushing you towards the door before he skipped away, teasingly saying a ‘this is your chance~ don’t screw up!’ before he disappeared around the corner. Taking a deep breath you opened the door, gently guiding a still woozy Adriah towards the bed so he could sit down again. “So...” He looked at you, “..Your favorite color is yellow huh?” 

His eyes widened. He now realized that the nightmare he had wasn’t a nightmare at all...he really had just confessed to the girl he liked right after getting hit by a door. He looked down, hand coming up to mess with his dark hair. “...you remember that...” You gave him a soft smile. 

“Listen, when you feel better...would you like to go out to coffee? I feel terrible for hitting you, but i’d really like to get to know you better...only if you want to.” A big smile came on his face as he nodded, “I’d like that...thank you...” You smiled, getting onto your tippy toes and very softly kissing his cheek, “It’s a date.”

“Pardon the way that I stare There's nothin' else to compare The sight of you leaves me weak, There are no words left to speak, But if you feel like I feel Please let me know that it's real, You're just too good to be true, Can't take my eyes off of you”

[greytoiletpaper]

Out on Allen Street, it’s 7 in the Morning

Set in the same-ish Street Siblings universe as First Contact by @cryptids-and-muses and @a-sketchy-character @streetsiblings (they’re awesome), I present my own built-on concept. It’s a bit angstier but sue me I’m an angst ball

AO3 | Deluge

Chapter 1: Drizzle

Jason Todd loved the rain. He remembered it pattering on the roof as he dozed off into the night, curled up with Sparky. Times spent splashing in puddles. Drawing a rare smile from Catherine as bright as the morning sun. Days without Willis, his head stuck in a worn copy of Huckleberry Finn and the ambience set only by the rain as it tracked ran down the window he leant on.

It was raining when Jason woke to his mother’s lax corpse, ears drowning out every sound except the rain’s as it plinked in time with the droplets that dripped down her arm.

--

In front of her, Faizul’s corpse is still. So still that Cassandra Cain can almost block out how the man’s body only radiated pain and fear and agony so strong-and-she-did-that-with-her-hands-her-hands-so-red-and-.

But she can’t, her head is still drowning in the memory, and all she can think about is the fear emptiness that settles in her body. Her gift to understand movement as if it were a language, she learns, is nothing more than a curse when Death comes by her hand. She wrings her red fist, as tainted as her soul because of what she had done. She looks away.

Father David has his arms outstretched, a smile so sharp and so bright that if he were any other man, she would have thought he was proud. He is, but underneath, Cassandra can see nothing but sick and profound glee at what she can do. The decision is easy.

As Cassandra springs out the window, its hinges blew wide open, her father David keeled over, the sky crackles and runs with the long red rivulets off her arms.

--

Now, five months later, Jason ducks his head under the fire escape in an empty alley, the rain in a duet with the nightlife of Gotham. He allows himself some respite as it steadily washes the grime off his surroundings, a pleasant ratatatata above the ambient din that is the dark of Gotham. He is so tired, but he’ll have to move soon if he wants to stay out of sight of kidnappers and killers and whatever else haunts the shadows of Gotham.

A howl slices through the Gotham night as some mug gets his face slammed into a wall. Jason knows this because he can see it right now as the same mook gets decked by a – a girl. Anyone on the streets knows that girls can hold their own but seeing some thirty-something-year-old man get his ass handed to him by a pixie of a girl – he thinks she’s his age, somehow – is something else. Seriously, the guy looks terrified out of his mind as he runs with his tail between his legs after a particularly nasty hit to his crotch.

As if sensing his gaze, the girl snaps her head to him, locking him in place.

“Uh… Hi?” Jason raises his hand in an awkward wave which the girl mimics, albeit a bit stilted, her head on a tilt. The silence between the two of them stretches until the girl seems to see something in him and nods. Out of ideas, Jason digs around his bag and produces a fresh enough apple.

“I’m Jason.” He points to himself.

A beat, and then the girl repeats the gesture.

“Cuh, cuh, cuh,” She struggles with the words, her forehead pinched. “Cuh, ah, ssss.”

“Cass?” The girl nods again, this time rigorously. Unsure of himself, Jason raises the apple to her. “Well, nice to meet you, Cass. You hungry?”

Cass grins, her eyes twinkling as she bites into the apple. Around them, the rain lessens. Just a little.

--

She watches two of her most precious children draw closer, children who will laugh and cry and burn for her love. Gotham watches them come, raises her arms, and weeps with her joy.

“Jason and Cassandra against the world,” Is what Gotham would have said if she had a voice. For years, the city is content to watch her children. She observes Jason and Cassandra as they starve, as they fight, as they grow. On one night, the weather nothing but pluvial, she witnesses them come across the strange car in the alleyway owned by her first child. On that night, she watches as the Dark Knight comes across her most perfect pair of children.

--

“Cassandra,” She looks up at the man they had been living under for the past two months, Bruce. She makes no answer, only staring blankly at him–they were betting on seeing how long it took for the man to get uncomfortable when she does that–who stares back. He continues as if they had not been staring for a full minute, which is not to Cass’ benefit. “Do you know where Jason is?”

Cass, willing to keep trying, keeps her gaze unrepentant. Under her scrutiny, the Dark Knight’s demeanour finally cracks a little. Internally, Cass is ecstatic, but she still really wants to milk it as she keeps up the act.

“Someone call for me?” Jay comes down the stairs. Finally, Cass can break her façade.

“Good morning, slob.” The slob, honest to god, freezes.

“No,” He grinds out of his teeth.

“Yes,” Cass gives him a crooked smile. “slob.”

“Am I missing something here?” Bruce is frowning. Oh right, he was ignorant to their scheme.

“Slob,” Cass repeats with feeling and delights at Jay’s fuming. “S-L-O-B. It means Stupid-Loser-Of-Bets,” She looks Jay dead in the eye again and calls him by the name.

Bruce frowned even further (his body projects such honest confusion that Cass almost laughs). “I was not aware you two had made a bet.”

“A bet I lost because of you, old man!” Jay pipes up, suddenly fuming at Bruce. “You’re Batman, and you can’t even keep from cracking when some girl stares at you for longer than a minute?”

Cass does not hold in her laughter anymore, something she broadcasts to all gathered. Bruce sighs, but at least he waits for her to calm down before he gets to his point.

“Regardless… I need you two to come with me to my office,” As the man leaves, the two share a glance.

“You gonna go after him?”

“You first, slob,” Jay grumbles the entire way to the office, where Bruce waves them in.

For a few seconds, the man awkwardly shifts before he pulls a sheaf of papers from behind his desk.

“I… I quite enjoy having the two of you here. With me,” Bruce admits, looking both of them in the eyes. He takes a deep breath. “I do not want to force this on either of you, but I would love to have you here with me for longer.”

“Permanently, even.”

Bruce lays out the papers on the desk, ‘Adoption Applications’ printed at the top. The letters draw a sharp breath from Jay, and Cass is confident enough with reading to understand what it means.

“Yes,” They both say immediately, and Bruce’s face goes softer than either have ever seen it.

When he asks for their surnames, Cass thinks about saying Cain. Instead, she says Todd.

Shyly, her russet orbs meet his azure ones expecting anger, but everything about Jason only projects love and acceptance. Her grin, something she had not got right yet, is almost identical to the one her brother wears.

“Always wanted a sister. Can’t do much better than you, eh, Cass?”

“Yes Jay,” she pauses. “slob.”

Outside, the sky is open in a light drizzle.

--

If there is anyone in the Waynes that Jason thinks is his favourite, it would be Alfred. An opinion he thinks Cass would be hard-pressed to disagree with. Of course, Cass is still in awe about the fact that Bruce Wayne is Batman (and isn’t that just fucking crazy), so it’s understandable. Conversely, Jason still remembers his first memory of the butler, a kind smile and welcoming arms that promised care for both of them.

“Master Jason,” The boy had looked up to see a crinkle in Alfred’s eyes that he had only ever seen from Catherine. The butler continued, somehow even softer than his usual. “Would you like me to fix that for you?”

Alfred gestured to Jason’s battered copy of Huckleberry Finn that he had cradled self-consciously to his chest. He refused, unsure why the butler seemed to be delighted to see Jason in the way only Cass and his Mom did. But there is something so trustworthy about the man that part of Jason is sure Alfred would do things like that no matter what he asked. So, automatic favourite.

--

Their older brother, Dick (“Aptly nicknamed,” Jay mutters under his breath.), yells whenever he comes to the manor. Most of his visits tend to cycle between him screaming at Bruce or yelling about them. He does make an effort to be a little quieter when he’s talking about the latter. Although, he still looks at Jay with an indecipherable mixture of emotions in his eyes. A pool caught between anger and something unknown to them. It’s not something that upsets Cass, but it puts both of them off, nonetheless.

On the other hand, Barbara is a little more forward in her dislike of the new kids. More often than not, her ire seems aimed at Cass specifically. Privately, Cass thinks Barbara was still angry about Bruce taking her role as Batgirl and giving it to Cass. But, she can see how every time the older girl gets less hostile, another part of her body was long past the role anyway. So, she doesn’t hold it against Oracle.

--

“C’mon Cass, repeat after me,” Jason waves the pages in Cass’ face, which elicits a giggle from his sister. Her giggling unbalances the both of them, so they have to waste another couple of minutes to make themselves comfortable again.

“What’s the use you learning to do right when it’s troublesome to do right and ain’t no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the same?”

Cass repeats the words, but she struggles at ‘troublesome’, so Jason repeats it for her. Silence, and then.

“What mean?” He thinks she isn’t asking about the word.

“Well, Mom used to say that it was just that. It might be harder to do the right thing, but it’d be better since you at least did it properly,” Satisfied, his sister merely nods and tries the words again. This time, she only takes three tries until she gets ‘troublesome’ right.

“I think she would have liked you,” He murmurs between phrases and instantly regrets it when Cass’ head turns to him so sharply she jostles him. He is about to brush it off when she nods her head shyly, snuggling closer to Jason.

He thinks, as they keep reading, that things are going to turn out alright. He has Robin now, and Robin gives him magic. Not only that but he’s also got Cass as Batgirl. Sure, she has that weird stitch mask covering her face, but it’s so fitting that he cannot imagine Cass with any other kind of costume. He knows her, and she knows him. For years she has been the sister he never knew he needed.

Together, Jason muses, they’re going to shake the whole damn world.

--

Whether they're from the Justice League or otherwise, everyone is always ready with a snide comment directed towards them. Or, more specifically, Jason. They use words and insults that don’t make sense to her, but she can see them affect her brother. When she asks, all he does is brush her off with lies and platitudes that they both know are fake. It isn’t until Troia huffs and says something that has waves of hurt rolling off Jason’s body that Cass decides she’s had enough.

“Honestly, I can’t believe you’d think you’d ever be like – ow!” Troia, poise flooded with nothing but condescension (she’s too angry to be elated at remembering a word Jason taught her) that Cass quickly corrects with a sharp jab. Like a deer in headlights, she turns and somehow has the gall to look indignant (another word). “Who did – Batgirl?”

“What, are you doing?” Troia fucking blinks. “Why are you treating my brother like this?”

She doesn’t even look guilty.

“Oh, don’t worry about all that. I don’t think it’s anything you’d understand anyway,”

She bends down towards her, apparently not noticing how still she is. Anyone who knows anything about Cassandra Todd knows her stillness means Death. Evidently, Troia is an exception. She's the only one in the room that's relaxed.

“Some people are simply born for this role. No street rat can ever hope to achieve that.”

Cassandra moves before anyone even blinks, her arms a flurry of jabs and punches and vicious kicks as she catches Troia off guard. Even when she finally regains her footing, the Amazon doesn't stand a sliver of a chance as Cassandra lays into her.

A block from Troia awards a savage stomp on her shin. A punch ducked under and followed through into a sequence of blows to the Amazon’s chest. When Troia grips her lasso and tries to restrain Cassandra, the girl only slinks her way past and wrestles it from her hands. Quickly and efficiently, she wraps it around the Amazon’s waist and pulls. For someone so small, Cassandra manages to lift Troia with the lasso with enough strength that when she releases it, the Amazon goes flying into a pillar in the Watchtower with a sharp crack.

Cass picks up her brother and shields him from the Leaguers, indifferent to their shocked and judgemental eyes.

The message is clear.

Even though they’re lost in a veritable sea of people, it still ends up being just the two of them, and Cass is more than okay with that.

Next chapter

[cecilspeaks]

175 - The October Monologues

[static] [slightly distorted] The trees are dying again. You know it, I know it. The trees know it. They have known it for decades, centuries in some cases. The shiver of cyclic, symbolic death. A rattle in the cold night air. A rustle in the footsteps of a hungry deer. It is October and something is different. It is October and the trees draw the crackling red and orange curtain in the year’s final act. It is October, and so listeners, dear listeners, Night Vale community radio is proud to introduce The October Monologues.  

Faceless Old Woman: I am lonely. Oh, I see people. I see lots of people every day. I see you right now. I see you, Caleb, sitting in your rolling desk chair, hunched over your computer. I am a faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home, watching you download yet another video game, Caleb.

But seeing people and being with people are different things. Different ideas altogether. I miss touch most of all. A father’s hand, a friend’s arms. A lover’s chest. I still touch, am touched, but it is not the same. It is not a mutual touch. My touch is unwelcome, unfriendly, unwanted. Yet I touch because I love.

And I love you, Caleb. I do. I know you don’t believe me after what I did to you tonight, but I do. My love is not romantic nor maternal. It’s not platonic, either. I love you the way a deer loves a cornfield. It is safe, it is nourishing. It is in its DNA to want to be there, to hide, to eat, to play. You’re very much like a cornstalk, Caleb. You are loved and you are benign. Better than benign, you are a contribution to this world. The cornstalk is unaware that a deer loves it so much that it will bend it and stomp it until its edible morsels spill out from its crumpled empty husk. The cornstalks, there are so many cornstalks, do not understand that they are so loved by the deer as to be devoured.

You’ve seen a kitten before, Caleb, I know you have. Sometimes kittens are so cute. So so so so cute that you wanna put them in your mouth. Do you understand that kind of love, Caleb, that kind of touch? You do not, no one does. And this is why I’m lonely. But I think you know that. You’re different. You’re lonely too. That’s not what makes you different, we’re all lonely in our own way.

You’re different, Caleb, because you know I am here. You see me even when I do not want to be seen. No one has been able to do that in at least 200 years. Sometimes you speak to me. Not in terror, not in rage; I’ve heard many of these voices in my life from those who feared and detested my presence. No, you ask me my name. I won’t tell you, not yet. You tell me about your day, I’m sorry your new boss is so mean, I will rectify this. And last night, you prepared a dinner for me. You’re not a good cook, I can smell that much, but it was your gesture of generosity that touched me. You made cashio e pepe, a recipe you learned from TikTok, and you prepared a bowl just for me. You waited to see if I would appear, and when I did not, you told me you understood wanting to eat alone, so you left it for me on the dining room table, as you went to play the new flight simulator.

Few men have ever been this kind to me before being frightened into it first, or without using their kindness as a disguise. I think you genuinely understand your own quiet desperation among the mass of men. And in turn, you understand others too. I don’t trust the kindness of men, Caleb. I don’t trust the kindness of women, either. Or anyone else’s kindness, to be truthful, but I especially don’t trust men’s kindness. There are exceptions. Andre, whose kindness was loyalty and honesty, and Albert, although his was a much different kind of kindness.

But Caleb, 23-year-old, unshaven, video game loving, boss hating aimless Caleb, your kindness frightens me. I’m scared of what you want, what it is you plan to take from me. Kind men have stolen my childhood, my morals, my money, my love, my life, and my family. What will you take from me, Caleb, that I have not already lost? I’m afraid. I’m afraid to respond to your gentle bait of friendship, because I am afraid you will take my loneliness from me. I am lonely, and that is a choice I have made for myself.

One day, Caleb, you will die. I know exactly when. It will not be of my hand, although I will do nothing to stop it. It is my fate, my path, to know such things. And in your death, you will return my loneliness to me, and it will be a horror to behold, bloody and misshapen. My loneliness, not recognizing its former owner, will howl an unholy and unceasing cry, and I will not be able to bear it.

This is what I fear, Caleb, and this is why I took the bowl of cashio e pepe you left for me and hurled it against the wall, just missing your cheek. I’m not sad that you screamed at me, I’m happy that you did so. This is how it has to be. We are not enemies, Caleb, no no. I love you deeply. Deeper than you can know. I am your deer Caleb, and you are my corn.

Cecil: The fiery flash of fall leaves stuns us, captivates us. Fireworks in slow motion. Or the crackling embers of a finishing flame. Upon the leaves are written instructions for how to make oxygen, how to give life, with every exhalation. How  to find flair in fading grace, and how to raise new life by falling to your death. The leaves know they will return again, so much will return again. We return now to the October Monologues.

Michelle Nguyen: There’s this new song I like, but I don’t wanna tell you what it is. I find it kind of embarrassing. Usually I love to talk about my favorite music. There was that summer I was obsessed with the new single by Saint Vincent. The single came in the form of a glazed vase containing three blue flowers. Only one was ever made, and I got the only copy. I found it very catchy, but the flowers eventually died. Or the year I spent listening over and over to that new Janelle Monae album. I forget the name, but the cover was a black and white picture of a well, and if you didn’t share it with someone else in 7 days, you would die. Of course no one ever died, because the album was so good, people just couldn’t stop telling their friends to listen.

My favorite song of all time is a blank cassette tape still in its plastic wrapper. It was owned by a man named Gary Joy. He was a real estate lawyer, reasonably successful, but he always dreamed of being a singer/songwriter. He dreamed all the time of quitting his job and writing songs, but he had never even written one song. Then one day, in a fit of optimism and energy, he bought this cassette, intending to make his first memo. But the day got away from him, and then the week, and then the rest of his life, and he never quit being a lawyer, and he never even wrote one song. This blank cassette tape, still in its wrapper, contains the potential of all the songs he could have written but never did, which is better and more powerful than any song anyone’s actually managed to write. The potential of the thing is always more perfect than the reality of the thing. However, and this is the crucial drawback, the potential is absolutely useless and the reality, however imperfect, can be quite useful. Anyway, I like to hold Gary Joy’s unwritten demo and imagine what it would be like. Hold on, sorry. There’s a customer.

[bell dings] Welcome to Dark Owl Records. What? No, no. No. No! No. OK, bye! [bell dings] Sorry about that. Some people are so unreasonable. I don’t even know what a Taylor Swift is.

But there’s a new song I like, and it’s not cool like my other favorite songs. It’s not a song that fits the kind of image I like to project. When I put on my mirrored leggings, my extra long jorts, and my really big hat, people expect something from me. They expect me to be on the cutting edge. They expect me only to be into bands that aren’t popular yet, or will never be popular, or that frankly don’t know how to play their instruments very well. And the song I like now is not any of those things. It’s… ordinary. It’s… popular. I don’t wanna say what it is. Remember when I only listened to the sound of beez buzzing? That was a good summer. Of course I got stung once or twice or 30 times. [sighs] Hold on, sorry, there’s a customer.

[bell dings] Welcome to Dark Owl Records! Hey. Hey! Hey! Hey! HEEEEY! Thanks, nice to see you again. [bell dings] Sorry about that.

I’m tired of being cool. I was going to say trying to be cool, but trying implies the possibility of failure, and there has never been a moment when I’ve failed to be cool. But here’s the hard truth I’ve come up against: being cool is a young person’s game. And that’s not because young people are better or more interesting than older people. God no. God no. God no! It’s that coolness itself is a concept tied to youth. Coolness is a reactionary manifestation of insecurity. The more insecure you are, the cooler you need to be. It’s colorful plumage. But as I’ve gotten older, I no londer need flashy plumage. I just wanna sit in the comfort of who I am, and not worry about what that looks like from the outside.

Anyway, I can’t stop listening to “Karma Police” by Radiohead. It’s just… a good song, you know? Hold on, sorry, there’s a customer.

[bell dings] You! You’ll never catch me alive! [sound of running] [bell dings]

Cecil: An abundance of words, words falling, fluttering to the earth. Words crunching beneath our feet. They were beautiful once, the words. Now they are beginning to rot, to wilt, to compost, to ferment new growth. To fertilize new words growing upon great trunks of paragraphs and chapters, but not now. Those will come later. Now the words sputter and drop in spiraling arcs to the ground. Here, then, are the final few brightly painted words falling upon you now. The October Monologues.

Steve Carlsberg: What does it mean to be believed? I’ve always known that Night Vale isn’t like other places. As long as I can remember, I could see that. I could also see that no one else could see it. I was alone in my knowledge. Knowledge may be power, but power is often lonely. My grandfather knew. He could see that I was like him. “Steve,” he would say, “us Carlsbergs have always been the town pariahs, but just because they hate you, doesn’t mean they’re right.” I would sit at night as a kid and listen to Cecil on the radio. He was the same age as he is now, and at the time he seemed so wise. But I would hear him dismiss what I knew shouldn’t be dismissed. I would hear him cover up what should be uncovered, and I would know with a child’s certainty that it was wrong. I loved him still. Everyone in town loves Cecil. It is possible to love someone who you know is doing wrong. It’s terribly easy, in fact.

What does it mean to be believed? As a teenager, I started trying to express what I saw about the world. I gave a presentation in my social studies class called “Night Vale – there’s literally nowhere like it”, and I thought it was informative. The class all plugged their ears in unison. The teacher stopped me a minute in, glancing nervously at the 8 surveillance cameras monitoring the classroom. “Are you trying to get us all killed?” the teacher hissed at me. I remember that her breath smelled like Strawberry Jolly Ranchers, and there was a lose crumb of mascara in the sweat of her temples. “No,” I said. I didn’t know what to say. It’s not the kind of question that demands a sincere answer. The report earned me a trip to the principal’s office, and then the re-education pit, which honestly is not as bad as its name. I mean, almost not as bad. It’s pretty bad. It’s a pit, for re-education. So, certainly learned something from that re-education. I learned that you’re equally likely to be punished for being right as you are for being wrong.

What does it mean to be believed? I was a young man entering the workforce, and I had long ago learned to hide away what I knew about my city. I had learned the handshake and the smile, the nod and the necktie, all the signifiers that hid what I truly signified. All of life is a code, and I had been thought the key against my will.

I got a job as a bank teller at the Last Bank of Night Vale. I studied with great interest the townsfolk who came and went there. I learned about their lives and their secrets, and what kind of money they made for the whispered deals out back of quiet parking lots just before the sun went down, pulled up next to a black Sedan that contained their handler who they only knew by a false first name. but I couldn’t forget what I knew, even if I learned to playact that I had. What I know shapes who I am. I can’t close my eyes, not to this town I love. This weird and secret town I love.

What does it mean to be believed? Then I married into the family of Cecil Palmer, host of Night Vale community radio! And he hated me, because he could see that I knew. And after all these years, my mask had slipped a little. I’d lost my interest in hiding. I wanted to speak the truth as I knew it, nothing could be more threatening to Cecil. His life and livelihood depended on speaking the truth as the City Council wanted it. Or as the Vague yet Menacing government agencies crafted it. And here I was, pointing out to him the sky. There are glowing arrows in the sky, there are dotted lines and arrows and circles. The sky is a chart that explains the entire world! I tried to tell him, and this only made him hate me more. I tried to share who I was with him, and this only made him recoil. 

Abby listened to my stories, but she never shared my enthusiasm for the truth. “Let it lie,” she would say, “let it lie.” But that’s he point, I can’t let it lie and I can’t lie! We’ve done that for too long! We’ve let our town sit heavy under the weight of euphemism and half truth, and unless someone just said what they saw for once, we would be crushed eventually by that weight!

And then it all changed. I wasn’t alone. The others saw that we lived in a weird place. And you know what? We kept existing. Our world didn’t end merely because we dared acknowledge it. Cecil and I are friends now. I haven’t forgotten how he treated me, but I understand it and I forgive it. Forgiveness and understanding are not the same as forgotten.

What does it mean to be believed? It means everything. It means all.

Cecil: And as the leaves are done, so are the October Monologues. All that can be said has been said. And all that can be said will be said again.

Today’s proverb: Listen, it might seem like everything’s bad right now.

[captainjanegay]

Where I’m Meant to Be | Stucky | Meet-Cute, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Kid Fic, No powers AU | Chapter 1 | 4.6k words | Ao3

Summary:

Bucky is a single dad coming back from a work trip with a very bored, very whiney 7-year-old girl. A mysterious stranger with a kind heart and a notebook full of doodles comes to the rescue.

A/N: This fic was supposed to be just a short one-shot for the Stucky Bingo but somehow, it's at 11k at this point and it's nowhere near done. I have two more chapters all done and ready and a vague outline for the rest of the story. It's my first time posting a fic chapter by chapter so it's both exciting and kinda scary. I hope you'll like the story enough to stick with me for a while. 

My sixth fill for the @stuckybingo2020​ ♥

.

At some point in his life Bucky didn't mind spending hours at airports and he found traveling —even work-related —quite enjoyable. But that was when he was young, stupid and alone. Now he's older, just as stupid and has a wonderful girl in his life. 

The girl in question is now standing next to him, little arms crossed and a sullen expression on her face. She's repeatedly kicking at the leg of the chair he's sitting on. There's no real force to it —she's only 7 after all —and she's not doing it to do any real damage to anyone or anything. It's just little taps, really and she's doing it out of boredom. But dear lord, Bucky's about to explode.

"Alex, sweetheart," Bucky says, slowly breathing out through his nose. "Could you please stop with that kicking? It's a bit annoying."

"But papa," she whines, drawling out the word. "I'm bored!"

"I know, love and I'm really sorry but papa’s gotta do something important for work," he sighs, trying to run a hand through her hair. She ducks and flops onto the chair next to him, an angry little pout on her face. "I have to finish it before we go on the plane. I'll do it as quickly as possible and then I'll be all yours, ok?"

It's not really surprising when he doesn't get an answer. With another sigh, he leans to the side and presses a kiss to the top of his daughter's head and then turns back to his laptop. 

From the very moment she woke up today, Bucky knew it's gonna be a long day. She was cranky and teary all morning, not wanting to say goodbye to Natasha and it took a good hour to calm her down. Then Bucky had to basically beg her to eat something before they left for the airport. It wasn't a great day. And Bucky knew she didn't do it just to make him miserable, she was just as frustrated and tired as he was. On top of that, he has to edit and upload a report from the conference and the airport Wi-Fi is so bad Bucky is close to tears himself.

The work would probably take less time if he wasn't getting distracted every minute or so and glancing to the side, making sure that Alex is fine. Or relatively fine, the bad mood excluded. At the moment she is slouching on the plastic chair, still pouting. Felicia—a pink stuffed Triceratops —is placed on her lap so at least Alex has something to occupy her for a moment.

Bucky tries his best to get through the documents quickly but he doesn't want to miss any errors either. He gets lost in the work for the entirety of about five minutes when he hears something truly surprising.

Alex laughs. It’s so unexpected after what seems like hours of complaining, crying and whining that Bucky’s head snaps up from his laptop and he looks at his daughter.

She is still sitting by his side, Felicia pressed closely to her chest and there is a smile on her face. It’s definitely not aimed at Bucky, though. So Bucky follows her line of sight and… oh.

It’s not like he didn’t notice the guy sitting across from them before. Because he did. It would be rather impossible not to notice this guy. He is tall and well-built and could look intimidating if it wasn’t for his bright blue eyes or tousled golden hair or the gentle smile or the fact that he’s wearing the softest beige sweater Bucky has ever seen. He is both ridiculously handsome and cute at the same time. So of course, Bucky noticed him before. But now he tries to figure out what about him made Alex laugh. It doesn’t take long, because the man is holding up his notebook, showing the page to Alex.

On the page are three little, cartoon-like doodles. The first one at the top looks unmistakably like Alex—her brows are furrowed, arms crossed and a little storm cloud is hovering above her. Underneath there’s his daughter again but this time she’s laughing, her eyes only small slits and a little sun peeks from behind the cloud. The last drawing, just next to the smiling Alex, is of Bucky. His head is partly hidden behind a laptop screen and there’s a look of utter concentration on his face. Above his cartoon persona floats a swarm of little gears, question marks and lightbulbs. Bucky snorts. It’s probably quite accurate.

Noticing that Bucky is staring at the drawing, the stranger startles and his cheeks turn red.

“I’m not some creep, I promise!” he starts explaining himself, before Bucky even opens his mouth. “I just—she seemed so upset and I’ve heard you said you have something important to do so I just wanted—Man, it’s weird, isn’t it? I’m sorry I promise I just wanted to help, not bug your kid without permission.”

“It’s not—,” Bucky starts, slightly taken aback. “It’s very sweet of you, actually. Thank you. Really, that’s just—I don’t mind. And Alex here seems to enjoy your drawings.” Bucky smiles down at his daughter and then at the stranger. His smile falters a bit and he sighs. “I’d really love to chat some more but I really need to get this shit done and the airport Wi-Fi is truly horrible.”

“Oh! Bad word!” Alex gasps, covering Bucky’s mouth with her little hand. “You said a bad word! No sweets for you!”

The stranger laughs at that and Bucky probably shouldn’t be as charmed as he feels right now. He just kisses Alex's hand and leans away from it.

“OK, sweetheart. Promise not to eat any when we get home,” he says solemnly. “But papa really needs to work a little longer, OK? Ten more minutes, I promise. Try not to bother the nice man too much until then, yeah?”

She lets a long-suffering sigh but she agrees.

“I’m Steve, by the way,” the man says, smiling at Bucky. 

Before he gets the chance to answer, Alex chimes in, “I’m Alexandra. And papa’s name is James but only mama and people at work call him that. Everyone calls him Bucky.”

The man — Steve — lets out a small laugh. “It’s nice to meet you both. Alexandra, do you want me to draw you something specific, while we let your papa work?”

“Oh, can you draw Felicia? She’s a...,” Alex furrows her brows in concentration, “tri-ce-ra-tops! That’s a dinosaur!” 

Steve leans forward from his chair and smiles at her. “She’s so cool! But weren’t dinosaurs kinda dangerous?”

“Some of them, yeah. They ate other dinosaurs. But the ones like Felicia only ate plants, so she’s cool.”

Steve lets out an attentive hum but something in his expression tells Bucky that it’s not new information for him and he’s just indulging Alex and letting her share what she knows. It makes Bucky feel a wave of sympathy towards this Steve guy.

Soon enough, a new page of Steve’s notebook gets covered with doodles of various dinosaurs, based on Alex’s jurassic knowledge—it’s a bit flawed, but Bucky is proud of her nonetheless.

It takes Bucky a few moments to stop sending glances towards the two. It’s partly because Steve—no matter how sweet he seems to be—is still a stranger. Steve might be bigger than him, but Bucky would end him if he tried to do anything to his little girl. But there are no red lights when it comes to Steve—and Bucky always prided himself on his ability to read people.

The other thing making it hard to go back to work is the fact that the scene he’s looking at is quite an adorable one. Both Alex and Steve are sitting at the edges of their seats, leaning over the passage between the two rows of chairs and their eyes are fixed on the notebook propped on Steve’s knee. They’re chatting, exchanging random facts about dinosaurs but since their knowledge is limited, they switch to talking about modern animals soon enough. Steve listens intently to whatever Alex has to say without patronising her. And sadly, Bucky has met a fair share of adults for whom it was impossible to take Alex seriously just because she was a kid. It calms Bucky enough to actually focus on his work for a little longer.

Some peace of mind does wonders for his concentration and the ten minutes he promised Alex are actually enough for him to finish editing the reports. The WiFi is still a bitch, though. However, after staring at the loading circle for what feels like an eternity, he is able to send the documents. With a triumphant little cheer, he turns off the laptop and slides it back into his bag.

Steve looks up at him and smiles. Alex completely ignores him, though, still too focused on whatever Steve was drawing. Bucky feels a bit betrayed. When she looks up, she glances at Steve first, probably to ask why the drawing has stopped and turns to Bucky when she notices Steve looking his way.

“Oh, you’ve finished the work, daddy?” she asks and when he nods, she smiles and reaches to wrap her arms around his neck. “It took you some time. But I’m proud of you.”

Bucky laughs at that, shaking his head slightly, “Thank you, sunshine. I see you were having fun with Steve while I was busy?”

“Yeah! Steve drawings are so pretty! He drew you riding a dinosaur!” Alex giggles, pointing at one of the little drawings.

Raising his brows, Bucky sends Steve a questioning look but the other man just shrugs and rubs at his neck. “It was her idea,” he says with a sheepish smile.

The doodle Alex is pointing at is indeed of him sitting on a dinosaur's back. It’s the one with the long, giraffe-like neck, Brachiosaurus if he remembers correctly. The cartoon Bucky’s arms are wrapped around the base of the reptile’s neck, his hair fluttering behind him and his mouth is open in either a big smile or a scream, he’s not sure. Either way, it’s a very cute drawing.

“Well,” Bucky says. “I’m not a fan of horses but I’d totally ride a dinosaur if I had a chance. Shouldn’t he have a saddle, though?”

It’s not even that funny but Steve still laughs and Bucky smiles at that. His daughter is less impressed or at least tries to appear so. She rolls her eyes but there’s a grin on her face.

“You’re so silly, daddy. They didn’t have saddles back then! And besides you’d need a very, very big one for a dinosaur!”

Bucky hums in agreement and looks up at the departure display. Noticing that their flight’s gate is open, he nudges Alex lightly.

“We gotta go, sweetheart,” he says. She perks up a bit but then glances at Steve with a small pout. “Sadly, we have to say goodbye to Steve. On the bright side, we’re gonna be home soon, yeah?”

Alex nods and slides off her chair. Steve looks up at the display and straightens up.

“Oh, my flight’s boarding, too. But you know what?” Steve asks and then rips the page with all the dinosaur doodles and holds it out to Alex. “You should keep this, if you want.”

Hearing this, Alex’s whole face lights up and she takes the drawings with gentle hands, as if afraid to mess it up. “Thank you, Steve! Those are so cool I’m gonna keep them forever!”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Steve smiles. He looks up at Bucky. “It was nice to meet you, guys.”

“Likewise. Thank you again for the help. It was very nice of you,” Bucky says sincerely.

“It was my pleasure. My knowledge about dinosaurs is so much better now,” Steve’s smile grows even bigger and Bucky chuckles.

Bucky leans to help Alex put on her little backpack, since she refuses to put down the drawing and then reaches for his bag. He rests his hand on his daughter’s back and turns to Steve one last time. He’s still sitting at the edge of his seat and is watching them. A smile is still plastered to his face and at this point Bucky is sure that it’s his default setting.

“Bye, Steve. Have a safe flight,” Bucky says.

“Bye, Steve. Thank you for the dinosaurs,” Alex adds, making Steve laugh.

“You are very welcome, Alexandra,” he says. “Have a nice day, guys.”

Bucky gently steers Alex towards their gate. Before they disappear behind the corner, he turns away to look at Steve one more time. The man is already looking back and he waves at them when he notices Bucky staring. Alex waves back enthusiastically and Bucky just ducks his head, feeling flustered all of sudden. He used to be more collected around nice, attractive people. And Steve definitely qualifies as both.

***

Some time later they finally make it to the plane. Alex flops down onto the middle seat and eventually — after a long discussion and promises that he won’t ruin it — she lets Bucky put the drawings she got from Steve into the folder he keeps his documents in. When the treasure is safely put away Bucky straightens to put his bag in the overhead compartment.

“Oh,” he hears a voice behind his back and a low chuckle quickly follows. “Fancy bumping into you here.”

Bucky looks over his shoulder and the surprise makes him try to close the compartment while his other hand is still holding the bag. He yelps in pain, making Alex look up.

“Steve!” she says with a smile, completely ignoring her father’s distress.

“Hello again, Alexandra,” Steve shoots her a quick smile and looks at Bucky, concerned. “You’re OK? I didn’t want to spook you.”

Man, he really got bad at keeping his cool around attractive people. Feeling a blush creep up his neck, Bucky nods. “No, no, you didn’t. I’m just a clutz, this happens a lot, ignore me.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at him but he doesn’t say anything more. For a moment they just stand in the narrow aisle, looking at each other. Finally, Bucky’s ability to think kicks back in and he moves to the side.

“Sorry, you probably want to get through to your seat.”

“Actually,” Steve says and glances down at the boarding pass in his hand. After checking it, he points to the seat by the window, on Alex’s other side. “That one’s mine.”

“Oh,” Bucky looks at the seat and then at Steve. His cheeks still feel warm for some reason but he hopes he's not blushing too visibly. "That's great. I'm just gonna—"

Bucky shifts to the other side and takes a step back, making room for Steve.

"You're flying with us back home?" Alex asks with a hopeful glint in her eyes. "Will you draw something more for me?"

"Alex, come on. Don't abuse Steve niceness like that," Bucky scolds her gently but before he can even finish the sentence, Steve starts shaking his head.

"It's fine, don't worry about it. I often doodle when I get bored anyway so I'd be honoured to draw for you again, Alexandra," Steve grins at her.

She actually lets out a little happy squeal when she hears that and Bucky's heart skips a beat. He's absolutely charmed by the way Steve treats his daughter. He really seems like entertaining some random little girl is the best thing he could be doing and while Bucky - absolutely objectively - thinks that Alex is the most wonderful little girl in the world, it still seems unusual. And he positively melts every time that Steve uses her full name, just because that was the way she introduced herself the first time. Most adults Bucky knows don't do that with other adults, not to mention kids. And Steve is just so… kind and genuine, it takes Bucky off guard but it's a really nice surprise.

"Ok, fine," Bucky says with a smile. "You have no idea what you've brought on yourself. Is it possible to strain your hand from drawing too much? The flight's almost two hours, right?"

"Does your dad always complain this much?" Steve asks Alex and she giggles in response. He sends Bucky a glance over her head and he has a smirk on his face. Ignoring Bucky again, he says to Alex, "Hey, have you ever watched Sesame Street? There was this one grouchy green guy."

Bucky just sends him his most unimpressed look. Steve doesn't seem affected. Alex is delighted. And in truth, Bucky has to bite the inside of his cheek to contain a smile.

It turns out that on top of being nice and lovely, Steve is also a little shit, because he draws a Bucky-version of Oscar the Grouch - with a grumpy expression and wild hair, sitting in a garbage can. It's actually amazing. Bucky doesn't say that out loud, but he snorts when he sees it, so that might betray him a little.

This time — prompted by the mention of Sesame Street — the conversation resolves mostly around animated movies. To Bucky’s surprise, it turns out that Steve is a huge Disney fan. He doesn’t even try to hide it. Not to brag but Bucky knows his way around animated movies — partly because he has a 7-year-old daughter and partly because who doesn’t like animated movies? But compared to Steve and Alex? He knows nothing. They use names he doesn’t even recognise - who or what even is Flit? Judging by Steve’s drawing it’s some kind of a bird, apparently. When Bucky can’t remember — he knows it, of course, it just slipped his mind — the name of the redheaded princess from Brave, he is given the most disdainful look he’s ever seen. Both by his daughter and by Steve. Bucky still tries to participate in the conversation, at least for as much as they let him. He never expected his own daughter to team up with some stranger against him. It hurts.

The pain is all forgotten when Steve and Alex start quietly singing Under the Sea from The Little Mermaid together. Bucky can’t help a laugh that bubbles from his chest at the sight. How is Steve even real, Bucky has no idea. He is over six feet of muscle, his bicep is bigger than Alex's head and he could probably bench press Bucky and here he is, sitting next to Bucky’s little girl, drawing a picture of Megara, because she’s his favourite Disney princess and singing a song from The Little Mermaid.

This guy can’t be real.

About half an hour into the flight it turns out that Bucky was wrong — Alex does leave Steve alone but it’s only because the tiredness catches up to her and she falls asleep. And she’s sleeping with her head resting on Steve’s arm. It’s a really nice arm, Bucky has to admit, a nap on such an arm would be good and comfortable even for him, probably. But that doesn’t change the fact that he feels left out.

“Sorry,” Bucky says quietly. “You probably want your arm back, I can just—”

He offers to move Alex’s sleeping body but Steve just shrugs with his free arm, careful not to jostle the girl.

“Don't want to wake her and I really don't mind," Steve says, smiling at Bucky.

"You sure?" Bucky asks and after getting a nod in confirmation, he chuckles and shakes his head. “I keep trying to figure out where the catch is but I’ve got nothing. You’re just naturally this kind, aren’t you?”

Steve barks out a laugh and then slaps his hand over his mouth to quiet the noise. He looks down to make sure he didn’t wake Alex.

“Oh there’s plenty wrong with me,” Steve says with a chuckle. “For one I’m usually really awkward around kids. Alexandra’s such a great girl, though. But I do like to help and try to be nice whenever I can.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at Steve. “You think you’d side-track me by complimenting my daughter? You’re totally right, but that doesn’t mean I’m not curious.”

With an exaggerated eye roll, Steve makes the ‘bring it’ gesture and grins. “Come on. Hit me with your best guesses.”

“OK. OK, fine,” Bucky says and shifts in his seat so he can look at Steve more directly. Crossing his arms, he asks, “Do I have a limited number of guesses?”

“It’s not that long of a flight,” Steve shrugs with one shoulder, grin still in place.

In a theatrically thoughtful gesture Bucky strokes his chin gauging Steve with his eyes.

“You… secretly work as a hitman” Bucky says slowly, “or like, an underwear model. Which is not a bad thing to do.”

A blush creeps up Steve’s cheeks as he laughs again. “Those are… pretty far off. Why those two?”

“Well, you’re built appropriately for both from what I can see,” Bucky explains, enjoying the way Steve cheeks go darker. Maybe he’s not so helpless at talking to attractive people as he thought. It feels a whole lot like flirting.

That terrifies him for a moment. He didn't do flirting in what feels like ages. He doesn't have time for this. Should he even do this? He has a daughter, he shouldn’t just—

Bucky takes a deep breath and smacks himself mentally across the head. He’s not doing anything bad. He’s just talking and having fun with an attractive stranger. Maybe even flirting a bit. And that’s OK, this is allowed, he doesn’t have to go anywhere else with that. It’s not like he’s ever going to see the guy again, anyway. Natasha would punch him for denying himself that. So he will make sure not to mention it the next time they talk.

“Well…,” Steve rubs the back of his neck. “I am not. Hitman or— I’m neither of those. I’m actually an illustrator. Mostly freelance stuff. I paint sometimes, too. But that’s mostly for fun.”

“OK, fine. Somehow I can believe that. You seem like an artsy type,” Bucky agrees.

“No hitman vibes anymore?”

“Who says a hitman can’t enjoy painting in his free time?”

Steve laughs, throwing his head back. Somehow he manages to keep the left side of his body completely still, mindful of Alex sleeping on him.

“I don’t know if there’s a point in trying to convince you, but I’m really not.”

“Sure. Probably what a hitman would say,” Bucky waves a hand at him but smiles. “That’s cool though. Being able to get paid for doing what you love.”

“It is. Sometimes you get frustrated enough to hate it but it’s still pretty cool,” Steve agrees. “You don’t like your job?”

Bucky scrunches his nose, making a non-committal sound as he tries to find the best way to explain. “It’s not that I don’t like it. It’s fun. Interesting, exciting, sometimes frustrating as hell, too. And the responsibility can be incredibly stressful. It’s just…  I never took time to think about what I really like doing in life. And since the job was good enough, I just stuck with it.”

Steve hums, nodding along to Bucky's words. "It's never too late to figure it out, you know?" he says. "I mean, I don't wanna impose and tell you how to live your life or anything. I'd never. I just— I think it's an important thing to know."

"You might be right," Bucky agrees. He glances down at Alex. "I don't think it's a good time for me to experiment, you know? Besides — if there's one thing I know for sure that I like it's having this little rascal around."

The smile on Steve's face turns soft. But only for a moment, before it turns back into that smirk he had earlier. "Any guesses left? About my dark side?"

"A few," Bucky grins. 

It's a bit of a lie because he really struggles to see Steve as anything but perfect but he can try. It's just a game they're playing to kill time after all.

"You are that kind of guy who can eat garbage food and not move a finger and still look like you've just walked straight out of a gym. I hate those people. It's so unfair."

"Are all of your guesses based on how I look? I kind of see a pattern here so far."

Bucky opens his mouth to protest but there's something in the way Steve looks at him, with a raised eyebrow and one corner of his mouth quirked up that makes him close his mouth without a word. He might be blushing. Maybe he's being too forward. It's probably not appropriate to talk about a stranger's body this much.

Before he gets the chance to apologize, Steve answers, "And you're wrong, again. I like working out. Takes my mind off things, helps me clear my head when I need that. Besides I used to be small and sickly my whole childhood. Couldn't even play with other kids for too long without getting an asthma attack. So I'm kinda compensating for that," he jokes.

"Really?"

"Yeah. All pointy elbows and bony knees."

"Huh," Bucky says. "Bet you looked way cuter than me when I had my bowl cut. We all had our dark moments."

Steve laughs again and Bucky really enjoys the sound of that. He really enjoys Steve's company in general, which is weird considering they've just met. It usually takes him much more time to get comfortable around people. Maybe it's the fact that they'll go their separate ways as soon as the plane lands makes it all easier.

"I'm kinda disappointed, you know?" Steve starts after a moment. "I thought you'd guess at least once. Or at least would be more creative with those."

"Who says I'm done? It was all on purpose, I was just assessing, gathering intel. I'm a scientist, I don't know if I've mentioned that before," Bucky points a finger at Steve. "You've got to be methodical about stuff."

Raising his hands in surrender, Steve tries to keep a straight face. He fails miserably.

"I wanted to say that you secretly hate dogs or cats but that would be just too harsh," Bucky says. "I don't think you're a monster."

"I love dogs," Steve confirms. "Always wanted to get one but my flat's too small and I doubt that'd be good for a dog. I don't have anything against cats but I feel like they don't… like me that much."

Bucky chuckles. "I feel like there's a story there."

"Just— My friend Sam has a cat and she absolutely hates me. I can't leave my phone on the table cause she pushes it off, but she doesn't touch Sam's. Every time I'm there she follows me around and hisses at me for no reason. She peed in my shoe more than once," Steve says and tries to look hurt when Bucky starts laughing. "It's not funny! I haven't done anything to deserve this. I tried to bribe her with food, I tried to pet her but I only got scratched for my efforts. And she doesn't do that with anyone but me."

"So that's your dark secret? That your nemesis is a cat?" Bucky asks with a grin.

"It's… definitely true."

“Can’t say I’ve seen that one coming,” Bucky laughs.

Steve shrugs with one arm. “I’m full of surprises.”

Clearly, Bucky thinks, shaking his head at the other man.

.

Title: Wrap me up (in your love) Creator(s): niallhoranbitches Card number: 065 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745402/chapters/67911988 Square filled: B2 - Airport Rating: Teen and Up Archive warnings: None Major tags: Meet-Cute, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Kid Fic, No powers AU Summary: Bucky is a single dad coming back from a work trip with a very bored, very whiney 7-year-old girl. A mysterious stranger with a kind heart and a notebook full of doodles comes to the rescue. Word count: 4591 

[daretosnoop]

Chapter 7: Dr. Buford

Chapter 6:

Coming out after a hot bath, Bess meandered around the hotel room and watched the rain drizzle down. The reporter mentioned it would rain every day for the rest of the week. Bummer, how are we going to enjoy New Orleans now? Deep down Bess new that the idea of vacationing was gone now that Nancy found herself a mystery. Joining in on Nancy’s mysteries were fun, and nothing brought a gleam in Nancy’s eyes like a mystery. She’d been like that since they were kids, so really, if it bothered Bess, she would have long stopped being Nancy’s friend. But, she couldn’t deny that it hurt to be tossed aside so easily. The only consolation was the rain, at least Nancy had an excuse to hang out elsewhere.

Through the rain Bess saw the yellow-green hue emanating from the sign of Zeke’s curio shop. It really was a doozy of a place, though Bess felt bad that she dumped a bottle of sneezing powder onto Lamont. The poor guy didn’t even suspect her and blamed customers moving things around. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the food truck and an old man who sat at a patio table reading a newspaper. Bess’s stomach rumbled. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to eat a bit while finding out about the old man.

 Bess hurried over to the food truck and placed an order for crawfish. She then moved towards the old man and asked if she could sit by his side while she ate.

“Now why would I object to having such lovely company in this lovely rain we seem to be having?”

Bess smiled and pulled out a chair. Southern hospitality was about to meet Midwestern friendliness.

“Are you, by chance, Dr. Gilbert Buford?”

“That I am miss--?”

“Marvin. Do you know a Dr. Bruno Bolet? He passed away recently”.

“Of course I know him. He was my friend, not to mention my patient. Whole of New Orleans knows about the Bolets”.

“Right,” Bess started on her food. “I was wondering if you could tell me a bit about him?”

“Now why would you want to know about Dr. Bolet? You look to young to be spending time with an old coot like him”. Gilbert lowered his newspaper and looked thoroughly at Bess. He’d never see her around Bruno. The only young person Bruno kept around him was that curio shop owner Lamont.

“Dr. Bolet was you friend right? I was wondering if you could tell me a bit about him. What was he like? How did he die?”

“I would prefer a topic of a happier nature, but I do not want to be inhospitable,” Dr. Buford hesitated.

Score one for hospitality!

“I was Bruno’s friend, however, I cannot say he was mine”.

“Oh? Why so?”

“Fact is, while socializing with my fellow people, such as you, give me happiness, it did the opposite for Bruno. He was an eccentric man, an acquired taste. And the older he got, the less he seemed to care about how his idiosyncrasies negatively affected others”.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, take his nephew for one thing. Never talked to him. Never even talked to me about him. Never talked about his family. He wasn’t an egoist, but some might take it that way.”

“Did his idiosyncrasies ever bother you?”

Dr. Buford hesitated before responding. “There were times when Bruno was plain ridiculous. But, how should I put this?” Dr. Buford rubbed his hand on his chin in thought, “A mad scientist has sound reasoning and end result, even if it’s strange and abnormal to the rest of us”.

So it’s a matter of perspective? After his statement, Gilbert looked out into the rain for a while and Bess had to wonder how personal his last statement was. If Dr. Bolet wasn’t Dr. Buford’s friend, why did he react like so?

“For such an eccentric man, surely only an eccentric death suffices?” Bess quipped, hoping it would draw Dr. Buford back into the conversation. The old man turned and smiled, the orange light warmed his dark skin. He looked haggard and it struck Bess that Dr. Bolet died not too long ago. Grief acted in mysterious ways.

In an old professional voice, Dr. Buford answered, “He died of myocardial infraction likely caused by age-old atherosclerosis”. He then laughed at Bess’s confused expression. In all his years of study, he never understood why doctors gave such long complicated names to diseases when simple names existed. He once asked Bruno this as a jest, but the dentist spurred up with such vigor, declaring the whole medical industry as a farce. Everybody stared at them with the outburst and Gilbert asked himself again why he hung out with Bruno when the man did nothing but embarrass him.

“He died of a heart attack,” Gilbert clarified. “All too common with old age and with people who are socially isolated. “Apparently, the Bolet family has a history of heart attacks in old age, though none of them were health related”.

“So they were all fit as a fiddle, then one day, boom?” Bess asked.

Dr. Buford nodded. “Odd one, that family. But then again, this is New Orleans. Here the abnormal is normal, for those of us who are really in it, that is”.

Bess waited for the man to explain what he meant, but Dr. Buford did not elaborate.

“Funny thing was,” he said, “Bruno wasn’t always so recluse. Sure he was more reserved than others. The whole Bolet family was, but Bruno—well, after his brother’s death, something in him just broke, I guess”.

���How do they know it was a heart attack? Did they do an autopsy?”

Dr. Buford shook his head. “No. Given Bruno’s age, his family history, and the absence of foul play, an autopsy was declared unnecessary. His body was cremated as per his wishes. Funny thing is, he was the only member of his family to want a cremation”.

“Who decided to not do the autopsy?”

“Why, me. I was there when Bruno died. Saw it happen”.

“What happened?” Bess urged forgetting about her food.

“Well, I hadn’t seen him for a while so I went to visit him. When I arrived, the door was unlocked, as usual. I opened it and saw Bruno lying on the floor in obvious distress. Next thing I know, his housekeeper comes running up and just stared in shock. I sent her to call the ambulance. Then I—“.

Gilbert paused and thought over what he was going to say next.  

“Well, I bent down and saw he wasn’t breathing. I pulled him away from the door and began to do chest compressions. I kept doing it till the medics arrived but nothing they did made a difference”.

“And Dr. Bolet was unconscious the whole time?”

“Yes,” Gilbert sighed. “Yes he was. One mercy I suppose”.

“You said you came to meet him, why then was he at the front door?”

Dr. Buford stared oddly at Bess. “You ask a lot of questions. You a reporter or something?”

“You guessed it sir. I am a reporter. Given that this is the Bolet family, it’s only natural everyone wants to know what happened in all the details”.

“Well, I don’t know if it’s any of the public’s business, but I suppose I could tell you. You’ve been nicer than the other reporters”.

Score one for friendliness!

Dr. Buford looked up and thought over Bess’s question. “Wait a minute. Why, yes—he was holding something. A piece of paper. And on the floor was an envelope”. Dr. Buford turned sharply at Bess, eyes widening in realization. “He must’ve collapsed after reading that letter!”

“Do you remember anything else?” Bess asked, leaning towards Dr. Buford. The story was finally getting good.

Dr. Buford chuckled. “Miss reporter, it’s quite a miracle I’ve remembered this much”. But the man still thought hard. “The odd thing is the letter. It was no longer in Bruno’s hand when the paramedics arrived. He might have let go when I moved him, but then it would have been lying around nearby and I did not see any paper around the area”.

Dr. Buford pressed his fingertips together as he went through his memories. Then, it dawned on him and he let out a grin.

“Iggy”.

“Iggy?”

“Bruno’s pet iguana. Bruno let all pets roam around the house freely. Iggy soon developed an irritating habit of stealing paper and stockpiling it in the vent system. I can’t recall how many times his housekeeper would call, asking for another copy of the medication because Bruno brought it home and left it on the table for Iggy to snatch up. Iggy must have taken the paper that day”.

“Did you see Iggy that day?”

“No,” Gilbert confessed. “But Bruno told me he was training Iggy to retrieve the things he’d stolen”.

“Dr. Buford,” Bess waited a moment before going forth with her question. “Do you think it’s possible that the housekeeper caused Dr. Bolet’s death? Maybe anger or vengeance or greed? Maybe she horded his pills and gave it all at once or something?”

“Young lady,” Gilbert exclaimed. “Are you insinuating that Bruno was murdered? I know you reporters need a good catch scoop, but possible murder is pushing the limits! And besides, if Bruno’d died from an overdose, he would have looked and reacted differently. No,” Dr. Buford hit the table with his hand. “I am certain it was a heart attack”.

Why is he so adamant?

“However,” Dr. Buford added as an afterthought. “I know Renee is deeply involved with the practice of hoodoo. As Bruno’s housekeeper, she had perfect opportunity to use it against my poor old friend”.

“Surely you jest! Hoodoo works?” Bess laughed.

“Miss reporter, one thing you should take to heart in your career is to never ever underestimate the power of suggestion. If a person believes something, even on a subconscious level, fantasy can easily become fact.  Who knows what rubbish Renee filled Bruno’s head with. Drink this, don’t eat that, this brings good luck, that brings bad luck. Day in, day out—even if he didn’t believe in the stuff, who knows how much his subconscious was absorbing. Remember he was very old, very isolated, very lonely. He was a vulnerable man”.

“So it is possible that Renee could have caused Dr. Bolet’s heart attack?”

“Now don’t quote me on this because I still say it was not murder, but yes, she very well could have”.

So he doesn’t have a good opinion of Renee. I wonder why? Bess thanked Dr. Buford and hurried back to her hotel. Once inside, she called Nancy and conveyed what she had learned.

 Nancy woke up to crows cawing at each other. For a sweet moment she relished going back to sleep. The bed and pillows were very soft and Nancy was not ready to take on the day yet. Then her body woke her up to her position. One leg was half off the bed, numb. One hand was holding onto her phone. Her notebook was lying open and her pen left an ink stain on the paper. Her arms were splayed out and her back was aching. Slowly she lifted herself up and her bed head came tumbling forward. Her eyes slowly closed but the caws opened them back up. Nature was in no mood to let her sleep.

Nancy recalled her conversation last night. Bess was right in her assumption that Dr. Buford seemed way too quick to make a diagnosis. Then again, he was a doctor. But he provided Nancy with a better understanding of that envelope. Now she was sure that Dr. Bolet was reading a letter from Milo Research and Technology, and Nancy had a hunch it was to do with the whisperer skull. She told Bess about Henry and his illegal sale, and what she learned about the crystal skulls and Bruno Bolet. Bess was silent for a moment, then in a worried voice, asked Nancy if she knew what she was getting herself into.

“Nance, this really sounds like a cult,” Bess remarked, and Nancy had to agree. There was too much hush-hush and a desire to put the past behind. Given how much everyone gained from Dr. Bolet’s death, it seemed like everyone would have a financial motive. Nancy even wondered if Dr. Buford and Renee were working together, but that seemed too cheesy. Not to mention, Bess said that Dr. Bolet did not seem to like Renee. I wonder if she feels the same?

But for now, Nancy had more pressing concerns. Iggy. She had to get Iggy to give that paper. Correction, I have to get Henry to get Iggy to give that paper. He seemed distressed when she bumped into him last night, but said nothing. Wonder if those ghosts came after all. She still could not believe that the supernatural existed. It seemed too ridiculous, but then the mystery was still young, and Henry said he felt nothing, so maybe the ghost thing was just a hoax. Nancy glanced at her phone and her eyes widened. It was nearing noon. She had slept late, but she was usually always an early riser. She quickly got out of bed and hurried to get ready.

When Nancy came into the kitchen, she was surprised to see Henry sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup to his head. He glanced up when she arrived, nodded at her, and went back to nursing his head. If Nancy didn’t know better, she would have assumed Henry had a hangover, but it seemed that both of them were beginning their day late.

“Did you eat yet?” Nancy asked. Henry shook his head. Guessing it must be too early for a meal, Nancy opted for toast and butter. She popped the toast into the toaster, and then buttered them heavily. She then poured herself a cup of tea and joined Henry at the table, giving him his plate. Henry seemed surprised at the gesture and mumbled a thanks. They ate in silence. Once the first toast and half the tea went down, Nancy felt invigorated to start her day. She turned towards Henry and started to talk.

“Got a task for you today”.

“Oh? The great detective need my help?”

“Yes, you should be so honored. I’m usually figuring things out myself”.

Henry laughed softly then asked what she needed.

“I need you to find Iggy and see if you can find where he stores the paper he steals”. Nancy pulled out the envelope. “We need to know what letter this envelope carried because your uncle was reading it on the night he died”.

“How do you know that?”

“Bess talked to Dr. Buford. Here,” Nancy showed Henry Bess’s number. She also gave him her number. You can call her if you want to know more about their conversation. Also, if you have any questions for Dr. Buford yourself. Henry took out his phone. He noticed there were two unread messages but ignored them for now. Instead, he quickly added Bess’s name to his contacts.

“Thanks. What else did she say?” he asked.

“Well Bess and I both think that Dr. Buford is trying to hide something. Bess also mentioned that Dr. Buford does not like Renee”.

“And how does Renee feel about Dr. Buford?”

“That’s what I’m going to figure out today”.

They finished their food and Henry took the plates and washed them. This time, Nancy helped to dry them and place them away. Henry then went to Bruno’s study while Nancy slipped out to the garden. Renee was in her usual spot, tending to her plants.

“Hello,” Nancy called out.

Slowly, Renee put down her garden tool and turned to face Nancy. She gave a nod but did not smile.

“Hello dear. Did you eat the rice and beans I left out for you?”

“Oh,” Nancy faltered. “No, I didn’t”.

“Oh”. Renee turned down towards her plants.

“I was wondering if I could ask you some questions?”

“Some more questions?”

“Yes”.

Renee sighed and nodded.

“What’s your opinion of Dr. Buford?”

Renee seemed surprised by Nancy’s question but did not hesitate to answer.

“Dr. Buford is a fine doctor. Treated Dr. Bolet well”.

“So you have no suspicions of his practice?”

“Dear girl,” Renee exclaimed with a laugh. “Why would I have any suspicions of Dr. Buford?”

Nancy took a shot. “Do you think he might be the skeleton man?”

Renee sputtered and Nancy continued.

“You mentioned that you saw the skeleton man too, right? Well from what I’ve learned, it seems that Dr. Buford was the only person who regularly meet with Dr. Bolet. So, it’s likely the skeleton man was him”.

Renee was quiet for a moment, then she said in a low voice, “I don’t know”.

Nancy tried another question.

“Your room, it’s, it’s got markings on the wall. What are they?”

“They are what keeps that dark being away from my room”.

“Dark being?”

“Those voices, they call to me at night. Can’t stand it. So I put those signs on the wall to send those spirits away”.

“Did it work?”

“Oh yes,” Renee gave a pleased smile. “They vanished the day I put them up”.

Nancy hesitated with her next question. “Dr. Buford doesn’t seem to like your practice in hoodoo. Has he ever told you that?”.

“Oh my dear,” Renee sighed. “The world is too complex for this question to have a direct answer. If I said I didn’t believe, then why do I participate in hoodoo? If I do, then everyone is ready to prove me wrong. But, my experiences are mine. I know there is something unnatural about our world. It doesn’t need a name, but if you want to give it a name, give it”.

Nancy groaned internally. In all of her mysteries so far, there was always some logical reason, something that would give way to some sort of explanation of unnatural causes. And yet, she knew that Renee was right. The atmosphere in the San Francisco house, the Mayan museum, Malone’s speakeasy, Camille’s sparks, they all exuded a presence of something beyond the fabricated ghosts, but she never bothered to investigate beyond the mystery. Now it was coming back to bite her. Then, Nancy realized a crucial question.

“Renee, where did you get that doll from? The one on your chair? I’ve seen it before, but only in a remastered train meant to look like something from the eighteen-hundreds”.

“Oh, that old thing? I just found it in a curio shop?”

“Which one?”

“The one where that young man who came over to visit Dr. Bolet works. What was it now?”

“Zeke’s?” Nancy asked.

“Yes! That one. He sells all sorts of antiques. Many of which decorate the manor”.

Nancy thanked Renee then went to find Henry. He wasn’t in the study, so Nancy went up to the secret room and saw Henry standing in front of the open vent, arms crossed. He turned, and when he saw Nancy, he beckoned her towards him.

“Iggy likes to hang out in Bruno’s study. Lots of paper to steal. So I watched him to see where he went. He went into the duct and I remembered this one was open, so I headed up here but he hasn’t come yet”.

Henry turned towards Nancy. “What did you find out?”

“Well, Renee has a good opinion of Dr. Buford. She doesn’t know he is the skeleton man”.

Henry sighed. “So we know nothing new”. He looked towards the vent. “I can’t believe we’re depending on a lizard”.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve relied on lizards,” Nancy said as she snickered. She moved towards the pirate marionette doll. It reminded her so much of the doll in Renee’s room, but the pirate theme screamed Bruno’s jolly roger club. It even had an eyepatch over the left eye.

“Hey, Henry, what eye was the glass eye?”

“Left eye”.

Nancy then noticed that the doll was holding some box with buttons, and each button had a word under it. Bah? Moo? Boo? They were the same words in the hoodoo book Renee had! Quickly she brought out her notebook and pressed the buttons in the order she wrote down. There was another button labelled ‘talk’ which Nancy pressed. Suddenly the doll whirred to life, blinked it blue eye and repeated the words in a low robotic voice. The voice attracted Henry’s attention who snapped his head towards the sound. When the doll finished, it’s eyeball fell out. Nancy caught it quickly and noticed a piece of paper inside the eye. Carefully she pulled it out and opened it.

It’s time to learn about the Bolet family Henry.

Follow the clues to learn about each member.

Learn their roles and duties.

Recognize your own.

Recognizing the scrawl as Bruno’s hand, Nancy continued to read and found that Bruno had created another scavenger hunt for Henry. The first clue was to go to the last denizen buried on Bruno’s guard. There were subsequent clues, but they did not make any sense and Nancy guessed that whatever they would find would make the next clue make sense.

She went over to Henry and silently handed him the letter and the eye. Henry read it quickly and shook his head.

“There’s eccentric, and then there’s uncle Bruno. Come on, Iggy’s not coming. Might as well do something else”.

“Maybe we should give him food? The smell might attract him”.

Henry agreed, then added, “But it can’t be anything that will rot easily. I don’t want ants”.

Nancy rolled her eyes and jabbed her elbow into Henry. “Such a clean freak”.

After a moment, Henry jabbed her back, hesitated, then said, “What can I say, I’m an accountant. I like everything to be organized neatly”.

They came out through Henry’s room and collided into Renee. She looked at them and her eyebrows raised a bit as if she were amused. There was an awkward silence and Nancy, hurried to fill it in.

“Uh, Renee. Can I ask you something?”

“Again?” Renee quirked.

“Um, yes. That box in your room. The one with blue circles on it. Is it yours?”

“No. Dr. Bolet gave it to me”.

Nancy nodded then hurried after Henry down the stairs. As they descended, Renee called out to them.

“It’s raining again. Would you like the beans and rice for dinner? It’s good on a rainy day”.

“Anything’s fine Renee,” Henry said.

“Very well”.

Renee went into her room and shut the door. Nancy and Henry looked at one another and Henry just shrugged and went towards the living room.

“Should we give Iggy the rice and beans?” Nancy asked.

“I don’t need a gassy iguana”.